As the last of them were passing, it startled them by rearing up onto its hind legs. A collar of hard bone rose around its neck. The collar ended in two long spikes, one flanking either jaw. The creature had a wide mouth full of shark's teeth and a permanent grin that reminded Hutch of an alligator.
"That thing's all dental work," whispered MacAllister.
It inspected Nightingale and showed him its teeth. Nightingale froze.
Armored ridges protected the animal's underside and its back. Its claws looked like daggers.
"Stay cool," said Hutch. The exobiologist stood absolutely still, his eyes wide. She slowly inserted herself between him and the creature. It swung its long jaws her way, looked back at Nightingale, and hesitated.
"We're not in its food chain," said Chiang.
MacAllister snorted. "By the time it discovers that, somebody's going to have a decided limp."
It looked at them, waiting perhaps for a hostile act.
The drawback of the cutter was its limited range. Notched up to full power, it had little effect beyond a few meters. MacAllister leveled his weapon and his thumb hovered over the punch pad. He was going to shoot.
"No." Hutch kept her eyes on the creature. "Don't do it, MacAllister. Everybody back away."
"Why don't we just kill it while we can?" the editor insisted.
"Slowly," said Hutch.
MacAllister frowned at her. "It's a mistake."
Hutch made her voice cold. "Do what I say."
The animal watched and after a few moments appeared to lose interest. It dropped back onto all fours and recommenced drinking.
After they'd gotten to what appeared to be a safe distance, Kellie let out her breath. "Shoo," she said quietly.
Nightingale thought he'd gotten through the experience pretty well. He felt he'd stood his ground, and believed he was ready to use his weapon if need be. He found it hard, however, to control his trembling afterward.
"You all right?" Kellie asked him.
He nodded and tried a smile. "I'm fine," he said.
They had no compass. Marcel followed their progress from Wendy and occasionally issued course corrections. The landscape remained unfailingly bleak, cold, and desolate. By late in the day they were seeing more hills. Occasional flocks of birds appeared overhead.
Nightingale was not in anything resembling the kind of physical condition required for this sort of effort. Everything he owned hurt. There was, however, consolation in the knowledge that MacAllister was having an even harder time. Hutch, who was certainly aware that she was encumbered by two people who preferred taxis wherever they went, continued to call frequent breaks.
The other four talked constantly. Chiang and the two women seemed to have accepted MacAllister in spite of his abrasiveness. Nightingale was once again hampered by his natural shyness and de-fensiveness. He tried to make acute observations, throw in occasional witty remarks, but it didn't work. Nobody really seemed to listen to him. He was the outsider, and gradually he withdrew and concentrated his efforts simply on trying to keep up.
It should have been different. After all, they were the only five human beings on the planet. That fact alone should have bound them together, should have prevented the development of factions and militated against the exclusion of any single member.
It was unfair, especially in light of the fact he'd given them their one chance at survival.
By sundown, he was limping badly and was being actively assisted by Kellie. They'd arrived in a glade, and Hutch called a halt. Nightingale eased himself gratefully to the ground, killed his field, pulled off his shoes, and rubbed his soles. By God it felt good.
He applied more of the salve from the medkit. Warmth spread through his feet, and then a general sense of relief.
The others fell quiet.
And something moved in the shrubbery.
There was a scramble for weapons.
The thing looked like a big scorpion, a scorpion the size of a child's wagon. It had a pair of antennas, which swept them in a kind of rhythm. Mandibles clicked audibly. The tail was shorter by far, and bisected. It had eight legs.
"Stay still," said Hutch,
It didn't matter. At the same moment, the creature charged Chiang. Chiang fell over backward, firing wildly. Hutch and Kellie burned it simultaneously. The thing let go a high keening sound, changed direction, and went for Hutch. They caught it again, and the scorpion crashed into a rock, rolled over, and lay on its back with its legs moving weakly.
"That's the biggest bug I've ever seen," Chiang said, getting to his feet.
MacAllister examined his cutter. "It's a good weapon," he said. "Will it run down? How much energy does it have?"
"It'll recharge on its own," said Hutch. "Just like your suit. But yes, there are limits. Don't play with it."
It wasn't a scorpion, of course. There were major differences, other than size and the tail, which mounted no stinger. The narrowing between cephalothorax and abdomen wasn't correct. The eyes were wrong. The segmenting was unique. Its chelae were smaller. The head was more heavily armored. Not for the first time, Nightingale mourned the lost opportunity to examine this world's biology.
There had been some thought of stopping there for the night, but they now agreed unanimously that it would be a good idea to move on.
Nightingale had not been able to get used to the shortened days. When they finally made camp, an hour later, he was bone weary and half-starved. They were in light forest, on the crest of a long, gently curving ridge. It had gotten dark. Overhead the superluminals moved serenely among the constellations, and he would have given much to be aboard one of them. Nevertheless, he was, by God, keeping up.
They broke out the reddimeals.
Nobody was dressed for this kind of weather. The heaviest garment anyone wore was probably MacAllister's black sweater. The two women were in jumpsuits. Chiang had only a light pullover shirt and a pair of shorts. And Nightingale's slacks and casual shirt were designed for a far more balmy climate. None of this would have mattered much were it not that they had to shut off the e-suits to eat.
They collected some wood and built a fire. When it was up and burning steadily, they keyed the reddimeal containers, which cooked the food. Then, at a kind of prearranged signal, they got as close to the fire as they could, shut off the suits, and gobbled chicken, beef, and whatever else showed up in the dinners. Everything tasted good that night.
Kellie made coffee. Nightingale swallowed everything down and, as quickly as he could, buttoned up again. He hated having to gulp his food when he was so hungry. But it was just too cold to linger over it.
They held a council of war, and agreed it was time to think about testing some of the local food supply, in order to conserve the reddimeals. If they discovered the native stuff was inedible, they would have to resort to rationing. There should be some game in the woods, and Kellie suggested to everyone's horror that the scorpions might make a food source. If any more showed up.
No one wanted to discuss it further.
They asked Nightingale, the resident expert. Did he know what they could expect to find? Was the local food edible?
"No idea," he said. "Nobody knows. We terminated the mission too quickly, and what we learned was inconclusive. Deepsix biology uses levo sugars and not dextro. So that's okay. They use DNA to make proteins, which is good. You might get some nutrition, but I doubt it. You have at least an equal chance of being poisoned. The fact is we have a supply of reddimeals, and we're only talking about a few days.
"What I mean is…" He paused, then plunged ahead: "We don't have to worry about subsisting indefinitely. What we're really interested in is satisfying our appetites. We could ration, go on half meals. But that's not going to help old guys trying to walk long distances. There's no real way we can be sure about toxins or allergens. If there's, say, a poison, our immune system may not even recognize it, or if it did, it might have no defense against it. I think we're reasonably safe, but I can't guarantee it."