Something unseen chittered angrily behind a screen of man-high bushes a dozen meters to his left. It was not a landscape he had ever experienced before, but now there was no choice. Maro stepped down onto the ground, sinking a centimeter into the springy humus, and turned to look at the others gathering in the doorway of the flitter.

"Come on," he said. "It isn't going to get any better if you wait."

Silently, they all filed out into the swamp.

Chapter Seventeen.

The beasts of the swamp were not so much large and dangerous as they were

everywhere. The operative mode of the animals seemed to be that, if they saw something larger than themselves, they ran; if it was smaller than they were, they ate it. If there were any plant eaters-and there had to be-Maro hadn't seen them.

"Here come the birds!" Sandoz said.

Maro pulled the flare pistol and squatted. The others dropped to the mushy ground as a flock of screeching bloodbirds fluttered through the trees. Twice before, this or a similar collection had dived at the escapees. The bloodbirds weren't very big; their wingspan was about the size of a man's hands, but they carried a lot of tiny sharp teeth in their bills. The first pa.s.s had resulted in several small but painful bites for Maro, Berque and Chameleon. The second time, the flock had occupied a tree for a minute before diving. This time, Maro was going to be ready.

The bloodbirds settled into a tree just ahead. Before they could gather themselves for their attack, Maro raised the flare pistol and fired one of the star-burst flares at the tree.

He aimed at the trunk, high up, so the flare wouldn't sail past harmlessly.

The flare hit the tree and stuck just below a major bifurcation. A couple of the bloodbirds took wing, a few more shifted a little, but the rest took no apparent notice as the small red fire b.u.med brightly against the tree. Then, suddenly, the flare burst, sending a hot red shower through the branches of the bloodbirds' haven, hundreds of tiny spears lancing through the leaves.

It was a gratifying sight. Dozens of leaves caught fire, and a handful of bloodbirds left smoking trails as the flock scattered in primal fear, screaming. If there remained any interest in feeding on the seven below, there was no evidence of it.

Sandoz laughed. "Nice shot. The little f.u.c.kers won't bother us for a while, I'd guess."

"Owch! s.h.i.t!"

They turned to see Chameleon dancing around, rubbing at one arm. Several small punctures on the flesh were already red and swelling. Maro glanced down to see an innocuous plant that the face-dancer had crushed when he'd dropped to avoid the bloodbirds. A sharp and bitter scent filled the air.

"Some kind of poison," Raze said.

Maro already had the first-aid kit out. He pulled the small flatscreen from its niche and punched in a description of the plant. After a few seconds the screen lit with a picture, name and short biological background on it. A stinging nettle of some sort, painful but not fatal. Maro read the treatment, selected a popper from the kit and pressed the compressed-gas hypo against Chameleon's shoulder. The single shot unit popped and injected the chem into the muscle.

"d.a.m.n, it itches!"

"Supposed to," Maro said. "It'll neutralize the poison. Says here it takes a day for the swelling to subside, but you'll be okay."

"Maybe we ought to spend a few minutes reading that thing," Juete said, pointing at the flatscreen.

"Tonight," Maro replied. "For now, let's keep moving and be careful not to touch anything we don't know for sure is safe." "That doesn't leave' much," Berque said, rubbing at one of the bird bites on his shoulder.

"Like I said, we move carefully."

"Which way?" Sandoz asked.

Maro lifted the laser-compa.s.s. "The port is that way." He pointed to his left.

"How far is it?" Raze asked.

"Only about five hundred and fifty kilometers," Scanner said. "Give or take

fifty."

"Great," Chameleon said. "A walk in the country."

"Let's move," Maro said. He started to walk.

"Hold it," Sandoz said. "You said the port is that way." He pointed at a right

angle to Maro's intended direction of travel.

"Right. But they'll be looking for us in that direction."

"How the h.e.l.l else are we supposed to get off this G.o.dd.a.m.ned planet if we don't

go to the port?" Berque cut in.

"Oh, we're going to the port. Eventually. But there's a stop we need to make first."

With that cryptic statement hanging in the air, Maro moved off through the swamp. After a moment, the others followed.

"Show me," Stark said into his transceiver.

The airhounds were man-sized cylinders, rounded on the front and tapered to a set of vertical fins and a wide fluke at the rear. Mounted amidships on each was a sensor package that included a photomutable gel camera set to scan from UV to infrared; a specific-molecule sensor that could be locked onto any of a hundred target scents; and a shotgun bundle microphone sensitive enough to pick up a man's cough at two klicks. The repellor motors gave the things fair speed, and it had only taken seven hours for the first pair to locate the stolen flitter.

Stark saw the camera feed from the hound on his monitor. In the background, the second hound floated sedately, bobbing slightly as the repellor field adjusted itself for heat and local field fluctuation. In the foreground squatted the warden's personal flitter, sunk slightly into the soft ground.

"Set the hounds for the scent and turn them loose," Stark ordered.

Came the voice of the new head guard: "We tried that, Warden. They just whirr and click a few times, and nothing happens."

Stark clenched his fists but kept his face as emotionless as he could for the camera projecting his image to the men in the swamp. d.a.m.n, that had to be Scanner's doing. Had he tampered with the hounds before the escape? Or did he have some kind of jammer with him?

"All right, there's a malfunction. Have maintenance work on them. Meanwhile, set up a cone grid on a straight line to the mining port. Twenty degrees, squeeze at two klicks, and repeat."

"Copy that, Warden."

"And put a cycle on zig-zag on the remaining three-forty for a fifty-klick back line."

In the background, Stark saw a tech approach the hound. The man lifted a cover plate on the unit and began examining circuitry.

"Uh, begging your pardon, Warden, but that'll take forever. Besides, if they ain't headed toward the port, they won't last more'n a week-"

"That's the point. I want them alive."

The sound of shotguns reached him then, five or six blasts on full auto. "What was that?"

"Nothing. A pack of shrats nosing around."

"Get moving," Stark said. "They're only four or five hours ahead. On foot, in that swamp, they can't be more than ten or fifteen kilometers from you."

The tech working on the hound cut into the circuit. "I think I found the problem," he said. "There's a wire that doesn't belong here, and I think it's shorting out the organic molecule reader."

Stark had a sudden premonition. "Wait," he said. "Don't-!"

Too late. The screen washed out in a flare of white and the sound of the explosion funneled through the second hound into Stark's transceiver, overloading the speaker and tripping the breaker. Stark toggled the switch, and the sound cut back in.

Men screaming. He dialed the sound down. The muted yells sounded no less horrible.

Dammit! The hounds were rigged with bombs! What other little presents had they left for him?

Juete was hot and tired, and her feet and legs were sore. Even though she walked between Dain and Raze and therefore was not taking the brunt of the vines and branches that slapped at them, she still carried a dozen small scratches.

There came the sound of a distant explosion. Even in the relatively quiet jungle, the noise seemed a long way off. Dain stopped, as did the others.

"Sounds like somebody tried to fix one of the hounds," Scanner said. Berque chuckled, but n.o.body else laughed.

They resumed their walk. Dain, Sandoz and Raze had been taking turns breaking the trail, hacking at vegetation they couldn't go around with a crude machete Sandoz had made from a strip of metal and insulation from the flitter. It wasn't very efficient, but it was better than nothing.

"Hold it," Sandoz said quietly.

Everybody froze.

To Juete's right, something moved in the brush. It wasn't close, but it seemed to

be making a lot of noise, whatever it was.

"What do you think?" Dain said to Sandoz.

"I don't know," Sandoz said. "Dogs, maybe."

"They'd have come for us already," Scanner said.

"Shrats, then. Or something we've never seen before," Sandoz said. He looked at

Dain. "You'd better get that flare pistol out."

But Dain had already handed the make-shift machete to Raze and drawn the pistol.

The sound in the bushes stopped.

"We'd better find a clearing," Dain said.

"Copy that," Chameleon said. "Let's move."

Raze took the point, swiping at the vines. After another hundred meters, Dain waved everybody to a halt again. Whatever was stalking them moved for another few seconds, then stopped.

"Staying right with us," Chameleon observed.

"It's getting closer," Juete said.

"Heys...o...b..l.o.o.d.y Kreesto," Sandoz said.

They moved. Ten minutes later they found a clearing. It was maybe twenty meters across, with nothing but a few vines tangled over the ground. Dain led them to the middle.

After a minute or so, the things that stalked them began to appear at the edge of the clearing.

They were ugly, Juete saw. Short, squat and ugly, about the size of a large dog, but more piglike in appearance. The beasts had furry bodies, hooved feet, and lots of teeth, mostly pointed. They didn't make any sounds, but scooted back and forth along the edge of the clearing, watching the people intently. There were about a dozen of them.

Scanner snorted. "Schweinhunds," he said. "Pig-dogs."

Raze hefted the machete and Dain held the flare pistol pointed in the schweinhunds' general direction. Sandoz had found a short but heavy tree branch which he held like a club. Chameleon dug through one of the packs, looking for a weapon.

Scanner glanced at him and said, "I don't think squirting them with bug repellent is going to work too well."

"I hope we go to h.e.l.l together," Chameleon shot back, "so I can pound on your b.l.o.o.d.y head for a few thousand years."

"They're not attacking," Sandoz said. "It's like they want to, but they can't. Look."

Juete saw what he meant. The schweinhunds would run back and forth as though working themselves up to the point where they could charge the people, but they would take two or three hesitant steps and then back off. It happened several times.

"Maybe they're afraid of open s.p.a.ces," Raze said. "Like some animals are afraid of water."

"I hope so," Dain said. "It'll be dark soon, and I don't think we can risk a fire."