put the pastry in her hands.
“Don’t leave me,” she said.
He turned away from her and walked the few feet over the wet plank road to the vicinity of the sled, with its broad runners. Pons clustered about him.
“I do not know how long it will take to reach the Pon village,” said Rodriguez. “I can’t seem to get that out of the little bastards. I think we had better get started.”
The Pons outside the fence, at their camp, their work done, now seemed ready to depart, as well. Several of them stood there, tiny, clustered together, with their burdens. They seemed a dismal, forlorn crew, in the half light, in the rain, in their damp hoods, their wet, gray garb, like apparitions come from the forests, insubstantial like the fog which swirled about them, things only partly real. The Pons about them, though, seemed real enough, like small animals, pressing, urgent, tugging. Perhaps there was some place of safety they hoped to reach by nightfall, some cliff, or cave, where they might perch, or hide, until the morning, until they resumed their journey. Brenner did not think that their village, or villages, were close to Company Station. Everything he had heard suggested that that was not the case. It was supposed to take them days to reach the station. To be sure, they had short legs, and one of Brenner’s or Rodriguez’ species might cover the same ground in less time. How primitive were the Pons thought Brenner. Rodriguez had had to explain the sled to them. They did not even make use of the wheel. To be sure, wheeled vehicles would presumably not be particularly practical in the forests. There would be no roads there, at best, narrow trails.
“Let us be on our way,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner reached to one of the ropes. They were lifted now, one on either side of the sled, by Pons.
“No,” said Rodriguez. “They will do that.”
Brenner looked back to the woman.
“Don’t leave me!” she called. “I love you!”
He turned away from her. He must be strong. He must forget her.
“I hate you!” she cried. “I hate you!”
Rodriguez, with a wave of his arm, indicated that the Pons should proceed. The sled, with a squeak on the wet wood, began to move. It would not be a heavy weight for the Pons to draw, as there were several of them on the ropes. Rodriguez shook hands with the operator, who then climbed back to his tower. Brenner saw the sled slip down from the plank road onto the mud and gravel outside the gate. This made a different sound as the runners passed over mud and rock. In a moment then Rodriguez, too, had passed through the double gate. He followed the sled. After all, he did not know the way to the village, or villages. Only the Pons knew, now, thought Brenner. That would be different later.
He noted the line of march, azimuthlike, with relation to the detectable, but veiled position of Abydos’ star at the time of morning. To be sure, this would give him little more than a direction, which might be reversed. And a direction might be easily confused, if only by a degree or two, which, over a lengthy distance, could produce an error which might not be inconsiderable. Too, if the Pons were as secretive and shy as it seemed they might be, their village might not even lie in the direction they set out. Indeed, they might utilize various shifts in direction, to make it difficult for strangers to retrace the journey. On the other hand, Brenner was not really worried about this sort of thing. He could depend on Rodriguez. He and Rodriguez had discussed the matter, even on the ship. Rodriguez, of course, had a compass, and would make a map of the journey, jotting down landmarks and, as he could, distances from point to point. In this way the simple stratagems of the Pons, if they saw fit to employ such, might easily, and without their knowledge, as they would not understand such things, be circumvented. How innocent and simple were the small creatures.
“I hate you!” he heard from behind him, and her sobbing.
He looked up at the light on the tower. It was now flashing green. The operator would not activate the field, of course, while anyone was visibly within its circuits, but, Brenner gathered, this was his way of suggesting to him that it was time for him to be on his way.