In the sullen silence he began to breathe more easily. The terrified pounding of his heart slowed. He tried to push himself to his feet, and he found that his arm below the shoulder wound was paralyzed with pain.
He turned on his back—and rolled against the legs of a female who stood above him, looking straight ahead toward the street. He waited for her to scream and call the others. Instead she said, in a whisper,
"Poor thing! You're hurt."
Henig's mind soared with hope. Was it possible that the love these animals felt for each other could be extended to include himself?
She knelt beside him, gently feeling his wound with her hairless fingers. Her head was still erect. She did not look at him. He winced when she touched him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll have to put something on it for you."
She went very slowly to a dilapidated garden shed. She moved by shuffling her feet along the gravel walk, occasionally reaching out to brush her hands against the larger shrubs growing beside the path. When she returned she poured a liquid over Henig's wound. The new pain was like fire, but he knew she had used a primitive remedy to burn out the infection. There was no doubt in his mind after that. While some of her species searched the streets for him and tried to kill him, she was ready to give him help.
Although the Scientist-General had warned Henig against it, he decided to use the telecommunicator. If she would help him, he had a chance of getting back to his shuttle. It was the only way he could escape. He took one risk in using the device: the female might become aware of every concept in Henig's mind. But that was a small risk. Only an intellectual equal, with the heightened perceptions of the computer civilization, would read the full context of his communication.
"I need help," he conveyed to her. "I have a place of safety in the mountains; will you take me to it?"
With a sudden, indrawn breath—like the hissing of a small child—the female stiffened beside him. Had he frightened her? He tried to explore her mind, but her cerebral pattern was amazingly complex. He couldn't evaluate the interlocked emotion—shock, sorrow, a sympathetic loneliness, and finally understanding. How much of his thinking—how much of himself—she had seen, he did not know. Her rational logic was subordinate to the emotion. Her most surprising reaction was pity.
Pity for him because of the computer civilization that had shaped his mind!