Dinosaur Planet

CHAPTER FIVE

By the time he had finished the first beaker of Lunzie's brew, Kai had considerably more respect for the versatility of the fruit and for Lunzie's resourcefulness which was already legend in the expedition. He might almost become a fruit-freak. His taste ran to a tart flavour in beverages and this had a jolt that was satisfying as well as to his liking.

He was startled to see Lunzie gravely pouring small beakers for the three youngsters but when he half-rose in protest, she gave him a placid nod. Kai watched as Bonnard sipped warily and then made a disappointed grimace.

“Aw, Lunzie, it's just juice.”

“Certainly. What else did you expect to get from me at your age?”

“You've added something, though, haven't you, Lunzie?” said Cleiti, smiling to make up for Bannard's complaint.

“Yes, I have. See if you can determine what it is.”

“Probably something good for us,” said Bonnard in a mumble which Lunzie might not have heard for she was turning away.

Kai, thoroughly amused by the incident, moved to the dinner table and began to fill a plate. There was a mixture of synthesized and natural products, including a patty made of the algae Trizein had been cultivating. It tasted faintly of the hydro-telluride that permeated everything on this planet. Kai thought again that were it not for that stink, Ireta would be a wonderful assignment.

He stood a little apart as he ate, watching the other members of his teams, to gauge the general reaction to Dimenon's and Margit's find. A strike automatically increased the team's expeditionary earnings and there could be some resentment. Of course now that they knew the shield lands were stripped, they'd go right into the nearest orogenic zones. Finds would be the rule, instead of the exception from now on.

And that would mean Kai would have to report the finds to EV. How long would he and Varian be able to suppress the fact that the expedition was no longer in contact with EEC? The teams would be expecting some sort of acknowledgement of their endeavours from the mother ship. Well, Kai thought, he was within standard procedural methods to wait until they'd done a thorough survey of the site and assayed the yield. That would give him a few days' grace. Then it was entirely within the realm of operations that EV might not strip the message from the beamer for another eight to ten days. After that, he and Varian might be forced to admit to the lack of communication. Of course, by that time, maybe the vessel would have passed beyond the interference of the storm and have picked up the backlog of reports. Kai decided not to worry about that problem right now. And took a good swig of Lunzie's brew. It did go down smoothly, with only the faintest trace of hydro-telluride.

Glancing around the room, Kai noticed that Varian was intently watching the heavy-worlders, her brows contracted in an expression of mild bewilderment Paskutti was laughing, which was unusual enough, at something Tanegli had said. Could Lunzie's brew be having a loosening effect on the heavy-worlders? That shouldn't puzzle Varian. He went over to her.

“Never seen Paskutti laughing before?”

“Oh, you startled me, Kai.”

“Sorry, but they're . . . they're not drunk on the stuff, certainly . . .” She held her own beaker out, peering at it quizzically. “They've had just as much as I have but they're . . . they're different.”

“I don't see any difference, Varian. Except this is only the second time I've ever seen Paskutti laugh and I've worked three standard years with the man. That's nothing to get upset about . . . or,” and he stared at her intently a moment, “did something happen today?”

“Yes and no. Oh, just a rather brutal incident . . . a predator attacking one of Mabel's types. Nasty piece of work.” She gave herself a shake and then smiled with resolute good humour at him. “I'm too used to domesticated animals, I guess.”

“Like the Galormis?”

She shuddered. “You do know how to cheer me up.” She stuck her tongue out at him and then laughed when he did. “No, the Galormus were clever, in their own way. They had the wit to act appealing, like the beasts we have all come to know and love through the medium of the three-d tapes. My old practical vet instructor always warned us never to trust any animal, no matter how well we knew, liked or trusted it. But . . . oh, well. I have been with that dour bunch a lot, and I guess I'm imagining things. This is a happy occasion. So let's make it one. Tomorrow's going to be very busy. And,” she added, turning her body to shield her words from anyone nearby, “what are we going to do about a message to EV?”

“Thought about that myself,” and Kai told her how he proposed they handle the problem.

“That's okay by me, Kai, and eminently sensible. Only I sure do hope we hear within that period. Say, you might ask the Theks in your next contact if they do remember anything about a previous expedition here.”

“Do I convey curiosity or disapproval because we were landed without any knowledge of a previous expedition?”

“Do the Theks appreciate either emotional prod?”

“I doubt it, but the trick is to get them actively thinking about anything.”

“By the time they've had their think, we could well be gone from here.” She paused and then, sort of surprised at her own words, added, “You don't suppose that Elder Thek is from the original group?”

“Varian, it takes a million years to produce the tectonic changes that buried the other cores. Not even a Thek is that long-lived.”

“Its son, maybe? Direct memory transfer? I know they practise that between generations.”

“That could be it?”

“What?”

"How all knowledge of Ireta got lost. Inaccurate memory transfer.

“There you go again, Kai, accusing the Theks of fallability. And here they've done half your work for you!”

Kai gave her a quick worried look but she was teasing him.

“Not the dangerous half . . . just sketched in the shields. Which reminds me, if you can spare them, I'd like to borrow the heavy-worlders tomorrow. We've got to move a lot of equipment and Dimenon says the terrain is wicked. Gaber will have to be on the spot for detailed mapping.”

“Who does that leave in camp on duty?”

“Lunzie prefers to stay in, on call. Divisti wants to do some tests and Trizein won't stir out of his lab. Oh, fardles, the younger contingent . . .”

"Don't worry about them. I'll take 'em. I'd like to see the pay dirt myself. It'd do them good. We can spin off and leave you to work in peace. I think Bonnard could manage the tell-tagger, even if you don't – "

“It's not that I don't, Varian . . .”

“I'm teasing you, Kai. But the kids'll be quite as useful for me to check the vicinity for the deposition of wildlife as the heavy-worlders. So long as we stay in the sled,” she added as she noticed Kai about to caution her.

Lunzie joined them at that point and Kai complimented her on the drink.

Lunzie frowned as she regarded the pitcher of liquid dubiously.

“It's not right yet. I shall distill it again, to see if I can't filter out that hint of hydro-telluride.”

“By all means keep at it, Lunzie,” said Kai and held out his beaker for her to fill, complaining when she did not.

“You don't need a big head for tomorrow. This fruit is potent.” Lunzie nodded towards the heavy-worlders whose deep laughs were rolling through the dome with increased frequency. “They feel its effects and their metabolism can tolerate more alcohol than ours.”

“They do look drunk, don't they, Varian?”

“Drunk? Perhaps.” It could, Varian thought, account for the way they were handling each other. Alcohol was a mild aphrodisiac for some species. She'd never heard that it affected the heavy-worlders that way. She was wondering if she ought to speak to them when suddenly, as if moved by a spontaneous signal, the heavy-worlders left the dome.

"It's good to see some who can recognize their limitations?" said Lunzie. I will take their tacit advice, and remove temptation."

Varian protested that she'd only had one serving: Kai had had two. Lunzie gave her a splash more and then strode out of the dome. Gaber half-followed her, but a curt remark stopped him at the door. Scowling, the cartographer came back to Varian and Kai.

“The evening's only started,” he said in an aggrieved tone. “Why did she have to remove the drink?”

“She's worried about its potency.” Varian studied the pale greenish liquid in her beaker with marked suspicion. “It sure made an impression on the heavy-worlders.”

Gaber snorted. “No need to deprive us because they have soft heads in spite of their heavy muscles.”

Kai and Varian exchanged glances because Gaber was slurring some of his words whether he was oblivious to the fact or not. He took a careful sip, closing his eyes to concentrate on an appreciation of the taste. “First decent thing on this planet,” he said. “Only thing that doesn't smell. And Lunzie makes off with it. Not fair. Just not fair.”

“We've a heavy day tomorrow, Gaber.”

“Did you tell her to ration us?” Gaber was quite willing to transfer his irritation from Lunzie to Kai and Varian.

“No. She's the dietician and the physician, Gaber. This stuff is apparently not up to standard. There could be adverse reactions to it and tomorrow . . .”

“I know, I know,” and Gaber waved his hand irritably to cut off Kai's sentence. “We've a big day tomorrow. Just as well we have something like this to sustain us when we're . . .” Now he abruptly concluded his sentence, glancing apprehensively at Kai who affected not to notice. “It does have a funny taste to it.” He hurried off.

"Sustain us when . . . what, Kai?" asked Varian, concerned."

“Gaber came up with the ass-headed notion that we've been planted.”

“Planted?” Varian suppressed the words behind her hand and then let her laughter loose. “I doubt it. Not on a planet as rich in the transuranics as this one. No way. Those ores are too badly needed. And it isn't as if they'd landed heavy equipment for us to do any sort of mining. Certainly not transuranic refining. Gaber's the original gloom guy. He can't ever look on the bright side of things.”

“I laughed at him, too, Varian, only . . .”

"Co-leader Kai," Varian glowered at him sternly, of course you did. It's stupid, silly and I only wish that the other reports had been picked up from the satellite so I didn't have any doubts." She gave Kai a frantic look, then shook her head. "No, it won't wash. We're not planted. But, if we don't hear from EV, I wouldn't trust Gaber not to spread that rumour." She looked at her empty beaker. "Damn Lunzie! Just when I need a drop more."

“I thought we'd decided not to worry about EV.”

“I'm not. Just grousing. I like that junk! It's got a certain curious jolt to it.”

“Probably a nutritional additive,” said Kai, remembering Bannard's complaint.

Varian burst out laughing. “Trust Lunzie for that. Our health is her first concern.”

Dimenon, his arm possessively about Margit, came strolling over to them. He couldn't have had more to drink than anyone else, since Lunzie had kept control of the pitcher, but his face was flushed and he was decidedly merry. He informed Kai that he insisted that the pitchblende mine be named after Margit. She was equally insistent that they share the triumph, as was customary, and the two fell to good-natured bickering, each calling for support from special friends in the team until everyone was involved in discussion.

Gaber was not the only one annoyed by Lunzie's precipitous departure with the drink, and Kai was surprised to hear a good deal of veiled complaints about the heavy-worlders. It caught him unawares as he'd been more sensitive to friction between the geological teams.

The next morning, he had additional cause for thought about the heavy-worlders for they were not operating in their usual stolid dependable fashion: they moved sluggishly, awkwardly, looked tired and were almost sullenly quiet

“They couldn't have got hung over in two half-beakers?” Varian murmured to Kai as she, too, noticed the glum manner of her team. “And their quarters were dark early. They ought to have got enough sleep.”

“If they got to sleep . . .” Kai replied grinning.

Varian dropped her jaw in surprise and then she giggled.

“I tend to forget they must have a sex drive. It's a weird cycle, compulsive in the rut, so to speak, on their own planet. Generally, they don't when they're on a mission.”

“There isn't a law against it for them, is there?”

“No, it's just they don't . . .” She seemed to find it mystifying. “Well, they'll sweat it out on those slopes this morning?” she added, looking at the foothills that folded higher and higher until the overthrust mountains dominated the skyline. They were standing at the base of the saddle ridge of pitch-blende, looking down the fold limb. The brown lustrous vein was visible where dirt had been blown clear. “This is a fantastic deposit, Kai. And so is its location. Why one of the big mining ships can just squat right down and crunch up all of it without moving again.” She had emphasized her words by rolling her r's, and gesturing graphically with her fingers in claw-like attitudes.

“I didn't realize you'd worked with a geology team before.”

“Galorm was explored for its minerals, not its wildlife, Kai. Admittedly the wildlife made the beamlines but we xenobs were just along to catalogue another variation of Life.”

“Do you ever mind?”

“What? Being second?” She shrugged and smiled to reassure him. “No, Kai. Energy is a lot more important than wildlife.”

“Life,” and he paused to stress the inclusiveness of the word, “is far more important than any inanimate object . . .” he gestured to the pitchblende.

“Which just happens to be essential to sustain life – on other planets, and in space. We have to sustain, protect and investigate. I'm here to inspect the life that exists on Ireta, and you're here to insure that life elsewhere can continue on its grand and glorious scale. Don't fret on my account, Kai. The experience I gain here may just one day put me where I really want to be . . .”

“Which is . . .” Kai was also trying to see what Paskutti and Tardma were doing with a seismograph.

"Planetary preserver. Now," she went on, noticing his diverted attention, I'd better enhance the reputation needed to be one by studying those fliers of yours. I can survey this area first."

They both caught in their breaths as Tardma faltered, struggled to regain her balance and the backpack of delicate instrumentation which she was bringing up the far slope.

“What the fardles did Lunzie put in that joy juice of hers to queer them up so?”

“It's Ireta that's doing it to them! The drink didn't affect us that way. I'm off now, Kai. I've only to gather the youngsters.”

“I'll need the big sled back here, you know.”

“Yes, by sundown! Shout if you need it sooner,” she said, gesturing to her wrist comunit.

Bonnard was disappointed to be dragged away before the first seismic shot but, when Dimenon told him it would take several hours to set up, he went willingly with Varian.

Terilla had been enchanted by unusual flowering vines and, carefully wearing her thick gloves, had gathered different types which she had placed in the bags Divisti had given her for the purpose. Cleiti, who tended to be Bannard's aide and assistant, regarded the younger girl's activity with supercilious disdain. Varian shooed them all towards the big sled and told them to settle in and belt up. She was checking the flight board when she was struck by the sled's elapsed hours of use. Surely she hadn't put twelve hours flight time on it yesterday? Even subtracting the two hours needed to reach these foothills, she couldn't have racked up more than six hours the day before. That left a huge whack unaccounted for – and made the sled due for a recharge and servicing.

She'd ask Kai about it when she returned. Maybe she simply hadn't recorded accurately, or the sled had been used here when she'd been busy elsewhere.

She showed Bonnard how to operate the tagger, Cleiti how to read the life-form telltale, and Terilla how to be sure the recorder was functioning as they'd be passing over relatively undetailed terrain. The youngsters were delighted to have some responsibility and listened attentively as Varian explained the quartering pattern she would follow as they surveyed the general vicinity for dangerous life forms. Although Varian was sceptical about the duration of their enthusiasm once the tasks had settled into routine, their exuberance made a nice change from the sober company of the heavy worlders.

The three young people hadn't had that much occasion to see the raw life of a virgin planet, and had had only the one trip since they'd landed on Ireta. They chattered happily as Varian lifted the sled and circled the geological site.

At first there wasn't much to telltale or tag. Most of the animal life was small and kept hidden from sight. Bonnard was jubilant when he tagged some tree-dwellers which Varian thought must be nocturnal since they didn't so much as move from their tree boles when the sled overpassed them. Terilla periodically reported the recorder functioning but the ground cover would make details of the area difficult to read. In the low foothills, as they quartered back towards the pitchblende saddle, the sled's noise flushed a group of fleet little animals which Bonnard gleefully tagged and Terilla triumphantly taped. Slightly put out by the success of the others, Cleiti's turn came when she read telltales of a cave-dwelling life form. They did not show themselves but the readings were low enough on the scale to suggest small creatures, burrowers or timid night beasts that would be unlikely to cause problems for any secondary camp.

In fact, Varian had to conclude that nothing of any potentially dangerous size could be found in the foothills surrounding the pitchblende discovery. Nonetheless, size did not, as she pointed out to the children, relate to the potential danger of a creature. Some of the smallest were the most deadly. The one you could hear coming was the safest: you could take evasive action. Bonnard snorted at the notion of running away." I like plants better than animals," said Terilla.

“Plants can be just as dangerous,” replied Bonnard in a repressive tone.

“Like that sword plant?” asked Terilla with such innocence that Varian, who was suppressing her laughter at the girl's apt query, could not consider the child guilty of malice.

Bonnard growled at the reminder of his painful encounter with that particular plant and was patently trying to think of a put-down for Terilla.

“Your instruments are transmitting,” said Varian, to forestall a quarrel.

The sled was passing over an area of squat trees and thick undergrowth which triggered the telltale at a large enough scale and sufficient concentration to warrant some investigation. The terrain was rocky and steep which suggested the inhabitants were not ruminants. However, after circling without flushing the creatures, Varian decided that the area was far enough from the ore deposit to be a negligible danger. She marked the co-ordinates for later study when a group expedition could be mounted. Despite the general high level of violent life and death on Ireta, one could be too cautious. If Kai sited the secondary camp high enough up in the foothills to avoid the worst predatory life, the force-screen would be sufficient to deter poisonous insects and dangerous smaller animals. It wasn't as if a herd of Mabels was likely to come rampaging up the slopes and stampeding through the force-screen.

She finished her survey, cautioned the youngsters to check the seat belts they had loosened to attend to their instruments, and, tapping in the co-ordinates for the inland sea, gave the sled full power.

Even so it took a good hour and a half to reach their destination. She wished that Divisti had had a chance to run an analysis of the grasses which Kai and Bakkun had collected at the Rift Valley. The report might have given Varian some insight to the habits of the fliers but, perhaps it was wiser to observe these fascinating creatures without preconceived notions.

Varian was pleased with the behaviour of the youngsters on the flight: they asked more intelligent questions than she'd been led to expect from them, sometimes straying in areas of which she had little knowledge. They seemed annoyed that she was not a portable data retrieval unit.

Cleiti was the first to spot the fliers, and preened herself for that feat later on. The creatures were not, as Varian had unconsciously expected, perched on the cliffs and rocks of their natural habitat, nor singly fishing. A large group – not a flock for that was a loose collection of a similar species, and the fliers gave the appearance of organization – was gathered above the broad end of the inland water, at its deepest part, where the cliffs narrowed to form the narrow isthmus through which the parent sea pushed the tide waters to flush the vast inland basin; a tide which seldom had force enough to crawl more than a few inches up the verge on the farthest shore, fifty kilometres away.

“I've never seen birds doing that,” Bonnard exclaimed.

“When did you ever see free birds in flight?” asked Varian, a bit chagrined that her tone emerged sharper than she'd intended.

“I have landed, you know,” said Bonnard with mild reproach. “And there are such things as training tapes. I watch a lot of those. So, those aren't acting like any other species I've ever seen.”

“Qualifications accepted, Bonnard, I haven't either.”

The golden fliers were sweeping low in what had to be considered a planned formation. The sled was a bit too far for unaided vision of the observers to perceive exactly what happened to jerk the line of fliers to half their previous forward speed. Some of the fliers were dragged downward briefly but, as they beat their wings violently to compensate, they recovered their positions in the line and slowly, the whole mass began to lift up, away from the water's surface.

“Hey, they've got something in their claws,” said Bonnard who had appropriated the screen from Cleiti and had adjusted it to the distance factor. “I'd swear it is a net. It is! And they're dragging fish from the water. Scorch it! And look what's happening below!”

Varian had had time to adjust her mask's magnification and the girls had crowded over the small viewer plate with Bonnard. They could all see clearly the roiling water, and the frenzied thrusts and jumps of the aquatic life which unsuccessfully tried to penetrate the nets and the captured prey.

“Nets! How in the raking rates do fliers achieve nets?” Varian's comment was more for herself than the children.

“I see claws half down their wings, there, where it goes triangular. Can't see clearly enough but, Varian, if they've an opposing digit, they could make nets.”

“They could and they must have, because we haven't seen anything else bright enough on Ireta to make 'em for 'em.”

Cleiti giggled, smothering the sound in her hand. “The Ryxi won't like this.”

"Why not?" Bonnard demanded, regarding his friend with a frown. intelligent avian life is very rare, my xenob says."

“The Ryxi like being the only smart ones,” said Cleiti. “You know how Vrl used to be . . .” Somehow the child lengthened her neck, hunched her shoulders forward, swept her hands and arms back like folded wings and assumed such a haughty expression by pulling her mouth and chin down that she exactly resembled the arrogant Vrl.

“Don't ever let him see that,” Varian said, tears of laughter in her eyes. “But it's a terrific mime, Cleiti. Terrific.”

Cleiti grinned at their success as Bonnard and Terilla regarded her with expressions akin to awe.

“Who else can you do?” asked Bonnard.

Cleidi shrugged. “Who did you want?”

“Not now, kids. Later. I want tape on this phenomenon.”

The three youngsters immediately took their assigned stations as the sled followed the burdened fliers towards the distant cliffs. Varian had time to dwell on the subtler implications of the fliers' fishing. The creatures were quite obviously the most intelligent species she had encountered on Ireta. Nor had she come across another cooperative avian race: at least, at this level. Bannard's xenob was not accurate in saying that intelligent avian life was rare: dominant intelligent avian life was, however. So often winged life was in such desperate competition with ground based life for the same foods that all their energies had to be directed to the procurement of food, or the preservation of the home nest, and the succour of the young. When a life form specialized, dropping the forearm with manipulative skill for the wing of retreat, they lost a tremendous advantage in the battle of survival.

The golden fliers of Ireta seemed to have managed to retain the vestigial hand without expense to the wing, thus used their flight advantage beautifully.

Occasionally smaller fish fell from the nets, back into the sea, to cause more frothing as the submarine denizens struggled to secure the prizes. Twice, immense heads rolled avidly up from the deeps, futilely as the fliers passed with their tempting loads.

Now the four observers saw additional fliers materializing from the cloudy skies, swooping down to take positions along the edges of the nets, supporting the load and relieving the first fishers. Thus assisted, the formation picked up speed.

“How fast are they going now, Varian?” asked Bonnard for the xenob had been carefully matching the forward motion, staying behind but above the fliers.

“With this tail wind, I make it twenty kph, but I think they'll gain air speed with all this reinforcement.”

“They're so beautiful,” said Terilla softly. “Even hard at work, they're graceful and see how they gleam.”

“They look as if they were travelling in their own personal sunlight,” said Cleiti, “but there's no sun.”

“Yeah, what's with this crazy planet?” said Bonnard. “It stinks and there's never any sun. I did want to see a sun when I got a chance.”

“Well, here's your moment,” said Terilla, crowing with delight as the unpredictable happened and the clouds parted to a glimpse of the green sky and the white-hot yellow sun.

Varian laughed with the others and almost wished that the face-masks didn't adjust instantly for the change in light. The only way she knew that there was sun at the moment were the shadows on the sea.

“We're being followed!” Bannard's amused tone held a note of awe.

Huge submarine bodies now launched up and slammed down on the shadow which the air sled cast on the waters behind it.

“I'm glad we're ahead of them,” Cleiti said in a small voice.

“There's the biggest crazy I've ever seen!” Bonnard sounded so startled that Varian turned round.

“What was it, Bonnard?”

“I couldn't tell you. I've never seen anything like it in all my born days, Varian.”

“Was the taper on it?”

“Not on that,” said Terilla, apologetically. “Forward, on the fliers.”

“Here, let me have it, Ter. I know where to point.” Bonnard assumed control and Terilla moved aside.

“It's like a flat piece of fabric, Varian,” Bonnard was saying as he sighted across the stern of the sled. “The edges flutter and then . . . it sort of turns over on itself! Here comes another!”

The girls gave small squeals of revulsion and delighted fear. Varian slewed round in the pilot seat and caught a glimpse of something grey-blue which did, as Bonnard said, flutter like a fabric caught in a strong breeze. She caught sight of two points half-way up one side (like claws?), then the creature flipped over, end for end, and entered the water with more of a swish than a splash, as Cleiti put it.

“How big would you say it was, Bonnard?”

“I'd judge about a metre on each side but it kept switching. I've got good tapes of that last leap. I set the speed half again higher so you can play back for more detail.”

“That's using your head, Bonnard.”

“Here comes another! Rakers! Look at the speed on that thing!”

“I'd rather not,” said Terilla. “How does it know we're here? I don't see any sort of eyes or antenna or anything. It can't see the shadows.”

“The fringes?” asked Bonnard. “Sonar?”

“Not for leaping out of water,” replied Varian. “We'll possibly find out how it perceives us when we can replay. Rather interesting. And were those claws I saw? Two of them?”

“That's bad?” Bonnard had caught the puzzled note in her voice.

“Not bad, Bonnard, but damned unusual. The fliers, the herbivores and the predators are pentadactyl which isn't an unlikely evolution, but two digits on a side flange?”

I saw flying longies once," said Cleiti in a bright helpful voice. "They were a metre long and they undulated. No feet at all, but they could ripple along in the air for kilometres."

“Light gravity planet?”

“Yes, Varian, and dry!”

The sun had slunk behind the clouds again and the thin noonday drizzle settled in so that the others laughed at her sour comment.

“Digits are important in evolution, aren't they, Varian?” asked Bonnard.

“Very. You can have intelligent life, like those avians, but until a species becomes a tool user, they don't have much chance of rising above their environment.”

“The fliers have, haven't they?” asked Bonnard with a broad grin for his play on words.

“Yes, Bonnard, they have,” she replied with a laugh.

“I heard about them being in the rift valley, with grasses?” Bonnard went on. “Is this why they got that type of grass? To make the nets?”

“There was a lot of thick tough grass around the place where we saved Dandy, and that was a lot closer for them,” said Cleiti.

“You're right there, Cleiti. I've thought the fliers might need the rift valley grass for some dietary requirement.”

“I have some of the vegetation from the grove of fruit trees, Varian,” said Terilla.

“You do? That's great. We can do some real investigation. How clever of you, Terilla.”

“Not clever, you know me and plants,” said the girl, but her cheeks were flushed with reaction to the praise.

“I take back what I said about your stupid plants,” said Bonnard with unusual magnaminity.

“I'll be very keen to see how mature their young are?” Varian said, having quietly considered the curious habits of the golden creatures for a few minutes.

“How mature? Their young? Isn't that a contradiction?” asked Bonnard.

“Not really. You are born very young . . .”

Cleiti giggled. “Everyone is, or you wouldn't be young . . .”

“I don't mean age, I mean ability, Cleiti. Now, let's see what comparisons I can draw for you ship-bred . . .”

“I lived my first four years on a planet,” said Terilla.

“Did you? Which one?”

“Arthos in the Aurigae section. I've touched down on two more and stayed for months.”

“And what animals did you see on Arthos?” Varian knew but Terilla so seldom volunteered any information, or had a chance to with such aggressive personalities as Cleiti and Bonnard.

“We had milk cows, and four-legged dogs, and horses. Then there were six-legged dogs, offoxes, cantileps and spurges.”

“Seen any tape on cows, dogs and horses, Cleiti? Bonnard?”

“Sure!”

“All right, cows and horses bear live young who are able to rise to their feet about a half hour after birth and, if necessary, run with their dams. They are therefore born mature and already programmed for certain instinctive actions and responses. You and I were born quite small and physically immature. We had to be taught by our parents or guardians how to eat, walk, run and talk, and take care of ourselves.”

“So?” Bonnard regarded Varian steadily, waiting for the point of her disgression.

“So, the horse and cow don't learn a lot from their parent's: not much versatility or adaptability is required of them. Whereas human babies . . .”

“Have to learn too much too soon too well and all the time?” said Cleiti with such an exaggerated sigh of resignation that Varian chuckled.

“And change half of what you learn when the info gets up-dated,” she added, sympathetically. “The main advantage humans have is that they do learn, are flexible and can adapt. Adapt to some pretty weird conditions . . .”

“Like the stink here,” put in Bonnard.

“So that's why I'm curious about the maturity of the fliers at birth.”

“They'd be oviparous, wouldn't they?” asked Bonnard.

“More than likely. I don't see that they'd be ovoviviparous . . . too much weight for the mother if she had to carry her young for any length of time. No, I'd say they'd have to be oviparous, and then the eggs would hatch fledglings, unable to fly for quite some time. That might account, too, for the fishing. Easier to supply the hungry young if everyone cooperates.”

“Hey, look, Varian,” cried Bonnard who had not left off watching through the screen, “There's a change-over on the net carriers. Bells! but they're organized. As neat a change-over as I've ever seen. I'll bet the fliers are the most intelligent species on Ireta.”

“Quite likely but don't jump to any conclusion. We've barely begun to explore this planet.”

“Are we going to have to go over all of it?” Bonnard was briefly dismayed.

“Oh, as much as we can while we're here,” she said in a casual tone. What if they had been planted? “Apart from its odour, Ireta isn't too bad a place. I've been in a lot worse.”

I don't really mind the smell . . ," Bonnard began, half in apology, half in self-defence.

“I don't even notice it anymore,” said Terilla.

“I do mind the rain . . .” Bonnard continued, ignoring Terilla's comment. “And the gloom.”

At which point the sun emerged.

“Can you do that again whenever we feel the need of sunlight?” asked Varian as the girls giggled over the opportuneness.

“I sure wish I could!”

Once again the angle of the sun projected a distorted shadow of the sled on the water and the fish, large and small, shattered the surface in vain attempts to secure the reality of that shadow. Varian had Bonnard tape the attacks for later review. It was an easy way to catalogue the submarine life, she said.

“I sailed once on shore leave at Boston-Betelgeuse,” said Bonnard after the sun, and the predatory fish, had deserted them.

“You wouldn't catch me sailing on that!” said Cleiti, pointing to the water.

“I wouldn't, but something else would, wouldn't it?”

“Huh?”

“Catch you, silly face!”

“Oh, you're so funny!”

Additional fliers emerged from the clouds to relieve the net carriers who sped up and away, as if pleased to be free of their chore. The convoy, strengthened by the reinforcements, picked up speed, veering slightly east, towards the highest of the prominences. They were not, as Varian had assumed, going to have to cross the entire sea to reach a home base.

“Hey, That's where they're heading. I can see other fliers on the cliff top, and the front is all holey, with caves!” cried Bonnard, delighted.

"They live in caves to keep their furs dry, and their fledglings safe from the sea creatures," said Terilla with unusual authority." Birds have feathers, stupid."

“Not always,” Varian replied. “And those fliers appear to have fur which is, sometimes, a variation of a feather, in some beasts.”

“Are we going to land and find out for sure?” asked Bonnard in a ponderous tone of voice so everyone caught his pun. Cleiti swatted at him and Varian groaned, shaking her head.

“No, we're not landing now. It's dangerous to approach animals when they're feeding. We know where the fliers live now. That's enough for one day.”

“Couldn't we just hover? That won't disturb them.”

“Yes, we could.”

More of the golden creatures emerged from crevices and caves in the cliff, and gracefully swooped up to the summit which Varian could see was relatively flat for about five hundred metres where it dropped off into very rough and boulder-strewn slopes.

“What're they going to do now?” asked Bonnard. “That net's too big to get in any one of those cave entrances . . . Oh . . .” Bannard's question was answered as the entire group of fliers now carried the net up over the edge of the cliff and suddenly dropped one side, spilling the fish onto the summit plateau.

From every direction fliers converged on the catch. Some landed, wings slightly spread, to waddle in an ungainly fashion towards the shimmering piles of fish. Others swooped, filled their throat pouches and disappeared into their cliff holes. For all the varied approaches, the dispersal of the catch occasioned no squabbling over choice fish. As the four watched, there were periods when no fliers were picking over the fish. They did seem to be selective.

"Sharpen the focus on the viewer, Bonnard," said Varian." Let's get some frames of what they didn't eat . . ."

“Those fringe things, the small ones.”

“Maybe That's why the fringe fliers were after us. They'd taken their young . . .” said Terilla.

“Nah!” Bonnard was contemptuous. “The fringies hadn't eyes, much less brains, so how could they be sentimental about their young?”

I dunno. But we don't know that they aren't. Fish could have emotions. I read somewhere that . . ."

“Oh you!” Bonnard gestured her peremptorily to silence.

Varian turned, worrying that his attitude might bother the child since his tone was unwarranted but she seemed unperturbed. Varian promised herself a few choice words with Bonnard. And then vetoed the notion. The young of every species seemed to work things out among themselves fairly well.

She peered into the viewer herself, to see the rejects. “Some aquatic creatures are capable of loyalties and kindness to their own species, but I'd say that the fringe organism is too primitive yet. They probably spawn millions of eggs in order for a few to survive to adulthood – to spawn again. Our fliers don't include them in their diet, though. Nor those spiny types. Bonnard, you've been helping Trizein and Divisti: take a good look! Seen any of those in the marine samples we've given them?”

“No. New ones on me.”

“Course, we sampled from the main oceans . . .” Most of the fliers had disappeared now and only the rejected specimens were left, to rot on the stone.

“Varian, look!” Bonnard, again at the screen, gestured urgently. “I've got it lined up . . . look!”

Varian pushed his hand aside as he was so excited he was obscuring the view. One of the small fringers was moving, in that strange fashion, collapsing one side and flipping over. Then she saw what had excited Bonnard: unsupported by water, its natural element, the internal skeleton of the creature was outlined through its covering. She could plainly see the joints at each corner. It moved by a deformation of parallelograms. It moved once, twice more and then lay still, its fringes barely undulating, then not at all. How long had it survived without water, Varian wondered? Was it equipped with a dual set of lungs to have lived so long away from what was apparently its natural element? Was this creature on its way out of its aquatic phase, moving onto land?

“You got all that on tape, didn't you?” Varian asked Bonnard.

“Sure, the moment it started moving. Can it breathe oxygen?”

"I hope it can't," said Cleidi. I wouldn't want to meet that wet sheet in a dark dripping forest." She shuddered with her eyes tightly shut.

“Neither would I,” said Varian, and meant it.

“Couldn't it be friendly? If it wasn't hungry all the time?” asked Terilla

“Wet, slimy, wrapping its fringes around you and choking you to death,” said Bonnard, making movements like his horrifying image.

“It couldn't wrap around me,” Terilla said, unmoved. “It can't bend in the middle. Only on the edges.”

“It isn't moving at all now,” Bonnard said, sounding disappointed and sad.

“Speaking of moving,” said Varian glancing toward the one bright spot in the grey skies, “that sun is going down.”

“How can you tell?” asked Bonnard sarcastically.

“I'm looking at the chrono.”

Cleiti and Terilla giggled.

“Couldn't we land and see the fliers up close?” asked Bonnard, now wistful.

“Rule number one, never bother animals when feeding. Rule number two, never approach strange animals without first closely observing their habits. Just because the fliers haven't attempted to take bites out of us doesn't mean they aren't as dangerous as those mindless predators.”

“Aren't we ever going to observe them up close?” Bonnard was persistent.

“Sure, when I've applied rule number two, but not today. I'm to bring the sled back to the pitchblende site.”

“Can I come with you when you do come back?”

“That's possible.”

“Promise?”

“No. I just said it was possible, Bonnard, and that's what I mean.”

“I'm never going to learn anything on this trip if I don't get out and do some field work, away from screens and . . .”

“If we brought you back to the ship with a part or parts missing, left in the maw of a fringe or a flier, your mother would give up the deep six. So be quiet.” Varian used a sharper tone than she normally employed with Bonnard but his insistence, his air that he had only to wheedle enough and his wish would be granted, annoyed her. She was sympathetic to his irritation with constant restrictions. To the ship-born, planets gave illusions of safety because ship-learned dangers were insulated from one by an atmosphere miles deep, whereas in space only thin metal shells prevented disaster and any broaching of that shell was lethal. No shell, no danger in simplistic terms.

“Would you run through that tape, Bonnard, and see if we have good takes on the fringies,” she asked him after a long pause, mutinous on his part, firm on hers. “There's something I want to check out with Trizein when we get back to camp. Fardles, but I wish we had access to the EV's data banks.”

After another long pause during which she heard the slight whir of rapidly spun tapes, Bonnard spoke. “You know, those fliers remind me of something I've seen before. I can almost see the printed label on the tape sleeve . . .”

“What about this tape?”

“Oh, clear pictures, Varian.”

“They've reminded me of something, too, Bonnard, but I can't drag it out of storage either.”

“My mother always says that if you're worrying over something, go to sleep thinking about it and you'll remember in the morning,” said Terilla.

“Good idea, Terilla. I'll do so and so can you, Bonnard. Meanwhile, we're over new territory again. Man the telltale.”

They got some good tags on a stumpy-legged ruminant, spotted but couldn't tag more small mammals like Dandy, and surprised several flocks of scavengers at their work. They returned to the mining site just as the “gloom thickened”, as Terilla put it. Kai was waiting with Dimenon and Margit with the equipment which the sled must transport.

“It's a very rich find, Varian,” said Dimenon. He looked very tired and immensely satisfied. He started to add more but stopped, turning to Kai.

“And the next valley over shows another saddle deposit as large and as rich,” said Kai, a grin creasing his sweat and dirt smeared face.

“And probably the next one beyond that,” said Margit, sighing wearily. “Only that can wait until tomorrow.”

“EV should have given us at least one remote scanner, Kai?” said Dimenon, as he helped load the instruments. This sounded to Varian like the continuation of an argument.

“I requisitioned one, standard. Supply said they'd no more in stock. If you'll remember, we passed quite a few promising systems in the last standard year.”

“When I think of the slogging we'd be saved . . .”

"I dunno," said Margit, interrupting Dimenon. She placed a coil of wire on the sled deck. "We do so raking much by remote. I know I've done something today." She groaned. I feel it in every bone and in muscles I didn't know I had. We're soft. No wonder the heavy-worlders sneer at us."

“Them!” A world of scorn was expressed in Dimenon's single word.

Kai and Varian exchanged quick glances.

“I know they were bloody hungover or something earlier on, but I was glad enough of Paskutti's muscle this afternoon?” Margit went on, pulling herself into the sled and settling down beside Terilla. “Get in, Di, I'm dying for a wash, and I bloody hope that Portegin's de-odourizer has fixed the water stink. Hydro-telluride does not enhance the body beautiful. So how did you pass the day, scamp?” she asked Terilla.

While the three young people kept a conversation going, Varian wondered, as she set the sled on its baseward course, just what happened to occasion Dimenon's captious attitude. Perhaps it was no more than irritation with the heavy-worlder's behaviour in the morning, and reaction to the excitement of such a rich find. She must ask Kai later. She didn't want her team coming into contention with his, and she would be the first to admit the heavy-worlders had been less than efficient. Or was Dimenon still irked over last night's

alcohol rationing?

There were dangers inherent in mixing planet– and ship-bred groups and EV kept it down to a minimum whenever possible. The Iretan expedition had needed the brawn of the heavy-worlders and Varian and Kai would simply have to work out the problems.

Varian was a bit depressed. A computer could give you a probability index on any situation. This mission had had a good one. But a computer couldn't adjust its input with such unexpected details as a stink and constant gloom or drizzle affecting tempers or a cosmic storm cutting off communications with the mother ship: it certainly hadn't printed out the fact that a planet listed as unexplored was now giving immutable evidence of previous survey, not to mention anomalies like . . . But if, Varian thought, there had been the survey, maybe such things as pentadactyl development and aquatic collapsing parallelograms were entirely possible! Yet which was indigenous? Both couldn't be!

Fliers having to find grass so far from their natural habitat? Varian's spirits lifted again with excitement. And if the golden fliers, who were pentadactyl, were not indigenous, then the herbivores and predators they'd so far encountered were not indigenous either! Not anomalies: conundrums. And how? By whom? The Others? No, not the ubiquitous Others. They destroyed all life, if there were any substance to the rumour that such sentient beings existed.

The Theks might know about the previous survey . . . if Kai could generate them into a serious attempt at recall. By Matter! She'd sit through an interchange herself to find out! Wait till she told Kai that!