“It hasn't wit enough to know it's free,” replied Tardma, her tone even but scornful.
“Drive the carnivore back, Paskutti.”
Varian needn't have spoken for that was what the heavy-worlder was doing. The predator, now recognizing an enemy above it, attempted to bat the menace from the sky with its forelegs and massive head. Instead, it was driven, back, back, away from the herbivore.
Paskutti played with the creature who impotently tried to, defend itself. Before Varian realized what Paskutti intended, the man swung the sled and let a full blast of its jets into the predator's head. A bellow of pain assailed their ears as the sled accelerated violently forward, throwing Tardma and Varian against their straps. They were thrust in the other direction as Paskutti veered back to survey the effect of his chastisement.
The carnivore was trying to get its forepaws to its face, now blackened and bleeding from the jet blast. It rolled its head in agony as it lurched blindly about.
“Now let us see if it has learned a lesson,” Paskutti said and drove the sled back towards the beast.
It heard the sled, roared and stumbled wildly in the opposite direction.
“There, Varian. It has learned that a sled means pain. That one won't bother any area where it hears sleds.”
“That wasn't what I was trying to do, Paskutti.”
“You xenobs get soft-hearted. It's tough, that killer. It'll recover. You will want to tend the wounded herbivore?”
Controlling her sudden revulsion of Paskutti with a tremendous effort, Varian nodded and busied herself with her veterinary supplies. The herbivore was still on its side, too terrified to right itself and run. Its injured limb twitched and the exposed muscles rippled, each time causing the herbivore to whistle and bleat in pain. Varian ordered Paskutti to hover the sled directly over the creature which was oblivious to anything except its terror and pain. It was simpler to sprinkle over an antibiotic and spray the seal on from above. They continued to hover, at a higher altitude, until the beast realized that it was no longer in any danger and struggled to its feet. Then it sniffed about and, reassured, shook, bellowing as the reflex action caused discomfort in the leg. Abruptly it snatched at a hanging frond and munched. It looked for more food, turning about and then finally began to wander away from the trap, sniffing occasionally at the wind, bleating and whistling when it remembered it was wounded.
Varian felt Paskutti watching her. She didn't want to meet his eyes for fear he would see her revulsion of him.
“All right, let's extend our search in this area. We'll want to know what other life forms live in these foothills before the geologists can safely work here.”
Paskutti nodded and swung the sled towards the north-east again. They encountered and tagged three more herding types. Varian, still numbed by the earlier incident, gradually woke up to the fact that each of the new species must have had some common ancestor before evolutionary differences developed to put them into a sub-grouping.
When they returned to the base camp as the evening drenching began, Varian noticed that Tardma and Paskutti
were as glad to be released from the close quarters of the sled as she was. She told Paskutti to check the sled over, Tardma to give Gaber the tape files and she went down to check on Mabel. The herbivore had reduced the trees of its enclosure to mere stumps. The full leg seal had held and Mabel did not appear to favour the injured leg. Varian was both eager and reluctant to release her patient but the logistics of supplying Mabel with sufficient fodder made her independence necessary. She decided to let Mabel go in the morning and follow it, at a discreet distance, in the sled. She would like to establish if it had any instinctive direction, if it had any communication with other members of its herd of species. Today the herbivores had responded to the dangerous approach of the predator on an individual basis. Too bad the silly fools couldn't gang up on their killer. By mass they could over-power it if they'd any courage at all. Or any leadership.
Could she stimulate Mabel's intelligence in any way, she wondered. And as quickly decided such a programme would be impossible. It would take too long and the chances of success with Mabel's brain space were unlikely. Mabel needed some physical modifications to achieve any measure of intelligence. There wasn't room enough in its skull for more than essential locomotion. Unless it had spare brains in its tail! And there'd be more motor control, too. Of course, she had encountered species with auxiliary nerve centres for controlling extremities while their intelligence, or main brain, was centrally located in the most protected part of their form. Man was, Varian reminded herself, not for the first time, rather badly designed. She understood the Theks held that opinion.
She was strolling thoughtfully back to the compound when she heard the whush of a returning sled and her name called. She caught sight of Kai's face. He looked happy about something. He was gesturing her to hurry up and join him. When she did, his usually composed face was brimming with excitement. Even Bakkun had an air of satisfaction about him.
“We've got some tapes you've got to see, Varian. We found one of your fang-faces . . .”
“Don't talk to me about it!”
“Huh? Had a rough day? Well, this will cheer you. I need your expert opinion.”
“I will take our finding up to Gaber,” said Bakkun, leaving the co-leaders together as he strode towards the cartographer's dome.
“You had a good day, then?” Varian put aside her negative mood. She had no right to depress Kai, or spoil his achievement.
“Very good. Just wait till you see,” he was guiding her towards the shuttle. “Oh, how was yours? Could you clear that north-east section of foothills for a secondary camp?”
“Let's see your tapes first,” she said, and hurried him along to the pilot cabin.
“Admittedly, I don't know that much about animal behaviour,” he said as he slid the tape into the viewer and activated the playback, “but this just doesn't seem logical. You see, we found the golden fliers a good hundred and sixty kilometres from the sea . . .”
“What? Doesn't make sense . . .”
The tape was playing now and she watched as the fliers came on the screen, the threads of grass visible in their beaks.
“You didn't think to . . .”
“I got samples of all the greens, grass and bush . . .”
"And they are green, instead of half-purple or blue . . ." Now watch . . ."
“Fardles! What's that thing doing there?” The predator had entered the valley, a dwarf figure until the close-up lens magnified it to a comparative life-size, “That's the beast that ate Mabel and . . .”
“Can't be the same one . . .”
I realize that, but they are double-dangerous. We had one today, took a hunk out of another herbivore until we intervened. Why, scorch the raker, he's eating grass!" Astonishment silenced Varian. "I wonder what's so essential in that grass. Damned curious. You'd think they'd have everything they need in their own environment. Now, he might be local. But the fliers couldn't be . . ."
“My thinking, too. Now this is the part that really baffles . . .”
The viewer now came to the scene in which fliers were aware of predator and it of them, the defensive line of the golden creatures and their orderly evacuation.
“Kai! Kai! Where are you, man?” They heard the voice of Dimenon, Kai's senior geologist. “Kai!”
“Ho, Dimenon, we're up front,” Kai replied, pressing the hold on the viewer.
“We're here for the transuranics, aren't we?” asked Dimenon at his most dramatic as he burst into the small cabin, an equally excited Aulia beside him.
“You bet. . .”
“We found the mother's own end of a great whopping saddle of pitchblende . . . rich or I'll give you every credit in my account!”