"Is there anything you'd like to say to the folks back home?"

Yes, thought MacAllister. In spades, there is. Life is sweet.

The image of the newsman appeared solid, and even a trifle back-woodsy by firelight. He leaned toward Kellie, apparently listening intently, although MacAllister knew he was formulating his next question.

And in the middle of this pacific, sleepy scene, there came a sudden shriek.

Something sailed past MacAllister's head. A few days earlier he'd have sat dumbfounded, wondering what was happening. But his reflexes had improved considerably. He shouted a warning and threw himself on the ground.

Rocks whipped past them. One hit his shoulder, and another struck his skull. There were more screams, high-pitched, rather like those of angry children. He was fumbling for his cutter. Somebody's laser blazed out, and bushes erupted in fire. A tree, ripped through by a cutter beam, crashed to the ground.

A dart thunked into one of the fire logs. MacAllister saw movement in the trees; then crickets in furs charged into the camp. They were impossibly ugly savages, not at all like the robed figure who'd occupied the country chapel.

He got his weapon up just in time. Two of them were after him, with javelins. He cut them in half, the crickets and the javelins. He took out another, who was about to stab Kellie from behind. Hutch directed them to back into a tight circle, but MacAllister was too busy defending himself to try to get into a formation. Everything was utter confusion.

The crickets never stopped shrieking. Somebody cut one in two, from skull to sternum. Nightingale stepped into the middle of a charge and swung his cutter left and right. Limbs flew and the attack disintegrated. As suddenly as they'd come, the crickets broke and melted back into the forest.

Several bushes were ablaze. Something fell out of a tree and crashed beside him. It was carrying a javelin. It tried to get up and run, but MacAllister, enraged, slashed it anyhow, and the creature screamed and lay still.

Hutch and Kellie pursued the fight to the edge of the trees. Nightingale stood among those he'd killed, legs spread, cutter raised, like a modern Hector. The heroic stance was a bit much, but MacAllister was nonetheless impressed by his behavior. Well, put a man's life on the line, he thought, and most of us can perform at a fairly high level.

The attack had disintegrated, and the sounds of battle seemed to be receding. Through it all, unfazed, Canyon remained seated in his armchair. He couldn't see beyond the narrow range of the link, which had been set up on a stump. He simply kept demanding over and over to be told what was happening.

Universal News Network on the spot, thought MacAllister.

Nightingale finally explained they were being attacked.

Canyon kept talking, asking for details. Attacked by whom? Had anyone been hurt? MacAllister shut off the sound feed from the newsman and rubbed his head. It hurt, but he couldn't tell through the field whether he was bleeding. Otherwise, he thought he was okay. Couple bumps, nothing more.

Marcel was back on the circuit, asking the same questions. "Crickets," Kellie responded, although he couldn't see her. "Talk in a minute."

MacAllister was swept up in a curious combination of horror and exhilaration. By God, that had felt good. We're all savages at heart, he thought.

Hutch came back into the camp, looked at him, and glanced around. "Everybody okay?" she asked.

Nightingale signaled he was fine. He was shining his lamp into the trees, assuring himself they were gone. "I guess we just met the locals."

"How about you, Mac?"

"Alive and well," said MacAllister. "I don't think those little sons of bitches will be back soon."

"Where's Chiang?" she asked.

MacAllister stared down at one of the bodies. It had sickly pale skin with a greenish tint and a hairy ridged skull. Its eyes were open, but it seemed dead.

It would have stood not quite as high as his hip. When he poked it, the creature stirred and made a sad mewling sound.

Kellie's voice broke in, subdued. "Over here," she said. "I found him."

Chiang lay still. Blood poured down inside his e-suit, leaking out of half a dozen wounds.

"Kill the suit," said MacAllister.

"No." Kellie had thrown herself on the ground beside him. Her voice was low and strange. "It's all that's holding him together."

Hutch knelt and picked up his wrist. "Mac," she said, "get the medkit."

MacAllister turned and hurried over to Hutch's backpack. "No pulse," Hutch said.

"He's not breathing." Kellie's voice was thick.

Reluctantly, they punched off the suit and Hutch tried direct administration of his air supply.

Somebody must have spoken Embry's code because her voice came on the circuit. "Don't move him," she said.

And Marcel: "Put out guards. They may come back."

"I got it," said Nightingale.

Kellie said, "Burn anything that moves."

"Do you have the kit yet?" Embry again.

"Mac's getting it."

"Mac, hurry up. What's the bleeding look like? Let me see it."

MacAllister returned with the medkit. Hutch took it and signaled for him to help Nightingale. Kellie pulled out a couple of pressure bandages and began applying them. Mac stood for a moment, staring down at Chiang. Then he turned away.

Nightingale was checking another dead attacker. MacAllister hoped Chiang's assailant was among the corpses.

They stayed together and circled the campsite. The exobiologist looked drained. MacAllister wondered for the first time whether he might have been unfair years before to Nightingale. "You've been here before, haven't you, Randy?" he said.

"Yeah." Nightingale made a face like someone who'd just bitten into bad fruit. "There's a little bit of deja vu about this." He paused and took a deep breath. "I really hate this place."

MacAllister nodded. "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what he meant by the phrase.

"Yeah. Me too." Nightingale's features hardened. He looked as if he were going to say more. But he only shrugged and looked away.

MacAllister listened to the conversation on the allcom.

"Give him the R.O."

"Doing it now."

"Kellie, you need to stop the blood. Clamp down tighter."

"It's not working, Embry." "Stay with it. Any pulse yet?" "A trace."

"Don't give up. Kellie, get a blanket or something on him." MacAllister looked toward the east, toward Deneb, while Chiang slipped away.

They buried him where he fell, during a ceremony at dawn. MacAllister, whose reputation ordinarily denied him the luxury of sentiment, found a stone, cut Chiang's name and dates into it, and added the comment: DIED DEFENDING HIS FRIENDS.

They dug the grave deep and lowered him in. Kellie wanted to conduct the ceremony, but she kept choking up, and finally she asked Hutch to finish.

He did not belong to an organized church, Kellie said, although he had a strong faith. Hutch nodded, didn't try to sort it out, and simply consigned him to the ground-she could no longer bring herself to say earth-observed that he had died too soon, and asked whatever god might be to take charge of him and to remember him.

Kellie stood paralyzed, resisting all offers of support, as they filled in the grave.

Nightingale announced that the attackers were vertebrates, but that their bones were hollow. "Birds?" asked MacAllister.

"At one time," he said, "I think so." He described filaments between arms and ribs that seemed to indicate that the species had only recently lost its flight capabilities.

They went through the creatures' garments. There were pockets, which contained fruits and nuts and a few smooth rocks. Ammunition.

"Let's get moving," said Hutch.

"What about these things?" asked Nightingale. "Shouldn't we bury them, too?"