A helo soon landed beside the seven walkers. Someone inside opened the sliding door. “Come on!” he bawled.
“Move it, move it!”
Moving it as fast as they could, Radnal and the rest scrambled into the helo. It went airborne before the fellow at the door had it fully closed. A couple of hundred heartbeats later, the helo touched down hard enough to rattle the tour guide’s teeth. The crewman at the door undogged it and slid it open. “Out!” he yelled.
Out Radnal jumped. The others followed. A few cubits away stood a man in a uniform robe similar but not identical to the one the militia wore. “Who’s freeman vez Krobir?” he said. “I’m Turand vez Nital.”
“I’m vez Krobir. I-” Radnal broke off. Two bodies lay behind the Tarteshan soldier. Radnal gulped. He’d seen corpses on their funeral pyres, but never before sprawled out like animals waiting to be butchered. He said the first thing that popped into his head: “They don’t look like you shot them.”
“We didn’t,” the officer said. “When they saw they couldn’t escape, they took poison.”
“They were professionals,” Peggol murmured.
“As may be,” Turand growled. “This one”-he pointed at Evillia-“wasn’t gone when we got to her. She said, ‘You’re too late,’ and then died, may night demons gnaw her ghost forever.”
“We’d better find that cursed bomb fast, then,” Radnal said. “Can you take us to where the Krepalgans were cornered?”
“This very heartbeat,” Turand said. “Come with me. It’s only three or four hundred cubits from here.” He moved at a trot that left the worn walkers gasping in his wake. At last he stopped and waited impatiently for them to catch up. “This is where we found them.”
“And they were coming east, you said?” Radnal asked.
“That’s right, though I don’t know for how long,” the officer answered. “Somewhere out there is the accursed starbomb. We’re scouring the desert, but this is your park. Maybe, your eye will fall on something they’d miss. If not-”
“You needn’t go on,” Radnal said. “I almost fouled my robe when we had that little tremor a while ago. I thought I’d wash ashore on the Krepalgan border, ten million cubits from here.”
“If you’re standing on a starbomb when it goes off, you needn’t fear the flood afterwards,” Turand said.
“Gak.” Radnal hadn’t thought of that. It would be quick, anyhow.
“Enough chatter,” Horken vez Sofana said. “If we’re to search, let us search.”
“Search, and may the gods lend your sight wings,” Turand said.
The seven walkers trudged west again. Radnal did his best to follow the donkey’s trail, but the soldiers’ footprints often obscured them. “How are we supposed to track in this confusion?” he cried. “They might as well have turned a herd of humpless camels loose here.”
“It’s not quite so bad as that,” Horken said. Stooping low, he pointed to the ground. “Look, here’s a track. Here’s another, a few paces on. We can do it. We have to do it.”
Radnal knew the senior trooper was right; he felt ashamed of his own outburst. He found the next hoofprint himself, and the one after that. Those two lay on opposite sides of a fault-line crack; when he saw that, he knew the starbomb couldn’t rest too far away. But he felt time pressing hard on his shoulders.
“Maybe the soldiers will have found the starbomb by now,” Fer vez Canthal said.
“We can’t count on it. Look how long it took them to find the Krepalgans. We have to figure it’s up to us.” Radnal realized the weight on him wasn’t just time. It was also responsibility. If he died now, he’d die knowing he’d failed.
And yet, while the searchers stirred through Trench Park, the animals of the Bottomlands kept living their usual lives; they could not know they might perish in the next heartbeat. A koprit bird skittered across the sand a few paces in front of Radnal. A clawed foot stabbed down.
“It’s caught a shoveler skink,” he said, as if the hot, worn men with him were members of his group.
The lizard thrashed, trying to get away. Sand flew every which way. But the koprit bird held on with its claws, tore at the skink with its beak, and smashed it against the ground until its writhing ceased. Then it flew to a nearby thornbush with its victim.
It impaled the skink on a long, stout thorn. The lizard was the latest addition to its larder, which also included two grasshoppers, a baby snake, and a jerboa. And, as koprit birds often did, this one used the thornbush’s spikes to display bright objects it had found. A yellow flower, now very dry, must have hung there since the last rains. And not far from the lizard, the koprit bird had draped a couple of red-orange strings over a thorn.
Radnal’s eyes came to them, passed by, snapped back. They weren’t strings. He pointed. “Aren’t those the necklaces Evillia and Lofosa wore yesterday?” he asked hoarsely.
“They are.” Peggol and Horken said it together. They both had to notice and remember small details. They sounded positive.
When Peggol tried to take the necklaces off their thorn, the koprit bird furiously screeched hig-hig! Claws outstretched, it flew at his face. He staggered backwards, flailing his arms.
Radnal waved his cap as he walked up to the thornbush. That intimidated the bird enough to keep it from diving on him, though it kept shrieking. He grabbed the necklaces and got away from the larder as fast as he could.
The necklaces were heavier than he’d expected, too heavy for the cheap plastic he’d thought them to be. He turned one so he could look at it end-on. “It’s got a copper core,” he said, startled.
“Let me see that.” Again Peggol and Horken spoke together. They snatched a necklace apiece. Then Peggol broke the silence alone: “Detonator wire.”
“Absolutely,” Horken agreed. “Never seen it with red insulator, though. Usually it would be brown or green for camouflage. This time, it was camouflaged as jewelry.”
Radnal stared from Horken to Peggol. “You mean, these wires would be hooked to the cell that would send the charge to the starbomb when the timer went off?”
“That’s just what we mean,” Peggol said. Horken vez Sofana solemnly nodded.
“But they can’t now, because they’re here, not there.” Fumbling for words, Radnal went on, “And they’re here because the koprit bird thought they were pretty, or maybe it thought they were food — they’re about the color of a shoveler skink’s lure — and pulled them loose and flew away with them.” Realization hit then: “That koprit bird just saved Tartesh!”
“The ugly thing almost put my eye out,” Peggol grumbled. The rest of the group ignored him. One or two of them cheered. More, like Radnal, stood quietly, too tired and dry and stunned to show their joy.
The tour guide needed several heartbeats to remember he carried a radiophone. He clicked it on, waited for Turand vez Nital. “What do you have?” the officer barked. Radnal could hear his tension. He’d felt it too, till moments before.
“The detonation wires are off the starbomb,” he said, giving the good news first. “I don’t know where that is, but it won’t go off without them.”
After static-punctuated silence, Turand said slowly, “Are you daft? How can you have the wires without the starbomb?”
“There was this koprit bird-”
“What?” Turand’s roar made the radiophone vibrate in Radnal’s hand. As best he could, he explained. More silence followed. At last, the soldier said, “You’re certain this is detonator wire?”
“An Eye and Ear and the Trench Park circumstances man both say it is. If they don’t recognize the stuff, who would?”
“You’re right.” Another pause from Turand, then: “A koprit bird, you say? Do you know that I never heard of koprit birds until just now?” His voice held wonder. But suddenly he sounded worried again, saying, “Can you be sure the wire wasn’t left there to fool us one last time?”