"There," she decided.
She took the airship down and they buried the first load. They made trip after trip, digging out pits on Goldie's future landholding, seeding them with diamondiferous matrix and returning for another load. It was slow work, because the matrix was heavy They couldn't lift much at one time. A week passed, blurred easily into two, then three. The January rains of summer hit, flooding their little camp and forcing them onto higher ground. The heat was stifling. Using filter straws which blocked out pathogens, they drank boiled water which had cooled enough to swallow, grinned like fools, and went back to work
Margo was thrilled her digitizing camera did double duty as a video camera. In her spare moments, she filmed vast herds of antelope, wildebeest, and zebra which stretched away across the grassy veldt Nearer the river, where trees and scrub grew up, they saw graceful giraffes browsing in the treetops. At night the grunting cough of hunting lions sent shivers through her. Hyenas' wild cackles mingled with the cries of water birds and the bass roar of hippos in the river.
They fished to supplement their supplies. Kynan Rhys Gower and Koot van Beek dined on grilled antelope which Koot brought down. Kynan even joined the hunt, grinning as he transfixed a silver and black gemsbok with a cloth-yard shaft. He cut the long black horns for souvenirs. That night he and the Afrikaner gorged on roast gemsbok. Margo wouldn't touch anything but the fish and her own supplies. Watching them butcher their kills only reminded her of the Roman arena -- and that killed her appetite and curiosity at one fell swoop.
"No, thank you," she said primly when offered a morsel.
Koot just rolled his eyes heavenward, muttered, "English," and kept eating.
Elephants appeared in glorious great herds, coming down to the river to drink. Monkeys screamed and chattered in the trees and darted in to try thieving their supplies. Margo laughed and chased them away. In the hay-colored grass of the high veldt, she could even see cantankerous rhinos and long-snouted, suspicious baboons. Those she steered clear of, having no desire to tangle with a horned tank locked on permanent bad temper or an intelligent primate that lived in structured tribal groups, ate a diet that included meat, and sported fangs long as her fingers. But everything else was fair game, both for Margo's camera and her unbounded delight.
They'd nearly finished their work when Margo learned her first valuable lesson about scouting. She and Kynan had left the river, Kynan to hunt his dinner and Margo to stretch her legs and sightsee a little, leaving Koot to guard the camp. Margo carried the carbine slung over her shoulder, but only because Koot always pitched a fit if she didn't. Game was so plentiful Kynan never had to go far and Margo was usually thrilled by whatever they found within a few dozen yards of the campsite. Margo was creeping through tall grass with her digital camera, edging toward a herd of springbok, when it happened. She heard a snort and glanced around to see a massive Cape Buffalo. The bull stood solitary against the skyline.
Oh... What a gorgeous animal!
He stared at her through dark eyes, not more than seventy-five yards away. His nostrils flared. He thrust one foreleg out, stiff-legged, as though posing. She lifted the digital camera and snapped a shot. Ooh, perfect ... The bull snorted and lowered his head The horns were enormous, sharp-tipped, beautiful.
Kynan touched her arm. She glanced around. "What?"
He high-signed her, pointing urgently toward camp. She noticed he'd notched an arrow to his longbow while backing away. "There's no danger," she told. "He's fifty yards away." Margo clicked the camera from snapshot to video and began filming again, motion footage this time. The Cape Buffalo bull lowered his head even more and snorted again, cutting the turf with a sharp hoof.
Then he charged
Oh, shit...
Margo fumbled for her laser-guided blowgun, then realized she'd left it at camp. Then she knew she was in serious danger. That animal's as big as a earl And he was running straight toward her, bellowing like a runaway freight train. Terror took hold Margo fumbled awkwardly for the carbine and brought it around. The whole barrel shook, describing wild circles with the muzzle, but she managed to center the bull. She didn't know where to aim. She squeezed her eyes shut and fired The carbine slapped her shoulder. The crack of the report sounded above the thunder of hooves.
The bull bellowed and kept coming.
WHACK!
A yard-long arrow sprouted from the bull's chest.
The buffalo bellowed furiously-and kept coming.
"Run!" Margo spun and pelted toward camp. Kynan was right behind her. The thunder of hooves bearing down told Margo they'd never make it.
"Its too far!" Margo cried. She turned and fired again, emptying the magazine into the charging buffalo.
Kynan notched another arrow and let fly. It caught the bull full in the chest The crazed buffalo faltered only one stride then picked up speed again. Two more arrows followed, pincushioning the enraged animal. Margo fumbled for another magazine to reload the carbine. She was still fumbling with the ammunition when
KA-RUMP!
The bull went down as though pole-axed. It snorted, screamed, and staggered back to its feet Then charged again.
KA-RUMP! The thunder of Koot's big rifle barked again.
The buffalo crumpled and slid to a stop. Margo stood where she was, shaking like a leaf. Kynan, poised between her and the maddened bull, slowly relaxed his bow. The bull had skidded to a stop less than four feet from his toes.
"You stupid English!" Koot van Beek muttered, rising from the grass behind them. "You cannot stop a Cape Buffalo with children's toys." He raised the Winchester Model 70 African Special he'd brought along. "This is why I brought my own rifle, English."
Margo gulped. "I-I see. Yes. I- Thank you."
Koot grunted once then jerked a thumb back toward camp. "I have fish for supper." The scathing way he said it made Margo wish she could crawl into a hole and pull it in after her. Maybe hunting did have its place...
The Welshman slowly, carefully, replaced his arrow in the quiver at his side.
"You were very brave," Margo told him, wondering if he knew enough English to understand her.
Kynan turned to face her. Margo gulped. His whole face was pasty white. He glanced at his bow, stared for a moment at the dead Cape Buffalo, then looked past her to Koot. He said in broken English, "Koot? You show gun?"
Koot grinned. "Sure. Come to camp. I will teach you to shoot."
The look in the Welshman's eyes was one of vast relief
Wordlessly, Margo followed the men back to camp. Next time, she promised, to bring a gun powerful enough to stop anything I'm likely to encounter: She'd made a mistake. A bad one. Fortunately, it hadn't proven fatal. This time, she'd been lucky.
Margo's second mistake was far more serious than not choosing a powerful enough rifle. Watching the falling fuel gauges-and searching the inhospitable terrain below for nonexistent landing sites--did nothing to slow the alarming rate at which they burned fuel. Far sooner than they should have, the ducted engine fans sputtered and went silent. Terror choked Margo into equally profound silence. We're out of fuel. Dear God, we're out of fuel ... .
Try as she might, Margo spotted nothing that looked remotely like a survivable landing sight for miles in any direction. The fuel gauges read empty--and Margo knew the spare fuel canisters were just as empty as the main tanks. They started to drift rapidly off course.