“Yes, we could.”
More of the golden creatures emerged from crevices and caves in the cliff, and gracefully swooped up to the summit which Varian could see was relatively flat for about five hundred metres where it dropped off into very rough and boulder-strewn slopes.
“What're they going to do now?” asked Bonnard. “That net's too big to get in any one of those cave entrances . . . Oh . . .” Bannard's question was answered as the entire group of fliers now carried the net up over the edge of the cliff and suddenly dropped one side, spilling the fish onto the summit plateau.
From every direction fliers converged on the catch. Some landed, wings slightly spread, to waddle in an ungainly fashion towards the shimmering piles of fish. Others swooped, filled their throat pouches and disappeared into their cliff holes. For all the varied approaches, the dispersal of the catch occasioned no squabbling over choice fish. As the four watched, there were periods when no fliers were picking over the fish. They did seem to be selective.
"Sharpen the focus on the viewer, Bonnard," said Varian." Let's get some frames of what they didn't eat . . ."
“Those fringe things, the small ones.”
“Maybe That's why the fringe fliers were after us. They'd taken their young . . .” said Terilla.
“Nah!” Bonnard was contemptuous. “The fringies hadn't eyes, much less brains, so how could they be sentimental about their young?”
I dunno. But we don't know that they aren't. Fish could have emotions. I read somewhere that . . ."
“Oh you!” Bonnard gestured her peremptorily to silence.
Varian turned, worrying that his attitude might bother the child since his tone was unwarranted but she seemed unperturbed. Varian promised herself a few choice words with Bonnard. And then vetoed the notion. The young of every species seemed to work things out among themselves fairly well.
She peered into the viewer herself, to see the rejects. “Some aquatic creatures are capable of loyalties and kindness to their own species, but I'd say that the fringe organism is too primitive yet. They probably spawn millions of eggs in order for a few to survive to adulthood – to spawn again. Our fliers don't include them in their diet, though. Nor those spiny types. Bonnard, you've been helping Trizein and Divisti: take a good look! Seen any of those in the marine samples we've given them?”
“No. New ones on me.”
“Course, we sampled from the main oceans . . .” Most of the fliers had disappeared now and only the rejected specimens were left, to rot on the stone.
“Varian, look!” Bonnard, again at the screen, gestured urgently. “I've got it lined up . . . look!”
Varian pushed his hand aside as he was so excited he was obscuring the view. One of the small fringers was moving, in that strange fashion, collapsing one side and flipping over. Then she saw what had excited Bonnard: unsupported by water, its natural element, the internal skeleton of the creature was outlined through its covering. She could plainly see the joints at each corner. It moved by a deformation of parallelograms. It moved once, twice more and then lay still, its fringes barely undulating, then not at all. How long had it survived without water, Varian wondered? Was it equipped with a dual set of lungs to have lived so long away from what was apparently its natural element? Was this creature on its way out of its aquatic phase, moving onto land?
“You got all that on tape, didn't you?” Varian asked Bonnard.
“Sure, the moment it started moving. Can it breathe oxygen?”
"I hope it can't," said Cleidi. I wouldn't want to meet that wet sheet in a dark dripping forest." She shuddered with her eyes tightly shut.
“Neither would I,” said Varian, and meant it.
“Couldn't it be friendly? If it wasn't hungry all the time?” asked Terilla
“Wet, slimy, wrapping its fringes around you and choking you to death,” said Bonnard, making movements like his horrifying image.
“It couldn't wrap around me,” Terilla said, unmoved. “It can't bend in the middle. Only on the edges.”
“It isn't moving at all now,” Bonnard said, sounding disappointed and sad.
“Speaking of moving,” said Varian glancing toward the one bright spot in the grey skies, “that sun is going down.”
“How can you tell?” asked Bonnard sarcastically.
“I'm looking at the chrono.”
Cleiti and Terilla giggled.
“Couldn't we land and see the fliers up close?” asked Bonnard, now wistful.
“Rule number one, never bother animals when feeding. Rule number two, never approach strange animals without first closely observing their habits. Just because the fliers haven't attempted to take bites out of us doesn't mean they aren't as dangerous as those mindless predators.”
“Aren't we ever going to observe them up close?” Bonnard was persistent.
“Sure, when I've applied rule number two, but not today. I'm to bring the sled back to the pitchblende site.”
“Can I come with you when you do come back?”
“That's possible.”
“Promise?”
“No. I just said it was possible, Bonnard, and that's what I mean.”
“I'm never going to learn anything on this trip if I don't get out and do some field work, away from screens and . . .”
“If we brought you back to the ship with a part or parts missing, left in the maw of a fringe or a flier, your mother would give up the deep six. So be quiet.” Varian used a sharper tone than she normally employed with Bonnard but his insistence, his air that he had only to wheedle enough and his wish would be granted, annoyed her. She was sympathetic to his irritation with constant restrictions. To the ship-born, planets gave illusions of safety because ship-learned dangers were insulated from one by an atmosphere miles deep, whereas in space only thin metal shells prevented disaster and any broaching of that shell was lethal. No shell, no danger in simplistic terms.
“Would you run through that tape, Bonnard, and see if we have good takes on the fringies,” she asked him after a long pause, mutinous on his part, firm on hers. “There's something I want to check out with Trizein when we get back to camp. Fardles, but I wish we had access to the EV's data banks.”
After another long pause during which she heard the slight whir of rapidly spun tapes, Bonnard spoke. “You know, those fliers remind me of something I've seen before. I can almost see the printed label on the tape sleeve . . .”
“What about this tape?”
“Oh, clear pictures, Varian.”
“They've reminded me of something, too, Bonnard, but I can't drag it out of storage either.”
“My mother always says that if you're worrying over something, go to sleep thinking about it and you'll remember in the morning,” said Terilla.
“Good idea, Terilla. I'll do so and so can you, Bonnard. Meanwhile, we're over new territory again. Man the telltale.”
They got some good tags on a stumpy-legged ruminant, spotted but couldn't tag more small mammals like Dandy, and surprised several flocks of scavengers at their work. They returned to the mining site just as the “gloom thickened”, as Terilla put it. Kai was waiting with Dimenon and Margit with the equipment which the sled must transport.
“It's a very rich find, Varian,” said Dimenon. He looked very tired and immensely satisfied. He started to add more but stopped, turning to Kai.
“And the next valley over shows another saddle deposit as large and as rich,” said Kai, a grin creasing his sweat and dirt smeared face.
“And probably the next one beyond that,” said Margit, sighing wearily. “Only that can wait until tomorrow.”
“EV should have given us at least one remote scanner, Kai?” said Dimenon, as he helped load the instruments. This sounded to Varian like the continuation of an argument.
“I requisitioned one, standard. Supply said they'd no more in stock. If you'll remember, we passed quite a few promising systems in the last standard year.”