"The river!" MacArthur shouted, a distant memory of Canadian springs returning. "The river! The ice is breaking up. Winter's over!"
And then it started raining.
Hudson wondered what was going on. The guards were restive. Operational activity had increased; landing modules had made numerous trips to the army transport in orbit. Something was happening.
His guards shifted nervously. Hudson turned to see Et Silmarn in the company of soldiers coming down the rows of vegetables. The noblekone carried a familiar-looking bundle. Hudson bowed. The noblekone held out Hudson's konish full-pressure suit, the suit used for the sub-orbital flight to Goldmine.
"Master Huhsawn. It-ah time to return to your people! Put-ah on your space suit-ah," Et Silmarn ordered.
Hudson could hear the kone's helmet radio transmitting. Longo must be monitoring the conversations, using Kateos's translation programs. His anxiety swelled. Were they going to let him go? Or were they using him as bait?
"It will take a few moments," he said, using the konish language.
"Colonel Longo has-ah order you to get quick ready," Et Silmarn replied, curiously sticking to Legion. "You have-ah time to dress with your warmest clothing. We leave now."
"Your command of my tongue is excellent," Hudson said in konish, talking as he put his things in order, buying time. "I am proud of your progress. Is there any reason why you are speaking my tongue? Are you testing Kateos' s translation program?"
Et Silmarn smiled uncomfortably. "Thank-ah you for compliment. You are most kind-ah, and logic is correct-ah. No more questions. Please to hurry."
"Cassy," Carmichael announced over Peregrine One's command circuit. "Fleet acknowledges your recommendations, and flag operations has cleared us for a landing. Commencing return to low orbit. We'll launch a survey team as soon as we are in position to de-orbit the lander."
"Roger, Jake," she replied. "Finally!" she added under her breath.
"Holy torpedo, look at the size of that thing!" Godonov stammered. He stared through the high-powered optics, his hands deftly working the controls.
"What is it, Nes?" Quinn asked.
"That manned alien platform we've been tracking—the big one. It must be an interplanetary ship," Godonov said. "It's maneuvering in low orbit. We'd better tell Commander Carmichael. Here—take a look! You won't believe it."
Quinn stared into the eyepiece, adjusting the instrumented reticle. Godonov' s assessment was correct; she double-checked the magnification settings. The satellite—the spaceship—was a thousand meters in length! The telescope's motion-detection indicator started flashing. Quinn increased the magnification to maximum in time to see objects separate from the larger craft. Engines bloomed in retroburn, and the two craft dropped from sight.
"Tell Commander Carmichael the alien ship just deployed and retrofired two objects, probably landing modules. Something tells me they're looking for the same thing we are."
After days of rain only a few dirty pockets of snow remained. Rivulets of silty water poured from the mountains; streams swelled with impatient force, and the great river, usually not loud enough to be heard from the settlement, thundered and crashed. Sunlight weaved through scattered clouds, highlighting the proliferating buds and blossoms. Grasses poked fine needles through the humus, metamorphosing the dull and dirty ground into glorious shades of emerald. Fragrant wildflowers bravely spread their petals in random abundance.
Lee, wrapped in furs, reclined in the intermittent sunlight, enviously watching the bustling settlement. Baby Hope slept soundly at her mother's breast. Fenstermacher stood on the threshold of the stone hut, leaning against the open door frame.
"You sure you're comfortable?" he asked. "I can get more furs—"
"I'm fine, Winnie," Lee replied, her voice regaining much of its strength. "I need to get back on my feet. There's work to be done. It's time to start planting."
"Buccari gave me orders to take care of you and to keep you on your back," Fenstermacher announced. "And I intend to follow those orders—for the rest of my life."
"What? To take care of me or keep me on my back? I don't think that's what the lieutenant had in mind."
Fenstermacher looked at his feet with a silly grin on his face.
"Oh, go fishing!" Lee suggested. "Here comes Nancy to keep me company. Get out of here. Beat it." Dawson, carrying her baby, dodged across the muddy ground.
"I can take a hint," Fenstermacher said, grabbing his fishing gear off the wall. Fenstermacher was pleased to be at liberty. Leslie was finally well and growing stronger. He never wanted to worry that much again. He was a proud father, a happy man, and he was particularly delighted to be going fishing. Shouts grabbed his attention. A hundred paces downhill, moving away from the cove, was a huge bear, its hide moldy and ragged. It trundled along, still logy from hibernation, looking over its mane-covered shoulder. Chastain and O'Toole chased after it, jumping up and down and shouting, while Shannon stood, an assault rifle poised at his shoulder.
The bear became irritated at its human hounds. Deciding the two-legged creatures had become too brazen, the truculent ursine wheeled on its pursuers and feigned a charge. O'Toole and Chastain turned to run, collided, and fell in a tumbling heap. They struggled to regain footing on the muddy ground, their feet slipping and sliding in a panicky flurry. Shannon sprinted forward, shouting. He fired a precious round into the air and then took deadly aim. The cranky bear recoiled at the explosive report and galloped for the woods.
Fenstermacher broke the silence, hooting at the bear chasers, while Chastain and O'Toole knocked mud from their clothes. Hearing his laughter, they looked up, chagrined.
"You should've seen the looks on your faces!" Fenstermacher shouted. "You guys need new skivvies. That's why the ground got slippery. What a story for the campfire."
"Ah, come on, Winnie," Chastain pleaded.
"I don't see you chasing bears, Fenstermacher," O'Toole challenged.
"I ain't that horny," Fenstermacher retorted, "or that stupid!"
"Easy there, friend," Shannon counseled, ambling in Fenstermacher' s direction, a disarming smile on his face. "These gentlemen were only following my orders. You wouldn't want to embarrass them for that, would you?"
"Hell, yes, I would! Damn straight! What a legend this will be! You guys'll be famous by the time I'm—gerk!" Fenstermacher was throttled by Shannon's thick forearm. He felt his feet lifting off the ground. He dropped his fishing equipment, using both hands to combat the iron grip.
"Now run that by me again, Winnie, old friend," Shannon said calmly. "Tell me how brave you think these upstanding men are." Shannon eased the pressure.
"Brave—my ass!" gagged the incorrigible Fenstermacher. "A couple of—clowns!"
Shaking his head, Shannon handed Fenstermacher bodily to Chastain. Chastain grabbed him with meaty hands as if he were a sack of flour.
"He's yours, men," Shannon said. "Use your worst judgment."
Chastain, smiling, turned toward the lake but stopped suddenly. His grin evaporated. He glanced upward. "What's that?" His grip loosened, easing Fenstermacher to the ground.
"What's what, Jocko?" Shannon asked, slinging the assault rifle.
"That noise…" But everyone was hearing it now—feeling it. The low-pitched ambient rumbling had graduated to full-throated thunder.
"There! Over there!" Fenstermacher shouted, pointing up. Everyone turned to where he was pointing, staring into the overcast. A glowing, white-hot blade of flame stabbed through the ragged layer of clouds. The screaming exhaust smoothly descended until its source was visible—the black cylinder of an alien landing module. And then a second one! Two black cylinders on hot plumes of fire broke through the clouds. Clear of the overcast, the alien vessels slid slowly across the northern sky, descending smoothly into the valley. A bedlam of rocket exhaust, already at crescendo, increased to an exploding hell. The humans clapped hands to ears and ducked, all rational thought eclipsed by the single reflex of fright.