Jem

“—but you don’t want to start any bloc-to-bloc trouble,” finished Boyne, nodding. “Well, for humanitarian reasons—” He choked, and took a great swig of the drink Morrissey had handed him, before going on. “Hell, let’s be frank. For curiosity’s sake, and just to see what’s going on over there — but also for humanitarian reasons — we want to go and fish the guy out of there. The Peeps obviously can’t. We suppose the reason they shut you and us out is that they don’t want us to see how bad off they are. You folks can’t—” He hesitated delicately. “Well, obviously it would be easier for us to go in with a chopper than for you to send an expedition overland. We’re willing to do that. But not alone, if you see what I mean.”

“I think I do,” Harriet sniffed. “You want somebody to share the blame.”

“We want to make it a clearly interbloc errand of mercy,” Boyne corrected. “So I’m all set to go over there and snatch him out this minute. But I’d like one of you to go along.”

Eight out of the ten members of the expedition were speaking at once then, with Kappelyushnikov’s shouted “I go!” drowning out the rest.

Harriet glared around at her crew and then said petulantly, “Go then, if you want to, although we’re so shorthanded here—”

Da

“No! I can be spared, Da

“Sorry, Gappy,” said Da

Wook, wook, wook changed to whickwhickwhickwhick as the pilot increased the pitch of the rotors and the copter rocked off the ground and headed for a cloud. Da

“You don’t get airsick, do you?” shouted Boyne over the noise of the blades. Da

To Da

Of course Dalehouse had studied the maps of Klong, orbital photos supplemented by side-scatter radar. But this was different, seeing the landscape as they soared above it. Back along the shore was their own camp, on a narrow neck of land that locked off a bay from the wider ocean, or lake, a kilometer or two away. There was the lake (or ocean) itself, curving around like a bitten-into watermelon slice, and in the light from Kung almost the same color. Down the shore of it was the Peeps’ encampment. Past that, off toward the part of Klong that lay just under the star, where the land was dryer and the temperatures even higher, was the Greasies’ camp. Both of those were out of sight, of course. The copter swung out across the water. Boyne pointed, and Dalehouse nodded; he could see their destination just taking form through the gloomy haze, on the far shore.

Boyne had not been entirely frank, Dalehouse discovered. He had not mentioned that this was not his first flight to the Krinpit community. There had been at least two overflights before that, because there were photos of the layout. Boyne pulled a sheaf of them out of an elastic pocket in the door of the copter, sorted through them, and passed one over to Da

Krinpit. Some of them were suspiciously close to the huddled figure.

“Is he still alive?” Da

“Don’t know. He was a day or two ago. He’s probably okay for water, but he must be getting damned hungry by now. And probably sick.”

From the air the Krinpit village looked like a stockyard, most of the structures comprising only unroofed walls, like cattle pens. The creatures were all around, Da

“Creepy looking things, ain’t they?” Boyne shouted.

“Listen,” said Da

“Yeah.” Boyne rolled down his window and leaned out, circling the helicopter around. He shook his head, then pointed. “That your buddy?”

The figure had moved since the photograph had been taken, was no longer in the shelter of one of the sheds but a few meters away and lying outstretched, face down. Dulla didn’t look particularly alive, but he wasn’t clearly dead either.

Boyne frowned thoughtfully, then turned to Dalehouse. “Open that case between your feet there, will you, and hand me a couple of those things.”

The “things” were metal cylinders with a wire loop at the end. Boyne took half a dozen, pulled the loops, and tossed them carefully toward the Krinpit. As they struck, yellow smoke came billowing out of them, forming a dense cloud. The Krinpit staggered out of the smoke as though disoriented.

“Just tear gas,” Boyne gri

That one was obviously in distress, but it did not leave the vicinity of the prone human being. It seemed to be in pain. It moved dartingly back and forth as though torn between conflicting imperatives: to flee; to stay; perhaps even to fight.

“What are we going to do about that son of a bitch?” Boyne wondered out loud, hovering over the scene. But then the creature moved painfully away, and Boyne made his decision. He dropped to the ground between the Krinpit and the unconscious Pakistani. “Grab ’im, Da

Da