I liked Agga. I felt compelled to heal Ouawei. Without a thought to the contrary, I fell in head first. I was involved. They were, after all, a Huim species. They were real people, and real companionship had me hooked. I felt comfortable with Agga, and my heart went out to Ouawei. That is why, after feeding Cloud, I found myself once again in the dump.

My palm light pierced the darkness as I closed the door behind me. The smell of dust and old artifacts was a slap in the face. I followed a short trail to the central pile, groaning inwardly. I thought to myself, if there is a translator, it's surely in the exact center of the pile and at the very bottom.

On my previous visits, climbing through the great heap was perilous. It was tedious. I did find a saddle on one of my visits; I acknowledged the benefit, but I also remembered coming away with scrapes and bruises. Wincing, I placed a hand on the accumulation of old items.

I asked in complaint, “Why does everything end up in the dump?”

The GM spoke in the taunting voice of my father. “Do you even know what a translator looks like?”

I answered with an emphatic, “Yes.”

Contact with the heap caused a small avalanche. Items spilled around my feet, and I was worried more would follow. I lifted an item and shone my light on it. While it was the basic size of a translator, it was only a broken air mask.

The GM said, “You're doing it all wrong, son. Use your sight.” I could have kicked myself. Of course, all I had to do was use my father's power of sight.

I stepped from the lift, translator in hand. I could see that the body fastened over the throat, with a stem for the mouth. I could also see there was no charge, the device was dead.

I said, “I found a translator but it's dead.”

The GM answered, “Charge it at the GUF.”

At the GUF, I opened a small tray on the side furthest from the lift and dropped the translator inside. The red light cycled to green, and I was surprised how quickly the recharge happened. I smiled as I withdrew the device; I like it when things are easy.

I had all my essentials packed at the barn. I tied my gear to Cloud, checked my weapons, and walked Cloud to the ramp. I said to the GM, “Protect the ship.”

The GM replied, “You can count on me.”

I led Cloud down the ramp, mounted, and headed north. I knew the way and soon found myself at the stream. My trap was still empty. When the village came into view, I could see the men gathered with spears. I was hard to miss, and word spread like fire. Before I reached the village, Agga ran to meet me.

The man was clean. He wore different skins. His hair was tied into braids, and he wore on his head a wreath of purple leaves. By the time I dismounted, Agga smiled and tapped his chest, which made me notice the wooden figure hanging from his neck. He was happy and I knew he would be even happier when he saw what I brought. Chattering, he took my arm and pulled me into the village. Cloud followed. I switched on the translator.

The earpiece was hidden in my hair, and the stem was beneath my beard. The translation was almost instantaneous, and when Agga first heard me speak his language, he stopped, turned, and gaped.

As we approached the shack, Agga said, “Ouawei holds no hope, but honors the word of Jeez.”

I said, “I have medicine for his eyes. He will see again.”

After pausing to gape, Agga said, “You speak our tongue.”

Rather than explain science, I chose the shorter path and said, “I wear a magic necklace.”

We were by the shack. The fire smoldered. Agga stepped close to see. I held up a warning hand and nodded at the shack as a prompt.

Agga turned to the shack and called out in a loud voice. “Old wise man, It is Agga. The man returns.”

I asked, “Is Ouawei your shaman?”

Agga turned and answered in earnest, “Ouawei knows much. He is last of Moutok people.”

I asked, “Are you the chief?”

Agga shook his head. He said, “Ouawei guides. I train.”

The young women helped Ouawei from the shack, holding his arms. He sat by the fire. The women fanned the flame while the blind man smiled in my direction. He said, “Strong man speaks. Will you make Ouawei see?”

I said, “I am glad you are well, Ouawei. I have brought medicine for your eyes.”

Ouawei asked, “Are you a god?”

“No,” I replied, “but my people have great knowledge. If you are ready to see, I will ask two things.”

“Ouawei is ready,” said the blind man.

I knelt by the fire and opened the pouch I brought with me. I said, “I will ask Ouawei to lay on his back, and I will ask water to be brought.”

One of the young women brought out the clay water pot while Agga helped Ouawei to stretch out by the fire. I opened a small bottle and soaked a strip of cloth. I said to Ouawei, “Relax.” I put a drop into each eye and said, “Close your eyes.”

I returned my bottle to the pouch and hooked it to my belt. Noticing that the entire village stood behind me, I gently massaged Ouawei's eyes. No one spoke. I rubbed the old man's eyes in a circular fashion until I could feel the scales move beneath his eyelids.

I held out my hand and said, “Water.”

I poured water into each eye washing away the cloudy scales. I dried them with a strip of cloth and took Ouawei's hand to raise him up. The old man blinked hard. He looked about attempting to focus, and his lips pulled back from bad teeth. Ouawei's face was slack, and his joy was evident. What I did was such a small thing, but it meant so much.

“Ouawei sees,” proclaimed the old man.

All around me, the village cheered, laughed, and cried, sharing Ouawei's joy.

Needless to say, there was another celebration. There was much laughter and loud conversation. They sang songs that didn't rhyme. Everyone wanted to touch me.

I called Agga to sit beside me. He sat with a smile; a young female sat beside him Agga said, “My woman, Omer.”

I acknowledged her with a smile, and said to Agga, “I have a gift for you.”

I took a small piece of unused firewood and pulled from my belt an iron dagger with an oak handle. I shaved some wood from the stick to show the sharpness of the blade before handing it over.

“It's very sharp,” I said.

He examined the gift with wide eyes. He tested the edge, the weight, and the balance. He puzzled over the strange material; he had never seen iron. Agga took the stick from my hand, easily shaved off slivers, and shared a smile with Omer.

I said to him, “I have more. We can trade.”

Agga dropped the stick and looked into my eyes. He replied, “We have nothing.”

I said, “You have fruit, skins, baskets, dried meat, and fish. I have medicines, cloth, and, well, I have many things.”

Agga's eyes moved between me, Omer, and the knife. It was obvious that my gift had enlarged him. Smiling and speechless, Agga sat nodding his head.

Ouawei had been engaged in the examination of villagers' faces. He returned to the fire with joy, his young women helping him to sit, bringing food and water.

Agga moved to his side. “Old man,” said Agga. “Jeez give Agga very sharp.”

Ouawei took and examined the dagger with sage appreciation. “Good. Good,” said Ouawei with an exaggerated nod. “Big friend. High up.”

Agga said, “Jeez will trade for fruit and meat.”

Turning the dagger in his thick hands, Ouawei looked into my eyes. He quietly contemplated the possibilities as he held my gaze. Then he said, “Tau'tar people in Jeez' shadow. Big honor.”

Returning the dagger, Ouawei lifted two fingers to trace the sky from east to west. A changing breeze blew smoke in my face, and the star dimmed behind passing clouds as he said, “Two days we hunt. Jeez go with men.”

I felt unworthy of their deference, but my heart was gladdened. It was as if they saw me as one of their own. They were kind people, and noble, with a largeness of spirit. While they awaited my reply, the women fanned the flame and placed bear meat in the fire. I smiled and it seemed they took that for a yes. Ouawei spread his hands and the village cheered.

Agga moved to my side and said, “Jeez ride Clowed.”

Over the next two days, and yes, I began to think of rotations as days, I got to know the people of the village. There was Miga, Agga's father, renowned for his kills in the hunts. Miga was sinewy, with cropped ratty hair, and a scar on the left side of his face. There was Omer, Agga's woman, who labored over a garden in which no one else showed an interest. The shaman was gentle and wise, the people cared for their elders, and the children showed respect.

I arrived early on the morning of the hunt. I sat by Ouawei's smoldering fire and viewed the village through a light fog. The star was just rising as I sat on the cold earth and took note of the camp ruts. I could see where people walked the most, the paths they preferred. I watched the men weigh in with each other, testing spears for the hunt. I saw women bring skins to their men.

Cloud stood by the small stream, his mane twitching. I watched his breath trouble the fog. Then, I saw Agga among the men. He saw me sitting alone and called me over. I led Cloud to the hunting party, a group of thirty men, intense and eager.

Agga pointed north and said, “We go.”

With Agga in the lead and the men following, I rode into the quiet hills north of the village. Agga took us along a well-worn trail as the sun rose into the sky and burned away the fog. It was still early when Agga called us to a stop. I dismounted and joined the men crouching behind shrubs. On a distant hill, I could see a herd of small reddish and gray-brown deer. Agga pointed left and right.

Miga led ten men to the right, and Durmol led ten men to the left. Durmol was a man of imposing presence. Nine of us were left as Agga turned to me with a brief explanation. “Men go behind dara. Drive them to us. We kill males, leave young and mothers.”

With a wave of Agga's hand, we spread out and took position.

On my first ever hunt, my senses were alert. Images were sharp, and sounds were crisp. The men close to me,  gave smelled of campfire smoke. I clearly heard the distant scream of a predator.

I waited a quarter turn when suddenly the herd bolted my way. I held my breath and drew a gun from the back of my belt. I could see the other men running behind the deer, waving their spears. The sound of hooves, at first distant, became a vibration rising through my feet. Momentarily lost to sight, the animals suddenly crested our hill and startled me.

The men around me jumped from hiding, yelling bravely. Spears found targets among the confused herd. Some ran the way they came only to be brought down by the men behind them. Does and fawns scattered into the trees. Agga retrieved his spear and gave chase to a buck. Antlers came my way; I aimed and fired. As the buck fell at my feet, I saw Durmol chasing another toward me. Following on Durmol's heels, with a loud cry, came Mishdima, a man of lesser stature.

I took aim at the wild buck they chased, but what happened next, no one could have foretold. Large brown cats jumped from the surrounding flora and took down Durmol and Mishdima. There was a fearful tightness in my chest as I ran forward screaming. The buck leaped away from me at the last moment. I ran firing. I hit the biggest of the two cats several times. I hit the other at least once. The big cat stumbled and fell. The lesser cat, with Mishdima's head in its jaws, tried to get away.

Just then, the men returned, answering my call for help. They fell on the two cats with stone tips and rage. Miga stabbed the big cat repeatedly with his spear as Agga and others followed the lesser cat. Efforts, though brave and desperate, were nonetheless too late. Both men were dead, and all we could do was drag them back to camp with the dead animals. Miga howled; Durmol was his brother.

I was no stranger to loss. The moaning howls of the hunting party resonated deeply. My clothing was red with Durmol's and Mishdima's blood. Their blood stained the beautiful white coat of my horse as we carried them home. The joy of the hunt was lost.

The men carried gutted bucks between them as they sang a quiet dirge. Even Cloud seemed grim as he dragged the dead cats by a rope. Miga walked beside Cloud and kept a hand on his brother. I could imagine the weeping of Durmol's and Mishdima's wives. I could imagine the howling of the village and the stunned wide eyes of children. 

My imagination was swept aside by a scream. Seemingly from nowhere, mud-covered men with wicker masks made a crazed dash at the hunting party. Cloud reared in fright, dumping the dead bodies in an unceremonious heap. Wild warriors ran at us with bronze swords, and while I fought to hold Cloud, the hunting party raised their spears. They ran immediately to meet the enemy. I drew a gun and shot a man as he bore down on me. Miga attacked the masked men of mud with a howl. Agga stabbed a masked man and gave chase to another. Both sides fought with a ferocity I had rarely witnessed, but the hunting party prevailed.

We hurried. We placed Durmol and Mishdima over Cloud's back, and men hefted the dead bucks to make a run for the village. As the village came into view, we were assaulted by the bitter smoke of burning flesh. Our ears heard the weeping of women. The village lay in ruin. Dead bodies littered a once lively community, as a group of masked men gathered around a woman and the man in the center of them raped her.

I had a gun in each hand, scattering the enemy. Spears flew, and the hunting party raged against the masked men. Agga, like a wild man, slashed with his new dagger until he dropped to his knees by the cowering and weeping woman; it was Omer. Two of the masked men fled, running for the trees. I followed. I had no problem overtaking them. I switched from my guns to the stasis pen, dropping them before they could turn to fight. As healthy as I was, it had been a hard run. I leaned against a tree to catch my breath. I heard no battle from the village, only weeping.

I took the men by the hair and dragged them back. Men sat with their dead in their arms. They rocked in denial. Some cried, some howled. I dropped the mud men and bound their hands. When I stood and turned, Agga was before me. His dirty face was streaked by tears. His eyes were red and his breathing was labored as he gripped the dagger in his hand. I could feel his rage.

Softly, with menace in his voice, Agga said, “I kill them.”

I said, “No. These men are mine.”

“They hurt Omer,” said Agga, and I could hear the anguish in his voice.

I stepped to Agga and looked into his eyes. I said, “These men will take me to their village. All of them will pay.”

Agga sank to his knees. I joined him, seeing tears roll down his face. I held my peace as he calmed himself with gasping breaths. I placed a hand on his shoulder and waited. When he opened his eyes, he spoke with restraint.

“Ouawei dead,” he said.

I felt sad for Agga. His wife had been ravaged, his teacher murdered. A village of nearly one hundred now numbered but a few. The old and the children had been butchered. I felt many things, but mostly, I felt anger.