“There’s one kill site we could drive to,” said Noxon. “It’s near a public parking lot.”

“Even better,” said Ram. “We astronauts are so out of shape, after sitting around in a starship for a few years.”

“You should see the shape your twin is in, after going in and out of stasis for eleven thousand years.”

“He’s still alive,” said Ram. “Good for him.”

The next morning they drove to the parking lot early. It was at a ranger station, and it was also a jumping-off point for photo­graphic safaris. So there were plenty of other people. But they were all gathered around the hovercars that would carry them out into the savannah. Only one ranger noticed that the Wheaton group was heading out on foot.

“Not safe,” said the ranger. “The lions stay away from the station but not very far away. And they aren’t the only dangerous animals.”

“We aren’t going far. Just wanted a brief glimpse without a car around us.”

“There’s a reason we send people out in cars,” said the ranger.

“An excellent reason, and more than just one,” said Deborah. “I assure you I’m a coward, and I’ll have us back in ten minutes.”

“I won’t be keeping track of time,” said the ranger. “No matter how long before you come back, we will not send anyone out to search for you. With luck, we’ll find your bodies while your passports are still legible.”

Noxon smiled. “Now she’ll hold my hand very tightly, sir. Thank you.”

The ranger shook his head and moved away.

“He was really making sure we weren’t armed,” said Wheaton. “There are still people who think ‘safari’ requires that you bring home trophies from animals you killed yourself.”

“Whereas we only want to watch our ancestors bring down a . . . something,” said Ram. Then, to Noxon: “Do you know what the prey is?”

“Not sure,” said Noxon. “I mean, I can see glimpses of it. Might be ancestral to a gnu. Large grazer from a smallish herd, anyway.”

“And is it a weak one? An old one?” asked Wheaton.

“I don’t think so,” said Noxon. “They don’t go for the old and sickly, or the babies. Since they know how to smoke the meat to preserve it, it’s worth the extra work to bring down large, healthy prey. They have enough men to carry home most of the meat.”

“It’s pretty remarkable,” said Wheaton. “Males hunting coopera­tively. Wish we could hear whether they talk to each other during the hunt.”

“I’ll jump us back without slicing,” said Noxon. “To five minutes or so before they arrive. If we hide, we can hear if they’re calling out on the approach.”

“Will you know if it’s language?” asked Wheaton. “I mean, the ability to translate that you got from the Wall on Garden—will it work?”

“I don’t know,” said Noxon. “If it’s a human language, then I’m supposed to be able to make sense of it. But who knows where that line is drawn?”

“It’s a good plan,” said Ram. “As long as we all remain very still, and hold hands continuously so that when we need to go invisible, Noxon can carry us along.”

“It’s more than that,” said Noxon. “When I start slicing, we have to move. We only become invisible if we’re in motion.”

“We’ve done this about ten times now,” said Deborah. “We know that.”

Noxon shook his head. “You know it, but it’s not a reflex for you, the way it is for me. I’ve had to drag you to get you moving several times.”

“Once,” said Deborah.

“She thinks because she has no eyes, she’s already invisible,” said Wheaton.

“Maybe I did when I was little,” said Deborah, “but I can see now.”

“The kill happens right over there. At that time, there must be a little gully, because the prey goes down a little and they take it on the uphill slope on the other side. Nothing deep, but it slows the prey down enough.”

“Where should we be watching as they approach?” asked Wheaton.

“The prey comes from over there,” said Noxon. “The wing men are there and there. The followers form a U shape right behind the prey. Most of the way, the prey kept leaving them behind, then stopping to breathe and rest and recover while they just kept jogging along. But the wing men—they’re real runners. Fast and steady, so the prey can never turn very far out of the direct line of the hunters behind them.”

“And where will we hide?” asked Ram. “Right now this is pretty open land.”

“Well, first we’ll hide by ducking down in the grass,” said Noxon, “so safari tourists won’t take a vid of us simply vanishing. And I won’t know for sure where we can hide from the Erectids till we’re in that time. Trees and bushes don’t leave clear enough paths for me to see them after five hundred years, let alone a ­million and a half.”

A minute or so later, holding hands, facing toward where Noxon could see the path of the approaching prey, they all sank to the ground and Noxon jumped them back in time.

It was almost a relief not to be slicing—to hear normal sounds and not be in that state of eerie deafness that Param had spent so much of her life in. Noxon had gotten used to it when he and Param were practicing together constantly, but since then it had grown strange and uncomfortable again. Now, in the million-year past, they could hear insects, could hear each other’s small noises.

“We don’t have to keep particularly silent right now,” said Noxon. “There are no predators near us, and no Erectids, either.”

“How long?” asked Wheaton.

“Getting impatient?” asked Ram.

“Father was born impatient,” said Deborah. “With everything and everybody except me.”

“Except you,” said Wheaton, right along with her. “She says that, but of course I was impatient with her all the time. What a little brat.”

“As bad as the disobedient little Erectids?” asked Deborah.

“Much worse, because you had such a mouth on you, and if you ever were getting the worst in an argument, you’d act extra blind. What a cheater.”

“How does a person act ‘extra blind’?” asked Deborah.

“Deliberately reaching out toward me but in a direction where you knew perfectly well I was not standing,” said Wheaton. “Deliberately tripping a little when you walked. Bumping into the furniture—but I noticed you always chose upholstered or lightweight items.”

“The real question,” said Noxon, “is whether ‘extra blind’ kept working for very long.”

“It worked every time,” said Wheaton. “Every single time.”

“That’s a lie,” said Deborah. “I never got my way.”

“But I felt horribly guilty about it,” said Wheaton.

“I didn’t want you to feel guilty, I wanted you to give in.”

“That wasn’t one of the options,” said Wheaton. “If I ever let you win you would have become a monster.”

“Instead, I thought I was being raised by one,” said Deborah.

Noxon could see that they meant what they were saying, to a point. But under it all was the clear message that they loved each other, that they had loved each other even then.

The conversation ended abruptly when they began to hear shouts from far out on the savannah.

“Shouldn’t we hide now?” asked Deborah.

“Shhh,” hissed Noxon. “Let me hear their shouting.” He noticed that Wheaton was holding up a camera—vid with sound, Noxon assumed. So he could study their utterances later.

Not language, or at least not a language Noxon could understand. The cries were so short.

But then, as he watched, he could see how the men responded to the shouts—the wing men beginning to close in from the sides, the chasers sprinting. And then some of the cries began to have meanings. The leader—one of the chasers, the one with a bit of grey in his hair—was saying a word that meant “gully” and ­others that meant “run” and “catch.” Nothing like sentences, no syntax. Just commands, all of them. Even “gully” was a command.

“They know this land,” said Noxon softly. “They all know that there’s a gully up here, and they know they’ll catch the !a! there.”