"Whistling?" Quinn said dully.

"Okay, Sandy," Shannon snapped. "Scout the island. Take three men and check it out. Float weapons over on a pack shell." Shannon turned from Tatum and looked around at the assembled group. "No swimming until the raft is repaired," he ordered bluntly. The crowd grumbled their disappointment. Shannon's face reddened.

"Shut up and listen to me! This ain't no goddamn, son-of-abitching beach resort," Shannon shouted. "There will be no—I repeat—no daylight swimming. Assuming the island's clear, we'll organize swim parties, but only when the sun is down." Shannon glanced at Quinn but continued.

"All swim parties will have an armed sentry on watch. I'll say this again, and I want everyone to remember—we're strangers here. We don't know what's out there. We were shot down by hostile fire, and we're in their territory. We will stay hidden. Does everybody understand?"

Quinn nodded. "Well said, Sergeant. Let's get back to our watches. Now that we have found the hot spring we'll figure out a way to use it. Break it up."

The group dutifully made their way along the shore back to camp. Buccari drifted away, listening to the flowers moan, feeling apart from the chain of command. Hudson joined her.

"That was quite an earthquake," Buccari said.

"You mean an R-K Three quake," Hudson replied.

"Yeah," Buccari said, "That's what I meant to say. An R-K Three quake. Real poetic!" Buccari walked to the water's edge while Hudson wandered down the shoreline.

"Look, a dead fish!" Hudson shouted, jumping onto the rocks where the sandy beach ended. "The wave must've washed it ashore. If it's fresh, we can take it back for food." Hudson worked his way over the rocks to the fish and gingerly picked it up by the tail, hoisting it to eye level. "Hey, look!" he said suddenly, bending down, his new crop of blonde hair flashing in the bright morning sun.

"Jeepers! Sharl, come look!" he whispered. "First class ugly!" Hudson drew his pistol.

Alarmed, Buccari stepped across the rocks to where Hudson was stooping. Something was slumped deep in the rocky puddles. A leather membrane had unfurled and lay partially spread, and a leg equipped with ominous talons pointed into the air. Dark red blood oozed from where its ear should have been. Its mouth lay agape and a gleaming line of serrated teeth glinted in the bright sun. It was obscenely ugly. Buccari stared in disgust. Suddenly the animal's torso moved, the lung cavity slowly expanded and contracted—it breathed.

"It's alive!" she shouted, taking a stumbling step backwards. The animal remained unconscious. Buccari looked at Hudson, wondering what they should do. She moved closer, knelt down, and tentatively touched the extended membrane.

"It's covered with fur—soft fur," she said, examining it. "Look at those talons! Maybe we should shoot it and put it out of its misery. Wing looks broken. Huh! That's…not just a wing. It's an arm and a hand! This must be like the big bat that Dawson saw."

"What'll we do, Sharl?" Hudson asked, tentatively touching the wing.

"Don't know," she answered. "I don't know how badly it's hurt. If we just leave it, it may come to enough to crawl away and die in pain. Let's take it back to the cave and see if Lee can do anything." She jumped down and gently lifted the animal's head.

"How do you propose we do that?" Hudson asked.

"Take off your butt bag," she directed.

"What?"

She smiled sweetly. "That's an order, Ensign."

"Pulling rank. What if I didn't have on any underwear?" he asked, shedding his flight suit.

"You think I care? Hurry!"

Hudson did as he was told. "B-r-r-r! It's chilly," he said, looking undignified in green space thermals and boots.

Buccari spread the flight suit on the sand, and they gingerly lifted the limp animal from the rocky puddles. The creature was surprisingly light. Grasping the ropy sinews of its legs and arms, they positioned the animal's limbs within the suit and zipped it up. Buccari wrapped the arms and legs tightly, forming a strait jacket.

"That should hold it," she said. "If it starts thrashing, set it down. Watch out for the mouth."

Braan, returning from the cliffs, circled overhead, observing the events unfolding on the ground. He watched helplessly as the long-legs carried away the limp form. Craag' s «all-clear» lifted into the air, and the hunters recklessly descended. Craag stoically related the tragic events to Braan. Upon completion of his report, the warrior demanded to be blamed for Brappa' s capture, demonstrating abject sorrow to his leader. The sentries were embarrassed for the esteemed hunter.

"Craag, son-of-Veera," Braan said, the loss of his only surviving son weighing heavily on his soul. "Craag, my comrade in battle and life, despair not. The quake put the sentry Brappa down. It was not in thy power to control. The rocks trembled; the gods exhaled. To accept blame for such power is a conceit, my brave and faithful stalwart. Thou were but doing thy duty. That is all a leader can expect."

The sentries nodded approval, but Craag's despair was immense.

"Yep, same beast," Dawson said. "Only the one I saw was carrying a bow and wearing leather."

"Sure, Dawson!" Fenstermacher needled. "An Indian with a little bow and arrow. We'll call him Tonto."

"Get off my back, midget," Dawson snarled, "before I pop you."

"You haven't popped anything since you were twelve!" Fenstermacher replied, wisely moving out of arm's reach. "Enough!" snapped Buccari. "Sarge, move 'em out of here."

"Okay, you heard the lieutenant," Shannon said, physically pushing people from the cave. "Everybody back to the tents. We'll open the zoo later. Lee needs space to work."

"Can you do anything, Leslie?" Buccari asked.

"I don't know, sir. It all depends on how wild, ah…Tonto gets if and when he comes to," Lee said as she gingerly moved the leathery skin from around the lipless mouth, revealing razor sharp teeth. "This little bugger could do some damage."

"Can't you sedate it, tie the mouth shut, and feed it intravenously?" Hudson asked.

"It's dangerous giving drugs to animals," Lee answered. "It could die before we knew what happened. The only thing I can do for sure is set the bone and keep it immobile. Maybe try an analgesic, but even that's risky. Let's tie Tonto up and keep those wings from flailing. We'll keep his mouth free so he can eat. Everyone be careful."

Braan and Craag moved silently through the woods below the cave, their night vision sharply adapted, although night vision was almost unnecessary. The long-legs made it easy; a large campfire burned in the center of the tents, casting its yellow light broadly. The alien beings had finished cooking and eating, but the flames were kept high.

Stalking through the thickets of the small forest, Braan heard curious noises. They moved cautiously toward the disturbance, listening. A rhythmic rustling of the leaves and branches accompanied by quiet moans and heavy breathing greeted their advance through the underbrush. The hunters halted and looked at each other in the dim firelight. The noises increased in intensity and the moaning became insistent. The cliff dwellers were amazed the long-legs around the campfire, less than a fifty spans away, paid no attention to the mysterious noises. Intrigued, the hunters moved closer, arrows nocked. The noises increased to even higher levels of intensity. The hunters crept still closer. Braan detected movement through the shadows and pointed. They peered through the boughs, and it dawned on them. Craag squeaked a stifled giggle—dwellers enjoyed similar pleasures. Braan moved stealthily away from the insistent noises, while Craag lingered for several moments. They would have much to report.