The great cats had increased the speed of their lumbering gait.

  I set my head down, broke into a trot and then a run. Soon, my breathing became ragged. This felt like basic training again in the Corps. I forced myself to endure, to make the cats work for it.

  Did I become delirious? A psychic sensation struck. I swear it. I raised my head, peering through the slits of my Eskimo sunglasses.

  Something came toward me.

  For a moment, I hoped. Then, I feared. Something was coming, a group of people.

  It was too bright to take off the Eskimo sunglasses and put on the special glasses. My head hurt too much for that as well.

  I hurt all over.

  I staggered, slowing my rush.

  What if the other group worked in tandem with the great cats? What if the First Folk had sent another team ahead, using cargo saucers to drop them? Now, the two teams corralled me. The great cats weren’t meant to kill or devour, but to push me into these others.

  I didn’t want to be a captive. I had no intention of going under interrogation. Yes, that would be better than dying; because one thing I’d learned, if you were a captive, you had a chance to escape. Still, the idea of falling into the First Folk’s hands—

  I scowled. The First Folk implanted antennae into beasts, creatures with unnaturally large braincases. The First Folk were the experimenting Nazis of the star lanes, doing all kinds of vile experiments.

  Hold it a sec, Bayard. You don’t know these others are bad guys. Maybe they’re wild ones and can help you.

  Should I take out the Colt and fire a shot, see how they responded? I shook my head. I wanted to hold whatever surprise I had until the last moment.

  Surprise was a force multiplier. Our arms instructors had taught us that if you could surprise your enemy, you could cause him to freeze or make a stupid decision. You could get the better of him more easily that way. When you surprised someone, a small force could often defeat a larger one.

  Therefore, I decided not to pull out my phasor yet, either. I’d save it for the flying saucers, if at all possible, or if I had to use it at the last moment against the great cats.

  I kept the phasor in my parka pocket and the Colt in its holster. I transferred two extra magazines into the parka pockets, though, ready to use. I didn’t have that many more bullets left. I didn’t want to waste a single one. Who knew when I’d have a chance to resupply?

  I headed for… I looked more carefully into the distance. The wind was staying down, a plus. Did that have anything to do with the nearby mountains? Were the weather patterns different in this part of the tundra? It would seem a possibility. I’d traveled fifty miles, so it could easily be different terrain.

  I glanced around and thought, you know, there’s less snow and ice. There was enough here to make it blindingly bright, but not the steep drifts that I’d had to avoid earlier.

  I studied the group…of Neanderthals, I assumed. I didn’t think Homo habilises would be tromping around in the snow. These guys wore great shaggy coats and possibly carried spears.

  There weren’t thirty of them, and certainly not one-fifty. I’d say there were more like ten of them. Most of them bent low to unhook leashes. Then they began to shout at me, their heavy voices drifting my way.

  My jaw dropped in astonishment. Trotting toward me were eight great shaggy beasts—what the others had unleashed. These weren’t Smilodons. They looked like massive dire wolves. They were shaggy and built on that stocky, more robust scale, like the beasts of the Pleistocene on Earth. They didn’t race but came toward me at a steady slink.

  I cursed and stopped.

  Five saber-toothed great cats came from one direction and eight huge dire wolves from the other.

  The dire wolves were much smaller than the Smilodons. The shaggy wolves were maybe two and a half feet high at the shoulders. It made them big shaggy beasts and monsters, and I didn’t want to have to kill them. But if they both came upon me, what in the world was I supposed to do?

  The Neanderthal shouts drifted from the cavemen in white shaggy garments. It was in the language of Garm. I didn’t understand them, though, as they were too far away. They seemed to beckon me, to race toward them. Did they want the honor of having captured me?

  Bayard, Bayard, you idiot. Maybe these are the wild ones. Maybe everything that Krull told you is right.

  I heard the drifting snarls of the great cats.

  Deciding I had nothing to lose, I put down my head and ran flat out for the eight dire wolves slinking toward me.

  -15-

  I ran with everything I had left, which turned out not to be a whole lot. My right foot must have hit a rock or divot. The shock of it caused my legs to collapse beneath me. I went flying, plowing into the snow.

  I didn’t stay like that for long, but scrambled around as I clawed the .45 out of its holster.

  The great cats were three football fields away, coming lumbering in their grotesque lope. I could feel their hatred washing over me. From the other direction, the eight dire wolves increased speed, baying like giant coyotes, a bone-chilling sound. The dire wolves ran fast, but it wasn’t beautiful as a wolf, coyote or even German shepherd would run. It was a heavy, semi-out-of-control run.

  Like the Smilodons, the dire wolves were built on the massive scale like the beasts of ancient times during the ice age of Earth. On Garm, it was today’s reality.

  The dire wolves didn’t look at me, but with bitter hatred at the great cats.

  The Neanderthals in their shaggy white coats ran with spears in hand. They had thick spears with chiseled stone heads. The Neanderthals shouted and motioned.

  I suppose they wanted me to get up instead of lying here like a fool.

  I climbed to my feet and discovered that my right knee hurt. I must have twisted it while going down. That was just great.

  I backed away at an angle from the dire wolves. I couldn’t do the same with the vicious great cats because they arrowed toward me.

  That nailed it. I decided to trust the dire wolves, hoping they wouldn’t attack me from behind. I faced the great cats. I’d killed some before. I was determined to kill more now.

  “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.”

  I don’t know why the saying from the Revolutionary War popped into my head, but it did, and it was good advice.

  The Colt wouldn’t do much at range against the shaggy beasts. Last time, I’d fired from close range. But then each had come at me one at a time. I wasn’t going to have that luxury today. I’d have to shoot fast and switch magazines faster.

  I rubbed my left hand on my parka to try to get some circulation into the fingers.

  The big cats didn’t put on an extra burst of speed. Instead, they seemed to marshal themselves. In fact, they slowed down, snarling back and forth.

  I had the distinct feeling they were discussing tactics, as how best to deal with the dire wolves, me and lastly with the approaching Neanderthals.

  I heard the rush of the dire wolves.

  Standing there exposed on the tundra, I knew this was a hundred times better than facing the Smilodons by myself.

  I dared look back.

  The dire wolves ignored me. Their eyes glittered distinctly on the five great cats.

  How did eight such animals think they could defeat five saber-toothed tigers? No, no, they’re not tigers, I told myself.

  Then it didn’t matter, for the dire wolves rushed the great cats.

  The great cats had halted and waited, spread out. The wolves snarled insanely, launching themselves with heroic fury against the mighty Smilodons. The great cats raised huge furry paws, slashing and smashing as the dire wolves lunged to grab them by the throats.

  Maybe if three or four dire wolves had gone against each sabertooth, there would have been a possibility they could have defeated the monstrous beasts. But eight against five—

  A dire wolf sank its teeth into the shoulder of a great cat. The beast gave a yowl of sound. A great, clawed paw smashed down, raking and opening the skin of the wolf. The first was a bad wound, the second a killing blow.

  The dire wolves sacrificed their lives to buy me a moment of respite.

  “Screw that,” I said.

  I raised the .45 and ran at the great cats. I’d better help the wolves because if I didn’t, the saber-toothed monsters would slay me next.

  I fired once, twice, and then three times.

  A bullet smashed the skull of a great cat, blasting fur, bone and gray matter. It went down.

  What a great feeling, fantastic elation.

  Unfortunately, I may have acted too late. Four of the dire wolves panted prone on the snow, bloody and flayed, dying or dead.

  I saw red and shouted “Hoorah,” charging. Blam, blam, blam. Another great cat went down.

  I yanked out the magazine and shoved in another.

  Three cats fought with monstrous and vicious valor. They took down the rest of the dire wolves.

  I rushed among them, firing, bringing down another great cat.

  There were only two left, going crazy. Suddenly, there were no dire wolves left standing. They were all lying prone or dead.

  The two bloody Smilodons panted, glaring at me with hatred.

  “You bastards,” I shouted, adding some other choice phrases.

  As I raved at them, I switched magazines yet again. I’d dropped one in the snow. I’d have to collect it later. I had a few extra bullets left in my pockets.

  I wiped sweat out of my eyes. Somewhere, I’d lost my Eskimo snow-glasses.

  Did I use my last bullets and dare to take out the great cats? They weren’t charging me. They were staring as if they were cataloging me.

  Were the images being sent back to a base in the mine? Did the Homo habilises—was there a Philip at the mine who would recognize me as Jake Bayard?

  I raised my gun, deciding it was time to end any such possibility.

  The two beasts turned and slunk away, throwing snarling glances back at me.

  I lowered the .45 and looked at the dire wolves around me. A few panted and tried to rise, but could not. They’d taken ghastly wounds. Entrails and blood were everywhere.

  Finally, nine—not ten—shaggy Neanderthals with sloping foreheads and huge noses race up. Some had scraggly beards. All struck me as older, not youngish like Krull or me. They stepped near and stared in bitter wonderment.

  Two went to the dire wolves, inspecting and praising them for their mighty valor. Then they stabbed with the stone-tipped spears, putting the wolves out of their misery.

  I holstered the .45.

  The leader, an older Neanderthal with red hair and a scraggly red beard, maybe 5’7”, much larger than his fellows and with immensely broad shoulders and huge hands, approached me. Pieces of fur covered the hands. He gripped an ugly-looking, stout spear.

  Six noticed and followed close behind. The leader stood before me with his fellows in a semi-circle behind.

  I put a gloved hand on my parka-clad chest. “I’m a friend.”

  “What are you?” the leader said. “You’re not one of us.”

  “My name’s Jake Bayard. I’m a Traveler. I came from Earth to Garm through the ziggurat.”

  He stared at me and stared longer. I had no idea what he was thinking. Finally, he leveled the spear at me. “I, Skarl, call you a liar. What do you say to that?”

  He had a deep, guttural voice, hard to understand at first.

  “A liar, huh?” I said. “Look, bud, I’ve run all night, I’ve shot down a flying saucer or two. You saw me kill three of the great cats.”

  “We saw. You used a fire-stick. You are clearly an agent of the First Folk.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “I’m not.”

  Maybe because of the exhaustion and everything else hitting me all at once, my knees gave out and I simply collapsed.

  -16-

  I was sore, tired, and now my shoulders ached. The reason for the last was that Skarl had ordered several of the others to bind my hands behind my back, which they had with leather cords. They’d also stripped me of my phasor, the special glasses, thermal blanket, Colt and rations.

  One of them showed a ration to the others and said, “From the mines.”

  Skarl nodded, as if of course I was from the mines. That seemed obvious to them.

  I thought it interesting these wild ones should know so much about the mines. I also thought it interesting a raiding party such as this would be composed of older dudes. I always figured in these primitive societies, the young would compose most of the raiders. I didn’t see any young Neanderthals among them, however.

  They left me my coat, thank goodness. One of them had put up my hood.

  They’d even taken the Eskimo sunglasses and woolen scarf, though they did allow me my gloves.

  We marched across snowy ground, heading back to wherever they’d come. The wind was clearly not as strong here.

  I walked. Two prodded me with spears, not with the spear tips, but with the ends. If I didn’t walk fast enough, they gave me a good thump with the end of the spear.

  I endeavored to keep up, even though I was weary, mainly from a long night of marching in the icy cold, and all the other events that had happened to me. Yes, the obelisk and the ziggurat landing had invigorated me, but I’d used up practically all of that to do my amazing feat of outrunning the Smilodons the entire night.

  We reached a crude sort of camp. Instead of Eskimos building igloos as they once did on Earth, these fellows had cut up frozen chunks of sod. They’d made a wind wall and lean-tos. The lean-tos had a wooden roof. That was a plus. There was actually wood on the planet, which indicated low bushes or trees.

  “Where’d you get the wood?” I asked.

  None answered.

  I noticed stones in a circle, and embers. I smelled cooked meat.

  “You know, I’m famished. I could use something to eat. I’ve been eating the rations for the last few days. Some real food would be good.”

  “Shut up,” Skarl said.

  “Hey, look, what’s the deal, huh?” I asked. “You sent your wonderful dire wolves to fight the cats for me, and I helped kill the cats. Shouldn’t you be happy or grateful, instead of tying me up and treating me like a prisoner?”

  “Do you know what ‘shut up’ means?” Skarl asked.

  “Sure, but what’s the point of all this? I came looking for you guys.”

  “For us, in particular?” asked Skarl. “How did you know of us?”

  “No, no, not you in particular,” I said. “I’ve been looking for the wild ones.”

  Skarl raised his eyebrows, which was a neat trick, given the ridge of bone all the Neanderthals had. He was clearly the biggest, maybe the toughest, and I took him to be the chieftain of this small—I guess it wasn’t a clan, but a tribe. I thought a tribe was supposed to be thirty or so people.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked. “Are you a hunting party? Are you trying to scout out the mines? What’s going on?”

  “Ha,” Skarl said, “as if you don’t know. This pretend, the guise you wear, it doesn’t fool us. You know that, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean my guise? Don’t you know I’m a man, a Homo sapiens?”

  “Bah, you’re a freak,” Skarl said. “You’re an experiment, run by the First Folk and sent to us to try to fool us into making foolish moves.”

  “Come on, how can you say that? Don’t you know what a Traveler is? How there used to be the Harmony of Planets? And we all used to go from one planet to the next, all of us?”

  “What fairy tale nonsense is this?” Skarl demanded. “It is just wild talk.”

  “Okay, wait, wait,” I said. “First, could you untie my hands? My ears itch. I’m chaffing to scratch them and my shoulders are aching. Your guys tied this rope far too tight.”

  “Do you wish to fight for the privilege?”

  “What do you mean fight?”

  “I mean wrestle, smack in the face, fight,” Skarl said. “Let us see, freak of the First Folk, whether you have any fighting prowess or whether you just use your fancy gadgets to kill your own creatures.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said. “This doesn’t make any sense. What are you, part of the Yellow Knives?”

  They all looked at each other with astonishment and then stared at me again.

  “Aha,” Skarl said, “now I see what you’re doing. You want all the women, is that it? You’re not content with those who live deep in your mines, turning them into whores. You want the free women as well. Know that you shall never find them, never.”

  “Wait a minute, what are you talking about? I thought the wild ones lived in huge tribes. That was what Krull told me.”

  “Krull, who is this Krull? You’re attempting to induce stupidity and ignorance in us.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I said. “Look, would you listen for just a minute? I came from a different world. I’m what you call a Homo sapiens. I’m a man. There used to be Neanderthals on my planet.”

  “The People live on your planet?” Skarl asked.

  “No. They died out.”

  “Oh, did you kill them? Is that what this is? You hate all the People and your freakish—what is wrong with your face? You stand tall, but you’re so skinny. You must be a weakling, a freak indeed. You do not even have hair as the First Folk do. Why did they make such a disgusting animal like you?”

  “Okay,” I said, “I can see we’re not going to get too far that way. Lemme see…look at my weapons. There’s the automatic and a phasor.”

  “We recognize the weapon of the First Folk. I wonder why they gave the phasor to you. Did they think that would make us believe somehow you’d escaped from them?”

  “Okay, Skarl. I guess I can’t say much of anything to convince you. What are you going to do to me?”

  “We haven’t decided yet. We’re thinking of killing you, maybe making you fight for sport.”

  “I killed some of the great cats, remember?”

  “That is puzzling. Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because I’m really fleeing from them,” I said. “I was really trying to escape. Would you let me tell my story at least before you make any of your wild plans?”