Page 6 of Caveman Alien's Touch

“Food that the tribe doesn’t have? It looks to me like the Borok have great food.”

“Yes, but I also want other food. We call it ‘bread’.”

He frowns. “Bred?An alien dish?”

“Not a dish, but can be used for dishes,” I tell him, turning to look at various bushes. “Good dishes. Maybe you like, Noker.”

He sends a stolen glance down me, snagging on my butt. Well, I do fill out those old jeans okay. While they last, that is. I’ve had to cut the rotting bottom hems off a couple of times, and now they only reach to mid-calf. Soon they will be a patchwork only, much like Alba’s sweatpants.

I look around at the many trees and bushes. The tree’s crowns are high above us and impossible to reach. But right here, the trench dug by the skarp is all overgrown with saplings and shoots and grass and endless small bushes that are taking advantage of the sunlight. They have to hurry before the trees can grow tall and cast their deep shadows down on the ground. And they grow fast.

Wanting to use this rare chance to check out the various wild plants for my bakery project, I rip many leaves off the plants I see and pull up a handful of roots to check if they might be edible or useful.

“If you want plants that can be eaten, then there are many of them near our new campsite,” he rumbles. “I can bring you some next time I come to the village.”

“That be very kind,” I enthuse. “I’m sure they’re very nice.”

I notice Noker impatiently looking around. He has a point — being out in the jungle is dangerous. But this was the real reason I wanted to come out here. The wall painting I spotted was just an excuse, and I never thought it would be interesting. Also, Piper did need some time with her husband, so someone had to entertain Noker. I’m fine with that being me.

More than fine, actually. I’m starting to really like this dinosaur guy. Where Brak is quick and active and can’t stand still for a moment, Noker is more thoughtful and deliberate. Calmer, in a way, more in control. I liked him the moment I saw him, and while it was probably not too smart to immediately invite a caveman stranger out of the village and into the wilderness with the second woman he’s ever been around, his first words to me when we met were strangely reassuring. He knows he looks dangerous, so he just wanted me to know I have nothing to fear from him. It was actually really sweet.

“What I need is sweet plant,” I tell him. “You know of one?”

“Sweet?” He scratches his chin. “Our food is rarely sweet. Except fruit, of course.”

I point over to the other side of the trench. “That? You know it?”

He shields his eyes with one hand. “That’s not a common plant in the jungle.”

The plant I spotted consists of thick stalks wrapped in leaves, and it kind of reminds me of sugarcane. “We can look?”

Noker lifts his long spear and scans the edge of the jungle around the trench. “If we’re quick.”

“Thank you.” I walk down into the trench, swishing into the tall grass. Noker follows me at a distance that allows him room to strike with the spear.

Reaching the plants that looked interesting, I squat down and try to pull them up. But they’re as tall as I am above the ground, and I suppose their roots may go just as deep underground.

“I’ll cut them.” Noker holds his spear near the blade, like a knife, and easily cuts one of the cane-like stalks an inch above the ground. Some juice comes out, and I stroke my finger along the cut to gather some. I bring it to my mouth and lick it. If it’s sweet, it may well be a kind of alien sugarcane?—

But it isn’t sweet at all. My mouth and tongue start to burn. “Oh…”

Noker looks at me. “Good?”

“No!” I spit and stick my tongue out and try to scrape the juice off it with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, but it doesn’t help much. I purse my mouth and spit again, dribbling as much as I can, but I gave the cane a good lick and I feel the burn spreading to the back of my mouth. “Is terrible! Maybe poison!”

Noker gets something out of the packs on his belt. “Wait.” It’s a small pot the size of a soda can. He yanks the cork out and holds the pot out to me. “Drink this.”

A strong, familiar smell mixed with fruit reaches my nose. “What ith?” It’s getting hard to form words, because my tongue seems to be swelling.

“Strong frit. Piper calls italkol. Drink it!”

I have no idea if this is smart, but I have nothing else right now. If nothing else, another fluid might dilute this terrible sap. I take a sip from the pot, and it makes me cough. Still I force myself to take another and swish it around in my mouth. If it’s booze, at least it can’t be that bad for me.

Spitting several times and wiping saliva off my chin, I notice that the burn gets weaker and doesn’t spread further back.

“Better?” Noker asks, a concerned frown on his face.

“Better,” I tell him, bending over to drip the excess of saliva to the ground. I guess my body had the same dilution idea. “Thanks.”

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