He could not refuse the aliens. The demonstration of the pain his leash could deliver had convinced him of that. But there was a long history of labor protests in which things simply took a longer time and more materials than expected. Slowdowns. Ramon might have to be on the job for these devils, but he didn't have to be a good worker. He would move slowly, explain the fine points of pissing and shitting and hunting and trapping for as long as Maneck would allow it. Every hour Ramon could waste was another one that the lawman had to make his return to civilization and send help back. How things would unfold once that had happened, Ramon didn't know.
He shook his penis twice as long as was truly required, then let the robe drop back down to cover his knees. Maneck's great head shifted, but whether this was a sign of approval or disgust, Ramon had no way to tell.
"You are complete?" Maneck asked.
"Sure," Ramon said. "Complete enough for the moment."
"You have other needs?"
"I'll need to find fresh water to drink," Ramon said. "And some food to eat."
"Complex chemical compounds which can be harvested of their potential to facilitate flow and prevent pooling," Maneck said. "This is mehiban. How will you manufacture this?"
"Manufacture? I'm not going to make it. I'm going to catch it. Hunt for it. What is it you devils do?"
"We consume complex chemical compounds. These are ae euth'eloi. Made things. But the oekh I have would not nourish you. How do you obtain food? I will allow you to procure it for yourself."
Ramon scratched his arm and shrugged.
"Well, I'm going to kill something. I'd try making a sling, maybe killing a flatfur or dragonjay, but I've got this fucking thing in my neck. You wouldn't want to take it out of me, just long enough I can show you how this is done?"
Maneck stood unresponsive as a tree.
"Didn't think so, monster. It's trapping, then. It might take a little longer, but it will do. Come on."
In fact, the fastest and easiest thing would have been to gather up sug beetles as he had the other night. He had seen a few even this deep under the forest canopy. Or a half hour of gathering would have gotten him enough mianberry to make a small meal; this far north, you could pick them off the trees by the handful. Feeding off the land wasn't hard. The amino acids that had built up the biosphere of S?o Paulo were almost all identical to those on Earth. But that would have been simple, and would have allowed them to move quickly on to whatever the next phase of their hunt would be. So, instead, Ramon taught the alien how to trap.
His equipment had, of course, been destroyed with his van. If the thought had truly been that he should catch his dinner easily and well, that would have enraged him. Since his intention now was to stall, it only made him peevish. The bastard things had destroyed his van, after all.
Ramon scrounged through the underbrush for the raw material of a snare: whipvine, a few longish sticks seasoned enough to break but green enough to bend first, a handful of S?o Paulo's nut equivalent - a sticky bole that smelled of honey and resin - to act as bait. He was annoyed to find that all this hurt his fingers, which had been as tough as old leather; the syrup bath in which the aliens had soaked him must have melted away the calluses on his hands as well, leaving his fingers ill-prepared for real work. Through it all, Maneck watched in silence. Ramon found himself explaining the process as he went. The pressure of the thing's unspeaking regard made him jumpy.
When at last Ramon had the snares in place, he led Maneck back into the underbrush to wait for some unsuspecting animal to happen by. It was unlikely to take long; the animals this far north were naive, unfamiliar with traps, never having been hunted by humans before, and so were easy to catch. Still, he would stall for as long as he could before checking the traps.
They sat well in among the branches, Maneck watching him with what seemed sometimes like profound curiosity, sometimes like impatience, but was likely an emotion Ramon had never felt or heard named.
"The food-thing comes to you to be ended?" Maneck said in its sad, sonorous voice.
"Not if you keep making a