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6. CREDIT PART TWO: Lizard Head Offense.

But where did I get credit? I speculate that some share of yesterday's hunting was mine. I don't know why I think that but I do. The wrigglies and lizard had value and they shared it with me. We just walked away and left it all there on the dock. Lighter green-clothed attendants were making notes. And we didn't unload it. Somebody did. The dark Greenboys, Greengirls. I wondered if we'd have to unload it and take it somewhere for processing. We didn't. We just walked away. I think the girls wrapped some stuff in gray hornet's nest paper, and brought it home in their bags, but not much. We caught a lot. We filled all the bins except a few of the loose ones. It was a hell of a day's work! We didn't quit until we were full and the things quit coming. And then... Whew! The Dragon! I wonder if the meatballs are lizard meat.

They browse along, looking into the small and large caverns of various stores. I look but I'm kind of blinded by all the stuff. I can't tell what everything is. Shoes, and boots, belts. Clothing. I'm fatigued.

There's a bakery. The spindle door is closed. There are glass windows to the walls on both sides of the door. They go in. I follow. It smells great! Baked bread smell.

Tinunh comes back to close the door behind me. I think a woman Eenunh's size asked her to. Tinunh points at some stuff, just displayed on open tables, Eenunh at others. I look away at the baked goods, breads and what looks like glazed donut-stuff. When I look back, a man is handing Tinunh a bag, gray hornet's nest paper, and they turn. I go out ahead of them. When they're out I close the door behind us. There are young people at tables for two by the windows, eating baked goods. I don't stare. Or... do I. I can't help looking long at people, faces, irises, elbows, knees, green. I like their hair, their ears, noses, faces. They're... a beautiful people.

In the corridor the girls browse along again, looking into the small and large caverns of the stores. They converse. I carry my new underwear. I wonder if I really have credit. Perhaps it's a debit card. I wonder about the coins. They're all the same size. I hope the underwear fit. I feel in my shirt pocket for the 'receipt', if that's what it is. If they don't fit maybe I can bring them back. I feel over my pocket for the diamond-shaped thing.

We go along the corridor. We're back at the top of the ramp we came up. They stop, look at me, irises flickering. They converse. Grinning at me, Eenunh turns me with a touch on my right shoulder. We go back, back past the stores, past the bakery, past the passage where the engraver was. The corridor turns at gentle angles, following the face of the cliff, out onto a promontory, the north end of the red sandstone mountain... or... rock. The floor is painted white. White paint goes up the exterior wall, the window wall, up to the windows. Glow-spots on the ceiling are larger, light the space with a gentle white. A strip of glow-stuff on the walls adds to the brightness.

The stores... more... with windows and hinged doors, double doors, standing open, mannequins, a more... upscale look. Another bakery. Jewelry.

The corridor ends and there is a wide room, windows all along the left side and far end, and along the corridor, to an open doorway. The windows seem to turn with the contour of the cliff face, in here, out there. There are tables with white table cloths, white chairs, a white counter, a bar with white chairs all along it. I notice there aren't any people dressed like my girls inside, and only a couple passing in the white corridor. We're... out of our neighborhood. There are lighter-blue attendants, Blueboys, Bluegirls, and the people in the room, not many, but all are in the blue sport coats, the women in the red and white and blue and white knit dresses. The hairstyles, men and women, more... stylized. Not all, but most. I think these may be rich folks. The girls pass on by. I try not to attract attention. The hallway goes on a bit further, all bright, and white. Then, it gets dimmer, yellow light-emitting stuff, the floor just smoothly worn red sandstone. Windows, slatted shutters.

I peek out. The lightning has stopped. The rain hasn't, washes down the windows.

The girls turn to the right, and we go down a corridor, more stores, come to a ramp. They turn and lead down the ramp, and down the ramps, and down. I'm not having trouble keeping up but I am huffing and puffing a bit. Soon we come out into a corridor, the end of a corridor. I think it's ours. It is. We come to their apartment. They go in. I follow. They go straight to their bed hollow, climb in and lie down, laughing. I laugh. I go, set my package on the shelf, lie down. Sleep comes easy.

Eenunh is bending toward me. I open my eyes. I sit up, stretch. Her face seems stern.

There's... someone at the door. Tinunh is standing there.

I stand up and step that way. There are the man and woman in matching dark blue uniforms, a yellow symbol on the left breast. The cops. They go away. Tinunh closes the door.

Eenunh splashes some water on her face in the bathroom, points for me to do the same, talks. We go out. We go down the ramp past the octo-chamber where we came in, the pub. I look down the passage to the cafeteria. There's still water at the low end of it. We cross the room and follow the long passage back to the boathouse. There I see the lizard head still laying where I left it. The dock is clear, otherwise.

The girls approach, step beyond it, turn and hold their noses, flickering irises at me. I smell it. Nothing like dead lizard head to open the sinuses!

Tinunh goes into the flea market, returns with a roll of gray paper. She unrolls it. Eenunh stands on two corners. Tinunh stands on the other two. Eenunh points at me, at the lizard head. I step over, pick it up, set it on the paper. They fold the corners up over it. Eenunh holds them. Tinunh dips her hand in the water, comes up and wets the paper corners where Eenunh holds them together. Dips again, wets the paper. Eenunh holds it. A minute passes. Maybe more. She finally lets go and the paper seems to stick. She stands.

Tinunh has opened the doors of the water-truck. I set the package in. I stoop and rinse my fingers in the water. They're in. I get in, close the doors. Eenunh drives. I sit in the passenger seat. The seatcovers are gone. Everything looks clean, smells clean. The bins are back in the wall racks, back in a loose stack on the floor. It smells clean, except for my... trophy. The paper wrapping is less than fully adequate to contain the odor. Tinunh pulls two bins up, straddles them between the seats. She pulls up another bin, shows Eenunh the twisted slider lid. Eenunh speaks, a short sentence.

She drives across the cavern. The big spindle-door is opening as we approach, just for us. The cop-couple wave, or just motion us through. It's overcast but no lightning. I worry. Out in the water she heads for the nearest island. There she finds a place to drive up on land, stops. Tinunh has opened the back doors. I get up and go back. She gestures toward the lizard package and to the outside, holds her nose. I pick it up, step out with it, carry it up to the rock ledge, set it there, rip the corners open on the top, let Mother Nature in to do what She does with lizard heads, and go back down the hill. I get in. Tinunh closes the doors. We head back. Instead of going directly back Eenunh goes off to starboard, north along the stony mountain, at a distance. There's a separate mount here, on the northeast side, lower than the main stone, protruding north and east, about the same length as the main stone. I see now the glassed in level at the fifth level, all along this side, glass windows at apartments on the fifth floor, some, not as many, on the fourth, fewer still on the third. There's the rich folks' promontory 'restaurant' or 'bar', whatever it was. It's all around up there; the windows, shutters.

There are other... structures on the mountain top. They look like buildings. It's not a mountain by definition. Just a huge... what looks like... a single red stone. There are balconies and windows all along, the entire face of the cliff. I count the five levels, not counting the base of the cliff with the very regular openings, like the one at the west-facing pub where I first entered the... it's not a hive... it's a... city, a town. People.. these people... live there, work there, make their lives there. The lower, separate stone only has three levels, glass windows in the cliff face, broader balconies, glass windows, shutters, all along the top. I wonder who lives there. There look like trees on top, along the edge. I can see sky though the trunks, beyond them.

We're headed north. I sense that we're turning and heading west, coming around the mountain. I sing, "She'll be comin' around the mountain..." I stop with them looking at me. I don't make eye contact, keep looking ahead. Stupid, weird... alien.

The lower level is flooded. We're above the patio level. small waves break where I expect the slope up to the patio edge would be, and go on across to crash and foam at the base of the mountain. All the 'pub-level' spindle doors I can see up the passages are closed, their bottoms in water. We're westbound, then south, then angling east again. I'm sure of it. We come around and there's the south-facing round windows on the lowest level, and around, there's the door to the boathouse. We go in, wave to the cops, park the water truck. They get out on the dock. I pull a few of the bins in the wall racks. They're empty, clean. There's no wriggly smell. The bins are clean. There's another damaged hinged one. It hangs up on the rack. I leave it hanging out. I assume we'll have to repair it when... if we have to go hunting again. And we will. I'm sure of it! It's... a way of life. It's... how I earn my living!