Ramón shook his head, but his mind refused to leave its track. This was another memory growing back. This time, though, he could think as well-observe the river, the Enye ships, the stars, the full moon hardly risen in the east. It was less like experiencing the thing again, and more like a powerful and autonomous daydream.
When they'd stepped onto the Enye ship, his first thought had been of how odd the place smelled-acid and salt and something reminiscent of patchouli. Palenki had bitched that it was giving him a headache, though that had probably been the cancer. They'd unloaded and stowed the equipment, found their way to their quarters by following the painted lines on the walls, eaten a small meal in the pleasant weight of the rocket acceleration, and taken to their couches when the klaxon sounded and the jump drives were set to warm up.
It had been the way Ramón had always imagined a stroke would feel. The world narrowed to a point, peripheral vision dimming, sounds growing distant, and then the discontinuity. He'd never been able to say what changed during a jump; everything could be in precisely the same place, a wrench he'd just dropped still partway to the floor, and still he knew-knew-that time had gone by. Quite a lot of time. That something had happened while he was unaware. He'd hated the feeling.
It was a week after that that he saw his first Enye. Ramón remembered Palenki's smile; knowing and smug and pleased with himself, as he'd gathered the work gang and instructed them on the etiquette their hosts expected. And then the thing had lumbered through the hatchway …
Ramón screamed. Then the memory was gone, nothing there but the river and the forest. His heart was tripping over fast, his grip on the field knife so hard that his knuckles ached. He scanned the tree line and the surface of the water, ready to attack or flee as if the Devil himself had risen up with a whip in one hand and a flaying knife in the other. The image of the Enye-huge, bouldershaped body; wet, oysterlike, inscrutable eyes; squirming fringes of cilia; incongruously tiny and delicate hands, like doll's hands, sprouting from its middle; barely visible pucker where its beak was hidden within its flesh-faded slowly from his mind and the electric fear abated. Ramón forced himself to laugh, but it came out thin and tinny. He sounded like a coward. He stopped and spat instead, anger filling his breast.
Maneck and that pale alien fuck in the hive had made a weakling of him. Just remembering the eaters-of-the-young was enough to make him squeak like a little girl!
"Fuck that," he said. There was a low growl in his voice that pleased him. "I'm not afraid of a goddamn thing!"
He was still in a foul mood when he got back to the campsite, which meant, he knew, that he'd have to be even more careful to avoid getting into a fight with his even more short-tempered and irritable twin. The fire was down to the embers, the other man still asleep on the ground nearby. With a flash of anger, Ramón realized that he'd have to take the first watch again. He threw a handful of leaves and tinder on the coals and slowly rebuilt a small fire. The flames hissed green and popped, but they cast light and warmth. Ramón knew that the fire was as likely to draw danger as to drive it away. He knew that the brighter it got, the harder it was to see beyond it, but he didn't care. He wanted some pinche light.
One of the moons rose, sailing slowly past the stationary Enye ships-that was Big Girl, to be followed before dawn by the smaller, closer-orbiting Little Girl. Ramón waited, brooding over how little cane had been cut and how many hours of work lay ahead, until the great pale disk was directly above them before he tried to wake the other man. Calling his name didn't work, and the effect of calling his twin "Ramón" was unsettling enough to keep him from trying it again. He went over and shook the man's shoulder. His twin groaned and pulled away.
"Hey," Ramón said. "I've been up half the fucking night. It's your watch."
The other man rolled onto his back, frowning like a judge.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice thick and sleep-drunk.
"Keeping watch," Ramón said. "I did the first watch. Now you get up and I'll sleep."
The other man lifted his ruined right hand as if to rub his eyes, snarled, and used his left instead. Ramón took a step back, waiting with growing impatience as the man failed to rise. When his twin spoke, his voice was clearer but thick with disdain.
"You're telling me you haven't gone to sleep? Are you fucking stupid? You think the fucking chupacabra is swimming across the river to get us? That's a candy-ass banker talking, all right. What a pussy! You want to watch, go ahead and watch. I'm sleeping."
And the man rolled back over, tucking his arm under his head like a pillow, his back to the fire. Rage hummed in Ramón's ears like wasps swarming. The impulse to roll the little shit back over and poke the knife into his neck until he saw reason warred with the desire to kick his kidney until he was pissing blood all the way back to Fiddler's Jump.
But if he did either one, he'd then have to follow up with handing the knife over and going to sleep vulnerable and defenseless a few feet from a pissed-off cabrón. Ramón growled low in the back of his throat, wrapped his robe closer around him, and went to find a place to sleep where any predators that happened on them would be likely to eat the other man first.
Morning came. Ramón groaned and rolled onto his back, his arm thrown over his eyes to keep the sunlight out for another minute more. His back ached. His mind was foggy and reluctant. The smell of the cook fire roused him. The other man had scrounged a handful of white-fleshed nuts and caught a fish, which he'd wrapped in monk ivy leaves and set in among the coals. It was an old trick for cooking when there was nothing to cook with. He'd forgotten it, or else not yet remembered.
"Smells good," he said. The other man shrugged and flipped the packet of ivy leaves onto its other side. Ramón could see his twin start to say something and then stop. It occurred to him that the meal hadn't been meant for two, but the other man was too embarrassed now to refuse to share. Ramón rubbed his hands together, squatted close to the fire, and grinned.
"Lot of work to do," the other man said. "Looks like we got enough cane, though."
"I cut some last night," Ramón said. "Some iceroot leaves for bedding and to make the roof. Then a few good branches for the fire pit. I figure we can get the sand from down on the river. Find a sandbar. That'll be better than just mud from the bank. And firewood."
"Yeah," the other man said. He plucked the ivy leaves out of the coals with his left hand, tossing the bundle up and down a little to keep his fingers from burning until it cooled. A few moments later, he cut it in half with the field knife-Ramón realized that the man had taken it from him while he slept-and sliced the packet in two. He handed Ramón the one with the fish's head.
The nuts were oily and soft. The fish's skin had hardened and cracked, thin as paper and salty. Its flesh was dark and flaky. Ramón sighed. It was good to eat something he hadn't had to prepare himself. He was glad the other man had been too chickenshit to refuse to share.
"How do you want to split this up?" the other man asked, gesturing at the pile of reddened cane with the knife. "You want to make the lean-to, and I'll go find the leaves? Maybe some good branches?"
"Sure," Ramón said, wondering as he did whether there was an angle he was overlooking. Gathering leaves and sticks was easier than construction, but he was the one with both hands to work with. And his twin had gotten up early to make the food. It almost made up for not taking the second watch. Without discussion, they both went to the river and washed their hands. The other man's hand looked worse than Ramón remembered it, but his twin didn't complain.
"I want you to know something," the other man said as he rewrapped his palm and the remaining fingers.
"Yeah?"
"I know we're in this together, you and me. And the work you do-getting the sug beetles, building the raft, all that shit? It's better with the two of us than just one, you know? But if you go through my pack one more time without asking, I'll kill you in your fucking sleep. Okay, partner?"
His twin locked eyes with him-irises so dark Ramón couldn't make out the pupils, the whites bloodshot and yellow as old soap. He didn't think for a second that the man was joking. Now that he thought about it, he knew what he'd think of some half-assed banker pawing through his stuff. He wondered if this was what it was going to be like, going back. Maybe he'd resent his twin having all his things. His knife, his pack. Even Elena, maybe.
"Okay," Ramón said. "I just didn't want to leave the knife dull, you know. It won't happen twice."
The other man nodded.
"I do need it, though," Ramón said. "The knife. I've got to strip bark to tie the cane with. And if I need to cut more … "
He shrugged. The other man growled without making a sound, and Ramón braced himself for violence. But the other man only spat into the water and handed the blade over, handle-first.
"Thanks," Ramón said, and tried for a placating smile. The other man didn't answer. Ramón went back to their little camp, the other man tramping off into the forest, presumably to gather the leaves and wood. Ramón waited until he was sure he was out of earshot before he muttered, "And fuck you too, ese ."