"What the hell you doing walking off by yourself? I told everyone to stay with the group at all times? I don't care if you have to take a crap. You do it with company, and that company will have a loaded weapon with them. You hear me?"
Dawson tried to return the sergeant's stare, but Shannon was too fierce, too belligerent; she could not maintain eye contact. His dark eyes were red-rimmed and sunken, surrounded with black shadows, his face and head covered with week-old stubble, thick and grizzled. Dawson unconsciously ran her hand down the nape of her neck feeling her own incipient crop of red hair. Averting his eyes, she meekly replied, "I hear you, Sergeant."
Shannon mercifully redirected his glare and squatted next to the carcass. He commenced to stab and tear at the animal's belly.
"So what else'd you see?" he asked softly. Before she could respond, Shannon looked up at the Marines still standing around, curiously awaiting Dawson' s story. "Am I going crazy, or did I not tell you leadbutts to get your asses in gear? Get moving, now!"
Everyone jumped. Petit and O'Toole, slinging rifles over their shoulders, grabbed the beacon and double-timed toward the lake. Tatum and Gordon followed. Mendoza, awkwardly carrying a rifle, and Fenstermacher, with a holstered pistol, moved off to take sentry positions above the cave. Leslie Lee stood on the cave terrace, watching and listening. Dawson looked up at the medic and then back down at Shannon's broad back.
"So what'd you see?" Shannon asked, as he yanked out entrails with a liquid, ripping sound. Dawson stared, fascinated at the gore. Feeling her stomach wamble, she swallowed; dizziness threatened to overcome her. Shannon's hands and wrists were crimson with blood, his jumpsuit sleeves rolled up to his meaty, tattooed biceps, as he tore the pelt from the back of the bloody carcass, using the knife to lever it free, leaving behind pink marbled flesh.
Dawson opened her mouth, but no words came forth. Tasting hot, acrid berries, she turned her head, put her hand over her mouth, and ran to the edge of the clearing.
* * *
As Braan worked his way back to the lake he observed the green-garbed long-legs making their way along the northern edge of the lake. Braan reached the high rocks above the lake, unlimbered his wings, and leapt out over the sparkling green water. The hunter glided most of the way to the island and then let himself settle onto the clear surface. The waters were warm. Braan landed softly and folded his wings, catching enough air to maintain buoyancy and, with only his eyes and nostrils exposed, paddled to the island. Craag awaited.
The explosive reports had frightened the hunters. They feared for their leader's well-being, but their fears had been assuaged on seeing Braan traversing the cliff face. The commotion in the aliens' camp had also attracted their attention, and they watched the strange beings depart for the high plateau. The hunters listened in awe as Braan related his adventure.
"The long-legs are powerful," Braan said.
"Why were you not harmed, Braan-our-leader?" Bott' a asked, a bold question.
"The sand-colored one had not a magic stick, and I made no move to attack. The rockdogs attacked," Braan replied. The longlegs had not desired to harm him; the long-legs did not perceive him to be a threat, even though he was clearly armed. A good portent.
The silent hunters pondered the events. Braan suddenly deduced why the strangers were returning to the plateau rim: the thunderous craft would return. The aliens were being delivered to the plateau by the silver ship. Every explosion heralded the arrival of more long-legs.
"Today there will be great noises, as yesterday and the day before. The flying object will return. More long-legs will be among us," Braan announced. The hunters marveled at their leader's prediction.
* * *
The second landing was not routine. Penetration and approach were normal, and transition was routine, but touchdown was rough.
The lander wavered severely, skidding and tottering. Buccari felt lateral forces tilting the nose of lander. With lightning reactions she disengaged the autopilot and jammed in a hard control input, offsetting the unprogrammed yaw. She was lucky, catching the excursion in time. A split second later and the lander would have toppled from its skids and exploded with a full load of fuel, killing crew, passengers, and all Marines in the vicinity. The corvette crew stranded in orbit would also have died, only more slowly.
As she waited for the lander skin temperature to stabilize, Buccari checked her instruments and command programs. With tertiaries still turning, she and Jones ran a diagnostic on the control systems but could find no indication of what had caused the unruly control inputs. When the skin temps fell within limits, the Marines and passengers moved the bulky cargo clear of the lander and staged it for transportation back to camp. Quinn had surprised Buccari by insisting that the planet survey package be transported to the planet. Buccari had not argued; they would need the medical supplies, the seeds, the raft, and the tools.