MICHAEL CRICHTON

For the first and last time during the expedition, Munro lost his temper. “Listen,Doctor,” he said, “this isn’t downtown Houston, this is the middle of the goddamnCongo and it’s no place to be injured. We have medicines. That man may needit. You don’t leave him behind. You just don’t.”“If we go to that village,” Ross said, “we blow the rest of the day. It puts us nineor ten hours further back. Right now we can still make it. With another delay, wewon’t have a chance.”One of the pygmies began talking quickly to Munro. He nodded, glancingseveral times at Ross. Then he turned to the others.“He says that the sick white man has some writing on his shirt pocket. He’sgoing to draw the writing for us.”Ross glanced at her watch and sighed.The pygmy picked up a stick and drew large characters in the muddy earth attheir feet. He drew carefully, frowning in concentration as he reproduced the aliensymbols: E R T S.“Oh, God,” Ross said softly.The pygmies did not walk through the forest: they ran at a brisk trot, slippingthrough the forest vines and branches, dodging rain puddles and gnarled treeroots with deceptive ease. Occasionally they glanced over their shoulders andgiggled at the difficulties of the three white people who followed.For Elliot, it was a difficult pace—a succession of roots to stumble over, treelimbs to strike his head on, thorny vines to tear at his flesh. He was gasping forbreath, trying to keep up with the little men who padded effortlessly ahead of him.Ross was doing no better than he, and even Munro, although surprisingly agile,showed signs of fatigue.Finally they came to a small stream and a sunlit clearing.The pygmies paused on the rocks, squatting and turning theirfaces up to the sun. The white people collapsed, panting and gasping. Thepygmies seemed to find this hilarious, their laughter good-natured.The pygmies were the earliest human inhabitants of the Congo rain forest.Their small size, distinctive manner, and deft agility had made them famous140