"If any hunter is to have such honor 'tis thee, Braan-ourleader," Craag responded, basking in his leader's glory. The weapon was beautiful, giving the user great pride. The weapon was powerful, giving its wielder great strength. Deadly strength.

"Brave-crazy-one approaches," Craag reported. "He is most anxious."

Both hunters turned to formally acknowledge Brave-crazyone, their fellow warrior. At that moment a fresh breeze swirled between them. The hunters unfurled their membranes. Brave-crazyone turned at the wind gust and pumped his arms. He stepped up to Braan and grabbed the cliff dweller by the shoulders. Brave-crazyone pulled the pistol from the holster and made one last check of the chambering mechanism. Replacing the pistol, Brave-crazy-one took a step backward and bowed low. Braan returned the bow and turned to Craag. Screaming the death song, wings cracking in the freshening breeze, the hunters leapt from their perches and glided down the slope of the hill, their mission begun.

Braan screeched a turning signal, and the hunters banked to the east, seeking vertical movement in the air around them. Thermal activity was weak but increasing. A steady updraft climbed the flanks of the ridges, and Braan followed that path of least resistance, making vertical progress, but slowly. The hunter leader dug at the air with his wings and Craag followed. A strong thermal swept under them; the hunters held their wings rigid, riding invisible billows ever higher. Gradually they eased above the whining machine's altitude but remained separated laterally by many spans. Braan peeled away from the thermal and set his wings for optimum glide, making straight for the target. The weapon was heavy, and Braan could feel his descent increasing rapidly. The leader of the hunters screamed and wheeled away, searching for another boost.

"Crap! There they are!" Tatum shouted. The massive aliens galloped over a rolling, grassy hump far down the ridge, appearing huge even at great distance. "They can really move!"

"We're too late," Buccari said. "Head for the woods." "On your feet!" MacArthur shouted.

"Move out!" Buccari ordered. "Head for the tree line. Don't bunch up. If we get separated head for High Camp. Make sure you aren't followed."

"Move out! On the double!" MacArthur shouted.

"Let's go! Scatter and hide!" Buccari shouted. They sprinted from the rocks, Chastain and Mendoza leading the rush.

Chastain stopped abruptly, sliding in the loose rock.

"Oh, no!" Mendoza yelled. "More of them!" Coming from the most direct route to the tree line were six konish soldiers, spreading out at the base of the elevation, cutting them off! One of the aliens, forging ahead of the others, pointed his blaster at the clustered humans, and a flash of blue-green light streaked upward.

Mendoza screamed, holding his face. "Aarrrgghhh! I can't see!"

"Everybody back!" Buccari shouted. They retreated, scrambling for cover—except MacArthur. The corporal fell forward, his assault rifle pointed down the hill. A single shot exploded from his weapon, and the lead kone dropped like a sack of sand. The alien soldiers stopped and ducked behind scattered rocks.

"They are trapped, most excellent Colonel," gushed the subordinate. "We have them pinned down. There is a precipitous cliff beyond."

"They have the high ground," Longo said, surveying the terrain. "The lasers have insufficient range. How soon before the mortars arrive?"

"In less than an hour, most excellent Colonel."

"Bring the translation computer forward," Longo commanded. "Perhaps they will consider surrendering."

"How's Mendoza?" Buccari asked, tightly gripping her carbine.

"He can see out of his right eye, but his left eye is in bad shape," O'Toole responded. He squatted with Buccari and MacArthur. Large boulders protected them from sporadic alien rifle and cannon fire.

"What're they doing?" O'Toole asked. The firing had stopped. Buccari peeked around lichen-covered rocks. Two konish soldiers marched across the open ground and came to a stop. One wore the burgundy uniform of an officer.

"It's Longo. He wants to talk," she said. "They have the translator."

"You think its a trick?" MacArthur asked.

"Only one way to find out." She jumped up and started walking down the rock-studded slope, leaving her weapon behind.

"Coming with you, Sharl!" MacArthur shouted and ran after her."…sir."

Braan and Craag soared high above the offensive machine. Brave-crazy-one had cautioned him against approaching too closely, saying there was grave unseen danger. The hunters circled warily downward, their target directly beneath them. It was very loud.

"You have no escape," rumbled Longo through the translation computer. He towered over the humans. "Continued resistance is futile. Surrender and you will not be harmed."

"How can we be assured of that, Colonel Longo?" Buccari asked.

MacArthur scanned the disposition of soldiers. The drone whined overhead.

"You have no choice," said the box.

"Why must we surrender?" Buccari asked. "Can we not remain here in peace?"

"That has already been explained," said the box. Longo shifted impatiently. "If you do not lay down your weapons and come with us…then I will have to track you down and deal with you.. more forcefully."

"There must be some other option?" Buccari said.

Longo paused, carefully considering his words. "I am sure you would not want more harm to come to Master Huhsawn," the box finally said.

"Hudson!" Buccari blurted. "No! Is he alive?"

"He's dead, Sharl!" MacArthur shouted. "He's playing with your mind!"

"I assure you," said the box, "Master Huhsawn is alive…if just barely."

"Sharl—Lieutenant! He's dead," MacArthur said. "And even if he isn't, he might as well be. We got other people to worry about."

"I–I understand. Allow me to return to my people and discuss the matter," Buccari answered with obvious difficulty.

"Of course, but realize if you choose to run.. I will track you down—like an animal." Longo pointed at the drone, his expression universally sinister.

The muted bark of a pistol sounded directly over their heads, and the engine noises halted. MacArthur glanced skyward to see the drone plummeting from the sky, its counter-rotating blades whirling silently. A hunter fell alongside the drone, flailing his wings, struggling to regain control—it was Captain. The hunter leader recovered, his wings beating heavily but without altitude gain. The drone accelerated straight down, crashing into the ground with a hollow noise, and then the fuel exploded with a magnificent ball of yellow and red flames. The dweller glided swiftly out of sight behind an outcropping of rock.

"Excuse us, Colonel," Buccari said with exaggerated dignity. She turned and walked away. MacArthur followed at her heels, skipping backwards and watching for an attack.

Buccari ordered them to retreat high into the rocks until they were only a few meters below the twin pinnacles at the peak. Alien rifles and laser-blasters fired sporadically, providing cover for konish soldiers as they scurried to more advanced positions. The humans suffered burns, but the kones paid dearly. O'Toole and Tatum each picked off two soldiers, halting their forward movement.

Using Chastain's great strength, the humans positioned boulders, toppling them over onto other rocks to make impenetrable covered fortifications. Those bunkers commanded excellent fields of fire; the kones would pay dearly for a direct assault. The biggest question was ammunition. And after ammo was time.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Chastain grunted. The big man, with help from MacArthur and Schmidt, heaved a particularly large rock into place with a grinding crunch.