Genesis | Page 7

the wind in their faces, and they
advanced more rapidly.
"Close enough?" Dard whispered to Analea.
"Yes; I'm taking the one that's lagging a little behind."
"I'm taking the one on the left of it." Kalvar Dard fitted a javelin to the hook of his
throwing-stick. "Ready? Now!"
He leaped to his feet, drawing back his right arm and hurling, the throwing-stick giving
added velocity to the spear. Beside him, he was conscious of Analea rising and propelling
her spear. His missile caught the little bearded pony in the chest; it stumbled and fell
forward to its front knees. He snatched another light spear, set it on the hook of the stick
and darted it at another horse, which reared, biting at the spear with its teeth. Grabbing
the heavy stabbing-spear, he ran forward, finishing it off with a heart-thrust. As he did,
Varnis slung her carbine, snatched a stone-headed throwing axe from her belt, and
knocked down another horse, then ran forward with her dagger to finish it.
By this time, the herd, alarmed, had stampeded and was galloping away, leaving the dead
and dying behind. He and Analea had each killed two; with the one Varnis had knocked
down, that made five. Using his dagger, he finished off one that was still kicking on the
ground, and then began pulling out the throwing-spears. The girls, shouting in unison,
were announcing the successful completion of the hunt; Glav, Olva, and Dorita were
coming forward with the children.
* * * * *

It was sunset by the time they had finished the work of skinning and cutting up the horses
and had carried the hide-wrapped bundles of meat to the little brook where they had
intended camping. There was firewood to be gathered, and the meal to be cooked, and
they were all tired.
"We can't do this very often, any more," Kalvar Dard told them, "but we might as well,
tonight. Don't bother rubbing sticks for fire; I'll use the lighter."
He got it from a pouch on his belt--a small, gold-plated, atomic lighter, bearing the crest
of his old regiment of the Frontier Guards. It was the last one they had, in working order.
Piling a handful of dry splinters under the firewood, he held the lighter to it, pressed the
activator, and watched the fire eat into the wood.
The greatest achievement of man's civilization, the mastery of the basic, cosmic, power
of the atom--being used to kindle a fire of natural fuel, to cook unseasoned meat killed
with stone-tipped spears. Dard looked sadly at the twinkling little gadget, then slipped it
back into its pouch. Soon it would be worn out, like the other two, and then they would
gain fire only by rubbing dry sticks, or hacking sparks from bits of flint or pyrites. Soon,
too, the last cartridge would be fired, and then they would perforce depend for protection,
as they were already doing for food, upon their spears.
And they were so helpless. Six adults, burdened with seven little children, all of them
requiring momently care and watchfulness. If the cartridges could be made to last until
they were old enough to fend for themselves.... If they could avoid collisions with the
Hairy People.... Some day, they would be numerous enough for effective mutual
protection and support; some day, the ratio of helpless children to able adults would
redress itself. Until then, all that they could do would be to survive; day after day, they
must follow the game-herds.

4
For twenty years, now, they had been following the game. Winters had come, with
driving snow, forcing horses and deer into the woods, and the little band of humans to the
protection of mountain caves. Springtime followed, with fresh grass on the plains and
plenty of meat for the people of Kalvar Dard. Autumns followed summers, with
fire-hunts, and the smoking and curing of meat and hides. Winters followed autumns, and
springtimes came again, and thus until the twentieth year after the landing of the
rocket-boat.
Kalvar Dard still walked in the lead, his hair and beard flecked with gray, but he no
longer carried the heavy rifle; the last cartridge for that had been fired long ago. He
carried the hand-axe, fitted with a long helve, and a spear with a steel head that had been
worked painfully from the receiver of a useless carbine. He still had his pistol, with eight
cartridges in the magazine, and his dagger, and the bomb-bag, containing the big
demolition-bomb and one grenade. The last shred of clothing from the ship was gone,
now; he was clad in a sleeveless tunic of skin and horsehide buskins.

Analea no longer walked beside him; eight years before, she had broken her back in a fall.
It had been