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Calhoun thoughtfully touched the barrel of his blast-rifle and winced at its scorching heat. "I just realized," he said coldly, "that I don't know your name. What is it?" "M-maril," said the girl. She swallowed. "Th-thank you ." "Maril," said Calhoun, "you are an idiot! It was half-witted at best to go off by yourself! You could have been lost!
He saw her, atop a rolling of the ground. She came to a full stop. He ran. He saw her turn to retrace her steps. He flung off the safety of the blast-rifle and let off a roaring blast at the ground for her to hear. Suddenly she was fleeing desperately, toward him. He plunged on. She vanished down into a hollow. Horns appeared over the hillcrest she'd just left. Cattle appeared.
But it was two miles more to the landing-grid with the Med Ship beside it and the reek of carrion in the air. They were perhaps two hundred feet from the ship when a blast-rifle crashed and its bolt whined past Calhoun so close that he felt the monstrous heat. There had been no challenge. There was no warning.
A messenger from the grid-control building arrived. He had a map of the capital city of Tralee. There was an explosion. A violent one. Bors looked out a port and saw where the suspected parcel had been set up as a target a hundred yards from the ship. It had been riddled with blast-rifle bolts, and had exploded.
A mile back toward the mountains, they began to see stragglers from the now-vanished herd. A little farther, those stragglers began to notice them. It would have been a matter of no moment if they'd been domesticated dairy cattle, but these were range cattle gone wild. Twice, Calhoun had to use his blast-rifle to discourage incipient charges by irritated bulls or even more irritated cows.
They could see the rears of innumerable running animals, stupidly continuing the charge, hardly different, now, from a stampede, whose original objective none now remembered. Calhoun thoughtfully touched the barrel of his blast-rifle and winced at its scorching heat. "I just realized," he said coldly, "that I don't know your name. What is it?" "Maril," said the girl. She swallowed. "Th thank you."
And it would have been a matter of no moment if they'd been domesticated dairy-cattle, but these were range-cattle gone wild. Twice, Calhoun had to use his blast-rifle to discourage incipient charges by irritated bulls or even more irritated cows. Those with calves darkly suspected Calhoun of designs upon their offspring. It was a relief to enter the valley again.
Need you help, that suit to remove?" The squad remained alert, but gave no more hint of threat than before. Tarlac shrugged mentally. "I'd appreciate it, yes." Hovan handed his blast-rifle to one of his squad members and approached Tarlac. He looked as massive as the Ranger expected, and was typically thickset, but he was even heavier and stronger than he looked.
He saw her, atop a rolling of the ground. She came to a full stop. He ran. He saw her turn to retrace her steps. He flung to the safety of the blast-rifle and let off a roaring blast at the ground for her to hear. Suddenly she was fleeing desperately, toward him. He plunged on. She vanished down into a hollow. Horns appeared over the hillcrest she'd just left. Cattle appeared.
Those with calves darkly suspected Calhoun of designs upon their offspring. It was a relief to enter the valley again. But it was two miles more to the landing-grid with the Med Ship beside it and the reek of carrion in the air. They were perhaps two hundred feet from the ship when a blast-rifle crashed and its bolt whined past Calhoun so close that he felt the monstrous heat.
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