Children of the Comet Read Free Page B

stovebeast.
    He’d faced no serious threats since the flutterbeast. He’d avoided any number of web traps, clubbed a small tree snake with the butt of his spear and flung it—squirming and spitting—into space, and warded off a swarm of carrion moths that had been attracted by the small game he’d managed to bag. He still had seven arrows left.
    The dressed carcass of the meatbeast he’d killed that morning floated behind him in an improvised harness made of a length of climbing rope. Having no weight, the carcass wasn’t a burden, but he still had to strain against its mass, and he still had to stop every once in a while to untangle it from the branches. Climbing was nothing but hard, unrelenting work. There was no hint of the mystic experience that older Climbers said a Climb was supposed to be.
    He paused to look around. A few man-lengths ahead through the foliage, the sheltered crotch of a branch looked inviting. The approach was relatively unobstructed, giving a good enough view of anything that might be lurking nearby. Even from here, he could see evidence of an expanse of young bark that signaled a burst of growth of provascular tissue from rapidly dividing cambium cells. It was a promising place to tap into the Tree’s vascular system for water and air.
    He decided to camp there for the night. A few more tugs brought him to the protective hollow where trunk and branch met. He reeled the meatbeast carcass in after him. With practiced movement, he soon had his sleeping sack set up and the few needed utensils within easy reach. He then proceeded to cut a few thin slices of meat from the carcass and minced them, to be eaten raw. Cooking was a luxury away from the fires of the cave he lived in, but a dip in the fermented sauce that Secondmother had packed would make the meal palatable. He chopped up some of the treeweed sprouts he’d gathered to be kneaded together with the minced meat after he’d thawed it out in the air sack.
    He surveyed his supper preparations with satisfaction, then cached his equipment and the rest of his supplies in a convenient cavity nearby, reserving his bow, quiver, and spearhead.
    Exhausted, he crawled into his bubble of air and sealed it after him. He raised his faceplate and let enough stovebeast heat escape to raise the temperature to above freezing. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. He’d barely finished his still-cold supper before falling asleep.
    Something woke him early. He was still sodden with sleep, and at first he didn’t know where he was. Then a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he came instantly alert.
    He groped for an arrow and drew it from the quiver. It would have to do for a handheld weapon. There was no time to string the bow. And the shaft for the spear, too long for the sleeping sack, had been left outside. No time to regret that. But the arrow was as long as his forearm—longer than his knife or the spearhead, even with its threaded shank for a handle.
    He felt the edges of his faceplate to be sure it was tight in its gasket, then unzipped the sleeping sack in one swift motion. The air pressure in the sack popped him outside like a seed out of its pod.
    He twisted convulsively in midflight, landing feet first and right-side up. The comet’s miniscule gravity planted him, however tentatively, on the branch’s upper surface. Gripping the arrow, he quickly scanned the immediate area.
    There was nothing.
    He widened his search and saw movement in the middle distance, where the branch joined the trunk. The figure he saw, already half-obscured, disappeared into the foliage before he had a chance to get a good look.
    It wasn’t any kind of animal. It definitely had been a human shape, someone in an airsuit. He hadn’t seen enough to make out the suit’s identifying beadwork. But it had to be another Climber—a rogue Climber who did not respect the rules.
    A glance at the