"Ouch, this water's cold," Goldberg said, squatting next to the gurgling spring, rinsing fish entrails from her hands. Fat lake fish lay beheaded and gutted on the rocks. A hunter perched near-by, watching with obvious interest. Dawson had named him Bluenose.
"Chief Wilson's got a pot of water on the fire," Dawson said, cleaning her knife in the sand. "Let's see if we can clean off some of this smell."
"I feel like I've been gutting fish all my life," Goldberg moaned.
"Cheer up," Dawson said, throwing Bluenose a piece of fish. The hunter deftly caught it in his long jaw and swallowed it whole. "Hudson says today is our anniversary. We've been here one Earth year."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Goldberg asked, looking up at the sound of a tree crashing to the ground. Tookmanian and Schmidt were clearing timber up the hill. Downhill, near the cove beach, Lee and Mendoza tilled black, muddy soil, only recently uncovered by receding lake waters. Oneof the tall dwellers—a gardener—scurried about, hoe in hand and a satchel of seeds about its neck.
"Give me a hand, little momma," Dawson pleaded, collecting her gear, including a pistol. At least one person in every work group was armed; the cove's largest drawback was the number of Gargantuan bears that still considered it their territory. Two grizzled monsters had already paid with their truculent lives; their furs stretched on tanning frames downwind from the tents.
"Damn, Nancy, are you getting big!" Goldberg exclaimed, helping the awkward Dawson to her feet, both ladies grunting like teamsters. Dawson' s clothes no longer fit, and she was draped with loose furs and hides. Makeshift robes shifted indelicately as Dawson gained her feet. Above a pair of men's space boots rose the twin pillars of her bare white legs, sharply-muscled and covered with fine red hair. A tangle of pelts attempted to cover her heavy-boned frame and distended belly. Her freckled, coarse features were sunburned. An explosion of fiery red hair shot from her head.
"A pregnant cave woman!" Goldberg hooted.
"Don't tease, Pepper!" Dawson pleaded. "You ain't no bargain."
"Thank you," Goldberg replied with exaggerated sophistication, posturing a lean body that had been made hard and wiry by unending work.
"Let's haul this bear bait up to the tents," Dawson said, eyeing the opportunistic hunter. "Can't leave it here."
"I stink," Goldberg whined, putting the cleaned fish into a basket. They walked uphill to the tent circle, where the odors of wood smoke and leather blended flagrantly. Fenstermacher, laboring with strips of precious hide, sat on the ground next to the cook fire. He struggled to stitch two strips together, binding them around a wooden frame.
"Brat's awake," Fenstermacher grumbled, concentrating on his work. "She's making noises. Already makes more sense than her old man, but what ain't smarter than a Marine?"
"Thanks for watching her, Winnie," Goldberg said, putting the fish next to the fire and taking a dipper of hot water. After washing the scales from her hands, Goldberg leaned into one of the tents. Honey lay on her back, nestled in furs, playing with her toes. Goldberg leaned over and grabbed the brown infant, saddling it on her hip.
A layer of clouds scudded darkly overhead, threatening more rain. They had already seen one ferocious storm. Goldberg draped a plush nightmare skin over Honey's back. The baby clung tightly to her mother.
"I can't believe Shannon is letting you use those hides to build a boat," Dawson said. "What a waste."
Fenstermacher squinted in concentration, a length of rawhide in his mouth. He mumbled something obscene.
A monotonous thumping drifted across the clearing; Tookmanian and Schmidt still labored at the forest's edge, their axes arcing in the sharp light. Uphill from the tents, near the gushing springhead, sat Chief Wilson, his ample bottom firmly planted on a stump carved into a chair, a dweller ax at his feet. Buccari and Shannon stood with him, gesturing with sweeping motions. Tonto, Buccari's ubiquitous companion, perched on a fallen log.
"Hey, Chief," Goldberg shouted, "I'm tired of women's work. All we do is sew and clean fish."
Wilson and Buccari turned. Shannon was already facing the women, his eyes affectionately on Dawson. Wilson was wet with perspiration.
"Too damn bad, Goldbrick!" Wilson snapped. "I don't know what to say. Here!" He reached down and grabbed the ax, throwing it at Goldberg's feet. Tonto' s head jerked upwards. "Take my job and chop and haul those logs. I'll be happy to do a little sewing. Yeah! And after I get some sewing done, I'll still have time for my other job. Yeah! Real man's work—cooking!"