The climb up the irregular and often shifting cliffside had taken most of the morning but the view at the top was more than worth the effort. Below them lay a peaceful valley, obviously undisturbed by the agricultural mechanicals that dominated the slopes behind them. At the narrow end of the valley they could see a distant waterfall, its descent a murmur as it fell into a small lake. The stream leading from it meandered down the far, lower side of the valley and blundered into the cliff, answering the question of its origin. The valley floor was interspersed with flat grasslands and some of the odd-looking thickets that in their season would bear edible berries. But the most unusual feature was the little groves of what Kris called lodge-pole trees: straight tall trunks that flattened at the very top into a thick crest of narrow branches fanning out, and were covered in needles during the warmer weather. Specimens did grow in some of the hedgerows that lined the mechanicals’ fields but only as single trees, not in copses like these, and certainly not as many groves as could be seen from their vantage point. A pungently scented breeze cooled their sweaty faces.
“It’s as good as Shangri-la,” Sarah McDouall said, beaming down at the valley. “It’s lovely. So peaceful, so…”
“Secret?” Joe supplied. “I wonder what else we’ll find down there.”
“Why, there’s space for hundreds here,” she said, ignoring his implicit pessimism.
“Hmmmm,” Zainal murmured, obviously sharing Joe’s caution. “Slav?” he asked the Rugarian, who was shielding his eyes as he surveyed the valley.
Slav shrugged.
“Fek?” Zainal turned to the Deski, who showed no exertion from the difficult ascent. The Deski were such natural climbers that Kris had wondered if their home planet was nothing but perpendicular surfaces. Actually, their oddly shaped hands and the soles of their feet became slick with a sort of adhesive substance which gave them purchase on sheer surfaces and their unusually jointed arms and legs permitted them to assume postures that would have broken human limbs.
Fek had assumed her intensive listening posture, almost as if her hearing organs were extending themselves from the side of her head, wide open to experience the slightest of sounds.
“Wind. Water. Small noises,” she said, shaking her head to indicate a lack of obvious danger. “No livings.” Without waiting for Zainal’s signal, she started to descend. He shifted the heavy coil of rope he carried, rubbed the sweat off his face, and followed.
Fek found the easiest descent for the rest of the party, zigzagging down some of the sheerer boulders, which she would have managed quite easily with her natural advantages. But she, too, stopped where sheer-sided stone angled sharply outward.
“I’d say that looks like something was meant to stay in there,” Kris said.
“Twenty-five meters slanted at fifteen degrees or more,” Whitby said. “So we rappel down.” He unloosed his pick, found a piton, and started hammering it in, while Zainal removed the coil from his shoulder to rig it for the drop.
Once again, Kris thought as she took her turn at the descent, That silly survival course comes in handy in my new life on Botany. All of them, even Fek, grinning for all she was worth as she rappelled, made it safely to the floor of the valley.
“Leave,” Zainal said when Whitby would have released one of the three ropes used. “We may need to get out quickly.”
Leila immediately armed herself with her crossbow and looked around warily.
“It’s full daylight, Lee,” Kris said, reassuringly. “So even if our thudding on the ground here aroused anything, we’re safe as long as the sun shines. Me, I’m for that stream.”
One bend of the meandering water was not far from them and, though Leila did not put up her crossbow, they all approached the stream. Sarah as team medic used one of the testing strips on a cupful.
“Potable,” she said, and dipped her cup back in to bring it full to her mouth, though she sipped carefully.
The other humans did likewise, then rinsed their sweaty faces in the cooling water. Fek and Slav, who never seemed to need much water, remained alert, listening and looking for any dangers unseen from the height. Then both knelt to take a sample mouthful directly from the stream, as they preferred to drink.
“This place looks almost too good to be true,” Sarah said, breaking off a branch from a nearby shrub and smelling it. “One of the burnables, and growing all over the place,” she said with an expansive gesture of her hand up the length of the valley. They could just make out the waterfall through the copses of lodge-pole trees. “Plenty of stone, too, ready to build from,” she added, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the rocks behind them.
“Not bad at all,” Joe Marley said, already closely examining a handful of the ground vegetation and discarding the varieties he recognized. He was the team’s botanist.
“It is very pretty place here,” Leila Massuri said in her careful English, her contralto voice making inflections almost musical. She gazed around her with an almost dreamy smile on her unusual face. She was Maltese by birth, corralled by the Catteni in a demonstration raid in Marseilles. “So why was it blocked off?”
“We look closer,” Zainal said, and he pointed at Joe, Sarah, and Whitby. “You go right with Slav. Rest of us go left and meet at falls.”
Zainal gestured for Fek and the rest to accompany him as he waded across the stream, not more than knee height at this point. Once on the other side, they spread out in a loose line, checking the ground, noting which of the low bushes would bear fruit in season, and generally sizing up the environment.
“No rocksquats. That’s odd,” Kris said when they had been traveling a few moments. She pointed to rocky projections where the stupid but tasty creatures would be likely to perch, since they enjoyed the sun.
“There were some,” Zainal said, and pointed to a little heap of bones just visible through the branches of a low shrub.
“No night crawlers then,” Leila Massuri said with a shudder. She was a Fourth Drop and remembered all too keenly that the person next to her had been absorbed by a night crawler before her horrified eyes just as she was waking up.
“I’m not sure I like the possibility of more omnivores,” Kris said, although, in truth, they hadn’t seen much in the way of other hostile creatures in their considerable travels, except for the aerial marauders which either Slav or Fek warned them about. They camped in the vehicle or on rock heights to avoid earthbound scavengers.
“Things do die of old age or of falling off high places,” Leila suggested.
“This stream gets swollen, to judge by the height of these banks,” Kris said, pointing to them.
“Spring melt,” Whitby said. They could not see the higher ranges, now hidden by the unbroken line of cliff surrounding the valley; mountains which were snow-clad all year round. Sarah McDouall had quipped that it must have annoyed the mechanicals to have so much unusable uphill land. Whitby’s face had had a hungry look on it as he had surveyed the towering peaks.
“Never did get to the Himalayas,” he had murmured, “but those buggers’d be great fun.”
“Later,” Zainal had said, but grinned as if he understood the mountaineer’s yearning.
Now the Catteni stopped to squat beside dried dung, partially covered by dirt. Grooves did suggest the claw marks of an animal of considerable size.
“Old,” Zainal said, finding a stick and poking the droppings.
“Big,” Kris remarked, and looked around the glade.
Zainal picked up the desiccated patty and dropped it into the sack he kept for fire makings. Then they all continued on their sweep, more vigilant now. More dried dung was found but all examples seemed to be old and Kris was somewhat reassured.
“Reminds me of a place I went to once in Yellowstone Park,” she said when they reached the far side of the valley, and its stony barrier. Craning her head, she peered upward, looking for cave entrances, but saw nothing, not even a ledge to give access to even the most agile creature. “We could use this w
all for backing and build outward,” she said. “If we could get one of the vehicles to maneuver through the pass so we could transport all that stone someone dumped across the pass.”
“We’d need explosives to move the lower rank,” Whitby said. “They were planted there to stay.”
“To keep what in?” Kris asked with a shiver for whatever that might be.
Zainal shrugged but, by the way he was examining everything, Kris rather thought he could see the valley as a human settlement, too. The valley could accommodate several hundred folks, leaving plenty of elbow room. Of course, first they had to find out why the valley had been so tightly sealed.
Despite that consideration, she found herself looking for likely home sites. Imagine, a proper house at ground level…maybe even steps to a sleeping loft…one with plenty of headroom. She glanced over at Zainal’s large figure quartering the ground ahead, searching, searching. Considering how much time he’d spent in space, he seemed completely at ease on planetary surfaces. He looked over his shoulder and beckoned for her to join him.
More bone, larger ones this time.
“A six-footed animal. Too small for loo-cow,” and he held up what looked like a handful of thigh bones, then a smaller one that fit neatly into a clean socket. Rubbing his fingers across the bones: “Chewed, too.” He pointed to obvious tooth marks. “Wouldn’t want to meet that on a dark night.”
Kris grinned, as much for his use of the slang expression as for a sentiment she could immediately share. He fiddled with the bones, making her hold the front set of legs, trying to get a size on the animal. The skull had been smashed into fragments, including the jawbone, although a scattering of molars and pointy teeth did not suggest to Kris that this had been a herbivore.
“That should please the biologists,” Whitby said, joining them. Leila and Fek peered over his shoulder. “They said there had to be other carnivores for ecological balance.” He picked up a fragment of the cranium and tapped it. “Hmmm. Thick. And yet crushed like a melon. Wouldn’t like to meet what did it.”
“A sentiment we all share,” Kris remarked dryly, letting the bones fall out of her hands. Several smaller ones shattered. “Been here a long time if they’re that brittle.”
“Hmmmm,” was the response from Zainal.
“Caves, possibly?” Zainal added.
“Haven’t seen any yet,” Kris said cheerfully, and then Zainal had them spread out again to search.
Though they came across more scattered bones, some in advanced states of decay, nothing else came to light. They reached the lake first as the other scouts were finishing their explorations of the other side, which was wider at the point.
Suddenly Joe let out one of his earsplitting Australian howls and gestured broadly for them to come on the double to the cliff wall where he was standing. Zainal strode into the stream without a second thought but Whitby pointed to a convenient scattering of rocks and boulders to get the rest of them across the water. Zainal was up to his chest in the center of the stream but he was already running toward Joe and the others before the rest managed to cross.
“I don’t like the look of this,” Joe said, holding aside branches so that the skeleton, grotesquely draped on the scattering of rocks, could be seen.
“It’s human,” Sarah said. “Or was.” She was pale under her tan.
Kris peered briefly, enough to see that the skull was human but not all the rest of it. No leg or arm bones, just the torso. Slav and Fek looked and nodded.
“Bird,” Fek suggested, gesturing the swoop of the predatory avians.
“Could be,” Joe cleared his throat and let the bushes fall back.
Suddenly they all were craning their necks back to scan the top of the precipice.
“Ah, they’d have attacked before now if they were nearby,” Joe said. “You haven’t heard anything, have you, Fek?” he asked.
Fek shook her head and pointed above her head. “I hear high.”
“We do know that the avians always come down from the mountains when they attack,” Sarah said, her color returning, as she and the others, moved toward the cover of the nearest copse of trees.
“I listen good,” Fek added, touching both ear holes.
“We found some piles of other bones, all old, some even partially embedded in the dirt,” Joe said. He sighed as he let his gaze rove across the valley. “Too bad. It’d be a great place to set up a permanent headquarters.”
Zainal was shading his eyes from the now noon-high sun to look at the straight cliffs that formed the boundaries. He shook his head. “We must know why,” and he pointed back to the barred pass. He clapped his big hands together, startling everyone, so he grinned. “There are fish in the stream. Let’s catch and eat. We have time.”
So far all the brook and lake denizens had been edible with the one toxic exception of a multilegged bottom-hugging worm that appeared only in stiller water.
The dung that had been collected gave off such a stench that they doused the fire with water and started a new one in a fresh place, using windfall branches. Whitby outdid everyone else by catching the orange-gray scaled fish with his bare hands. They all ate their fill and there was enough cooked fish left over to save for the next day.
* * *
Worrell and Chuck Mitford were enjoying a few pints of beer by the fire when they both heard a growling bark. With no dogs on Botany, the unexpected noise had both of them reaching for their daggers while Mitford roared for a sentry’s report.
“Nothing’s moving, sarge,” the call came back. “And First Moon’s bright enough to see klicks in all directions.”
A second bark, which had at least three syllables to it, sounded again, with a hint of impatience. Instantly Worrell reached for the pouch in which he had put the thin plate that Mic Rowland had discovered.
“How did Leon say you operated one of these things?” Worrell whispered at Chuck.
Chuck took the object from his second in command and depressed the first button. “Tikso damt. Chouma,” he said in a guttural voice as if he were expectorating rather than speaking. He put the unit down on the table beside them and glared at it.
“Didn’t know you spoke any Catten, sarge,” Worrell said, impressed.
“Whoever it is wants a report. I told him later. And to be quiet,” said Chuck Mitford. “At least I hope that’s what he’ll understand I said. Where’s Zainal?”
“Still hunting safe places up in the hills.”
“I’ll see can I reach him,” Mitford said, and connected his unit to the aerial socket that served Camp Rock, high up on the cliff. He let it ring awhile. “Asleep or out of range. Well, let’s keep after him until he does answer. Come to think of it, Leon Dane knows more Catten than I do. At least enough to stall them until Zainal gets back.”
Leon Dane was on duty, but not occupied, when Mitford and Worrell went to the infirmary caverns. He had already been given the injector and drugs but had put them aside until Zainal could tell him what he might know about the contents of the vials.
“So someone’s looking for those the midnight beasties ate up for us,” Leon said with a faint grin. “Someone forgot to brief the landing party about Botanical life-forms. Served ’em right. D’you think they were here to collect Zainal?”
“Only reason I can think of for them to send four,” Chuck Mitford said with a snort. “That wouldn’t have been enough of a guerrilla gang to do doodly against us but sufficient to snatch a man. Zainal did mention that he was wanted back home for a duty of some sort he’d rather avoid. Maybe they want him badly enough to come after him.”
“Lemme see the unit,” Dane asked, and Chuck handed it over. “Oh, that’s the idiot kind. Already preset to its destination. So what do you want me to report?”
“Do they give a damn if the team landed safely?” Chuck asked.
“I doubt it.”
“Then let’s say that they’re hiding out. Haven’t located Zainal…no, make it target personnel.”
“Emassi?” Worrell suggested, and Chuck nodded agreement to the change.
Leon scribbled what looked like hieroglyphics on a sheet of paper.
“You can write it, too?” Worrell asked, more impressed.
“A little,” Leon said with a wry grin. In his professional capacity as a surgeon, working on injured Catteni under the eyes of their medics, he had been in a very good position to pick up the language as well as aid the subversive elements in Sydney. “Most of what I learned is either medical or military. I can’t ask for my aunt’s pen on the table or order a meal. But I can spout real good Emassi-like orders.” He scribbled something else, this time in English. “How does this sound, sarge? ‘Emassi not here. Moving to find. Report tomorrow this time. Do not contact.’”
“That sounds about right. They’d hide from our people during the day,” Chuck said, thoughtfully. “That’ll give us some time at any rate. You can say that much?”
“Too right,” Leon said, grinning broadly. “Most fun I’ve had all week.”
They all went outside and up to the top of the Rock for a clearer message. The moon shone down on the trio.
“Right out in the bright light, too,” Leon said, shaking his head and grinning. Then he sobered, depressed the appropriate send stud, and, with his free hand clutching at his throat, growled out the message in a hoarse whisper.
He released the stud, counting. He shrugged. Depressed the stud and repeated the message. This time a single word answered his effort.
“What was that?” Chuck asked.
Leon gave him a conspiratorial grin. “‘Kotik.’ Means ‘Accept.’ Nothing about doing a good job or anything but Catteni don’t expect thanks, do they?” He handed the unit back to Chuck Mitford. They were starting back down when he had a sudden thought. “Hey, maybe I should have sounded feminine. You did say you think one of the victims was a female?”
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