A sizzling crack jerked her head around in the direction of the wreck. The damned fools were firing on the burning wreck now. Chris looked down at the unconscious man, wondering what on earth he had done to provoke such vindictive thoroughness. They sure wanted him good and dead.
The barrage pulverized the flitter, leaving the fire no fuel. The wind, laden with coarse dust, blew odorously from the wreckage. The man stirred and vainly tried to raise himself, only to sink back to the ground with a groan. Chris saw the flitters circling to land on the plateau below the wreck.
“Going to case the scene of the crime, huh?” It was completely illogical, Chris told herself, to help a Catteni simply because there were others of his race out to get him. But… she backtracked, just in case he had left any trace for them to follow. She went back as far as she could on the raw rock. Where dirt began, ash had settled in a thick layer, obliterating any tracks he might have made. After all, the Catteni might stumble on her if they thought their victim had escaped the crash.
He had got to his feet when she returned. She tried to lend her support but it was like trying to guide a mountain.
“Come on, Mahomet,” she urged softly. “Just walk like a nice little boy to the river, and I’ll duck you in. Good cold water’ll bring you round.”
A sharp, distant gabble of voices made her start nervously. God, those Catteni had got up that rock face in a hurry. She’d forgotten they could take prodigious leaps on this light-gravity planet.
“They’re coming. Follow me,” she said in lingua Barevi.
He groaned again, shaking his heavy head to clear his senses. He turned toward her, his great yellow eyes still dazed with shock. She would never get used to such butter-colored irises.
“This way! Quickly!” she said, urgently tugging at him. If he didn’t shake his tree-stump legs, she was going to leave him. Good Samaritans on Barevi had better not get caught by Catteni.
She pulled at his arm and he seemed to make a decision. He lurched forward, one great hand grasping her shoulder in an incredible viselike grip. They reached the river bank, still ahead of the searchers. But Chris groaned as she realized that the barely conscious man would never be able to navigate the stepping-stones.
The shouts behind them indicated that the others were fanning out to search the rocks. Urgently she grabbed his hand, leading him to the base of the falls.
“If you don’t float, it’s just too damned bad,” she said grimly, and taking a running start, she knocked him into the water.
She dove in, right beside him, and when he did indeed continue to sink, she grabbed and caught him by his thick hair. Fortunately the water made even a solid Catteni manageable. Exerting all her strength and skill as a swimmer, she got his head above water and held him up with a chin lock.
By sheer good luck, they came up in the space between the arc of the falls and the cliff, the curtain of water shielding them from view. As the Catteni began to struggle in her grasp, the five hunters leapt spectacularly into view in the clearing by the pool. Her “Mahomet” was instantly alert and, instead of struggling, began to tread water beside her.
The Catteni were arguing with each other, and each seemed to be issuing conflicting orders.
Mahomet released himself from her chinhold, his yellow eyes never leaving the party on the bank. They watched, keeping the swimming motions to a mini-mum, though the falls would hide any ripples.
One Catteni, after a heated argument, decided to cross the wide pool in a fantastic, to Chris, standing leap. He and another began to move downstream, carefully examining both banks and casually sur-mounting up-ended coffin-sized boulders with no effort. The other three went charging back the way they had come, arguing violently.
After an endless interval, during which the icy water chilled Chris to the bone, the refugee finally touched her shoulder and nodded toward the shore. But when she realized that he was going to head back the way they had come, she shook her head emphatically, pointing to the other side.
“I’ve a flitter. Over there,” she shouted at him over the noise of the falls. He frowned. “Safer. That way!” she insisted, jabbing a finger in the direction of her hidden vehicle. Stunned as she suddenly realized what she had done, she stared at him. “Oh, God!”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise, and she hoped for one long moment that he had not understood what she had said. But he had, and now his yellow eyes gleamed at her in the gloom with a different sort of interest.
He’s like a great lion, Chris thought, and almost choked on fear.
“You have aided a Catteni,” he said, rumbling in a deep voice. “You shall not suffer for that.”
Chris wasn’t so sure when she tried to climb out of the river and found herself numb with cold, and strengthless. He, on the other hand, strode easily out of the water. He looked down at her ineffectual struggles, frowning irritably. Then, with no apparent effort, he curled the long fingers of one hand around her upper arm and simply withdrew her from the water, supporting her until she got her balance.
Shivering, she looked up at him. God, he was big: the tallest Catteni she had ever seen. She had inherited the height of her Swedish father and stood five foot ten in her bare feet. She had topped most of the Catteni she had seen by several inches, but his eyes were level with hers. And his shoulders were as broad as the scoop of a road-grader.
“Where’s the flitter?” he demanded curtly.
She pointed, furious that she obeyed him so instantly, and that she couldn’t control the chattering of her teeth or the trembling of her body. He reached for her hand, relaxing his grip a little at her involuntary gasp of pain.
Replace “grubby paws” with “high-gravity paws,” she told herself in an effort to keep up her spirits as she stepped in front of him.
“I’ll have to lead the way through the thorns,” she said. “Or maybe thorns don’t bother Catteni hides?” she added pertly.
To her surprise, he grinned at her.
“Catteni are always cautious.”
As she turned, she realized that she had never seen a Catteni smile before. She noticed, too, that he was following carefully in her footsteps. It was good to know that he was no more anxious to disturb the thorn-bushes with their vicious little barbs than she was.
They were halfway to the hidden flitter when both heard, off to the right in the valley, the staccato volley of orders in loud Catteni voices.
Mahomet paused, dropping to a half-crouch, instinctively angling his body so that he did not touch the close-growing vegetation. He listened, and although the words were too distorted for Chris to catch, he evidently understood them. A humorless smile touched his lips and his eyes gleamed with a light that frightened Chris.
“They have seen movement here. Hurry!” he said in a low voice.
Chris broke into a jog trot; the twisting path made a faster pace unwise. When they broke into the dell just before the extensive thicket, she paused.
“Where? Are you lost?” he asked.
“Through those bushes. Watch. And when I say move, move!”
He frowned skeptically as she picked up a handful of small stones. With a practiced ease, she began casting at the thickets. Gauging carefully, she threw right and left, watching and counting the thorn sprays to be sure she had triggered every bush. To be on the safe side, she scooped up one more handful of pebbles and broadcast it. No further thorns showered.
“Move!” His reaction time was so much faster than hers that he was halfway across the clearing within seconds after the order escaped her lips. She rushed in front of him. “We have five minutes to cross before they rearm.”