sandstone chamber, and then there was enough room for Marmion
to walk alongside and she could not go fast enough to get ahead of him again.
His stride was naturally longer, and he did not have arthritis in his hip to
slow him down. He dropped behind again when they started up the ramp-tunnel
that led to the shuttle landing site, for crew were bringing in the plumbing
pipes in banded sheaves that took almost the full width of the tunnel. The
draft was toward the opening now and was strong, so the sweet flowery smell did
not seem so bad. Even so, some of the stevedores were giving them sidelong
glances, but that may have been as much for Marmion’s green-spattered hair as
the smell.
Near
the entrance, Marmion stopped to right a fallen lamp, which then turned out to
be broken. Calla took it from him and waved him on. “I’ll fix it myself. You go
do something about that smell.”
“Probably
be pleasant if it were diluted a bit,” Marmion said. “Weird creature. But if I
had to be shit on to find out where they hang out, I’m glad it’s esters and not
phenols. Can’t wait ’til we have time for a little hunting.”
“Hunting?”
Calla looked at him sharply.
“I
guess they call it mining here. Doesn’t matter. It’s still exploiting the
natural resources. Guess we should share that find, since I’d never have gone
down there if you hadn’t insisted. Don’t worry. I won’t go without you.”
“Marmion,
what are you talking about?”
Marmion
frowned, his green brow arching. “I thought you said you read the reports.”
“I
did, at least, I read everything under the indigenous topic.”
The
perfectionist shook his head. “It was under mining. The crystallofragrantia isn’t
a rock at all. It comes from the danae. The danae have a gall that’s worth its
mass in diamonds.” He held up his fist. “That big in an old one. I wouldn’t
mind having a few to take home.”
Calla
stared at him, momentarily stunned. “The species isn’t doing well,” she finally
said, frowning as she tried to remember why. “Something to do with migratory
patterns.”
Marmion
nodded. “The ranger reports say the count goes down each year. They speculate
that it has to do with migratory patterns being disrupted by the reversal
process of the magnetic poles. And could be, too, that they’re experiencing
unfavorable mutations because of the constant cosmic ray zapping. Whatever the
reason, the rangers have recorded a noticeable drop in the danae population
three years in a row. So, better we get our hunting done this year while there’s
still something left to hunt. You with me, Calla?”
“No,”
she said slowly, remembering Old Blue-eyes and Tonto with wings like prayer
scrolls. Even stronger was the image of Jason smiling for the first time in
thirty years, smiling because the danae were nearby. “Marmion, you saw them.
They’re exotic, so beautiful. Could you really kill one of those creatures?”
Marmion
shrugged. “The ranger-governor set up some regulations. He said in the reports
that he couldn’t stop it, so he was going to control it. Some people would
shoot their mothers for a lot less . . . or their governor. See
you at dinner, Calla.”
Calla
tightened the connector on the back of the lamp. It flashed on and she righted
it. She looked at the tunnel entrance where Marmion’s big frame was silhouetted
now against strong sunlight. He was a factory man, not given to hunting for
thrill or sport. He wouldn’t even consider hunting for mere pocket change. No
doubt every man and woman in her contingent knew the real value of the danae’s
gall, except her. She got to her feet to go back to the shuttle, determined to
lock herself up with Jason’s reports again. And this time she wouldn’t skim
over the dull stuff.
Chapter 3
The overhead lights in the comm-room were dimmed; light
from the flatscreens silhouetted the comm-tech ranger in the duty chair. His
back was to the transparent
to walk alongside and she could not go fast enough to get ahead of him again.
His stride was naturally longer, and he did not have arthritis in his hip to
slow him down. He dropped behind again when they started up the ramp-tunnel
that led to the shuttle landing site, for crew were bringing in the plumbing
pipes in banded sheaves that took almost the full width of the tunnel. The
draft was toward the opening now and was strong, so the sweet flowery smell did
not seem so bad. Even so, some of the stevedores were giving them sidelong
glances, but that may have been as much for Marmion’s green-spattered hair as
the smell.
Near
the entrance, Marmion stopped to right a fallen lamp, which then turned out to
be broken. Calla took it from him and waved him on. “I’ll fix it myself. You go
do something about that smell.”
“Probably
be pleasant if it were diluted a bit,” Marmion said. “Weird creature. But if I
had to be shit on to find out where they hang out, I’m glad it’s esters and not
phenols. Can’t wait ’til we have time for a little hunting.”
“Hunting?”
Calla looked at him sharply.
“I
guess they call it mining here. Doesn’t matter. It’s still exploiting the
natural resources. Guess we should share that find, since I’d never have gone
down there if you hadn’t insisted. Don’t worry. I won’t go without you.”
“Marmion,
what are you talking about?”
Marmion
frowned, his green brow arching. “I thought you said you read the reports.”
“I
did, at least, I read everything under the indigenous topic.”
The
perfectionist shook his head. “It was under mining. The crystallofragrantia isn’t
a rock at all. It comes from the danae. The danae have a gall that’s worth its
mass in diamonds.” He held up his fist. “That big in an old one. I wouldn’t
mind having a few to take home.”
Calla
stared at him, momentarily stunned. “The species isn’t doing well,” she finally
said, frowning as she tried to remember why. “Something to do with migratory
patterns.”
Marmion
nodded. “The ranger reports say the count goes down each year. They speculate
that it has to do with migratory patterns being disrupted by the reversal
process of the magnetic poles. And could be, too, that they’re experiencing
unfavorable mutations because of the constant cosmic ray zapping. Whatever the
reason, the rangers have recorded a noticeable drop in the danae population
three years in a row. So, better we get our hunting done this year while there’s
still something left to hunt. You with me, Calla?”
“No,”
she said slowly, remembering Old Blue-eyes and Tonto with wings like prayer
scrolls. Even stronger was the image of Jason smiling for the first time in
thirty years, smiling because the danae were nearby. “Marmion, you saw them.
They’re exotic, so beautiful. Could you really kill one of those creatures?”
Marmion
shrugged. “The ranger-governor set up some regulations. He said in the reports
that he couldn’t stop it, so he was going to control it. Some people would
shoot their mothers for a lot less . . . or their governor. See
you at dinner, Calla.”
Calla
tightened the connector on the back of the lamp. It flashed on and she righted
it. She looked at the tunnel entrance where Marmion’s big frame was silhouetted
now against strong sunlight. He was a factory man, not given to hunting for
thrill or sport. He wouldn’t even consider hunting for mere pocket change. No
doubt every man and woman in her contingent knew the real value of the danae’s
gall, except her. She got to her feet to go back to the shuttle, determined to
lock herself up with Jason’s reports again. And this time she wouldn’t skim
over the dull stuff.
Chapter 3
The overhead lights in the comm-room were dimmed; light
from the flatscreens silhouetted the comm-tech ranger in the duty chair. His
back was to the transparent
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