GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(125)
"Scientist Lollee is expired," he said.
He bravely approached Et Avian, wary of the petite alien. Kateos followed closely. Dowornobb was touched by the alien's obvious compassion for their leader.
"Et Avian is injured grievously," Kateos said. "The wounds are deep and the bones of his shoulder are crushed. He must receive treatment, and soon, or he, too, will die."
"What are we to do?" Dowornobb asked helplessly. "Scientist Lollee is dead. There is no pilot other than Et Avian, and he certainly cannot manage the task."
"I know not," the female replied. "Can we fly the abat ourselves?"
"I cannot. Can you?" Dowornobb moaned.
Kateos shook her head. She removed her breathing unit and slipped it over the noblekone' s head, securing the pressure fittings around his neck. The long-haired alien made efforts to help, its spindly fingers hardly able to span the helmet locking lever.
"Let us carry Et Avian to the abat," Kateos said. "We must get him out of the cold."
The compressed air revived Et Avian. He stirred; his eyes bulged opened in fear and pain, but then he saw the alien and lay still. He slowly raised his hand toward the alien's white face but shuddered in evident pain, his arm dropping heavily to his side. He turned his head, recognizing Kateos.
"Aliens—saved my life," he gasped. "One of them died—ddied in our behalf. We—must be—"
Et Avian fainted—merciful unconsciousness.
* * *
Brappa gained altitude on the rising currents. He dropped a wing and crabbed to the north, toward Craag's marshaling signal and the rest of the hunter scouting party. Brappa knew not what to make of the furious activity. The flying machine was ominous enough, but the incredible death struggle was frightful beyond words. Short-one-who-leads was again proven to be a brave and fierce warrior. They would have much to report. Brappa wished he understood more about what he had seen. Of one thing only was he certain: the bear people had returned.
* * *
MacArthur, lungs burning, topped the spruce-lined ridge and stopped short as Tatum ran up his heels. He recoiled at the carnage spread across the clearing below; the blend of putrescent odors was staggering. He detected a human body—Jones—laid out on the opposite side of the clearing, not far from a trio of cubs whining among the fly-infested carcasses of three adult bears; but it was the monstrous, gory mass of a dead alien that dominated MacArthur's attention. The hulking creature lay slumped at the base of small tree, its thick spacesuit shredded, its bowels eviscerated, its fleshy, gross-featured face contorted in death. Chastain, gasping and sucking for air, joined MacArthur and Tatum, breaking their morbid trance. The Marines stumbled across the bloody clearing and up the wooded slope opposite, following the trail of blackened needles and leaves—and the horrible smell.
They climbed upward for an eternity. MacArthur's frantic thoughts focused only on Buccari. He burst from the tree line, and stopped—relieved and astounded. Tatum and Chastain staggered to a halt behind him. In the distance, walking through knee-high grass,
Buccari, Hudson, and two hulking alien beings struggled under the weight of a third alien. A crisp breeze had risen, but the bitter, cloying stink hung in the air. MacArthur, forgetting his cramping muscles and burning lungs, sprinted toward Buccari, shouting her name.
Buccari snapped around, dark hair swirling in the breeze, glinting copper in the sunlight. "Stop!" she yelled. "Put down your weapons. We need to help them." They set the injured alien next to the airplane. Buccari and Hudson stepped quickly away from the aircraft. The ponderous aliens stood with their backs to the plane, watching nervously.
"Put down your rifles!" Buccari ordered. "Drop the damn rifles, now!"
MacArthur let his piece fall and signaled for the others to drop theirs. Tatum and Chastain carefully placed their rifles on the ground.
"Damn!" MacArthur gasped, stepping away from his weapon. The fetid smell was overwhelming. "They're smelly. And big! What happened?" He approached Buccari, observing her carefully. The thick fabric of her underwear was torn away from her pale shoulder, and a bloody contusion glared angrily through the opening. Her left arm hung straight, immobile. MacArthur winced in empathy, feeling her pain and wishing he could transfer it to his own body, sparing her.
"You okay?" he asked, returning a wary eye to the aliens.
"I'll live," she said, her voice barely audible. "I think my shoulder's dislocated. One of those bears took a swipe at me."
"You sure made them pay for it," MacArthur blustered, striving to overcome his own fear. "Don't ever get that mad at me." He peeled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, daring to put an arm around her waist. She accepted his embrace.