Kateos sat back on her haunches and pondered an answer.

"It is old-ah system," she began. "Many generations have been...trained-yes? Of course, it begins with childs. All childs of common parent taken-sometime by force-at birth. Mothers and fathers never see childs. Only n.o.bility allow the raising of childs."

"How can that be? Where do your childs, er-children go?"

"Ah, yes, it is children. First-ah go to government nurseries and then to schools. The schools-'training centers' is better translation-where they are sorted and trained and-if they, uh...genetically correct-molded into skill units. Skill units become scientists, technicians, officer, administrators, artisans, or farmers. The rest-most kones-are a.s.signed to unskilled labor-trods. Trods Trods sorted by size and emotion and a.s.signed-when very young-to become soldier, worker, field hand, or common laborer. sorted by size and emotion and a.s.signed-when very young-to become soldier, worker, field hand, or common laborer. Trods Trods not gentle-they not raised to be gentle-although most not gentle-they not raised to be gentle-although most trods trods be good-ah and well meaning." be good-ah and well meaning."

"Everywhere? On your whole planet?" Buccari asked.

"Oh, yes! It-ah be for whole planet. The system work-ah too well. No one think of changing it-ah. Our farmers good farmers, our workers good workers, our universities...filled with hard working students. Our soldiers be brave and aggressive-if not smart-ah. Unfortunately... uh, ambition and power be usual traits of our leaders, and strength be first important than smartness."

"It sounds orderly," Buccari said, amazed.

Kateos shook her head slowly. "Orderly? Yes." She dropped her eyes. "Sad! It-ah is a sad life. I had not thought of rreason before, but seeing your babies makes it-ah clear to me. We sad because there are no childs-children...no families."

"Why? Why no families?" Buccari asked.

"Konish solution to population problem. Long ago there many, many kones on planet. Too many. Not enough food." "Your governments restricted breeding?"

"Only by requiring marrying. Only able to marry one time. Itah crime to have children, if not-ah married. Only married couples permit-ah to have children and must-ah be qualified by government-ah. That-ah how they control population. I lucky be married to Scientist Doworn.o.bb. He intelligent and kind, and he make happy to me. We sure to have license to make children, especially since so many kones die in this war."

"I am glad for you, Kateos," Buccari said, noting the konish female's sudden radiance. The radiance turned subtly to determination.

"I hold my baby someday," Kateos rumbled. "That-ah would make happy to me."

Buccari looked up to see Et Silmarn and two of the konish scientists crawling their way. Kateos straightened, standing tall while remaining on all fours.

"Sharl, I introduce Scientist H'Aare and Scientist Mirrtis to you," Kateos said. "They experts in s.p.a.ce drives."

Buccari's internal alarms went off; the kones did not have the secrets of hyperlight. She guessed what was coming.

"We would-ah like to know how your ships travel between stars," Kateos continued. "We would also be able to fly between stars. We hope you help us."

The scientists began asking questions for Kateos to translate. "Scientist H'Aare wants to know if your propulsion-" Kateos started.

"Kateos, Et Silmarn! These are difficult questions," Buccari begged.

"Yes, Sharl, but scientists will work-ah with you for as long as it-ah takes. Perhaps you come with us to Ocean Station where-"

"Please, Mistress Kateos," Buccari said slowly, carefully. "Your interest is understandable, and when it is appropriate to do so, we will discuss these matters. Please understand that none of us is expert in the fields you are inquiring about." She realized that if it came down to negotiating permission to remain on this planet, anyinformation provided freely would be unavailable as a future bargaining chip. Perhaps, just perhaps, the hyperlight theories would be their pa.s.sport. Buccari was not proud of her disingenuous replies; both she and Hudson were extremely knowledgeable of hyperlight theories and applied algorithms, but information represented power, and they needed to marshal what little power was available to them.

Kateos spoke softly to Et Silmarn. The n.o.blekone nodded.

"Sharl," he roared. "We thang you for what you have done. If you can help-ah us more, we thang you more.. .er, we help-ah you more."

"I understand," Buccari said.

Three days later Et Silmarn banked the aircraft on course and returned his view forward. Hudson was in the back with Scientists H'Aare and Mirrtis. Doworn.o.bb and Kateos crowded into the c.o.c.kpit, the connecting hatch secured.

"The female Gol'berg-ah gave you this information?" the n.o.blekone asked.

"Yes. It was technical. I understood little," Kateos remarked sadly. "The female claims to know about interstellar drives. She is a technician of propulsion."

"They allow females to do technical functions?" the copilot asked.

"Yes!" Kateos answered too loudly. The males on the crowded flight deck turned to stare at her. Involuntarily, she dropped her eyes.

"Sharl is lying?" Doworn.o.bb asked. "I thought we could trust her."

"Sharl is smart," Et Silmarn answered. "She is protecting what she has. After what she has done for us, I do not hold it against her. I still trust her."

"What about Gol'berg-ah?" Kateos asked. "Her information is valuable, though I do not respect her. She tells us these things because she is spiteful and full of hate for Sharl. I do not understand why she is disloyal."

Et Silmarn sighed heavily. "It is not for us to understand the aliens. On our next visit we will discreetly record what the female Gol'berg-ah has to say, and we will suggest that she and maybe some others accompany us to Ocean Station, although I doubt Sharl will permit that to happen. I do not like to work behind Sharl's back, but Et Avian's primary mission was to uncover those very secrets."

"The humans are uncomfortable in our presence," the copilot said.

"As it would be for us if our roles were reversed," Kateos replied. "They are frightened of the power we hold over them." "They have seen nothing, yet," Et Silmarn said.

The alien airplane flying along the river valley rumbled into the distance. MacArthur, sucking on thickweed, waved at Tonto and Bottlenose, signaling them to come no closer. The fluttering of their wings would spook the trapped animals. Satisfied his brain was clear, MacArthur extracted the masticated weed from his mouth and placed the lump of chewed greens in a pouch hanging from his neck. He looked to each side. Chastain and Pet.i.t skirted the left edge of the ravine while Shannon and O'Toole took position on the right, each Marine carrying a lariat made of parachute shroud. Shaking out the coils of his rope and slinging aside his leather poncho, MacArthur stalked the terrified horses. Three golden beasts had been funneled into the narrow wash, their escape prevented by boulders and branches laboriously transported to the gully. Effort had borne fruit; the trap had worked.

MacArthur swung the lariat easily, allowing the noose to expand. He nodded to O'Toole who also began swinging his noose overhead, just as MacArthur had trained him. Only two would throw their ropes; any more would just get in the way.

"Go for the small mare," MacArthur cautioned, his voice calm. "Throw for the neck. I'll go for the legs. Make it count!"

O'Toole crept along the edge of the wash, approaching the skittish animals. MacArthur, in the wash, stayed close to the bank, giving the animals room. The largest animal, a stallion, took chopping steps directly at MacArthur and snorted, its bulging brown eyes surrounded with frightened white. The animal's streaming, golden mane rippled and waved with abrupt motion, its long tail held high and flowing. Barrel-chested, mule-eared, blunt-nosed, heavy-legged with large feet and k.n.o.bby knees, the animals did not match MacArthur's boyhood memory of his grandfather's Calgary ranch horses, but they were definitely horses. The soundsand smells were pure horse, and they were beautiful, powerful animals.

MacArthur flattened against the ravine's rock wall. The stallion bolted past, trumpeting a loud, rasping whinny. The mares, confused and frightened, reared and twisted, leaping to follow the stallion's lead.

"Now!" MacArthur shouted. He stepped in toward the last animal and made a well-timed throw, looping one foreleg and tangling the other. He dug his feet into the ground and wrapped the lariat around his back and shoulders. Excited, O'Toole threw too hard, missing high. One mare thundered by and was free. The second frightened female took her first step and fouled in the snaking rope, jolting MacArthur from his feet. The Marine sprawled in the dust and was dragged along for a stride and a half before the mare stumbled to the ground, the la.s.so intertwining her forelegs. MacArthur and horse regained their footing simultaneously. The golden horse leapt sideways and kicked, jerking hard to free its enc.u.mbered foot. MacArthur resumed his wide stance, grabbing the line and bracing himself for the inevitable muscle-wrenching tug, but he was too slow and too weak. His hands were burned viciously as the line spun through his grasping fingers. Feeling diminished resistance, the horse leapt to a gallop, and MacArthur-on his knees in pain-watched, powerless, thinking all was lost.

Not to be denied, Chastain made a dive for the trailing end of the lariat. And missed. But the horse's rapidly moving legs whipped the rope into a tangle ensnaring her own rear legs. Again, the horse crashed to the ground. As the determined mare struggled to her feet, the quick-footed O'Toole dashed to the horse's head and slipped his noose over her neck. Chastain made another gallant effort to reach the bitter end of MacArthur' s tangled line and was successful. The combined resistance from the two ropes threw the animal off balance, and the unfortunate mare tripped for a third time. MacArthur grabbed Chastain' s dropped lariat and dashed forward, making a quick looping throw that settled over the golden neck.

"Sarge! Hold this line. Give me yours!" he shouted as Shannon joined the fray. The sergeant did as he was told, and the horse was held at three points. Struggling fiercely, the indomitable beast searched for any leverage. MacArthur darted forward and, risking injury from flying hooves, looped a fourth lariat around the animal's rear leg. The powerful animal, tangled and restrained from multiple directions, gave a last valiant struggle and fell solidly onto her side. Except for labored breathing and an occasional flailing leg, the mare lay still.

MacArthur, on his knees and gasping for air, handed the taut rope to Pet.i.t. As he released his grasp, the ache from his fingers and hands shot straight to his brain; he squatted on his haunches, head back, his throbbing hands held tightly in his lap. Pet.i.t pulled on the lariat.

"d.a.m.n, Mac! This rope's all b.l.o.o.d.y!" he shouted. "You okay?"

MacArthur looked at his lacerated palms and winced.

"Mac wouldn't have fun if he didn't bleed," O'Toole grunted, heaving on his rope.

"Slack up, Terry," MacArthur gasped. "You're cutting her wind." Moving quickly, before his fingers locked up, MacArthur shook out a pair of hobbles and slipped them over the animal's trembling legs. He dropped another noose over the horse's head and slipped off his hide poncho, wrapping it around the mare's head. Then, breathing mightily, he lay exhausted on the ground, his weight against the magnificent animal's back.

"Let her up," he exhaled. "Be ready!"

Chapter 35.

Ferry The soft, full light of a late summer morning revealed a straggling group of humans-a foraging party-carrying empty sacks and crude buckets along the receded waters of the great river. Beppo Schmidt' s thick thatch of flaxen hair gleamed like a white pearl. Red-headed Sandy Tatum and powerful Jocko Chastain, both of towering height, stood out as well. Fenstermacher, Goldberg with her baby, and Wilson rounded out the complement. They all wore ragged jumpsuits, or at least remnants of jumpsuits; several had cut off the lower portion of the jumpsuit arms and legs. A couple of them augmented their attire with hide ponchos, but all wore leather sandals laced up their calves.

The foraging party worked its way along the gravel-strewn bank, leaving the roaring cataracts and sparkling mists behind. Once past MacArthur's Valley the great river settled to a more placid pace. The main channel widened and the current diminished; narrow river islets dotted the watercourse; and river otters and long-legged waterbirds abounded. In many respects it became a long, narrow lake, easily crossed with dugout canoe, especially during the late summer and autumn. Human traffic over its span was necessary, primarily to gather furs and buffalo meat. The demands of this traffic precipitated another Fenstermacher innovation-a ferry.

The ungainly log raft floated between boulders in the eddying river waters. It was secured by four spring lines, its two big oars shipped and secured alongside; a smaller sweep oar-the tiller- hung down in the water at the stern. Fenstermacher and Chastain, wading in the gentle current, grabbed the lines and hauled the tall raft sh.o.r.eward until it grounded. The group waded in to board, with Tatum taking the baby from Goldberg until the mother was safely pulled up.

"Tatum, you want the tiller?" Fenstermacher asked, standing in the water.

"Nah, I can row," Tatum said. The tall Marine had adapted to the missing limb. His right arm had compensated for the lost appendage, developing into a ma.s.s of ropy sinew greater than a large man's thigh.

"You big dumb guys are all alike," Fenstermacher snorted. "Beppo, keep an eye on Tatum. Make sure he pulls his weight. I'd hate to depend on Chief Cookie."

"Ja, you bet." Schmidt laughed, climbing aboard. you bet." Schmidt laughed, climbing aboard.

"You know, Sandy," Wilson said casually. "I bet that's one fart that would actually sink if we drop him in the middle of the river."

"Particularly if we put some rocks in his shorts," Tatum added.

"That's mutiny, a.s.sholes!" the little man snarled. "Belay the chatter, and attend your oars-smartly, I say."

Laughing heartily, Tatum walked to a stout oar and took his position. Wilson grabbed the other, and the two rowers kept the raft pointed into the current as Chastain and Fenstermacher cleared the lines.

"Lieutenant Buccari is coming," Schmidt said, pointing upriver.

Buccari, wearing a faded jumpsuit cut off at the knees, sprinted over the rocks. A pistol belt, worn like a bandolier, flopped as she ran, and her long, braided ponytail bounced behind her, flashing in the morning sun. Fenstermacher held the last line as the raft swung to the current.

Brappa circled on the weak thermal current. Craag struggled to hold alt.i.tude, still striving to catch the poorly defined updraft that Brappa had somehow managed to exploit.

"Perhaps we should return to the riverbank, Craag-thewarrior," Brappa screeched, proud that he had gained an alt.i.tude advantage.

"It is early for thermals, young friend," Craag wheezed as he flapped mightily. The veteran was not going to admit defeat. Thegreat river, deep green in the golden morning, flowed easily below them. The hunters were barely a third of the way across and rapidly approaching the point where they could no longer glide to either sh.o.r.e.

Below and downstream, Brappa watched the long-legs climbing onto their platform of wood.

"We could descend to the river and float over with the longlegs," said Brappa, trying to give the older hunter a face-saving alternative. The updraft stiffened. Brappa detected a satisfying lift.

"No need, Brappa, son-of-Braan," Craag screamed, suddenly heaving past Brappa' s alt.i.tude. "This updraft will boost us to heights adequate for the crossing."

Brappa acknowledged. In close formation, the hunters allowed themselves to be carried upriver by the gentle but persistent thermal.

Brappa saw the eagles.

"Thanks, Fenstermacher," Buccari hailed. She splashed thigh deep in cold water and clambered easily up the wooden structure of the raft, getting a hand from Chastain. Fenstermacher followed her aboard, bringing the last line. He grabbed the tiller and yelled orders for everyone to haul together. Schmidt sat down on a stern post next to Chastain and helped make up the lines.

"You almost missed the boat, Lieutenant," Wilson said.

"Wouldn't be the first time, Chief," Buccari replied. "I want to watch them with the horses. Tookmanian said you were heading over to forage for thickweed."

"And to pick up some buffalo, too," Wilson huffed as he pushed on his oar. "O'Toole says they got a new kill butchered and ready to go."

Buccari looked down at the splintery surface of the raft and noted bloodstains left behind by earlier cargoes. Also lying in the center of the raft was the newly constructed ramp for moving the horses...o...b..ard. Goldberg, with Honey cooing softly in her lap, sat on the fragrant, fresh-hewn wood. Buccari made eye contact with the young mother and smiled. Goldberg reciprocated with a cold nod.

"How's Honey, Pepper?" Buccari persisted. The infant was recovering from a racking cough. Several days earlier, the gardeners had prepared a sour-smelling herbal mash that Lee force-fed to the baby. It had a positive effect; the baby's cough had diminished, and the baby had recovered a healthy tone.

"Better, thanks...sir," Goldberg replied, with the warmth of a north wind.

Buccari glanced up and caught Tatum looking at her. He shrugged with sympathetic bewilderment. Buccari walked forward and sat on the front edge of the raft, legs hanging over the blunt bow. The low morning sun reflected from the river, and fish rose to summer bugs flitting and skittering over the gentle current. Fenstermacher mumbled a soft cadence for the oarsmen and steered at an angle to the easy current, keeping the raft on course for the opposite bank. With each coordinated swing of the oars, thole pins groaned in their leather pivots and the heavy raft surged forward, thrusting a crush of white water before it. Closing her eyes to the warm glare, Buccari lay on her back and allowed the splashing tempo to melt her anxieties.

Presently the raft glided into a small cove, grounding against rocks still in cool morning shade, waking Buccari from her catnap. She sat up and stretched. The rocky riverbank was steep but not high, and Chastain, mooring line in hand, jumped to dry ground. The sandy terrain leveled and then climbed steeply to a gra.s.sy clearing above the river's high-water mark. Thick undergrowth and a lush stand of trees closed in the rear of the lea. Silhouetted against the trees, MacArthur sat on a large rock at the edge of clearing. Two golden horses stood alertly behind him.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," MacArthur shouted. "You looked mighty comfortable out there." Field gla.s.ses dangled from his neck.

Buccari was impatient with Shannon, O'Toole, and MacArthur for the amount of time they had been spending with the horses. She did not appreciate their enduring absence from the camp. There was too much heavy work to do. And the horses could help. She wanted the horses transferred to the other bank.

"It must be something about this side of the river that makes everyone forget the work they're supposed to be doing," she answered.

"Ah, Lieutenant," MacArthur reb.u.t.ted mildly. "We've been working hard over here, too. But you're right. We need the horses across the river."

That the horses were sufficiently docile to transport over water was amazing in itself. The first mare captured had been nervous and frightened; none of the men could calm her enough to start training. She had refused to eat or drink, and she had thrashed and struggled so much that MacArthur worried for her health-almost to the point of setting her free. However, another horse-a stallion-was caught using the same tactics employed to capture the mare. When the newly captured horse was put in the paddock with the first animal, both animals calmed down, taking food and water from the humans as if they had always done so.

MacArthur dared to mount the mare. Surprisingly, the animal reacted mildly to the presence of a human being on its back. The horse bucked and pranced about a bit, but then it just stood there, accepting the human's right to the superior position. Within another week both horses were answering basic riding commands. The stable on the north side of the river was expanded, and two more horses were captured. MacArthur, Shannon, and O'Toole were like children with their first pets.

A shrill whistle sounded overhead. Buccari looked skyward. Two cliff dwellers, membranes folded to their backs, descended in a panic. High in the deep blue heavens, two great eagles soared lazily in the bright sunlight. But lower! A third eagle had folded its wings and was plummeting from the skies in pursuit of the hunters!

Buccari leapt to her feet. The diving eagle grew larger, its spreading talons swinging downward-right for them. Reflexively, she pushed Goldberg and Honey over the side and into the deep, cold water, and dove in after. Tatum, Wilson, and Schmidt followed in quick succession, splashing noisily into the relative security of the river, clinging close to the protective overhang of the raft. Only Fenstermacher remained on deck. The resolute raft captain seized a fending pole and wielded it like a lance.

The hunters extended their wings and pulled up from their headlong dives, with the eagle closing rapidly. Buccari brushed river water from her eyes and looked up at MacArthur. The Marine was on his feet, a.s.sault rifle aimed skyward. The hunters leveled out above the raft and shot past MacArthur' s position, gliding with a rush of wind into the narrow confines of the trees, too restricted for the eagle to follow. The eagle flared above Fenstermacher' s head, spreading its wings to an unbelievable span, throwing a mantle of darkness over the sh.o.r.eline. Its yellow eyes focused on Fenstermacher, glowing with atavistic hate, but also a glint of fear.

Buccari winced, waiting for the inevitable explosion from the rifle, but MacArthur stood steady, staring through his sights. He had but to pull the trigger and the eagle would be annihilated. The eagle was almost stationary; its ma.s.sive wings beat powerfully, slowly lifting the great predator-an easy shot. Steadily it retreated. Buccari felt the skin crawl on her head; an overwhelming sense of relief flowed through her. She watched MacArthur blow air from his lungs and lower the weapon.

"Get out of here, baby," she whispered. And it was gone, the swishing of its wings diminishing to silence.

"I didn't hear anyone sound swim call!" Fenstermacher yelled, standing at the edge of the raft, glaring ferociously at the people treading water. He jumped back from a mouthful of river spit in his direction. Honey howled mightily.