"Just right for the kaphoora? It's too late for that."

"Kaphoora," Gavare said, and made a short snuffly noise, an odd flapping of his lips. "For the Federation. That's what this whole kaphoora is about... more than just prime kaphoora to Akarr. He's got Takarr to worry about."

"Takarr?" Riker stopped arranging the fire circle he'd started and gave Gavare a hard look. Idle and wandering words from a concussed Tsoran, and he had the feeling they held the first truly crucial information the Tsorans had revealed.

But the sharp edge to his voice must have cut through Gavare's fog, made way for some sense in the guard's head. He said, "Better get that fire started. This time of day, the sculpers come out in gangs-" He cut himself short, tilting his head, listening.

Riker heard it, too, just as the others drifted to the heart of their camp area, cautious and hunting out the source of the noise.

Overhead.

Not as powerful as usual, but no less the sweet for that. A shuttle, flying low and steady, from the direction of the portal right along the flight path the Rahjah had taken.

Worf. The Collins. No doubt he was heading for the Rahjah's planned landing site; with any luck the light was not yet so dim that he couldn't see the crash path.

Not that there was anywhere near the Rahjah to land except in that crash path, and a tricky bit of flying that would be.

It didn't matter. Worf was in the air, come to look for them in response to the broadband cry for help. He'd find the Rahjah, all right.

"And we'll be nowhere near it," Riker muttered out loud.

"What?" Akarr switched his attention from the now fading engine noise to glare at Riker; surely he'd guessed the source of the noise, for he wasn't asking. "What did you say?"

It was a dare, Riker thought. A dare to say told you so. But not a dare he had any intention of taking. Not when he still had to get through the night, and that wouldn't happen if the Tsorans decided to take serious exception to him.p> told you so. But not a dare he had any intention of taking. Not when he still had to get through the night, and that wouldn't happen if the Tsorans decided to take serious exception to him.p> "Come morning," Riker said, his voice carefully neutral, "we'll have a way out of here."

"How long," Gavare said, squinting out into what was definitely growing darkness, "will it take you to light that fire?"

"Depends on just how wet this wood is," Riker told him, slinging his backpack off to pull out the incendiary tablets. "Why do you ask?"

Gavare didn't answer right away; as his companions glanced warily about themselves and Riker shaved a quick pile of curling bark for under, the answer became evident-a slinking, long-bodied shape, a double-tailed whisk of movement in the foliage ... the sculper was back.

"Get that fire started," Akarr said, ignoring the fact that Riker was already a.s.sembling the under and kindling, had placed the flat b.u.t.ton on the ground beneath it, and was prepared to pull its activating tab. "Everyone else-take a point. Use the rocks and spears, and save the tranks!"

Had they found time to make spears and gather rocks? Riker hoped it was so, but didn't look away from his task, flinching as the tablet flared to life with intense heat and light, and wincing at the strong sizzle of the larger kindling. If it was that wet, it might well take two tablets to establish a self-sustaining fire.

One of the Tsorans shouted; Riker didn't bother to check who, though he could tell why, even with ruined night vision. The rush of a sculper, its soft cluttering laugh of a retreat-sounds he already knew by heart. He couldn't help the others now; he kept his focus on the fire. Adding small branches to the small tablet-inspired inferno as fast as he could, daring to try a larger branch ... he hesitated, ready to s.n.a.t.c.h it away if the fire dimmed, all too aware of the brief skirmish taking place off to the side.

But the tablet fueled the flames, and by the time it died, they had a large, healthy fire blazing before the cave-enough of a fire to spook the naive sculper... for now.

And no one else had been hurt.

For now.

"Akarr!" Takan shouted from the other side of the fire. "It returns!"

"No, over here!" Rakal cried, his warning harsh with under-purr.

In front of Riker, something bounded in close to the fire, bouncing back out again before his recovering night vision could quite see what it was. Not that it mattered; he didn't need to see it to know exactly what had happened. The sculper was back... and he'd brought his friends. Riker picked up his newly made club in one hand, and adjusted his grip on the bat'leth in the other.

It was going to be a long night.

"What is the scuttleb.u.t.t?" Data asked over the comm link, his tone just slightly off normal. La Forge stopped his work at the Fandrean communication board for a mental double take on the words, then gave his head a slight shake and returned the greater part of his attention to his work-not that he had much attention to give it. The normal dull ache of the VISOR's interface at his temples had sharpened into a true headache, a nagging discomfort that generated the frequent impulse to remove the device. As tired as he was, one of these times he was going to have the thing off his face before he even realized what he'd done.

"I said-"

"I heard you, Data. It's the middle of the night here, everyone else is asleep, and I keep staring at this communications board, waiting for a solution to pop into my head. Meanwhile, Worf is off in the Legacy somewhere, and we have no idea if he's had any luck finding Commander Riker's shuttle, or even if he's run into trouble himself."

"Groovy," Data said. La Forge's link to the Enterprise, his link to anything outside of this museum, and he'd said groovy.

This time, La Forge did stop work, carefully replacing the spanning micro flux calibrator in its special protective tool case. "Not groovy, Data. Not groovy at all."

"I misapplied the word? I meant to indicate support and approval of your work there."

"Well, you didn't." La Forge had no trouble visualizing Data's slightly puzzled response, the tilt of his head as he searched for more information about the subject. "This isn't the first time you've used an unusual phrase. Are you off on another slang kick?"

"Not precisely. I am running an experiment. After so many of the officers in the briefing indicated a familiarity with The Wizard of Oz, I thought I would see how many other twentieth-century phrases and allusions people would respond to. I am attempting to use them casually, in the course of a conversation. It is not my intent that the phrases be noticed for themselves, but to see if the partic.i.p.ants in the conversation respond to the phrase with an understanding of its meaning."

La Forge, sitting cross-legged on the floor-and why were these boards always so close to the ground-felt his mind go numb and foggy.

"For instance, when Captain Picard was leaving for the Tsoran reception, I advised him to paint the town red. He did not seem to have a full understanding of the phrase, but I fear the results of that particular experiment were skewed when it turned out that Atann actually had painted the reception room red."

La Forge leaned back on his arms, smiling. "I heard it was curtains and rugs."

"To be precise, although my point stands."

To which La Forge didn't respond, other than to give in to the impulse to remove the VISOR and sit in his pleasant haze, listening to Data's voice-which eventually said, "-my understanding of human physiology leads me to suggest that you will achieve no practical purpose in driving yourself this way."

"Was that your way of telling me to get some sleep?"

"I believe it was."

"Yeah," La Forge said, and sighed. "You're right. I just hate to think of them in there, with no way to communicate to us ... who knows what kind of trouble they're in. But... I can't think straight anymore."

"Then you are hardly doing your best for them," Data said, as blunt as usual. Not to mention correct.

"Thanks, Data. That's just the kind of pep talk I need."

"It was not meant to be a pep talk."

No, never mind. He was too tired to straighten that one out. But before he went to bed ... "Data, how's it going with the Ntignano evacuation? And with the Tsorans?"

"I would say ..." Data started, and hesitated, hunting for the best response, his very hesitation a blinking red alert in La Forge's mind.

"Just tell me, Data."

"I am sorry to report that neither situation is progressing in a positive manner. The Ntignanos have much less time than expected, and the extended evacuation journey is creating problems. Dr. Crusher has the details; I can have her-"

"No, no, this is fine," La Forge muttered. Well, he had asked. "And the Tsorans?"

"It is hard to ascertain how they feel about the situation since they have broken off contact. I believe that Captain Picard has something in mind; he has not given up his attempts to acquire the charts."

"Has he-" La Forge stopped, trying to think if Data would know about his request to send out a modified charting probe. He'd made it of Picard, who would work with engineering if he decided to move ahead ... but would he have brought Data in on the decision making process? "I'd been hoping we could start in on our own charts, Data. Do you know if Captain Picard is considering it?"

"Officially, no," Data said. "However, I a.s.sisted Lieutenant Duffy with the necessary changes to the probes, so I am 'in the know." "

"He's gone ahead with it then." Relief. It wouldn't give them results as soon as they needed them-but in the end, more lives would be saved than if they waited for the Tsorans and never got the charts they'd been promised.

"The probe was launched several hours ago. They are performing up to expectations. But, Geordi, it will not give us results in time to save-"

"I know, I know," La Forge said through a tired groan. "It won't save them all. We can't build even a rudimentary chart of those eddies in time to do that. Our current charts of this system are so old, and so seldom used ... the areas with the eddies might as well be labeled like the ancient maps of Earth's oceanic trouble spots. Here be monsters."

A phrase that was pretty darn appropriate for the situation right here on Fandre.

Here be monsters.

Chapter Nine.

night in the fandrean jungle.

Deep in the tangle of night-blacked foliage, slick fur slid between thickly leafed branches, making no more than a whisper of sound beneath the clamor of myriad insects crying out for the company of their own kind.

A shriek ripped through the chorus, startling it to silence.

Bones crunched.

Tsoran bones.

Here be monsters.

Riker quickly lost track of time; he lost track of the fact that time had any meaning at all. The scavengers came after them in rounds of overlapping activity, always making sure someone in the camp had reason to be shouting, alarmed, scrabbling for a defensive position or screaming. After the first major attack, Riker built a second fire on the other side of the cave entrance, hoping to create a more secure area in between the two, at the mouth of the cave. For a while it worked-until the beasts lost their initial respect for the flames, and learned to shoulder the humanoids away from the clear spots and into the fires-or nearly into the fires. Singed Tsoran fur, singed sculper fur, singed Starfleet uniform The bat'leth threw swooping firelight around the cleared zone, whirling with Riker's fierce attacks, his twisting retreats; the club hit the ground early on, wrested from his grip by sculper jaws and then discarded. Around him, the Tsorans wielded their lances and clubs and trank guns, but the sculpers were too quick for the short-range tranks and only momentarily deterred by the hastily made weapons.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the sculpers took a break-time for a little nap, Riker thought, a break in the entertainment. For that's what this was-entertainment. Nothing about the sculpers, not their lolling tongues or their exuberant body language, led him to think that he and the Tsorans provided anything but amus.e.m.e.nt, and the moment the scavengers tired of the game, they'd barge past all defenses and take who they wanted.

Or eat them on the spot.

"If we can at least stun one of them," Akarr said to Rakal, possibly unaware that Riker stood on the other side of the currently blazing second fire, feeding in another batch of now-dry logs, "I can take trophy. Trophy from the very animals attacking me!"

"Nothing Takarr does will be enough to elevate him beyond that in our people's eyes," Rakal agreed.

Takarr again. Who was Takarr?

Rakal added, "But I worry about Ketan, ReynTa. He was honorably injured. Even putting him in the cave with Gavare doesn't seem likely to protect him from these sculpers if they quit playing with us and determine to take food."

No doubt about that; the injured men needed protection.

Riker rounded the fire to join them uninvited, offering them glare for glare-a greeting he'd received so often he now responded in appropriate Tsoran body language without thinking about it. "We should pull in, and not attempt to protect anything but the cave mouth." Not that it was much of a cave, but every little advantage ... "If we do that, they can come upon us several at a time, and take us all down," Rakal said, pouching his lower lip in disapproval. "As we are, they might get one of us, but the others will survive."

"But they aren't coming in several at a time." Riker cast a pointed glance out at the black and impenetrable foliage surrounding them; something rustled loudly and they all tensed, but nothing came of it, and after a moment he looked back at the Tsorans. "No reason to risk losing anyone else."

"We will continue as we are," Akarr said stiffly, the hair on his arms rising slightly.

Suddenly Riker understood. Akarr wasn't making any attempt to keep the animals away from the cave, not at all. He approached each strafing run as an opportunity to stun or trank one of the sculpers long enough to harvest a trophy. And while defending the cave meant chasing them off in any fas.h.i.+on possible, going for the trophy meant letting them get close enough to take one down. If that meant standing aside while it went for the cave, then that's just exactly what it meant-no matter the cost to Gavare and Ketan.

But nothing in Rakal's att.i.tude suggested that it was commonplace to leave their wounded to die, or even to fend for themselves.

Who is Takarr?

Why would he inspire such behavior?

Riker looked down at Akarr-bloodied from minor wounds, his fur sticking out in random cowlicks where he'd run into sap, his stiff leather vest scratched and scarred-and knew he looked no better himself. Never mind daleura, never mind the world outside this small, recently made clearing. "You're making a mistake," he said. "And your men will pay."

Akarr lifted his lips, exposing his teeth, his eyes cold in the firelight. "It is you who err, Riker. We would duel this moment if it wouldn't jeopardize the very men that worry you so."

"If there's one thing that doesn't worry me, it's the prospect of-"

"Sculper!" cried Takan from the other side of the fires, where he'd remained either ignorant or uncaring of the confrontation within the camp. "More than one!"

Careless movement in the brush came on the heels of his words, and Riker whirled away from the fire, grabbing the opportunity to scoop up his club-and finding himself suddenly eye to eye with the sculper. His breath exploded out in a startled shout of attack as he turned the scooping motion into a swing, right at the sculper's he adIt was gone again, effortlessly bounding back out of reach-and, as Riker staggered ahead with his own momentum, leaping forward once more. Not to shoulder him out of the way, not this time-this time the creature came in all jaws and teeth, its hackles raised, its two short tails standing stiffly at attention, and Riker wrenched himself back into a ragged guard, bringing the bat'leth up, arms bent to take the shock of impact as the animal launched itself-one bound, two-and abruptly stopped, its nose in the air, and just as suddenly changed course, no less purposeful.

Riker, no longer between the sculper and the cave, threw himself after it, landing heavily in the damp, trampled ground growth Missing the creature entirely.

But the creature didn't miss its intended prey. A harsh Tsoran scream filled the night as Riker scrambled to his feet, heading for the dark pocket of s.p.a.ce in the shallow cave, driving himself at the braced hindquarters of the sculper-braced, like a dog playing tug-of-war-and then throwing himself to the side when it whirled to turn on him. Even then, he kept his forward movement, aiming the end of the bat'leth right down its throat.

It dodged, of course. But the blade dug into its neck at the shoulder, and it screamed just as throatily as its Tsoran victim as it broke away and bolted out of the cave.

Panting, somehow already smeared with sculper blood, Riker climbed to his feet and ran to the cave, where he found Ketan sprawled in a dazed and b.l.o.o.d.y state, his previously wounded arm now badly bitten as well. Gavare, a club discarded at his feet, knelt not by Ketan's arm, but by his legs. As Riker frowned, trying to make sense of it, Akarr rushed into the cave.

"It's gone?" he demanded, looking around as though it might be lurking nearby.

"It's gone," Riker affirmed, and when Akarr reacted with an angry snort, Riker gave him an incredulous look and said, "That's a good thing, Akarr."

Akarr stalked to the entrance of cave, standing by the edge of dirt and rock and staring into the darkness, his nostrils flaring, his pouched lower lip working. "You might have delayed it until I arrived."

So that's what this was about. Again. "I meant to drive it off." Actually, he'd meant to kill it. "If you want to gather a trophy, you're just going to have to be faster."

"Akarr?" Rakal called from beyond the fire, his voice anxious.

"Stay on watch! All is well," Akarr shouted back.

Riker looked down at Ketan. "Not exactly well." He crouched down, joining Gavare, finally able to see that Ketan's leg had swollen to alarming proportions. "What happened?"

"This," Gavare said, holding up a stout quill as long as Riker's hand. "From the creature's tail. When I attacked it... when it turned on me, Ketan was behind it. There's just not enough room in here ..."