GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(93)
"Captain doesn't like to be pointed at," she observed. "Evidently not," MacArthur replied.
"But he pointed at me when we were outside," said Buccari, perplexed.
"Yeah, but he was uncomfortable," MacArthur replied, pointing his finger into the air. The cliff dwellers watched suspiciously. MacArthur moved his hand slowly in their direction. When MacArthur's finger was pointed at Captain, the creature gently pushed it aside. MacArthur nodded, and both cliff dwellers bobbed their heads up and down. Captain reached out and firmly grabbed MacArthur's hands, extending the Marine's fingers in a praying position. The cliff dweller, holding his own hands in the same manner, thrust them toward MacArthur, withdrew them, and then did the same toward Buccari. Pointing the long index finger on his four-fingered hand toward MacArthur, he shook his head and pulled his finger away, using his other hand.
"Interesting!" Buccari said, her hands together. "Pointing with one finger must be impolite."
"Progress," MacArthur said. "A good first step—proper manners."
A dark form in the snowy gloom moved across the tent opening.
"Mac, you there?" Chastain asked loudly.
The cliff dwellers recoiled at the booming voice.
Buccari spoke softly: "Chastain, move away from the tent. We have two of the animals in here." Chastain's shadowy hulk moved silently away. Buccari, using both hands, pointed to the tent entrance. The creatures nodded vigorously and scrambled through the opening. Buccari and MacArthur followed, the cliff dwellers already invisible in the snowy gloaming. Buccari looked up at MacArthur, feeling the warm spot on her thigh, where his knee had touched her. She was excited; they had taken another step in establishing contact with the strange animals, but her excitement was heightened by physical contact with her own kind.
"Good night, Corporal," she said, trying not to smile at the handsome face. She put her hands together in cliff dweller fashion and put them next to her cheek. Then she stuck out her fist with her thumb extended, jerked it over her shoulder and said, "Scram!"
"Aye, sir," MacArthur replied, moving away in the darkening snowfall.
"Oh, Mac, er . . . Corporal," Buccari called after him. "Yeah...Lieutenant," he replied, quickly turning.
"Tell everyone how to point. Wouldn't want any incidents."
MacArthur pointed as if firing a pistol. "You got it," he said.
She laughed and crawled into her tent, wearing her clothes against the penetrating chill. She climbed into her sleeping bag, sealed the thermal flaps, and zipped the bag over her head. Snow-muted laughter drifted in. Her stomach growled, but she fell into an exhausted coma of dreamless sleep.
* * *
The hikers awoke in the flat light before dawn, camped on the edge of the world. The blizzard of the previous evening had masked the proximity of the cliff face, mere paces from their tents. Cloudless skies arched high above, the air transparently clear. MacArthur studied the terrain. The rock wall of the river valley, covered with snow, appeared vertical with no hint of a trail. Beyond the precipice, past the sinuous gash of the great river, spread the rest of the world in virgin white, awaiting the sun's golden rays to pour over the eastern horizon. Visibility was limitless. Beyond the twin volcanoes, their sullen summits issuing wisps of sulfurous smoke, the plains rolled to infinity, softly white and featureless in their snowy mantle. Far, far away, on the distant northeastern horizon, beyond the curve of the planet, jagged tips of another mountain range bathed in the sharp, golden aura of daylight revealed the coming dawn.
MacArthur stared, mesmerized at the vast scale and depth of his vista. In outer space one could see infinite distances, but the view before him was more powerful. It was dimensionalized by finite objects, objects a human being could understand, objects that had weight and size, with a clearness and granularity far exceeding reasonable expectation. You could see a star, but you could never comprehend one. Intellectually maybe, but never viscerally.
The cold, dense air made his hearing acute; MacArthur detected the twitter and chirping of cliff dwellers, shrill and constant, as they hiked up the trail, their encampment cleanly evacuated. The loud voices and industrious clankings of the humans were amplified, every word, every syllable clear and distinct. The powdery snow squeaked plaintively under the souls of their boots. Heightened senses enhanced his feeling of physical power. He felt powerful—omnipotent. He felt alive.
"Daydreaming, Corporal? Sun's not even up," Buccari said. She slogged through the dry snow to his side, only paces from the brink. He looked down into her face, one rapture replaced by another. She had not put on her ragged scarf, and her complexion glowed with high color. The first spark of sun peeked over the horizon and flashed in her green eyes.