GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(79)
Fishing was good and the fish tank was filled by early afternoon. The sun no longer overhead, the afternoon breezes swirled around the bluff protecting the sandy cove. The day was ending and the pleasantly sun-burnished kones, both fully suited, collected the fishing equipment.
"I will load the nets, Suppree," Kot said. "Start the afternoon readings?"
"Real work!" Suppree whined. He grabbed the instrumentation satchel from the boat and walked a hundred paces upriver, disappearing around the low bluff. The technician immediately reappeared, lumbering through the sand on all fours, yelling unintelligibly. Kot dropped the nets, wondering whether to jump in the boat and start the engine, but Suppree stopped. "Come! Quickly!" he shouted, heading back up the sand. Kot followed at an uncertain trot.
A section of raft remained tied together, grounded on the beach at the foot of the bluff, the long bitter end of a line trailing in the clear current. Two tiny green helmets and a single pack were lashed tightly to the logs. A miniaturized weapon was firmly strapped to the pack. Suppree and Kot stared down at the foreign objects, circling the sunken raft, even walking in the icy water.
"A helmet," Kot said, figuring out the latching mechanism and lifting it from the raft. "But it is so small." It rested easily in the palm of his hand.
"A weapon, no doubt," Suppree stated, unbinding the rusted rifle from the pack. His thick finger was too wide by half to fit through the trigger guard.
"Et Avian will want to see this when he returns."
Chapter 22
A week later Dowornobb held the helmet in his hands, fascinated with its miniature size. How could a being with a brain so small travel between the stars? Maybe its brain was not held in its skull. Maybe it had two heads. After all there were two helmets, and only one pack.
"Ironic," Et Avian said, holding the other helmet as if it were a holy relic. "We fly across the continent to examine debris that tells us nothing, while the best clues wash up on our front door."
"No, Your Excellency," H'Aare interjected. His enthusiasm for the search had steadily developed, escalating his personal emotions to almost a fervor. "We learned much from the wreckage."
"And we are better prepared for next year," Mirrtis added with surprising enthusiasm. Mirrtis had suffered more than most from the harsh elements.
"What His Excellency means is we found no clues to the aliens—no writings, no pictures, no tools," Kateos said, her voice firm. Dowornobb felt a strange pride in the female's assertion.
"Yes, Mistress Kateos," Et Avian added. "We now have a clue to their appearance. But we also know two facts that are even more important: one, they are on Genellan. And two, we can narrow the search to the river valley."
"That remains a large search area," Scientist Lollee said. "We cannot search any more before the cold season. They will probably die in the winter, if they are not dead already. Only dumb brutes can live through a Genellan winter."
Dowornobb glanced at Et Avian, who stared resolutely at the equipment. The Genellan winters, incomprehensibly vicious, were beyond hope. Dowornobb shifted his attention and noticed Corporal Longo standing silently in the corner.
Outbound
Young Brappa was selected for the autumn salt expedition, a warrior's rite of passage. When Kuudor informed Braan of his son's selection, the hunter leader's paternal instincts filled him with foreboding: many sentries never returned. But Braan quickly dispelled his paternal anxieties. Salt missions were fraught with problems; he would not be distracted by selfish worry. The size of the expedition was Braan' s concern. The elders had proclaimed the salt requirement, and the pronouncement tore at Braan' s heart—one hundred full bags. Braan sighed and swallowed his protests; there would be many hunter abodes to visit. As their leader, it was his responsibility to notify the warriors of their obligations to volunteer, and since hunters never refused duty, Braan' s visits were received with grim respect.
Delicate chimes heralded the eve of the salt mission; young sentries with thin silver bars dangling about their necks glided along the cliffsides, the clear tinkling sounds too cheerful for the intended purpose. Braan and his lieutenants followed the chimes, attending to their calls. Their mission done, the golden skies of evening darkened to night, and hunter families celebrated with somber thanksgiving. The selected warriors and sentries slept well, secure in their courage and proud of their responsibility. Braan' s slumber was less serene.
At dawn all hunters, young and old, dressed for battle and ascended the cliffs, their straggling multitudes clogging the pathways and tunnels of the colony. By midmorning thousands of warriors crowded the cliff rim, a sea of black eyes and leather wings. Pikes and bows prickled above the horde, a field of pointed blades. In the center of the massed hunters, arrayed in precise ranks, a hundred battle-armored sentries stood proudly, graduating sentries, awaiting their final test. At their head was ancient Kuudor, captain-of-sentries. Five second-year sentries maintained a ceremonial tattoo, beating granite rocks with tuned metal bars, while all other sentries posted vigilant guard along the cliff rim. At Craag' s signal the beaters became still.