Hope of Earth (3 page)
Authors: Piers Anthony
Sam tried to explain. “Far,” he said, indicating the valley beyond them. That meant that they intended to go beyond the territory of this band, to reach their own band.
“Go!” Bub repeated. He bent down to pick up a rock.
Sam recognized the challenge. He would have fought, had he been grown. Had he not been hot and tired. Had there not been too many adults before him, and only children behind him. But as it was, he had to retreat.
He turned, and the children turned with him, weary but knowing they had no choice. Outsiders could not enter the territory of a hostile band without getting beaten or killed. So they started to walk away.
All except Flo. “Bad,” she said, for a moment standing up to Bub, letting him know her sentiment.
Then something unexpected happened. Bub looked closely at Flo, sniffing, then grabbed her. She screeched in protest, thinking he was attacking her. He was, but not in the way she supposed. He wrapped his arms around her body, hauled her up, and threw her down on the ground. This was easy for him to do, because he was twice her size, being a grown male.
Sam leaped to Flo’s defense, but another bent-knee male caught him and held him, pinning his arms to his sides. The male might not be able to stride as well as Sam on the plain, but he had more strength in his body than Sam did, and Sam was helpless. The children didn’t dare even voice a protest. They could only watch what Bub was doing with Flo.
Bub dropped to the ground, holding Flo there. He hauled his body on top of hers. She screeched again and struck at him, but her small arms hardly affected his strong body. She lifted her head, snapping at him. Then he closed one fist and struck her in the face, stunning her. She stopped screeching and lay still, her arms and legs relaxing. He hauled his pelvis in close to hers and jammed in between her spread legs.
Suddenly Sam recognized what Bub was doing. He was mating with her. Not in the manner of a male of the home band, sharing joy with a grown female of the band, but as an act of aggression against a foreign female. He had smelled her dawning maturity and done it.
It was quickly over. Bub got up, leaving Flo lying on the ground, her limbs twitching. She turned her head from side to side, and groaned. She didn’t know exactly what had happened.
The one holding Sam let go. The others were holding stones they were ready to throw. Sam went to Flo and put out one hand. “Go,” he said, afraid that worse was coming.
She groaned, recovering her senses. There was blood on her nose, dribbling down the side of her face. Her eyes were wild. “Hurt,” she said.
“Go,” he repeated urgently. They had to get away from here, before the members of the hostile band fell on them and killed them all. Sometimes it happened, when band members got too far separated from their home band.
Flo evidently realized the danger. She took his hand, and he hauled her up. She took an unsteady step, and he grabbed her shoulder, stabilizing her. They walked away from the hostile band, and the children scurried along with them, frightened.
A stone landed near them. Sam broke into a run, hauling Flo along, and the children ran too. Soon they were out of range, because the bent-knees did not pursue them.
They slowed, finding a good path, resuming their striding, which was the best way to travel any distance. Sam looked back, but the hostile band members were gone. They had simply driven off intruders, as bands tended to do. Had Flo-been older, they might have taken her captive, só that all the men could mate with her, beating her until she stopped objecting. Females often didn’t seem as interested in mating as males were, so had to be encouraged. Sam had seen it happen, when his band had intercepted a grown female of a neighboring band who had strayed too far from her own folk. After every male was satisfied, they had let her go, and thought no more of it. It was her own fault for straying; no one had had any sympathy for her. If a strayed female remained after the first round of mating, and the males liked her, she would be allowed to join the band as a member. Then she wouldn’t be beaten unless she refused to mate with a male who wanted to. That was how it was.
But this time it was different. Flo was young, and she was his friend. She had not really strayed or left her band; she had been cut off from it by Sam’s bad fortune. She definitely had not sought to mate yet. He wished this hadn’t happened to her. He wished he could kill Bub. But all he could do was flee.
“Doom,” Flo said, trying to wipe the blood from her face. Her nose was swollen and she looked awful.
“Doom,” he echoed, realizing that she thought this was part of the curse he had seen. Maybe it was. So it was his fault. Everything bad was happening since that vision in the sun.
They went on, their pace slowing, because the path was fading, the children were tired, and so was Flo, weakened by the attack on her. The sun was no longer beating down as hotly; it was hidden by a cloud. That helped, but not a lot.
They rounded another swell of the mountain, and entered another valley. But soon the band of this valley spied them, and charged out, screaming threats. They quickly reversed and walked back into the plain. The bent-knees pursued them.
This was trouble. Was every valley going to be like this? If so, they would never get home! They were already very hot and tired.
Worse, the sun came out again, heating their fur. Sam remembered what had happened when he kept walking into the sun. The sun would eat them all.
But one thing about the bent-knees was that they had even more trouble in the sun. Sam didn’t know why, but it was the case. So he did something desperate. He found a new path and led the way not around to the next valley, where there might be more enemies, but directly into the breadth of the hot plain.
Flo and the children did not question him. They just plodded on, trusting him to lead them somewhere.
When the hostile band saw where the group was going, it turned back. The heat and fatigue were just too much.
Sam looked ahead—and saw something new. There was an outcropping of rock across the plain. Maybe that would do for a camp. So he chose another path and headed for it, striding more slowly now that there was no pursuit. The slower speed was better for all of them; they walked straight-legged and had no trouble despite their youth and tiredness. This was good, because the rocks were far away.
But when they finally approached the rocks, something came out from them. There were several hunched shapes, moving swiftly. Sam couldn’t tell what they were. Should he turn back? If they were people, they might throw rocks or mate with Flo again. If they were animals, they might try to eat the whole group.
He paused, considering. The day was now late; they would not be able to return to the mountain before nightfall, even if they had the strength. So it was better to go on to the rocks and see what was there, hoping it wasn’t too bad.
He moved on, and the others were with him, crowding closer because they heard the shapes ahead. They were afraid, and so was he.
Then there was a gust of wind, bringing a scent: baboon. This was a baboon lair.
Ordinarily people did not tangle with baboons. The beasts were strong and fast, and could be vicious. But they weren’t as smart as people. Sometimes they could be bluffed.
He had seen bandsmen drive off baboons by throwing stones and making a lot of noise. It could work here, if there weren’t too many baboons.
“Rocks,” he said, casting about until he found a good one to pick up.
The children were uncertain, but did as he said. When all of them had stones in each hand, he led the charge. He lifted his arms and screamed. “Yah-yah-yah-yah!” He ran right toward the rocks.
Baboons were dangerous! Flo hesitated, and so did the children, but they were afraid to be left behind. So in a moment they joined in, screaming in a chorus and waving their arms.
The baboons looked at the charging group, and ran the opposite way. There turned out to be only four of them. This must be a mere fragment of their band, temporarily isolated from it; otherwise this charge would never have worked. When one showed signs of turning back, Sam hurled one of his stones at it: The stone missed, but did spook the creature, and it hurried on after the others. Soon they were gone.
Sam’s knees felt weak. It had worked! They had bluffed out the animals. Maybe the baboons had thought that any creatures who screamed and charged like that had to have many more of their own kind behind them. Maybe baboons couldn’t count. Regardless, it was a great relief.
The outcropping turned out not to be large, but it did offer a raised section shielded by surrounding boulders. It would be hard for the predators of the night to attack. Sam carried the heaviest stones he could manage, to shore up the retreat, and made a den under the overhang of the largest rock section. It wasn’t as good as home, but it would do.
Night was coming. They found good berries all around the outcropping, because no people had foraged there recently, so they were able to eat well before darkness closed. There was a stream not too far distant, so they were able to slake their thirst. Then they entered the den and huddled together for sleep. The children did not seem to be too concerned; they trusted Sam to protect them. They were very tired, and sank rapidly into slumber.
Flo tried to sleep too, beside him, but she was groaning softly. Her bashed nose was probably hurting. Sam reached out to stroke her hair, and she settled down. Grooming always made a person feel better. But who was there to comfort Sam?
The key is heat. The African savanna was hot, and creatures that moved around too much in the heat of the day risked heatstroke. Antelopes have special networks of veins and heat exchangers associated with the nose to cool the blood for the brain; baboons, like cats and dogs, pant, and have enlarged muzzles that facilitate this. But mankind’s ancestors had neither device; their noses were too recessed and puny to make panting worthwhile. They had to find another way. That way was bipedalism. Creatures who became vertical presented less than half as much surface area to the blazing sun as those who remained horizontal, and that made a significant difference in heat absorption. So it paid to become bipedal, if they went out into the burning plain at noon. Not just occasionally being on two feet, but constantly, while moving as well as while standing still. Because the beat of the deadly sun was steady. Since this was where chimpanzees were not foraging, because of that heat, it was richer harvesting for bipedal Australopithecus. Food was the great incentive; a species that might otherwise have been squeezed to oblivion was able to survive, here on the fringe of the Garden of Eden.
But it was dangerous on the plain, especially at night. So it was necessary to have a safe retreat for sleeping, and forage only by day, in the heat of the sun that restricted quadrupedal predators more than bipeds. It is unknown where Australopithecus slept, but it surely was not on the dangerous plain or by a treacherous river. Probably it was in caves or on ledges that were difficult for predators to reach. This was a problem, because the best foraging seems to have been on the open plain, far from the mountains where there were safe places to sleep. How could early hominids have both safety and food?
The answer seems to be that they became commuters. Each morning they left their rocky dens and strode across the terrain to suitable places to eat. Each evening they returned to the dens. Since the two regions might be many miles apart, efficient traveling was essential. Hence the importance of paths—and knees. Bending knees were like constant running, fatiguing to the legs and wastefully expending energy at slow speeds. Lockable knees enabled mankind to stride longer while generating less muscle heat. That made commuting in the heat of the day feasible. It wasn’t necessary to seek the shade of isolated trees during the worst heat Mankind, like mad dogs, could walk in the noonday sun. Thus mankind colonized what other apes could not: the open noon savanna. That greatly extended his foraging range, and was a key survival advantage. It wasn’t that he preferred the heat, it was that he could handle it slightly better than rival creatures could, so it paid him to do so.
But becoming bipedal was only the beginning. This turned out to be an extremely significant change, setting Australopithecus on the course that was to lead to modern man, in ways the following chapters will explore. The one most relevant to heat adaptation is the loss of body fur. Though standing vertical cut down the heat from the noon sun, it was at first a marginal advantage; other creatures did have brain-cooling systems. But it enabled mankind to shed that fur, because the bulk of the body was no longer exposed to the sun’s rays during the worst of the day. The relatively bare skin (hair remains on it, just much shorter and thinner) was a more efficient surface for sweat to affect, and mankind developed the most effective cooling system among mammals. Why was this necessary, when bi-pedalism and lockable knees had already enabled him to survive nicely? Because mankind was later to develop an organ that generated extra heat, and demanded extra cooling, lest it suffer: the giant brain. It probably couldn’t have happened on four feet.
