Free Inferno by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle Page B

shore, doubled over.
    The woman’s lower lip was just at the surface of the water. She held her arm straight out, fist clenched. “Don’t make waves,” I told her sourly as I passed. She didn’t respond, and she still looked dead. Water streamed from her nose.
    I didn’t stop for any more catatonics. Gradually I was able to straighten up. Benito followed patiently, carrying both bundles, both of us wading thigh-deep in water. I ignored the floating garbage. It wasn’t getting me any dirtier than I already was.
    The texture of the bottom had changed. Beneath a film of frictionless mud there were tilted slabs that had sharp corners and tended to slide . . . I stopped. Benito stopped behind me.
    I said, “Feel that?”
    Benito didn’t get it. “What should I feel?”
    “Himuralibima’s Ford, that’s what! No telling how far it goes, but it should get us a good distance across the swamp. Here, give me that.” I took one of the bundles and started into the swamp. The footing was chancy, the slabs tended to slide, but it was better than swimming.
    And I, feeling that I had earned the right to brag, bragged. “All along I wondered where the dried mud was going. It’d shrink a little when the water evaporated, but even so, that bay is huge . Where do they dump the slabs after Himuralibima gives up? Maybe I’d find a mountain of them. Or maybe they don’t want a pile of ruined clay slabs in their working area. Maybe they’re afraid of getting ticked off for sloppiness.
    “So, I was right. Someone’s been dumping the slabs in the bay. Every hundred years he has to walk a little farther. Otherwise they’d show above the surface.”
    “Very clever, Allen.”
    “ Thank kew.” No telling how far it would go, but we were a good distance into the swamp, and the water was only up to our calves. Hold your breath and make a wish, Carpentier. Or just hold your breath, the water could be over your head any second .
    W
    e were nearly across before it ended. The slabs dipped, and I followed the dip, walking on eggs, with the stack of robes balanced on my head. I was chin deep where the mud turned squishy soft.
    So far, so good. I found an underwater ridge and followed that, going waist deep, then higher. I was wading ashore, with Benito behind me, when our luck ran out.
    The broad-shouldered man who blocked our path was the same who’d blocked our path before. He shied back when he recognized us, and then he saw our situation and grinned.
    I turned back to Benito. “Mind if I try this?”
    “If you think it will help.”
    “I wrote science fiction, remember? I ought to be able to explain a complicated idea to a moron.”
    I hadn’t lowered my voice. The broad-shouldered man advanced on us, saying, “Who’s a moron?”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “You’ve worse problems than that. Remember the flying lesson?”
    His grin was back. “I’d like to see old Benito try that with his arms full of bedsheets!”
    “He won’t be able to,” I said, keeping my speech slow and distinct. “He’ll have to put them down. In the swamp.” Pause. “They’ll get all dirty.” Pause. “Imagine what that will do to his temper.”
    I watched his eyes. It was getting through to him. I said, “Why don’t you step aside while you think it over?”
    “Some guys would rather talk than fight,” he said contemptuously. He turned and stalked back to his point of high ground.

II
    With open and steady wings to the sweet nest
Fly through the air by their volition borne

12
    T
    hings are definitely looking up for Allen Carpentier.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Benito was looking out at the marsh, at decaying trees embedded in fog.
    “We’ve got a quiet place to work, I’ve made some flint tools, and there’s everything we need for the glider. What more could we want?”
    Benito sighed, and I got back to work. The first job was to find a place to loft the glider. We were on a little area of high ground, no more than