"Could I ask what you're listening to?"
"Right now? Bergdorf s Agronomy on Qaraqua." He looked over at her and smiled. "Might as well make the time count."
As she'd guessed, he was tied in to one of the ships' libraries. "Yes," she said. "I know what you mean. But it might be a good idea if you shut it down. It's dangerous to do what you're doing."
"Why is that?" He became defensive.
"Because there may be critters in the area who will mistake you for a hamburger. We've got five pairs of eyes, and we need them all. You don't want to be thinking about other things while we're moving through tiger country."
"Kellie," he said, "it's not a problem. I can listen and watch-"
"Randy. Please do what I'm asking you to."
"Or you'll blow the whistle on me?"
"Or I'll make off with your staff."
He sighed visibly, a man of culture put upon by the barbarians of the world. She stayed with him until he showed her his thumb and pressed it to his commlink. The lamp went out. "Okay?" he asked. "Satisfied?"
Kellie could see Hutch talking, too. She glanced around at the others. You always knew who was conversing with whom because people inevitably look at one another during a conversation. But Chiang and MacAllister were not using their links. That probably meant Hutch was talking to Marcel.
She missed Marcel.
Kellie had not realized how much she enjoyed the company of the tall Frenchman. She'd thought he had looked at her with a touch of envy when she'd asked to make the descent to the surface.
At the moment they'd be having late night snacks on Wendy. She would have given a great deal to join him at his table, to listen to him talk about the elegance of Dupre and Proust.
After a while, the rainstorms blew off, and the sun broke through. But it was only momentary. More clouds were building in the west.
They were buffeted by rain and sleet for most of the rest of the day. Although the e-suits kept them warm and dry, a constant wind made progress difficult, and the rain tended to smear vision. In addition, Hutch knew from long experience there was a psychological factor: When the weather was cold and wet, and your eyes made it clear you were wearing no more than a jump suit, that you should be shivering and miserable, it was difficult to be entirely comfortable. It was called the McMurtrie Effect.
They cleared a ridge and finally started downhill, but the descent was steep, and they had literally to lower MacAllister from one perch to level ground. They came at last to a river. It looked deep, but the current appeared placid.
"How're we doing for time?" Kellie asked.
Progress reports came regularly from Marcel, but they were directed to Hutch. "Thirteen so far today," she said.
Kellie frowned. Not great. But it was enough.
"Everybody here can swim?" asked Hutch.
Surprisingly, only Chiang lacked the skill.
The river was wide, and it looked deep in midstream. Thick twisted foliage hung down along both banks. They surveyed the area, looking for a local alligator-equivalent, but saw nothing.
"We still don't know what's in the water," said Nightingale. "I suggest we build a raft."
"Don't have time," said Hutch. If there was anything in the river, there was a good chance that the e-suits would prevent their being perceived as prey. There would, after all, be no scent.
"I don't think you should rely too heavily on that," said Nightingale.
Hutch waded in until she was hip deep. Then they waited. Her heart pounded, but she tried to look calm. She watched the river and the banks for any sudden movement. But nothing came for her, and she felt more confident with each passing minute. When they were at last convinced it was safe, they found a dead limb Chiang could cling to and pushed off. MacAllister turned out to be an accomplished swimmer. Chiang said nothing while they towed him across, but Hutch saw that he felt humiliated. It would have been less difficult for
him, she realized, had Kellie not been there. She was pleased to see that Kellie was also aware of the situation and made a point of staying close to him. She caught an amused smile from MacAllister, who seemed to miss none of the undercurrents among his companions.
They arrived on the far side in good order and resumed their march. Eventually the country turned uphill again. Chiang, who had been leading, fell toward the rear. Kellie moved up beside him and took him again to the front. She said something to him on a private channel.
He was replying when a snowbank rose, roared, and charged. Hutch saw only talons and green eyes and long, curved teeth while she fumbled for her laser, got it into her hand, lost the grip, then dropped it.
Kellie, directly in the thing's path, went down and tried to scramble out of the way. MacAllister seemed to have forgotten about his cutter. Instead, he raised his staff and brought it down on the creature's skull. The thing spat and growled and a cutter beam flashed close to Hutch's face. The growling went high-pitched, then stopped. When Hutch stumbled to her feet, helped by Nightingale, it lay twitching. Its head was half severed, and a red-brown viscous liquid pumped out onto the snow. Its dead eyes continued to watch her.
It was about the size of a bear. Chiang was standing off to one side, his cutter held straight out. He saw Hutch, nodded, shut it off, and lowered it.
Hutch checked her parts. Everything seemed to be there. "I never saw it," she said, patting MacAllister's shoulder. "Hell of a job with the staff."
Kellie embraced Chiang and kissed his cheek.
"What was it?" Chiang asked.
"Dinner," said Hutch. "If all goes well."
They sliced off gobs of meat and wrapped them in plastic bags.
Toward the end of the afternoon, they topped the last rise, and the land began a long gentle decline. The storms had cleared off, and they had, for the first time since leaving the tower, a bright cheerful sky. They kept on until sundown, and Kellie urged that they continue. But the pace was too much for Mac and Nightingale, so Hutch called a halt near a stand of old trees that would provide firewood and privacy. They'd logged eighteen kilometers.
Pretty good, actually.
"Especially," said Nightingale, lowering himself onto a downed tree trunk, "when you consider this is hard country. It'll level out soon. And we should be almost out of the snow."
MacAllister also looked exhausted.
"Chiang," Kellie said, "let's get some wood." She picked up a dead branch and, as if that were a signal, the ground shook. Just once, for a few seconds.
They built a fire and roasted the meat. It smelled good, not unlike venison.
"Who's going to sample it?" asked Mac.
Hutch took a piece, thinking how being a leader wasn't all it was cracked up to be. She would follow Embry's prescription and go very slowly.
"Let me cut it for you," said Nightingale. He sliced off a narrow strip, held it so she could see it in the firelight, and surprised her by turning off his suit and taking a bite.
They watched him. "Thanks," said Hutch.
He shrugged, chewed it methodically, commented that it was good, and swallowed. Then he reactivated the field.
Hutch wondered why he'd done it. Nightingale did not strike her as someone who was given to the gallant gesture. She suspected he was responding on some level to MacAllister's presence. Showing him how wrong he had been.
A half hour passed. The meat looked ready. Chiang put on the coffee.
Nightingale showed no ill effect and announced that the rest of them could hang about if they liked, but that he was ready to eat. They looked at one another, killed the fields, and carved up dinner. It was quite good.
Conversation during meals was limited because of the low temperatures. Eating was strictly business on Deepsix, and if she lived through this, Hutch knew she would always recall these quick impersonal meals, nobody talking while they huddled as close to the fire as they could get, bolting food and coffee in the sting of cold air.