"Slow down, Goldie. You're not making sense." Dawson grabbed her large belly and inhaled.

"I'd like to see her pregnant. That'd get her off her high horse…the bitch."

"Pepper! That's not right!" Dawson stopped. "We're lucky she's strong. You wouldn't want her job, not even for a ticket home. She's got all of us to worry about! And how would you like to try and tell these muscleheads how to act? You think that's easy? She's doing it! And they listen to her. She's the boss!" Dawson belched.

"She outranks everybody. They have to listen," Goldberg rebutted.

"Nonsense! If Buccari showed even the slightest weakness, they'd run over her like dogs. It'd be the law of the jungle, and you know it." Dawson hiccoughed.

"But—" Goldberg started to say.

"Nobody got us pregnant but ourselves!" Dawson interrupted, hiccoughing again.

"Didn't know you could get pregnant by yourself," Goldberg retorted.

"You know what I mean. The law's on your side. Until you get pregnant. And then the responsibility's all yours. You take the consequences. Right? Give Buccari credit for not getting pregnant. Give her a lot of credit. I bet she's been having a tough time."

"Nobody would have her. It'd be like humping mud…frozen mud."

Dawson laughed. "That wouldn't stop these Marines. She's smart and she's gorgeous, and you know it. You're just jealous." Goldberg started crying, and so did Honey.

"Come on, Pepper," Dawson said softly. "I'm sorry, but it's just not fair to pick on Buccari." Dawson pulled Honey away from her mother.

"You're right," Goldberg sobbed. "But I'm tired of being cold and dirty. I'm tired of cleaning fish—of eating fish. Oh, Nancy, we're never going to be rescued."

"Oh, Pepper," Dawson said. "Who knows? But getting down on Buccari isn't going to help matters. She needs our help." She put an arm around Goldberg's shoulders and pulled her close. Goldberg stiffened, but the embrace was irresistible; the fetus kicking in Dawson' s womb became a shared sensation, and Goldberg's short arms moved reluctantly around Dawson' s tall waist.

Dowornobb and Kateos flew as loading crew for the fuel-staging flights. They were on the fourth and final leg of the last staging flight, prepositioning barrels of fuel for subsequent search flights. Scientist Lollee was the pilot and Et Avian the copilot. Their destination was a large, steep-sided plateau that Lollee had been to once before—four years earlier.

"Et Silmarn told us about flying creatures that live in the mountains along the river," Kateos said. "Mountain flyers. Have you seen them?" Kateos leaned over the backs of the pilots. Dowornobb slept on the floor of the passenger compartment.

"Three times," Lollee answered. "But always from the abat. You only find them in the far north. Very elusive—they soar on the updrafts, reaching remarkable altitudes." He adjusted trim and reset the autopilot to track the river channel.

"The official reports are from the early days," Lollee continued. "In the early days mountain flyers and other Genellan animals were hunted for their fur. Mountain flyers were found in abundance, even in the south, but their numbers were greatly reduced during the fur harvests. An ugly business."

"Et Silmarn joked about the creatures' intelligence," Kateos said.

"No joke," Lollee replied. "They possess intelligence. Some were found wearing leather garments and carrying weapons. I have seen pictures of their relics. Early science teams spent time in the northern latitudes looking for rare metals, but an organized science expedition has not come this far north in nearly two hundred years."

"Why has there not been more exploration?" Kateos asked. "I should think we would want to find out more about these creatures."

"Our government does not want to expend the resources. It is difficult and expensive to support extended operations this far north—and dangerous. The upper Corlian Valley is an unforgiving place," Lollee responded. "Herds of musk-buffalo abound. Your breathing units will not help around musk-buffalo. Huge bears, too! There are many, many bears in the river valley, not to mention predator lizards, real abats, and growlers. You must be wary at all times. And the volcanoes in the Corlian Valley have high sulfurous gas emissions. And it is very, very cold. A most treacherous region."

The river curved in a wide arc to the west, and Lollee banked the craft to follow its course. The sun, setting behind the majestic mountains, shone like spun gold through wispy auroras of blown snow.

Buccari stood on the lodge site discussing building plans with MacArthur and Shannon. Lizard stood at her shoulder, stylus and parchment in hand. Two guilder stone carvers watched and listened, their tools laid neatly before them. Tonto and X.O. waddled uphill from the cove. With ear-splitting suddenness, the two hunters screamed, whipped out their membranes, and pounded into the air. The guilders jumped with alarm and hopped about nervously, clasping bony hands together. MacArthur leapt to his feet, his eyes jerking skyward. Buccari started to speak, but then her ears also detected the sound. It took a second for her brain to process the mechanical signal. An airplane engine!

"Airplane!" she shouted. "Get under the trees! Kill the fire!" The aircraft appeared from behind the valley's northeast rim, still catching the full light of the sun, starkly white against the deep blue sky. So civilized in appearance, so familiar in design and function—it was difficult not to run into the open, yelling and screaming, difficult not to throw armfuls of wood on the fire, signaling the craft to return, to rescue them from their barbarism. But it was not a rescuer. It was the enemy. The airplane's undeviating course carried it along the river and out of sight to the west. The sound of its engine echoed from the high mountains long after it had disappeared.

The campfire had been small, and Wilson doused it completely with a large pot of water. The valley was emerged in shadows; it was unlikely the plane's occupants observed the cloud of steam.

The earthlings recovered from their amazement, dropped their tools, and converged on the camp area. Tonto and X.O. dropped from the sky. The other cliff dwellers joined them, chattering intently. Within minutes, everyone was assembled around the smoldering campfire, looking like frightened children.

"Have they found us?" MacArthur asked.

"They're close," Buccari replied. "It's taken them long enough."

"What do we do, Lieutenant?" Chastain asked, for everyone present.

Buccari looked at the worried faces and tried to hide her own fear. "There's not much we can do," she said, straining her troubled mind for a plan. "No fire—at least tonight. We have plenty of dried fish and biscuits." She stooped and picked up a rock.

"We've talked about this before, and I keep arriving at the same conclusion. Sooner or later we'll confront them." She sat down on a stump. "When that time comes, we must not show hostility or aggression, and—this is the hardest—we must not show fear. We must appear strong and confident, yet cooperative."

"What happens if they start shooting?" boomed Tatum.

Buccari looked down at her feet, hiding her face behind a fall of copper-bronze hair. She swept the sun-streaked tresses behind an ear.

"We'll probably die," she said, lifting her chin.

The humans stirred nervously. Hudson jumped to his feet.

"We can't run and we can't hide—for long," he said. "We can try to stay hidden for as long as possible, but once they find us, they'll catch us. We can't fight them."

"Why can't we hide?" MacArthur asked. "This is a big planet. They don't live here."

"Several problems," Buccari responded, looking into the Marine's serious face. "They'll narrow down the search area. Then our biggest problem comes into play—we're a group. Maybe Mac, you by yourself, and possibly the Marines as a group, could avoid detection and capture indefinitely, although I wouldn't give good odds. The only way to survive the winter is to be prepared, and that means building shelters and raising crops while the sun shines— activities that leave big tracks." She glanced around the clearing, noting the straight lines and clutter of their nascent settlement.