“Don’t think I’m giving way,” Leicester warned. “That ship is going to be repaired.”
Moray shrugged a little. “Maybe so. But it can’t be repaired unless we survive long enough to do it. For now, that’s all I’m concerned about.”
He turned to Camilla and MacAran, ignoring the Captain.
“MacAran, your party knows at least some of the terrain. I want a local survey made of all resources, including food–Dr. Lovat can handle that. Lieutenant Del Rey, you’re a navigator; you have access to instruments. Can you arrange to make some sort of climate survey which we might manage to use for weather prediction?” He broke off. “The middle of the night isn’t the time for this. We’ll get moving tomorrow.” He moved to the door and, finding his way blocked by Captain Leicester standing and staring into the whirling snowflakes, tried to move past him a time or two, finally touched him on the shoulder. The Captain started and moved aside. Moray said, “The first thing to do is to get those poor devils in out of the storm. Will you give orders, Captain, or shall I?”
Captain Leicester met his eyes levelly and with taut hostility. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly, “I’m not concerned with which of us gives the orders, and God help you, if you’re just looking for the power to give them. Camilla, go and tell Major Layton to secure from firefighting operations and make sure that everyone who was on the firebreak line gets hot food before he turns in.”
The girl pulled her hood over her head and hurried off through the snow.
“You may have your talents, Moray,” he said, “and as far as I’m concerned you’re welcome to use mine. But there’s an old saying in the Space Service. Anyone who intrigues for power, deserves to get it!”
He strode out of the dome, leaving the wind to blow through it, and MacAran, watching Moray, felt that somehow, obscurely, the Captain had come off best.
Chapter EIGHT
The days were lengthening, but even so there seemed never to be enough light or enough time for the work which had to be done in the settlement. Three days after the fire, extensive firebreaks thirty feet wide had been constructed around the encampment, and firefighting squads had been organized for emergency outbreaks. It was about that time that MacAran went off, with a party of the colonists, to make Moray’s survey. The only members of the previous party to accompany him were Judith Lovat and MacLeod. Judy was still quiet and contained, almost unspeaking; MacAran was worried about her, but she did her work efficiently and seemed to have an almost psychic awareness of where to find the sort of thing they were looking for.
For the most part, this woodland exploration trip was uneventful. They laid out trails for possible roadways toward the valley where they had first seen herds of game, assessed the amount of fire damage–which was not really very great–mapped the local streams and rivers, and MacAran collected rock samples from the local heights to assess their potential ore contents.
Only one major event broke the rather pleasant monotony of the trip. One evening toward sunset they were blazing trail through an unusually thick level of forest when MacLeod, slightly ahead of the main party, stopped short, turned back, laying a finger on his lips to enjoin silence, and beckoned to MacAran.
MacAran came forward, Judy tiptoeing at his side. She looked oddly excited.
MacLeod pointed upward through the thick trees. Two huge trunks rose dizzyingly high, without auxiliary branches for at least sixty feet; and spanning them, swung a bridge. There was nothing else to call it; a bridge of what looked like woven wickerwood, elaborately constructed with handrails.
MacLeod said in a whisper, “There are the proofs of your aborigines. Can they be arboreal? Is that why we haven’t seen them?”
Judy said sharply, “Hush!” In the distance there was a small, shrill, chattering sound; then, above them on the bridge, a creature appeared.
They all got a good look at it in that moment; about five feet tall, either pale-skinned or covered with pale fur, gripping the bridge rail with undoubted hands–none of them had presence of mind to count the fingers–a flat but oddly humanoid face, with a flat nose and red eyes. For nearly ten seconds it clung to the bridge and looked down at them, seeming nearly as startled as they were themselves; then, with a shrill birdlike cry it rushed across the bridge, swung up into the trees and vanished.