I shrugged. “Just figured I’d toss that in for good measure. I only wish I’d thought to bring a portable shower.”
“What’s wrong with the stream?”
“I—”
“Shy?”
So what do you do in the face of a challenge like that?
It took a while for us to finally get around to eating. First I scrubbed her back, then she scrubbed mine. Then for a while we forgot all about scrubbing, although there was a great deal of motion involved. Then we got back to washing, but in a more leisurely manner. We even rinsed out our clothing and left it on a rock to dry.
Feeling self-conscious, I called in. “Um, this is Heath. We got caught up in our drilling and we ll be a bit late getting in.”
“Got any idea how much longer you’ll be?” Adam asked.
“Oh, I’d say we’ll be along in an hour or two.”
He snorted good-naturedly. “You might as well spend the night.”
“Nah, didn’t bring a sleeping bag.”
“Well, all right. Just let us know if you get in trouble.”
After I put the radio back in the skitter, Gilda said, “Caught up in our drilling? A bit risque, don’t you think?”
Honestly, I hadn’t meant anything by it, but if she thought I was being clever, I wasn’t going to say otherwise. “Woman, you have a dirty mind.”
She looked down at her nude body. “Better than a dirty body.”
“Much better,” I agreed emphatically.
Although the food was simple, I enjoyed myself immensely. After we finished we walked down to the stream, hand in hand, to retrieve our still-damp clothing. We left the corer and puttered back to camp.
Although he wasn’t waiting by the gate, Mike Gaston was standing in the open door of the command hut, watching us. His face was in shadow, but I got the impression that he was scowling.
At the moment, I couldn’t summon up anything but a smug grin. I’m sure that didn’t help matters any.
The next day was a near replay of the first. I hadn’t had the wit to think of it, but Gilda brought along towels, shampoo, and a fresh change of clothing. Seeing her standing there in the middle of a forest on an alien planet did strange things to me. I started thinking about the fact that the colonists would need a geologist. That it would be nice to settle down. That…
OK, OK—but it made a pleasant fantasy.
As I was cooking our dinner, I heard a distant Wall-ah, Wall-ah, Wallahhh. I straightened up. Wall-ah. It sounded fainter.
I cupped my hands to my mouth. “Wall-ah!” I cried.
Gilda, startled, looked at me. “Should I call you Tarzan or Doctor Doolittle?”
I looked down at my clean though unclad body. “I’m a little underdressed for Doolittle, don’t you think?”
She gave me a head to toe appraisal. “Somewhat less than the usual Tarzan garb, for that matter.”
Wall-ah!
“Wall-ah!” I answered.
“Seriously, why are you talking to a wallah?” she asked.
I told her about my secret pet over at Bareback Ridge.
“Did you ever talk to it?”
I shook my head. “No. But if there’s another one around here, it wouldn’t hurt to be sociable.”
Her gaze drifted out into the trees. “Maybe it’s the same one. It sounds as though it’s coming from the general direction of Bareback Ridge. Did you tell it where you were going?”
I chuckled. “Guess it slipped my mind, the same way I forgot to tell you.” In the distance, I heard the wallah call again. “Besides, there’s no way that one would know where to find me. It’s probably a different one.”
I called once more for good luck, then went back to fixing dinner.
The next day I was alone. Gilda had lab work to do. I hadn’t bothered to pack more than a token lunch, and no dinner at all, as we’d made plans to eat together that evening at camp.
As soon as my feet touched the ground, I heard a loud Wall-ah! from right over my head. I craned my neck, scanning the silhouettes of the trees against the early morning sky, and sure enough, there was a wallah peering down at me.
“Wall-ah,” I called softly, then went about my business.
A low, snuffling grunt came from somewhere off on the other side of the skitter. I peered into the gloom, barely able to make out a large body ambling through the trees. It didn’t act threatening, so I busied myself unloading gear from the back of the skitter.
Whiff-crash! A small sapling whipped down to the ground as though felled by an ax. I made a standing jump from the ground, clear over the side of the skitter, into the cargo bay. Adrenaline reached flood stage in my bloodstream in less time than it takes to gasp. I stared out at the beast just as its head snapped around towards me. I had a curious momentary feeling of vulnerability, as though this amiable looking creature was about to…
And it bolted straight for me.
When it reached the wing of the skitter, it barely paused. It jumped up on top. But the smoothness of the aluminum skin caught it by surprise, and its paws slipped. It went down in an ungainly heap and slid off the rear edge of the wing, to land on the ground with an undignified whump!
What I gained in seconds, I lost in attitude. Now the beast was mad. It clambered back up on the wing, claws extended—ripping gouges in the sheet metal.
My gun was in the copilot’s seat, leaning against the back, just out of reach. A move for the gun would bring me within reach of the thing’s claws.
Something made me glance up at the wallah. Its eyes were riveted on mine. Save me, it seemed to be saying.
What the wallah had to worry about, I didn’t know. It was safe up in the tree. I was the one who was face to face with an animal whose claws could puncture aluminum. But, pet or not, there was something about that look that I could not deny.
My eyes dropped to the beast, now testing the edge of the cargo bay with a forepaw before committing its weight. I gauged the distance to the seat, then crouched and sprang just as the creature heaved itself in. My feet grazed its snout as I went over, throwing me off balance. I slammed face first into the dash, then fell into the floorboard, feet sticking up into the air over the back of the seat.
Stunned, I could hardly see. Blood dripped from my face onto the floorboard of the skitter. Twisting from the hips, I reached back and upwards for the gun just as a vise closed on my left foot and started trying to wrench it off. I lined up the barrel of the gun with the beady eyes, then froze. The laser bolt would slice neatly through the skull and possibly my foot as well if my aim wasn’t perfect. I jerked on my foot, trying to get it back.
Wrong move.
The animal growled deep in its throat and clamped down harder, claiming its prize. Pain lanced up my leg. It started backing up, dragging me with it, over the seat back, into the cargo bay where I d be easier to gnaw on. I managed to hang onto the gun as I went up and over, but nearly lost it when I dropped onto the flat metal floor.
Even prepared for it, I lost my breath. I was dimly aware that the pressure on my foot had eased, but I couldn’t see the beast—my vision refused to clear.
I needn’t have worried about trying to locate the damned animal. Two full sets of silverware fastened onto my shin. Steak knives, dinner knives, forks, the works. He was busily trying to make the opposing sets meet in the middle. Dignity be damned—I screamed.
I brought the gun around to aim roughly where the animal should be, over somewhere to my right, fumbled for the trigger, and fired. Nothing happened. I shook my head to clear my eyes. I’d fired in the wrong direction entirely. There was a large dark blur off to my left. I aimed the muzzle at the middle of the mass and fired.