Five airmen survive the crash of their bomber on a remote tropical island. Unfortunately, the island is inhabited by 800 dangerous tribesmen who don't like white-faces. Oh, and there's also 200 Japanese soldiers. That's not going to be the worst of their problems, though.

A Daughters of Time story set in the Pacific during WWII. Remember, the Moebius Institute is still 30+ years in the future.

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Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2010 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Don't expect this to be historically accurate in any way.

The huge aeroplane barely made it over the crest of one of the heavily weathered ridges before the downdraught greedily sucked it into the valley on the other side.

"Oh -"

Whatever Joe Maguire was about to say was lost as the B-24 Liberator ploughed into the upper canopy of the jungle on the steeply-sloping hillside. The starboard wing, already weakened by the fire to the inboard engine, folded away as it struck one of the taller trees, causing the main body of the aircraft to cartwheel in the opposite direction. The damaged fuselage fell apart as it ploughed into the forest floor. The crew, thrown against their straps, prayed to any and every god they had heard of as the plane that had served them so well came to an abrupt and untidy end.

The normal cacophony of the tropical rainforest was momentarily silenced by the crump of the crash. Fortunately there was little fire since Les Parnell, the engineer, had long dumped out the excess fuel after they had realised that a crash-landing was inevitable. A few tense seconds after the noise and movement stopped, Joe, amazed to still be alive, cleared his head and reviewed his position.

He was still in his seat in what remained of the cockpit, on his left side, suspended eight feet or so above the ground. He could easily determine this since the whole side of the cockpit had been ripped off. His right hand was still firmly clamped around the now-useless yoke. He gingerly released his straps and lowered himself carefully to the ground.

"Hello? Anyone?"

"Skip? You okay?"

"Doc? Yeah, I guess so. Anyone else alive?"

"I've got Paul here, he seems more or less whole, if a little groggy. I think Robbie was dead before we came down. Dunno where Les might be, that whole chunk of fuselage has gone."

"I'm over here," a voice groaned in the distance. "I'm not one to complain, Skip, but couldn't you find a smoother bit of jungle to crash in?"

Another figure stumbled through the undergrowth and leant against the trunk of a huge tree.

"Jeez! I think I'm getting too old for this nonsense," said Jack Harris. "Taylor's dead, Skip. What do we do now?"

The five survivors gathered and Doc tended to their wounds. He was called 'Doc' because he had been a Doctor of Anthropology before the war, but it helped that he was also the crew member with the most first-aid experience.

"Right," said Joe, erstwhile captain of the recently deceased bomber, "time to think about our next move. You did get rid of the codebooks, Paul?"

"Yes, Skip, dumped over the ocean. All the paperwork I could find, in fact, went into the weighted tin. Oh, except a map of the island Doc asked me to keep hold of."

"What about the radio gear?"

"Some got damaged in the crash. I'm not sure about the rest."

"Find one of the axes and make sure, will you? The rest of you, find all the emergency kits and food you can and bring them here. Check around, make sure everybody we think is dead is actually dead. We don't want to leave anyone for the Japs. Any fires you see, try and put them out. The Japs will be here soon enough, but we don't want to help them any more than we have to by leaving smoke trails. We'll meet back here. Paul, can you lay hands on that map? I'll have a look at it when we get together again."

"What about the big guns, Skip? We don't want to leave them for the Japs."

"No. What can we do with them, assuming we can actually reach them to dismount them?"

"I passed a small crevasse," suggested Jack. "We can dismantle them and dump them down there."

"Okay, let's do it."

The five Royal Australian Air Force aircrew reconvened shortly, having combed what parts of the wreckage were reachable for anything that might aid survival. They had a bush knife each. Two had machetes, and Paul carried the short-handled fire axe he had use to wreck the radio and radar equipment. There were four hand guns, two American automatics and two ancient revolvers, one of which Les swore had last been fired at Gallipoli, plus a flare pistol with six cartridges. Doc unfolded the map and spread it on the ground and they all gathered round.

"This island is called Pakalui, and it's part of the Solomons," he explained. "I got Joe to change course this way when he told us we were not going to be able to make it back to Oz. I chose this one for two reasons, firstly, I've been here before, and secondly, I know from intelligence reports that there's only a small Jap garrison here, and they are spread around the coastline."

He gestured to the map.

"It's sort of oblong as you can see, and those are three huge volcanic cones running the length of the spine. The ash the volcanoes throw out is so soft that there's been erosion around most of the coastline, which means that there are only two or three places you can get ashore, the rest is hundred-foot cliffs. Add to that the reefs outside and it makes it a poor asset for either side to want to hold. So the garrison is mostly concentrated here and here."

He pointed to two small villages, one on either side, where access to the sea was possible. He looked up at the rest of the crew.

"The island is also inhabited by tribesmen. I got stuck here on a schooner back in thirty-eight while on my way to do some research on another island, spent about six weeks here while they mended the boat. The locals don't like white-faces."

"So, what you're saying is, it's a choice between the Japs and the locals, and neither will be happy to see us?" Joe asked.

Doc grunted. "No choice, really. We have to try the locals. Or, preferably, stay away from both, although that's not very likely. The island isn't that big."

"What's the chances someone saw us come down?" asked Jack. "Can we stay here?"

Joe shook his head. "No chance, mate. Even if no-one saw us, the scar we made in the jungle will be instantly obvious to any overflying patrol. No, we have to move."

"Do we take the life-rafts?" asked Les, eyeing the two large containers at their feet. "How are we going to get off the island if we don't? Can't see us wandering into one of those coastal villages and borrowing a boat, somehow."

"We'll take them so far," decided Joe, "and hide them up somewhere in case we can make use of them. Which way, Doc?"

"We keep to the mountains. The vegetation is a little less up here, and there's less chance of meeting a Jap patrol if we stay away from the coast. We'll go north-east."

"Okay, mates, grab the gear and let's be going."

~o~O~o~

They had to stop after a while to rest. As they made their way through the dense forest, their path crossed that of a number of very narrow trails. Given that there were supposed to be no large animals on any of the islands in this group, the trails had to have been made by natives, so they avoided them where possible. One path gave them concern, since it was quite wide and the many prints it contained were those of boots, probably Japanese army boots. They found a small grove of dense undergrowth and cleared some of the ground cover so that they could sit down without being surprised by insect life. Joe passed a water bottle around.

"Doc, where does all this come from?" Jack gestured at the surrounding jungle. "I can understand some of it getting across from other islands, but all of it? What about the animals? We've seen several monkeys along the way."

"You'd be surprised," he replied. "We've no direct evidence for a lot of it, of course, but much is easy to work out. Seeds - and birds - get blown by the wind. Insects get here that way as well. Birds sometimes carry larger seeds with them, either in their gut or stuck to their plumage or feet. A good tropical storm can pick up some surprisingly large items, you know that from back home. A cyclone in Darwin can make off with entire houses."

"Yeah, I suppose. But anything that goes up in a cyclone is going to be a mess when it lands."

"True, although small rodents and such are more resilient than you might think. And it only needs one breeding pair to survive, and enough time, for the whole island to be overrun. Another mechanism is rafts. If there's a big storm, or perhaps a giant wave caused by an earthquake, it can easily wash a chunk of jungle straight out to sea, complete with whatever happened to be living on it at the time. If it gets washed up on another island, the castaways get off and start another colony."

"There's also humans," added Joe. "I know that the early settlers here brought pigs and chickens with them, along with some of their staple foods. There's a lot of island commerce, things get traded." He changed the subject slightly. "Doc, can you tell us what we're likely to be facing here? Is this jungle the same over the whole island? What about the villages?"

"Okay. There's about twelve villages around the slopes of the three mountains. Some are larger than others. The people are mostly hunter-gatherers, although some villages do tend small patches of root crops and fruit trees. As I said before, they do a fair bit of trade so don't expect them to have just stone tools and such. They know about steel knives and iron pots and similar items, although there's a move to make sure they don't get anything too advanced that might upset the balance too much. They do know about firearms, although I don't think the Japs will have let them keep any.

"The climate is much like this all year round. Expect it to rain every afternoon some time and rarely otherwise. Occasionally you'll get a big storm which obviously will blow over at it's own time and speed. The vegetation generally changes as you go from sea level up to the slopes of the volcanoes. I know on this island the upper slopes of two of the cones are bare. The northern-most cone is - or was recently - active, the other two seem to be dormant. By active I mean it's known to have erupted in living memory, not that it's spewing ash and lava all the time. The locals mostly tend to live on the slopes because it's cooler and less humid than down at sea level. The two fishing villages are the obvious exception."

"Thanks, Doc," said Joe. "What'll we do when we find a village? Are you aiming for any one in particular?"

Doc grinned. "No, nothing definite in mind. And I think they will find us rather than the other way around. We might be under observation even now, we'd never know. If we do come across any of them, just keep calm and don't do anything threatening. Just give me a chance to talk to them and we should be okay."

~o~O~o~

It was difficult to say who was the most surprised as they entered the small clearing, the five aircrew or the eight-man Japanese patrol. Both started firing the instant they realised the other party was there. The airmen dove for the undergrowth, the soldiers standing their ground and aiming their rifles carefully. One round ricocheted off a life-raft pack, fortunately not causing too much damage. Joe felt rounds cut through the leaves near his head. He heard an automatic bark nearby, followed by the louder bang of a revolver.

Looking through the foliage, Joe was surprised to see the rear man of the patrol fold and collapse on the ground, followed by the soldier next to him. Two men had already been cut down by his crew, but not enough rounds had been fired to account for all the falling bodies. Next to him, Les aimed his automatic and snapped off two shots, killing one soldier and injuring another.

The remaining three soldiers turned and ran, but stopped instantly when they discovered that their retreat was blocked by dark-skinned men wearing little but grass and feathers. One of the tribesmen threw a spear which brought down a soldier. Another soldier raised his rifle, but a shot from a revolver felled him before the tribesmen could react. The last soldier raised his hand to his neck before collapsing on the ground. There was a sudden silence.

One of the tribesmen walked into the small clearing and looked in their direction. He raised a hand and beckoned.

"We'd best get up, mates," said Doc. "They know exactly how many of us there are and where we are. If they'd wanted us dead, we would be."

The five cautiously emerged from the undergrowth, Jack gingerly rubbing an arm where he'd fallen across a huge tree root.

"Let me try and talk to them," continued Doc. "There's a sort of common language amongst the islands called Trade, one of them might speak it."

It turned out that one of the tribesmen did speak a little Trade, so a complicated, disjointed conversation was held with him as interpreter. There was much pointing, of the direction each of the three parties had come from, at the bodies, and at the sky.

"Okay, mates, it's like this," Doc said after a pause. "Like I said, they don't like white-faces, but they absolutely hate the guts of the yellow-faces. The fact that we five took the patrol on by ourselves impressed them, and they said they'll give us some assistance. They'll take us back to their village, and we'll have a talk with the head man, and decide what to do from there. I've got a sort of safe-conduct, so that we can leave their village unharmed if they decide not to help us."

"How far is it?" asked Joe, who had already flown a bombing mission that day and was getting tired.

"A fair way. These chaps have been tracking this patrol all day. It seems to be round behind this mountain." He gestured at the slopes beside them.

"Fair enough. Let's go, then." Joe assented.

"What about these bodies? Paul ventured.

"Yeah, we'll have to hide them. Doc, ask them if there's something special they want to do with the bodies, otherwise we'll hide them away from the path."

"I saw a fissure in the ground a short while back," Jack said, "can't we dump the bodies down there, or somewhere like it?"

"Good idea. We'll take anything of use for ourselves."

They searched each body and took a rifle and bayonet from each, together with a meagre amount of ammunition, perhaps fifty rounds altogether. The soldiers had had few personal items, just the odd photograph and letter, and a pack of evil-looking cigarettes each, which they left. The bodies were then hidden in a nearby crevice and covered before the crewmen followed the tribesmen away from the scene.

~o~O~o~

It was dusk by the time that the combined party staggered into the open area in the middle of the village. On either side a row of substantial residential buildings stood, Long Houses, each perched ten feet in the air on a grid of tremendous tree trunks. Between them a row of fires burned, children played, and pigs and various fowls rooted in the earth under and between the dwellings. The presence of strangers in the party brought silence and a gathering of men, women and children round the group.

An old man, decorated in garlands of flowers and with many feathers in his headband, came forward and spoke to the leader of the expedition. After an explanation, he nodded and began giving orders. Their interpreter spoke to Doc, and Doc relayed to the rest of the crew.

"We're okay for tonight. They can see we're tired, we can talk in the morning. They'll give us a meal and then show us where to sleep. They say they'll have to hide all the bits and pieces that we brought with us." Joe looked as though he was about to protest, so Doc held up his hand. "Yeah, I know, but he's given his word, and we're honoured guests. The problem is if a patrol comes through the village, which happens about once a week, and finds anything that's not native there'll be reprisals. So they have to hide everything you wouldn't expect to find in a village like this. So unload, chaps. And watch your manners."

Reluctantly they handed over all their weapons and other items, Doc retaining only his small medical kit. Some tribesmen gathered them up and carried everything off into the darkness. They were led to logs around one of the fires, and some of the women came and handed them baskets of fruit and sticks bearing slices of pork from a roast on one of the other fires. It didn't take long before they were all nodding off in the warmth from the blaze.

Each airman was helped to a different house, and laboriously assisted up the ladders to gain entrance. They were shown pallets to lie on, separate from the family quarters, and all were asleep within seconds.

~o~O~o~

"It's like this, mates," Doc explained the following morning, "the whole island's bottled up tight. The tribesmen can't get off to do any trade with other islands. They're not even allowed to fish any more. To get off ourselves, we'd have to find a suitable spot and scale the cliff with the life-rafts, then hope we can get through the reefs and out to sea before the patrol boats see us. All at night, naturally. So I guess, unless you've a better idea, Skip, that we're going to be staying here for a while."

"Yeah, I figured as much. Do you know what kind of numbers are involved? I mean, could we take the island?"

"Temporarily. I think, and I'm not sure, that there are about two hundred Japs here, like I said before. There are probably six or seven hundred tribesmen living in a number of villages on the mountains. I'm not counting those living in the little port villages where the Japs are. It seems to be a kind of stand-off. Yes, we could probably wipe out the Japs, but they'd just come and bomb the villages and kill everyone. So it's live and let live. The Japs run patrols through the villages every so often, and they know that the villagers could overwhelm them, but they'd just call down some aircraft if that happened. Sounds like an uneasy balance."

"And then we come along and upset the balance."

"Too right. Couple of the elders wanted to hand us over so they can have a quiet life. They got slapped down but things were awkward for a while. There is a solution, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

"Why did I know you were going to say that? Go on, tell us the worst."

"We become temporary villagers. They've lost some young men to enemy action, shall we say, so if we wanted to pitch in to assist village life they wouldn't object. Also, we know stuff about the Japs and we can pass that on, teach them things. Some of the men were eyeing up those bayonets yesterday, they're good steel knives after all. They can't use them, of course, as any patrol would know instantly what they were. But there's always 'afterwards'."

"Afterwards?"

"Yeah. They don't believe that the Japs will be here for ever. They recognise that things are going to be different once this whole shooting match comes to an end. So we get to give them a leg up, as it were."

"What's the catch?" asked Paul. "You mentioned a catch."

"Well, we don't exactly look like tribesmen. We're going to have to be disguised."

Joe mulled over their predicament. "Anyone any other suggestions? Anything else we might be able to do? No, thought not. Doc, tell the elders we agree to join the tribe, but remind him that we belong to our own tribe, and a day will come when we'll have to go and rejoin them."

~o~O~o~

"That stuff smells awful!" shuddered Les. The iron cauldron, obviously obtained in trade, was filled with a thick dark brown liquid. Earlier in the day it had been bubbling as the contents were brewed together over one of the perpetual fires, but now it was just warm to the touch.

"It's okay, it's only going on the outside," Joe said. "You don't have to drink it."

The five airmen had completely stripped, some of them feeling extremely self-concious amongst the curious tribesmen and women. Two of the tribesmen now came and used rough brushes to daub the brown stain over each of them, making sure that the whole of each body was covered, with the exception of the palms of their hands and the soles of their feet. These had been protected with clay. Les sighed as his blond hair turned a very dark shade of brown. They stared at one another.

"You're going to have to stay like that for an hour or so, then you can go and have a rinse off under the waterfall at the bottom end of the village," Doc told them. "By then, it will be time for the evening meal."

"This is going to take some getting used to, Skip," said Paul. "It's going to take a while just to recognise you all again. You don't half look different when you're that colour."

"We still don't really look like tribes-people," complained Les. "Their faces are different to ours, and we don't have the crinkly hair."

"Now, there you're wrong," said Doc. "If you look carefully, you'll see that some of them do in fact have straight hair, and one or two even have noses like ours. I asked about that today, and it seemed that there was a Dutch missionary living here about forty, fifty years ago, they weren't too sure exactly how long ago as you can imagine. Looks like he left something of himself behind in the population. Happens quite often out in the islands. No, the big problem we have is that we don't speak the lingo. Starting tomorrow, we start language classes."

"Great," Jack groaned. "You know I have trouble with languages."

"I shouldn't think you'll have too much difficulty, these tribal languages don't have huge vocabularies as a rule. A lot of the words are borrowed from English or another of the colonial languages, anyway. It's just the pronunciation and the fact that every single verb is irregular that you'll have to worry about." Doc grinned at Jack's expression of horror.

Some of the young men escorted them down to the river to bathe, and they stood under the waterfall and made themselves clean. The water didn't remove any of the colour from their skins, just the excess dye from the daubing exercise. Then they were taken to a big hut at the other end of the open area where a number of young women stood carrying baskets. Each woman selected an airman and began to dress him from the contents of the baskets. A short skirt of grass falling to mid-thigh, a flat collar of grass which spread out over their shoulders and upper chest and back, circlets consisting of a frill of grass went around each upper arm and the top of each calf, and a strip woven from grass with feathers inserted went around their foreheads. Finally, and much to the embarrassment of the five, they were presented with 'athletic supporters' or jockstraps woven from some locally-produced fibre. They tied these around their waists and between their legs under the grass skirts.

"It's better, Doc, but I still don't think we look quite like them," Jack said when they had all finished.

"No, but I'm banking on the fact that the Japs will think the tribes-people all look the same, just as we think the Japs all look the same. Isn't true, of course, but I hope they don't look too closely."

"Er, some of them have ear piercings, and a couple have nose piercings," said Les nervously.

"A lot of them don't, thank goodness. The ones who do are mostly the older population. I'm sure we can manage without. Now, let's get at that food."

~o~O~o~

The following morning their uniforms were taken to be hidden with the rest of their belongings. Joe, who had a thought about the state of metal objects in a humid environment, went with Les to see where their things had been stashed. Once they had arrived there with their accompanying guides, they realised that if nothing was done the metal would all have corroded away and their clothing would have rotted, so Joe sacrificed the life-raft which had been damaged. All the items were parcelled up in the fabric of the raft to protect them before the bundle was hoisted back into the sky and hidden in a cavity in one of the huge trees that made up the upper level of the rainforest.

Once back in the village, the hair of the five was laboriously clipped back to half an inch and then rubbed with a mixture of clay and ash. By the time the young men had finished drawing designs on their faces and torsos with more of the white clay, it would have taken an expert to determine who was villager and who was not.

Their education began and continued without a break for the next few days. Each of the women who had dressed them was from a family who adopted that airman, each going to live in their Long House with the family. Initial cynicism amongst the tribes-people about the naive nature of the soft foreigners soon disappeared as the newcomers drove single-mindedly into their task. A feeling of mutual respect soon grew between the groups, and as their familiarity with the village dialect became greater, the differences between them grew less until the five were finally absorbed into the village population.

It helped that the men were young and able to adjust to new circumstances. Front gunner and bomb aimer Jack Harris, nineteen, was the youngest. He had been an apprentice butcher in Sydney when war had been declared. Les Parnell, twenty, was the engineer. He had worked in a garage in a small outback town, and was the only one of the five who didn't have an urban upbringing. Paul Davis, twenty-one, had worked in a radio studio in a small provincial town, so was ideally suited to running the radio and radar equipment on the long-range bomber. The pilot, Joe Maguire, twenty-three, had done some pre-war work flying miners to remote workings but was originally from Adelaide. The oldest of them was only twenty-five. Dr Andrew Ballantyne, PhD in Anthropology, had spent a number of years researching the tribal customs of the Solomons, New Guinea and the eastern end of Indonesia, so was a perfect fit for navigator. They were all still adaptable, and Doc considered the chance to live amongst a village of tribes-people, as one of them, an opportunity he could not pass over, war or no war.

On the third day after their arrival a force of about fifty Japanese entered the village, obviously looking for the airmen. Forewarned, the five stayed in their Long Houses, just looking out with others of their adopted family at the troops filling the centre space. A machine gun had been set up on a tripod at the higher end of the space. Most of the villagers had gathered silently in small groups as the troops arrived, and a local who had been co-opted under duress from one of the fishing villages came forward as interpreter. The village headman advanced to meet him.

Since the language the two had in common was more or less what the villagers spoke, and the only outside language the interpreter spoke was a rough English, it took a fair while to explain to the headman what was wanted. He of course professed ignorance, and waved his hand at the houses to indicate that he was quite happy for them to be searched. Squads of soldiers split up and went through each of the buildings, finding nothing that shouldn't be there. They ignored anyone who was in the building, except to order them out of the way while the search was taking place. They also ignored the groups of curious onlookers standing in the central area, except to cover them with their rifles and the machine gun. Finally, frustrated by the lack of evidence, the officer in charge barked out orders and the whole column marched away into the jungle.

Only when the lookouts reported that the column had indeed departed did everyone relax. When they gathered again near one of the fires, Les had a guilty look on his face, and one of the young tribesmen with him had a barely suppressed smirk.

"That wasn't a total loss, mates," Les said eventually.

"What do you mean? Apart from the fact that we stood right out in front of them and they never twigged," asked Joe.

"Ah, matey here spotted something when they were milling around getting ready to leave. He nudged me and raised an eyebrow, and when I saw what it was, I couldn't resist."

"What have you done now? I hope it's not something that will make them come back."

Les gestured to the young man who went off and came back with a satchel, obviously mislaid by one of the soldiers. Opening it, they saw it was filled with boxes of rifle ammunition.

Les smirked. "Someone's going to get a bollocking when they find that missing," he said. "And the best part is, it could have been dropped anywhere on their route. I don't think anyone's going to imagine the natives would have the nerve to pinch something like this, so I reckon we're safe. Skip?"

Joe considered, then nodded. "Fine. It's done now, so we'll have to live with the consequences. It means we can make better use of those rifles when the time comes. I'll get the villagers to stash this away with our other stuff. But, Les, we have to be real careful here. It's not just our lives we're risking, it's seventy villagers as well. So, next time you have an idea, think twice, and see if you can get approval before you do something like this again. Nevertheless, well done, excellent spur of the moment idea."

~o~O~o~

Days turned into weeks. The occasional patrol came through the village and saw nothing. On a small number of occasions, an aircraft flew high overhead, but whose and what for remained a mystery. All the airmen went out in turns hunting with the young men of the tribe. Doc, to his astonishment, managed to spear a boar in full flight. Paul and Les found that they could reach monkeys in the high canopy using blowpipes. With the addition of the five, the village soon had more than adequate food for its needs.

The biggest difficulty the five faced was adapting to bare feet in the jungle. There were a number of unpleasant incidents involving particularly aggressive ants before they finally found the knack to travel without boots. The only real problem was Paul, who began to feel progressively tired as time went on. Finally, he was forced to stay behind one day when one of the hunting groups went out, saying he was both worn out and hungry.

Doc checked him over. He made Paul sit on the porch of the house in full daylight while he inspected his body closely all over.

"Apart from the usual ant bites on your feet," he said, "I can't find anywhere else on your body where you might have been stung, or bitten, or brushed up against anything nasty. Mind you, it's not easy looking for marks when we've been stained so heavily. Do you have any other symptoms?"

"I've got an ache in the small of my back," Paul replied, "but that's just a result of sitting funny in these houses, isn't it? Oh, and my teeth hurt, but it's not like a toothache, more an all over thing. What do you reckon, Doc?"

"Dunno, Paul. Aching teeth might mean a vitamin deficiency, but given the amount of fruit we all get through each day that's unlikely. I wondered if you've picked up a parasite, you know, something like a tapeworm maybe. You do know I'm not a real Doctor, don't you?"

"Course you are, Doc, just not a medical one. Yeah, I know, but I thought as how you've spent some time around people like these, you might have seen something like this before."

Doc nodded. "You're right, but I can't say I've noticed anything like this. You're not seriously ill yet, so I suggest we give it a little time and see if you get over it. Tell me if there's something else though, or if there's any change, won't you?"

"Sure, Doc. Any chance you can get someone to bring me up a snack?"

A week later, a disturbed Paul got Doc to check him over again. This time, there was fear in his expression.

"Doc, I think my balls are disappearing."

"What?"

"They're going, I'm sure. They're half the size they used to be."

"Er, will you let me take a look? I'm going to have to examine you properly, I think. Do you mind?"

"Doc, you're the nearest thing we have to a medical man. Of course you can have a look."

Paul reclined on his pallet and used his hands to lift the grass skirt before spreading his legs apart.

"I don't have to touch anything to see they've shrunk. Your dick looks about the same size, though."

"When did you -"

"When we all got tarred and feathered," replied Doc. "It's not normally something I take much interest in, you understand, but we were all standing there naked for quite a while, and one's eye seems to get drawn to the parts normally hidden, if you understand me."

"Yeah," replied Paul. It was impossible to tell, under the dye, whether he was blushing or not. "I guess you're right. So, what does this mean, Doc?"

"Way out of my league, Paul. No idea. I'll have to report this to the others, though," he warned. "It might be something that's only affected you at the moment, but I have to remember the health of the others - and myself, of course."

"Fine, Doc. We've no secrets here."

"Have you noticed anything else change recently? Things that might be relevant?"

"I dunno. All this food is making me a bit flabby. I'm not getting enough exercise stuck up here." Paul yawned. "Funny, though, it hasn't gone on my waist. In fact, I've had to tighten up the string on my grass skirt, otherwise it'd be halfway down my hips."

"Well, different types put on weight different places. I wouldn't worry too much about that. You should soon burn it all off again once you recover."

After a further week, with Paul spending half of each day asleep as well as all of each night, and with a seeming inexhaustible appetite, Doc had to admit defeat and asked the headman to come and examine him. Paul laboriously waddled out of the interior of the house and lowered himself to the floor of the porch. The headman took a single look at Paul from the ladder and stopped.

"Km'lilleh."

"What?" asked Doc.

"Km'lilleh." The headman then gave a stream of explanation which Doc's limited language experience couldn't decipher. Seeing the look on Doc's face, he tried to make things simpler. "He is not sick. He has the km'lilleh. Soon, he will be able to do things again but he will not be a man."

Dead right there, thought Doc. He's got no balls. What do I tell him? And what's km'lilleh?

The head man climbed to the ground again and called out to one of the older women. Soon, a small crowd of older women had gathered by the ladder, some bearing baskets of food.

"I do not know of the km'lilleh," explained the headman to Doc, "except as told to me by my father's father, and to him by his father's father. It was thought that a spirit inhabited a person long ago, and changed him. tk'Pallo -" which was the nearest they could get to pronouncing Paul's name, "- has km'lilleh, and he is changing also. Soon, he will be well again, two, three moons, perhaps. Elder wives of the tribe will guide him."

"Doc? What's going on?"

"Dunno, Paul. It seems the headman knows what's wrong with you. He says you'll recover in a couple of months or so. These women are going to look after you. I don't understand what he's saying, though, he's using a word I can't get a translation to. I'll try and find out what's going on. You just do what the women tell you, okay?"

"What about my balls, Doc? They've gone completely."

"Paul, I don't know the answer to that. Look, do you feel unwell? Ill? Is your mind clear? Anything you feel anxious about you need to talk to someone?"

"Strange you should ask that, no I don't. In fact, I feel quite well, apart from the tiredness and wanting to eat. I have had some very odd dreams lately, but that's not really surprising."

When Les, Jack and Joe came back later that day from hunting, Doc called them together and brought them up to date.

"He says his balls have gone completely?" asked Joe. All of them looked involuntarily towards their grass skirts.

"Yeah, Skip. He's worried, but less so than I might have been in his position, I think. Now, have any of you had any of the symptoms Paul has shown so far, that I told you about before?"

The three shook their heads.

"So, it's affecting him, and just him. Do we know anything about his family, Joe, that might give an indication what's going on?"

"He's an orphan, that I know," replied Joe. "There might have been an aunt - or was it an uncle? I don't remember. He never talked about them, I just remember it was in his file when he joined the crew. Nope, nothing helpful there I can remember, I'm afraid."

"He was perfectly all right till we got here," Les pointed out. "Is it something he ate or drank in the village, do you think?"

"Or got stung by, or bitten by, and so on," finished Doc. "If so, why him and not us? Besides, you know Paul, never catches anything, heals up faster than the rest of us. I would have thought he'd be the last person to go down with some tropical bug. I must admit, it's got me stumped."

"What's the word the headman used? Come-lily?" Joe asked.

Doc grinned. "Near enough. I can't work out what it means, whether it's a disease, or something that's happening to Paul, or the name of the last person who had it, or a forest spirit or what. I'll keep asking around, though. Meanwhile, it's something else to think about while you knock monkeys out of the trees. By the way, Jack, your ideas have really improved the local cooking, did you know?"

"I like to think so," replied Jack. "A meat pie and two veg would be nice occasionally, though."

"We'll get home one day," Joe reassured him. "It may take us a while, but we're going to get home eventually."