Buccari knew the horses would be loaded with bags of salt, requiring the humans to hike back to the river. MacArthur made that clear when he was trying to dissuade her from coming. After the beating her rear end had taken for the last four days, walking was a welcome alternative.

"How long will it take to get to the river?" she asked. "Captain says five days, maybe six," MacArthur replied.

Jook stared with regal scorn as Et Avian, listing slightly with the weight of his cast, moved haltingly to the foot of the imperial throne. Et Kala.s.s and an aide flanked the injured n.o.blekone, a.s.sisting his movements. Et Avian, appearing feeble and infirm, made no effort to show obeisance, but only raised his face to stare at the Supreme Leader.

"You requested my presence, Leader of Leaders," Et Avian said weakly.

"Almost eaten by a bear, eh?" Jook snarled. "The physicians say you are lucky to be alive, and that you may yet lose the use of your arm."

"The bear is dead, Great One," the n.o.blekone parried. "For the bravery of the aliens."

"So says your report," Jook reflected. "The aliens must be powerful. Well armed."

"If you have read the report, then you know that is not the case. They are of slight proportions, perhaps one-third the ma.s.s of a kone. Their weapons are modest chemical implements. They do not present a danger to our planet." The dialogue visibly sapped the n.o.blekone.

"A most presumptuous conclusion. You have only seen a shipwrecked sample of this race. Is it so easy to perceive their nature?"

"Your skepticism is healthy, Great One, but mine has been eradicated. The aliens sacrificed their lives to save mine. There was no reason for their bravery, other than an inherent sense of goodness and compa.s.sion."

"Goodness and compa.s.sion. Goodness and compa.s.sion! Dangerous attributes upon which to base an alliance. What have you learned of their technologies? That would be the brick and mortar with which we could build." Jook paraded down the wide steps and peered deeply into the invalid's unblinking eyes.

"Your Greatness!" Et Kala.s.s interceded. "Et Avian is not up to this. I beg of you! Permit us to withdraw before we do him further harm."

"I can tell you nothing of their technologies-as yet, my Leader," Et Avian whispered. "My science team is persisting in this area. I have received reports, very sketchy reports, that contact has continued. If the communication satellites were operational, we could have current information, including video."

"As you know, my n.o.ble scientist," Jook said, turning and remounting the stairs. "We are at war. In wartime information is the first victim."

"I beg of you, Great One! We must give aid to this kone immediately. His mortal health is in jeopardy," Et Kala.s.s beseeched.

"Very well, Minister," Jook replied. "But see that he does not travel far."

Et Kala.s.s grabbed Et Avian's elbow, gently turned the injured n.o.blekone, and led him unsteadily away. Jook watched them depart, settling his ma.s.sive bulk. A burgundy-uniformed officer appeared from behind the throne dais and crawled to the reception area. The intelligence officer made obeisance to the Supreme Leader.

"Do you understand your mission, Colonel Longo?" Jook asked.

"My duty is to serve, Leader of Leaders," Longo fawned.

"Your duty, Colonel Longo, is to capture the aliens. They represent a strategic objective of growing importance. We must capture them and cultivate them as allies. And if we cannot do that, then we must kill them. Do you understand?"

"Your orders are clear, Great One," Colonel Longo said. "Depart," Jook ordered, "and do not fail."

Longo bowed low, pivoted sharply on all fours, and trotted briskly from the imperial chamber. Jook sat silently, recognizing how tenuous his grasp on power was becoming. Gorruk' s army was no longer dependable, and the n.o.bility-controlled militia was more threat than comfort. The dissipated ruler leaned back on the throne lounge and allowed his anguish to swell within his breast.

Chief Scientist Samamkook and General Et Ralfkra met Et Kala.s.s and Et Avian at the formal entry to the Public Safety Ministry. A gaggle of doctors and nurses attended Et Avian as he stumbled from the hovercar.

"Take him to my chambers," Et Kala.s.s ordered, shaking his head woefully. The procession moved quickly to the lifts and up to the minister's suite. The stricken n.o.blekone was placed upon the minister's own bed. The ancient Samamkook, trembling and feeble, was also shown to a lounge and ordered to recline-a great honor in the presence of n.o.bility. Minister Et Kala.s.s, a look of despair governing his features, stood silently over Et Avian, while General Et Ralfkra took charge and graciously directed the a.s.sisting mult.i.tudes to leave. Anxious staff slowly filed out, and Et Ralfkra followed them through the anterooms, shutting and locking the security seals on the great doors. The militia general returned.

"A performance without rival," Et Ralfkra declared.

Et Avian swung his legs over the side of the bed. Standing erect, the n.o.blekone unhooked the straps securing the ma.s.sive body cast and ripped it from his body. He grimaced. A spider web of scars flowed over his shoulder and across his chest.

"Your report, General," he said, slipping on a mantle. "Are we ready?"

"Not yet," General Et Ralfkra replied. "It is close, but we need more time."

"Time! More time! When then?" Samamkook asked, his voice weak but his tone adamant. The old commoner, brittle and rheumy-eyed, shifted feebly in the chair.

"Easy! Easy, my old friend," Et Kala.s.s cautioned. "It must be at the right time, or it will be for naught. We-"

"If I am to be part of your great plan then you best accelerate your timetable," Samamkook interrupted. He laid his head down and sighed impolitely.

"There is no hurry, sir," Et Kala.s.s replied with great respect in his voice. "For you will not die-not as long as you have a job to do."

"Thank you for your opinion, La.s.sie," Samamkook said. "But you have little say in the matter."

Et Avian remained silent. He rested his hand on the old commoner's shoulder.

After four days of clear weather and hard hiking, the salt mission returned to the valley of the great river. They were met at the top of the bridge valley by sentries prepared to a.s.sist them in the final uphill portion of their trek. The salt bearers were tired, but the horses had made a profound difference. Sixteen hunters, including the injured novice, had been relieved of their burdens by the goldenanimals. The unburdened hunters took shifts among the other salt carriers, preventing the crippling fatigue of the long hike back from the flats. The line of cliff dwellers headed briskly down the valley trail to the bridge and the river crossing, leaving the humans behind. Under a lowering overcast the horses were pointed south, paralleling the river valley. Ahead lay the valley of the smoldering pinnacles, and beyond that the ferry crossing to MacArthur's Valley-a two-day ride-the final, and shortest leg, of their journey. Buccari was ready to climb back on the wide back of the golden horse.

"Whose idea was it to come on this trip, anyway?" she asked.

"Don't get me started...sir!" MacArthur bellowed over his shoulder. Buccari cringed and grimaced at O'Toole. It started to rain.

It rained all day and intermittently during the night, leaving the twin volcanoes shrouded in low overcast. The horses and their riders slogged along the undulating shoulder of the river valley and past the location where Chastain and MacArthur first came to ground. The mists were thick, and the only sign of the volcanoes was a sulfurous odor. On the second day a chill wind blew from the north, aggravating their discomfort, their rain-soaked skin damaged by the constant rubbing and chafing of riding.

The horses plodded along in single file, traversing steep terrain that merged with the low clouds, across the sloping margins of a ridge that ran away into the mists. On one side lay the river valley; on the other lay the downs of the prairies. MacArthur ranged ahead, leaving O'Toole, Buccari, and Shannon to bring up the rear.

"Whose idea was it to come on this trip, anyway?" O'Toole asked, turning around and directing his voice softly down the line of horses.

Buccari smiled painfully. "Don't get me started!" she said pompously.

Shannon's rumbling ba.s.s chimed in: "Don't get me started, either."

They laughed at MacArthur' s expense-there were only a few hours to go before they reached the ferry crossing. The thought of returning to the warmth and comforts of their settlement was salve to their fatigue and injury.

Buccari, her rear bruised and sore, shifted uncomfortably and stared into the mists. There was little to see. The land fell steeply away toward the river on the right and climbed gradually toward the northern plains on the left. Outcroppings of rock-gravestones in the fog-lifted from the tundra. Buccari's horse tensed; it neighed, a loud noise in the misty silence. All four horses were suddenly nervous, shaking their manes and flicking their tails.

"What is it, Mac?" Buccari asked. The corporal had halted.

"Wind's changing," Shannon said. "I can smell buffalo."

"Keep moving," MacArthur ordered, hauling on his reins. Shannon and O'Toole followed. Buccari was left in the rear, her horse balking until she gave it a hard kick. It moved skittishly, prancing sideways. She raised her head to yell for help-and detected movement in the rocks.

"We've got company!" Shannon bellowed.

The huge reptile sprang from the rocks, front legs high in the air, stiletto claws extended, a terrible hissing emanating from its saw-toothed maw. Buccari's horse reared and twisted to meet the attack, but the dragon was too quick. It impacted squarely on the horse's rump, one lightning claw flicking hotly against the side of Buccari's head. The stricken horse threw the dazed officer to the ground. She landed hard, rolling down the steep grade, limp and just clinging to consciousness.

Even before she stopped rolling she heard the staccato explosions and saw the muzzle flashes of automatic rifle fire. Holding her head, she looked up through thick mists made worse by her dizziness to see the flared-necked reptile drag the struggling horse to the ground, its great maw locked on its haunch. More bursts of automatic rifle fire, and the screeching ma.s.s of scales and teeth fell over. It great tail slammed the ground twice, shuddered, and was still.

Hamstrung, the n.o.ble horse screamed horribly, struggling to stand on useless hind legs. Buccari watched in great sorrow as MacArthur walked through the shroud of fog to fire two rounds into its ear. She tried to stand, but her rubbery legs would not cooperate; the hillside spun; she lay down to keep from pa.s.sing out.

The silence was deafening-and short-lived. A b.e.s.t.i.a.l roar broke the calm, horrible and primordial, loud and resonant despite the fog. And then another. The echoes at last surrendered to wet and heavy stillness.

Buccari struggled to a sitting position and was relieved to see MacArthur bounding down the hill. She put her hands to her throbbing head and tried to focus on something-something big- that moved through the mists. It stopped and retreated, melding smoothly into the grayness. MacArthur skipped noisily down the steep, shingle-strewn slope, suddenly pulling up short. He saw it, too. The Marine planted his legs and fired a burst into the fog. A hideous screech lifted the hair on her neck, and something sprinted along the scrabbly rock, its crashing footfalls lingering in the stillness.

"Hold still, Lieutenant!" MacArthur shouted, stalking backward.

Buccari felt warmth running down her cheek; she touched her face and then stared dumbly at the b.l.o.o.d.y fingers. MacArthur, his head pivoting constantly, knelt next to her.

"I'm bleeding," she said weakly. "I'm going to have a scar like you."

"You're lucky you still have a face," MacArthur hissed. His clear eyes blazed into the fog, trying in vain to regain sight of the animal. "What the h.e.l.l was that-can you walk?"

"Don't know," she said. She made an effort to stand, but her legs wobbled and she collapsed. MacArthur slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Cover me!" he shouted up the hill. He bent down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Standing erect, he juggled her several times to get positioned and started hiking up the hill.

"Easy!" she said. "My head aches."

"I know all about headaches," MacArthur said.

She wanted to reply, but all discussion was ended by another primeval scream that flowed into a rumbling roar and ended with a reverberating growl. MacArthur staggered up the steep ground, occasionally stumbling to his knees, causing Buccari' s head pain to surge and pound. He reached the others and set Buccari down roughly. Shannon and O'Toole were on each side of the nervous horses, staring into the mists. O'Toole kept glancing sideways at the fallen reptile, muttering like a crazy man.

"I think I can get up now," she said.

"Hold still. Let the bleeding stop," MacArthur snapped. Shannon handed him a grimy cloth. MacArthur reduced it further, ripping it into strips and binding Buccari's wound. "Hold pressure on it," he ordered.

"Let's move," Shannon said. "The horse carca.s.s should keep them from following us. We've used enough ammo."

"Roger that," MacArthur agreed. "Help me with the lieutenant."

MacArthur swung up on his horse. Buccari was lifted up behind him.

"Hang on," he directed. "And keep talking."

"I... I'm okay," she mumbled. She reached around MacArthur' s slim waist and clasped her hands together, pressing her good cheek to his wide back. She could feel the hard muscles of his body working as he twisted. The horse moved at a nervous trot. She groaned softly.

"Sorry, kiddo...sir," MacArthur said tenderly.

A kilometer later they backed the pace down to a walk. The weather lifted to the shifting winds; visibility increased rapidly, and the river was revealed with shafts of sunlight breaking through the scattering overcast. The horses calmed, as did the riders.

"That was a G.o.ddam dinosaur," Buccari said, taking a deep breath.

"No s.h.i.t," MacArthur answered, looking over his shoulder.

Buccari blinked against the throbbing pain. She moved one arm from MacArthur's waist and tentatively tested the bandage, trying to gauge the length of the gash. It ran from her scalp, just over the ear, to the fat part of her cheek bone, almost to her nose.

"Adds character, Lieutenant," MacArthur said, as if reading her mind. "It'll take a lot more than that to ruin your looks."

"Thanks, Mac," she said, genuinely flattered. She returned her arm to his waist.

"And, Lieutenant, I'm glad you came on this trip," he continued.

"Now I know you're lying!" she retorted. "I lost a horse."

"You didn't lose the horse. It could just have easily been any of us. That crocodile was going to get any horse it wanted," he said. "No, I'm glad you came, because now you can see how important the horses are. The horses will make the difference between us living or dying on this planet. But I'm real sorry you had to get hurt."

"Me, too," she said. They continued in silence, starting a descent into the narrow valley leading to the ferry landing.

"You're probably right about the horses, Mac," Buccari finally said.

"Of course I'm right," MacArthur responded, c.o.c.ksure. "Arrogant a.s.shole!" she replied.

"Affectionate nicknames! Thank you very much." He reached back and gave her a gentle, lingering pat on her thigh.

"You stink," she said quietly. She looked at his hand but made no effort to move it away.

"So do you," he replied.

"No I don't, I'm an officer and a lady."

"Well, one out of two ain't bad."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Nothing, nothing, er...just a little Marine humor."

Buccari grabbed a handful of the Marine's skin and pinched hard.

"Aarrggh!" he shouted loudly.

"You're lucky I don't have a knife."

Chapter 37.