Braan faced the hunters. "Our mission reaps fruit, but we have not yet learned of its taste. Expedite your preparations. The thermals come early today."
* * *
Shannon's Marines sprinted to the lander, assuming defensive positions. Shannon warily scanned the rim of the plateau, his senses heightened. The lander's arrival had announced their presence within a wide radius.
"Sergeant Shannon, Buccari here," Buccari' s voice came up on UHF.
"Yes, sir. Welcome to our new home, and a mighty pretty landing, I might add. Bit noisy, though," Shannon responded.
"I had nothing to do with it, Sergeant. Autopilot does all the work," Buccari said. "I have six new inhabitants and equipment to offload. I plan to rendezvous with the 'vette on the next orbit."
"Piece of cake, Lieutenant. As soon as we can touch you. You're pretty hot, er . . . the ship, I mean, is hot.. .er, as soon as we can touch you, uh...the ship. 'Sorry, sir. We'll get..." He stopped, bemused with the laughter coming over the radio.
"Relax, Sarge," the pilot finally replied. "I copy."
"You aren't powering down, Lieutenant?" Shannon asked after several minutes. The lander's skin temperature was stabilizing rapidly in the cool, breezy air.
"I'm running tertiaries at idle so I can keep a generator on line. I need to keep the fuel pressures up—takes too much fuel and time to re-ignite otherwise, and too many things can go wrong doing a cold start," she answered. "I'm pretty comfortable right here. This gravity isn't bad, if you can stay on your back. I might just take a snooze."
* * *
"You saw what?" MacArthur asked, dropping the dried branches.
"A bear!" the big man exclaimed. Purple stains colored his lips and tongue. Sonic booms echoed in the valley. Both men jerked to the noise and stared at the sky, searching for the lander. Only the twin plumes of thin smoke from the volcanoes on each side of the valley marred the deep blue heavens.
"What the hell you been eating?" MacArthur sighed, bringing his eyes back to the surface of the planet. "Geez, Jocko, it could be poisonous."
"Berries," Chastain replied, dropping his eyes and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "They're all over the place. I picked a bunch for you, too. They're real good."
"Yeah, well, let's see how good you feel in a couple of hours," he said, falling to his knees next to the small fire. "A bear, eh?"
"Looked like a bear," Chastain said. "Up there, on the ridge."
MacArthur looked up at the ridge climbing in the distance, winding to the summit of the westernmost volcano. Smoke and steam rose from the blunt pinnacle, shredding into the stiff breeze that held the stink of the buffalo herds at bay.
"On its hind legs, next to that humpy rock pile," Chastain said. "It was twice as tall as the rocks. It disappeared over the ridge." Chastain stood, hunched over. "It was reddish-brown colored, sorta."
"How's your back?" MacArthur asked, still looking at the mountain.
"Hurts when I move wrong, but it ain't as bad as yesterday. I could try and carry my pack." Chastain's face twitched in discomfort.
"We'll wait one more day," MacArthur said, staring uphill. "I got the fire going, like you told me."
"Huh, Jocko?...oh, good," MacArthur replied, turning from the mountain. "Let's cook up some field rations to go with these berries. As soon as I eat some real food I'm going to do some climbing."
"Can I go with you, Mac? I don't want to stay...by myself." "No, Jocko. We got a big hike in front of us, and I want you ready."
An hour later MacArthur neared the ridge where Chastain had seen the animal. The location was above the tree line, devoid of vegetation, but cut with ravines, affording abundant places of concealment. MacArthur climbed until he reached the distinctive pile of boulders. He halted and looked back at the camp. Chastain, no larger than half a fingernail held at arm's length, waved enthusiastically. MacArthur waved back and somberly considered what Chastain had said about the size of the animal. Twice the size of the rock pile? The rocks came up past MacArthur' s shoulders. He threw Chastain a final wave and resumed hiking.
After three hours of climbing, the ridge faded into a shoulder of the mountain; talus and scrabble gave way to rocky slabs and short vertical ascents. MacArthur traversed the northern face of the mountain, endeavoring to get a clear view of the plateau. To the north, the rolling plains, alive with herd animals, stretched into the haze. MacArthur was hypnotized by the splashes of mixed golds and browns. The herds moved slowly around and through each other—countless animals, their ranks stretching to the limits of vision, their scent only a memory.