"Yes," Charles said, hope rekindling. "Thank God they put us together.
There's a jeep. Also a twin-fifty. If we play this right the two of us
can bust out--"
He stopped, disconcerted. Kennedy had turned to the hearth and the
small, fierce fire glowing on it and began to pound a red-hot lump of
metal. There were spear heads and arrow heads about in various stages
of completion, as well as files and a hone.
"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Aren't you interested?"
"Of course I'm interested," Kennedy said. "But we've got to begin at the
beginning. You're too _general_." His voice was mild, but reproving.
"You're right," Charles said. "I guess you've made a try or two
yourself. But now that there are two of us, what do you suggest? Can you
drive a jeep? Can you fire a twin-fifty?"
The man poked the lump of metal into the heart of the fire again, picked
up a black-scaled spear head and began to file an edge into it. "Let's
get down to essentials," he suggested apologetically. "What is escape?
Getting from an undesirable place to a desirable place, opposing and
neutralizing things or persons adverse to the change of state in the
process. But I'm not being specific, am I? Let's say, then, escape is
getting _us_ from a relatively undesirable place to a relatively
desirable place, opposing and neutralizing the aborigines." He put aside
the file and reached for the hone, sleeking it along the bright metal
ribbon of the new edge. He looked up with a pleased smile and asked:
"How's that for a plan?"
"Fine," Charles muttered. Kennedy beamed proudly as he repeated: "Fine,
fine," and sank to the ground, born down by the almost physical weight
of his depression. His hoped-for ally was stark mad.