“You walk almost as far changing planes at the airport,” said Noxon.
“Not even close,” said Ram.
“Then stay here,” said Noxon. “You can watch over the stuff we don’t need, so we don’t have to carry it all with us.”
“We’ll lock that in the boot,” said Ram. “I’m not going to miss this.”
“No, you’re just going to complain the whole way. Those Neanderthals, so thoughtless—hunting uri where they happen to be, instead of hoping they’ll wander closer.”
“Uri?” asked Deborah.
“The Latinized plural of the root word ‘urus,’” said Noxon. “I think it’s a better name than aurochs anyway.”
“See, Father?” said Deborah. “There are worse language wonks in the world than I am.”
“He’s not from this world,” said Wheaton.
The hike was difficult—lots of ups and downs, scrambling into ravines and out again, and scraping their way through thickets. But they had dressed for hiking and when they got to the site, they were tired but not exhausted.
“If Neanderthals were careful hunters,” said Noxon, “there’s no chance we could suddenly appear without their noticing us. So I’m thinking that I bring us to that time behind this rise, and then I slice us forward as we climb the hill. I won’t slice us very fast, so we’ll see their actions speeded up but it won’t be a blur.”
“Will my camera be able to record the images?” asked Wheaton.
“If our eyes can see, the camera can record it,” said Noxon. “Images move quickly enough not to lose coherency when we time-slice. Not like sound, which turns into meaningless ragged waves.”
“Then that sounds like an excellent plan,” said Wheaton.
With the clarity that his facemask brought him, Noxon easily brought them to the moment that he chose and then sliced them with precision as they moved up the rise to perch on the crest. It was close enough for a good clear view, but not so close that they’d have to worry about Neanderthals walking through them.
The hunting was a long, slow process, and several times Noxon sped up the time-slicing so it didn’t get too uncomfortable waiting there on the crest. It wasn’t just about boredom: Somebody would need to empty bladder or bowel if it took too long.
The four Neanderthals approached the grazing herd with infinite patience. It was incredible how slow their movements were, how utterly still they could remain while holding awkward poses. Each Neanderthal man—two seeming to be in their twenties, two in their teens—had a short spear strapped to his back, stone tip near the man’s head. Their hands were empty.
Unlike wolves and hunting cats, they had not sought out an old, ailing, or especially young aurochs. Instead, they had chosen the most powerful male. Apparently they liked a challenge—or they figured that if they were going to take the time to hunt, they should bring home enough meat for it to be worth the effort.
Finally the hunters got near enough that the aurochs began to get nervous. If there was some signal among the hunters, it had to be by sound, because there was nothing visible to the party of Sapient watchers. But the hunters all leapt up at once. The three that were not directly in front of the aurochs pulled their spears as they ran and prepared to jab at the animal’s sides. But the one in front kept his hands empty and open as he ran directly at the great horned head, waving his arms and, judging from his open mouth, shouting.
The other members of the aurochs herd began to move away nervously; some of them broke into a run. But the big bull turned to face the shouting man rushing toward him; the bull lowered its head and began to move forward, clearly intending to catch the man on its horns and gore him or toss him out of the way.
The lead hunter’s gaze never left those horns. At the last moment, the horns went down and the head turned slightly, to point one horn directly at the hunter. He caught that horn with one hand and then, as he vaulted upward, caught the other horn with the other hand.
The bull tossed him, and the hunter swiveled around in midair, so that when he landed astride the animal’s back, he faced forward. It wasn’t a crotch-crushing impact—the man’s feet landed first, and his legs slid downward, already gripping so that when the man’s crotch came in contact with the bony ridge of the bull’s spine, his downward momentum was almost nil.
It was the most perfectly controlled athletic move Noxon had ever seen.
At the exact moment that the lead hunter was perfectly astride the aurochs, the three other hunters jabbed at one shoulder and both rear thighs, striking deeply enough that they did not try to withdraw the spears. The wounds would not be fatal in themselves, but because they left their spears in place, Noxon could imagine that if the lead hunter failed to bring down the beast, it would leave a trail of blood as it ran away, and would become weaker and weaker, so the hunters would be sure of a kill even if it wasn’t a quick one.
But the lead hunter was no novice. As he settled onto the bull’s back, his hands were already pulling the spear upward out of its binding. As the bull began to react to the wounds inflicted by the other hunters, the rider jabbed downward with enormous power, and the spear seemed to go twenty centimeters into the animal’s spine.
It shuddered once and then flopped sideways, having lost all control of its muscles when its spinal cord was severed.
As it fell, the lead hunter sprang from its back, so he was not pinned under it.
Noxon thought back through what the man had done. In a single fluid motion, he had caught the bull’s horns, vaulted into the air, spun halfway around, landed on his feet, slid down into a tight-gripping straddle, withdrawing his spear and stabbing in the exact place with all his strength and leverage, and then leapt clear of the animal. In realtime it hadn’t been as rapid as it seemed in slicetime, but Noxon hadn’t been slicing that fast. It really had been unbelievably quick.
The other three hunters fell on the fallen animal instantly, using small stone blades to slice open the throat and belly. They disemboweled the animal and skinned it in smooth, practiced movements, each man knowing and doing his job. Noxon sped up his time-slicing enough that they could see the whole process before they needed to leave. When the men had the main cuts of beef and the aurochs hide wrapped in skins, and their spears and knives were fastened again to their bodies, Wheaton pumped his fist and Noxon and the others rose up and walked down the back slope of the hill they had watched from.
Noxon stopped slicing time, so they could talk again. “Need to see any more?”