Clambering to his feet, MacArthur staggered to the bird's head and gingerly poked at it with the barrel of his pistol. It was dead, its yellow eyes staring but not seeing. Tentatively, MacArthur grabbed hold of a wing and lugged it out to its full extent. It was three times as long as a man was tall. He moved around the carcass and repeated the process with the other wing. Wingtip to wingtip the span measured fifteen paces across! The gaudy orange beak, fiercely hooked like an eagle's, was as long as his leg! He stood erect over his fallen foe, amazed at the power and substance of his attacker, but also feeling an atavistic flush of victory. He shook himself and returned the pistol to its holster. Drawing his survival knife from its ankle scabbard, he hacked off chunks of the eagle's proud breast and carried them away in his shattered helmet. Tonight they would have something beside berries to eat with their field rations.

"Welcome to Hudson's Plateau," O'Toole grinned, standing on the cave terrace. Petit and Gordon carried the injured Rennault on a stretcher; Lee and Fenstermacher supported each other, while Goldberg and Dawson plodded in the rear. O'Toole scurried down to help with the litter.

"Hot damn, solid ground!" Fenstermacher blubbered, a grin creasing his exhaustion.

"Nancy spotted a flight of birds way up in the sky," Goldberg said.

"Oh yeah? Sarge wants to report all animal sightings," said O'Toole. "Say, did you hear the noises? The groaning sounds?" "You mean the flowers?" Dawson replied.

"Huh?" O'Toole replied.

"The big white flowers," Lee joined in. "We checked them out. The flower grows out of a bladder that holds air, until the sun warms it up enough to force out the air. Must be a pollination mechanism. We already gave them a name."

"Fartflower," Fenstermacher deadpanned.

"You little jerk," Dawson laughed. "Leslie has a better name."

"Looks like we'll be naming a lot of plants," Lee said quietly.

"So what's its name—" O'Toole started to ask, and then he remembered Shannon's instructions. "Oh, Sarge wants tents set up in the clearing. The cave's too small for everyone. Sarge wants us to double up. He says we got to post sentry right away. Petit, you and Gordon get your helmets on and post watch. Show Gordon the rotation."

Petit and Gordon stood to put their gear in order. As Petit walked close to Goldberg, he bumped into her, catching her arm.

"It's going to be cold in these tents," he said with a grotesque smile. "If any of you ladies was interested in sharing my sleeping bag, it would be my pleasure to double up."

Dawson, too tired to speak, threw a rock at the Marine. "Knock it off, Petit!" O'Toole snarled. "You know the damn rules."

"Moaning glories," Lee said wistfully, breaking the uneasy silence. "We're going to call them moaning glories."

After sunset Braan spiraled down to the big island. The rest of the hunters descended in pairs at cautious intervals. Silently, they glided from the ridge top, hidden by darkness, neither moon yet visible in the night sky. At the base of the island's rocky spire, Craag and Tinn'a carefully rolled back small boulders revealing a tight cave. Cliff dwellers had been to this island before, many times. Caches had been excavated, their entrances carefully camouflaged, to be used by fishing parties. Braan assigned watches, and the hunters settled into their duties.

Morning arrived still and cold, a patina of frost glazing the rocks. The lake was invisible, shrouded in a blanket of fog, the islands jutting eerily into the clear air above. Fish rippled the water, but Braan insisted on maximum stealth, forbidding fishing. They would eat roots and grubs.

With alarming abruptness sounds from across the water broke the muted silence—clanking sounds, metal striking metal, groans and protestations, loud yawns, and a steady gabble of voices. A fire flickered orange in the gray shroud of dawn. The hunters, even those scheduled to sleep, took covert positions on the high ground to witness the gods. What clamorous gods!

The first golden rays of sunshine illuminated the peaks of the snow-mantled mountains. A breeze stirred. Kibba whistled softly and pointed. On the lakeshore, less than a bowshot away, stood three strange beings, their long legs hidden in lingering mists. Two were extremely tall; the third was smaller, but still easily the height of a guilder. They had white, round heads covered with caps the color of yellow rock flowers. The large ones wore forest-green garb, while the shorter one wore a sand-colored covering. The short one bent, scooped a small container in the water and lifted it to eye level. One of the big ones pointed, and all three walked down thebeach, the smaller one struggling to keep pace with the long strides of the other two.

The creatures rounded a bend in the shoreline and approached the rocky tumble from which fell a small waterfall. One of the green-clad giants clambered up the boulders and moved along its face until it straddled the descending streamlet. It bent and put a hand in the water and then stood erect, shaking its head vigorously. It returned to the beach, and after several minutes, the strange beings turned and headed away from the waterfall, returning along the shoreline to their camp.

Braan threw his body from the island peak and swooped low over the foggy lake. The visitors did not look back. Using his speed, Braan heaved air downwards, laboring to the top of the sheltered waterfall. He perched next to the small cascade and observed it tumbling into the lake below. A profusion of wildflowers clung to crevices and crannies, and gnarled fir trees stubbornly hugged the rocks. Higher up, two twisted and weather-whitened snags leaned over the feeder brook. At that moment, the sun broached the rim of the plateau to the east and cast the pure light of morning over the scene. But Braan barely noticed. Breathing heavily, the hunter sought a vestige of the alien presence. He could smell them—a curious, sour scent. He sniffed the air for other reasons—another scent, the stale spoor of rockdogs, assaulted his awareness. Danger was near.

Braan warily continued along the rocky elevation, away from the lake. He ascended a rock-tumbled ridge and prowled a shallow canyon cradling another babbling stream. A breeze rustled the isolated clumps of grass and wafted the sweet smell of wildflowers. The exertion and the sun's bright rays warmed his blood, dulling his attention. Without warning, one of the strange creatures walked from behind a boulder. It was looking at the ground and picking rockberries. It sensed Braan's presence and turned to face the hunter. It was tall, nearly twice Braan's height, and covered in sand-colored material—not skin or fur. It had grotesquely long legs and hands with five fingers—strong looking hands. The tall, flat-faced being's wide, big-lipped mouth was stained with rockberry juice. It had monstrous, ungainly protrusions of skin and cartilage protruding from its round head, and it had blue eyes! Blue as the sky. The strange creature's pale eyes stared out at him, startled at first, revealing a fleeting fear. The fear dissipated, leaving only curiosity.

The representatives of the different races stood, confused, but instinctively unafraid—as if a sudden move would cause the tableau to disintegrate. Braan stirred first. Suppressing the urge to take flight, the hunter scrambled uphill. The long-legs watched him climb, taking a few halting steps after him—to prolong the encounter, not in pursuit.

"Damn," Dawson muttered.

The sun was sliding high, the moaning glory chorus dying out. But the midnight-blue berries growing sparsely on the tortured, ground-hugging shrub were exquisite. Big and juicy—real food. She tried not to eat too many, but they were so good. She picked rapidly, spitting seeds. It was time to head back. O'Toole said he would watch the radio while she was out but not to take more than an hour; he needed to get the beacon ready. Dawson had set out on the little stream and followed its course into the flower-bedecked defile. She was retracing her steps, absorbed in picking berries, when she looked up and saw the creature. A giant bat?