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he would probably have little choice. The old man's eyes glittered with grief under his ornate
headdress of rank. Blood dripped from a shoulder wound. He was in no mood to be balked. Any
trouble from Flint, and there would be much worse than pus-spells as punishment.
Yet the very seriousness of the situation provoked an antisurvival mirth. Here were cavemen and
dinosaurs together! Flint bit his tongue to stop the smile, but it burst out anyway.
"What the hell you laughing at, boy?" Strongspear demanded.
"Not a laugh-a grimace," Flint said quickly. He bared his teeth to amplify his horror-and his horror
was real, in its fashion. What a place for a foolish smile!
"What's that Pole doing here?" the Chief rapped.
Flint had forgotten the Polarian, who had unobtrusively followed him. "This is Topsy of Polaris," he
said hastily. "Topsy, this is Chief Strongspear." He faced the Chief again. "Topsy is merely
observing."
"Well, let him spin his wheel out of here!" Strongspear snapped. "We don't need any damned aliens-"
"The Chief means it might be dangerous for you," Flint told the Polarian. "No offense intended." It
did not seem to be the time to advise Strongspear that he had mistaken the sex of the alien.
The tentacle touched the trunk of a vine. "I quite understand, and appreciate the consideration. But the
dinosaur poses no threat to me. Perhaps I can be of help."
"Perhaps," Flint agreed politely. He wished Tsopi would get well clear, but she was slow at taking
such hints. Already he was regretting his vow to the Shaman to be nice to the aliens. If Tsopi died in
the midst of a human dinosaur hunt, there could be Spherical repercussions.
"The Polarians control a Sphere twice the diameter of ours," the Shaman had explained. "They've
been in space longer, and they have better organization. And no doubt they're more advanced
technologically in their origin-world than we are at Earth. Out here at the Fringe they're primitives,
just as we are-just as every species is at the edge of its Sphere. But don't let that fool you. Someday
we may need their help. Always remember that."
This was one of a great many fundamental lessons the Shaman had taught Flint: the respect of alien
culture. There were few Polarians on Outworld-but there were billions within their own Sphere. In
many respects, Outworld was closer to Polaris than to Sol.
Suddenly Flint had an idea. If the Polarian could be made to seem instrumental in relieving this crisis,
there would be little credit due Flint himself, and thus no question of becoming heir to the Chief.
Strongspear would never confer honor on an alien!
"Your offer of assistance is much appreciated," Flint said to Tsopi. "I noticed you move very swiftly.
Do you think you could lead Old Snort toward our deadfall, without running the risk of getting
trampled or gored?"
"This would be simple," Tsopi said, glowing with pleasure. Flint wondered whether her constant
illumination was a Polarian trait or a female one.
"Get that dino turd out of here!" Strongspear yelled, furious that the alien should witness the human
predicament.
"We shall clean up Snort's refuse as soon as we get him in the trap," Flint said, hoping that the
Polarian would misinterpret Strongspear's reference. If only it weren't so apt!
They moved out. Flint showed Tsopi where the deadfall was, then they rounded up the scattered
tribesmen and approached the dinosaur.
"The idea is to lure him away from our dead," Flint explained. "But since he has killed men, he must
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be killed, not just removed. So we have to lead or drive him over the deadfall. The only problem is-"
"He can outrun us!" a tribesman finished.
"Yes," Flint agreed grimly. "Therefore the Polarian has kindly agreed to take the lead. Old Snort can't
outrun a Polarian on level ground."
The men looked dubious, but acceded to Flint's evident authority. If he muffed it, he would be in
trouble, not they. They formed a half-circle around the dinosaur, a wide arc, for they were not eager to
provoke him into another devastating charge. The monster would tend to shy away from a large group
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