Genellan: Planetfall

"Kateos, Et Silmarn! These are difficult questions," Buccari begged.

"Yes, Sharl, but scientists will work-ah with you for as long as it-ah takes. Perhaps you come with us to Ocean Station where—"

"Please, Mistress Kateos," Buccari said slowly, carefully. "Your interest is understandable, and when it is appropriate to do so, we will discuss these matters. Please understand that none of us is expert in the fields you are inquiring about." She realized that if it came down to negotiating permission to remain on this planet, anyinformation provided freely would be unavailable as a future bargaining chip. Perhaps, just perhaps, the hyperlight theories would be their passport. Buccari was not proud of her disingenuous replies; both she and Hudson were extremely knowledgeable of hyperlight theories and applied algorithms, but information represented power, and they needed to marshal what little power was available to them.

Kateos spoke softly to Et Silmarn. The noblekone nodded.

"Sharl," he roared. "We thang you for what you have done. If you can help-ah us more, we thang you more.. er, we help-ah you more."

"I understand," Buccari said.

Three days later Et Silmarn banked the aircraft on course and returned his view forward. Hudson was in the back with Scientists H'Aare and Mirrtis. Dowornobb and Kateos crowded into the cockpit, the co

"The female Gol'berg-ah gave you this information?" the noblekone asked.

"Yes. It was technical. I understood little," Kateos remarked sadly. "The female claims to know about interstellar drives. She is a technician of propulsion."

"They allow females to do technical functions?" the copilot asked.

"Yes!" Kateos answered too loudly. The males on the crowded flight deck turned to stare at her. Involuntarily, she dropped her eyes.

"Sharl is lying?" Dowornobb asked. "I thought we could trust her."

"Sharl is smart," Et Silmarn answered. "She is protecting what she has. After what she has done for us, I do not hold it against her. I still trust her."

"What about Gol'berg-ah?" Kateos asked. "Her information is valuable, though I do not respect her. She tells us these things because she is spiteful and full of hate for Sharl. I do not understand why she is disloyal."

Et Silmarn sighed heavily. "It is not for us to understand the aliens. On our next visit we will discreetly record what the female Gol'berg-ah has to say, and we will suggest that she and maybe some others accompany us to Ocean Station, although I doubt Sharl will permit that to happen. I do not like to work behind Sharl's back, but Et Avian's primary mission was to uncover those very secrets."

"The humans are uncomfortable in our presence," the copilot said.

"As it would be for us if our roles were reversed," Kateos replied. "They are frightened of the power we hold over them." "They have seen nothing, yet," Et Silmarn said.

The alien airplane flying along the river valley rumbled into the distance. MacArthur, sucking on thickweed, waved at Tonto and Bottlenose, signaling them to come no closer. The fluttering of their wings would spook the trapped animals. Satisfied his brain was clear, MacArthur extracted the masticated weed from his mouth and placed the lump of chewed greens in a pouch hanging from his neck. He looked to each side. Chastain and Petit skirted the left edge of the ravine while Sha

MacArthur swung the lariat easily, allowing the noose to expand. He nodded to O'Toole who also began swinging his noose overhead, just as MacArthur had trained him. Only two would throw their ropes; any more would just get in the way.

"Go for the small mare," MacArthur cautioned, his voice calm. "Throw for the neck. I'll go for the legs. Make it count!"

O'Toole crept along the edge of the wash, approaching the skittish animals. MacArthur, in the wash, stayed close to the bank, giving the animals room. The largest animal, a stallion, took chopping steps directly at MacArthur and snorted, its bulging brown eyes surrounded with frightened white. The animal's streaming, golden mane rippled and waved with abrupt motion, its long tail held high and flowing. Barrel-chested, mule-eared, blunt-nosed, heavy-legged with large feet and knobby knees, the animals did not match MacArthur's boyhood memory of his grandfather's Calgary ranch horses, but they were definitely horses. The soundsand smells were pure horse, and they were beautiful, powerful animals.

MacArthur flattened against the ravine's rock wall. The stallion bolted past, trumpeting a loud, rasping whi

"Now!" MacArthur shouted. He stepped in toward the last animal and made a well-timed throw, looping one foreleg and tangling the other. He dug his feet into the ground and wrapped the lariat around his back and shoulders. Excited, O'Toole threw too hard, missing high. One mare thundered by and was free. The second frightened female took her first step and fouled in the snaking rope, jolting MacArthur from his feet. The Marine sprawled in the dust and was dragged along for a stride and a half before the mare stumbled to the ground, the lasso intertwining her forelegs. MacArthur and horse regained their footing simultaneously. The golden horse leapt sideways and kicked, jerking hard to free its encumbered foot. MacArthur resumed his wide stance, grabbing the line and bracing himself for the inevitable muscle-wrenching tug, but he was too slow and too weak. His hands were burned viciously as the line spun through his grasping fingers. Feeling diminished resistance, the horse leapt to a gallop, and MacArthur—on his knees in pain—watched, powerless, thinking all was lost.

Not to be denied, Chastain made a dive for the trailing end of the lariat. And missed. But the horse's rapidly moving legs whipped the rope into a tangle ensnaring her own rear legs. Again, the horse crashed to the ground. As the determined mare struggled to her feet, the quick-footed O'Toole dashed to the horse's head and slipped his noose over her neck. Chastain made another gallant effort to reach the bitter end of MacArthur' s tangled line and was successful. The combined resistance from the two ropes threw the animal off balance, and the unfortunate mare tripped for a third time. MacArthur grabbed Chastain' s dropped lariat and dashed forward, making a quick looping throw that settled over the golden neck.

"Sarge! Hold this line. Give me yours!" he shouted as Sha

MacArthur, on his knees and gasping for air, handed the taut rope to Petit. As he released his grasp, the ache from his fingers and hands shot straight to his brain; he squatted on his haunches, head back, his throbbing hands held tightly in his lap. Petit pulled on the lariat.

"Damn, Mac! This rope's all bloody!" he shouted. "You okay?"

MacArthur looked at his lacerated palms and winced.