"A big screwup," she spit.
"Nothing's changed," MacArthur said. Tonto and X.O. hopped out of the night. Captain followed, but signaled bad <news:> bear people were pursuing. "We have an air force, too."
"The cliff dwellers?" she asked.
MacArthur lifted his pistol. He pulled the slide back, chambering a round. "Air-to-air combat," he said. "Just have to find the right time and place."
The clouds departed with the night. Morning arrived calm and bright. Longo' s soldiers marched at a steady, four-legged lope up the slope of the valley, much faster than a human could walk. The mortar team followed more slowly. The overcast had made it impossible to keep the aliens in contact, and Longo had held position on the valley flank until daybreak. With clear skies, one of the drones immediately regained contact, marking the location of the aliens and eliminating the danger of another ambush.
"They move along the top of the ridge, Colonel," a subordinate reported. Longo grunted and kept hiking. And thinking. The drone had detected seventeen infrared signatures. Nine of the signatures were distinctly larger and much warmer than the other eight. His technicians indicated the larger signatures were the aliens, of which only seven were left; they had passed one insect-covered body and the remains of another. What were the eight smaller IR signatures?
"We have adequate light for video, Colonel," the drone technician reported. "The smaller IR signatures have been identified as two-legged animals."
"Pets?" Longo remarked. "I was not aware of two-legged animals on this planet."
"Mountain flyers, most excellent Colonel," offered the technician. "Five disappeared in the night. Only three remain."
"Mountain flyers, eh?" Longo mused. He pondered their presence, and discounted them. "Which of the aliens have you identified?"
"The female that leads them and seven of the soldiers."
The drones were tracking the warriors—the soldiers and their puny female leader. The other females, including Gol'berg, were somewhere else. Where? The reconnaissance drones with their cameras and heat detectors would find them, too, eventually—after the warriors were eliminated. Without soldiers to protect them, they would be that much easier to capture alive.
The sun stretched to its zenith. Buccari stared anxiously at the cloudless skies. The barrel-shaped drone throbbed and hummed its irritating tune far above their heads, out of rifle range. It was newly arrived with a fresh load of fuel and charged batteries after relieving the first drone that had been monitoring them. The humans lay scattered about the rocks, some sleeping, some chewing on their last rations of dried meat and fish. They had climbed high above the shoulders of the valley and were perched on the flank of a rocky tor, its peak topped by twin pinnacles.
Even in her fatigue and fear Buccari marveled at the immensity of the land. To the west the valley lake radiated a luminescent blue light of its own. Beyond the valley and ranging to the north and south were the snowcapped mountains, uprisings of granite that defied description and gravity, and to the north and east could be seen the great herds of musk-buffalo, largely returned from their winter pastures to the southeast. Directly behind her, to the east, the terrain plummeted sharply into a series of mountain defiles, steep-sided, barren, with sheer cliffs and knife-edge ridges.
"I'll be damned! Where are the thermals?" asked an exasperated MacArthur. "They'll find us before we can take out the drone."
"Shouldn't we head for the woods?" Tatum asked.
"We have to take out the drones, Sandy," Buccari replied. "As long as they can track us we don't have a chance." The last scraggly stands of yellow-barked firs were far down the ridge.
"How far behind us are they?" O'Toole asked.
Tonto lay on a grassy spot between boulders, his thin chest heaving. The hunter had returned from a scouting mission, his heart nearly bursting.
"Tonto says close," Buccari said. She watched MacArthur stride over to where Captain and X.O. perched on craggy rocks.
"I have been given great honor," Braan chirped, awed by his responsibility. He tugged on the holster, ensuring it rode snugly and did not interfere with the motion of his sinewy arms. The weapon's heft was worrisome, but Braan had carried far greater loads aloft.
"If any hunter is to have such honor 'tis thee, Braan-ourleader," Craag responded, basking in his leader's glory. The weapon was beautiful, giving the user great pride. The weapon was powerful, giving its wielder great strength. Deadly strength.
"Brave-crazy-one approaches," Craag reported. "He is most anxious."
Both hunters turned to formally acknowledge Brave-crazyone, their fellow warrior. At that moment a fresh breeze swirled between them. The hunters unfurled their membranes. Brave-crazyone turned at the wind gust and pumped his arms. He stepped up to Braan and grabbed the cliff dweller by the shoulders. Brave-crazyone pulled the pistol from the holster and made one last check of the chambering mechanism. Replacing the pistol, Brave-crazy-one took a step backward and bowed low. Braan returned the bow and turned to Craag. Screaming the death song, wings cracking in the freshening breeze, the hunters leapt from their perches and glided down the slope of the hill, their mission begun.
Braan screeched a turning signal, and the hunters banked to the east, seeking vertical movement in the air around them. Thermal activity was weak but increasing. A steady updraft climbed the flanks of the ridges, and Braan followed that path of least resistance, making vertical progress, but slowly. The hunter leader dug at the air with his wings and Craag followed. A strong thermal swept under them; the hunters held their wings rigid, riding invisible billows ever higher. Gradually they eased above the whining machine's altitude but remained separated laterally by many spans. Braan peeled away from the thermal and set his wings for optimum glide, making straight for the target. The weapon was heavy, and Braan could feel his descent increasing rapidly. The leader of the hunters screamed and wheeled away, searching for another boost.
"Crap! There they are!" Tatum shouted. The massive aliens galloped over a rolling, grassy hump far down the ridge, appearing huge even at great distance. "They can really move!"
"We're too late," Buccari said. "Head for the woods." "On your feet!" MacArthur shouted.
"Move out!" Buccari ordered. "Head for the tree line. Don't bunch up. If we get separated head for High Camp. Make sure you aren't followed."
"Move out! On the double!" MacArthur shouted.
"Let's go! Scatter and hide!" Buccari shouted. They sprinted from the rocks, Chastain and Mendoza leading the rush.
Chastain stopped abruptly, sliding in the loose rock.
"Oh, no!" Mendoza yelled. "More of them!" Coming from the most direct route to the tree line were six konish soldiers, spreading out at the base of the elevation, cutting them off! One of the aliens, forging ahead of the others, pointed his blaster at the clustered humans, and a flash of blue-green light streaked upward.
Mendoza screamed, holding his face. "Aarrrgghhh! I can't see!"
"Everybody back!" Buccari shouted. They retreated, scrambling for cover—except MacArthur. The corporal fell forward, his assault rifle pointed down the hill. A single shot exploded from his weapon, and the lead kone dropped like a sack of sand. The alien soldiers stopped and ducked behind scattered rocks.
"They are trapped, most excellent Colonel," gushed the subordinate. "We have them pinned down. There is a precipitous cliff beyond."