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“I’m not considered particularly strong,” she said, knowing that such a first impression might be valuable. “Are you one of the survivors of the ARCT-10’s exploratory group? Frankly, after a quick pass over this world, we didn’t expect to find anyone alive. Your appearance . . . and competence . . . are a surprise.”

“So is yours!” There was a faint hint of wry amusement and a reticence in his voice. “I am called Aygar.”

“And I, Rianav,” she said, quickly scrambling her name. “Why didn’t your group remain at the expedition’s site of record?”

His look was definitely quizzical. “Why didn’t you home in on our beacon?”

“Your beacon? Oh, you’ve erected one at the northeast camp?” Varian was both disappointed at this intelligence and surprised, though she kept her assumed role and pretended mild criticism.

“Camp?” He was overtly derisive, but his manner turned wary. “You are from a spaceship?”

“Of course. We picked up a distress call from the system’s satellite beacon. Naturally we are obliged to answer and investigate. Are you one of the ARCT-10’s original exploratory group?”

“Hardly. They were abandoned without explanation and with insufficient supplies to defend themselves.” Indignation and rancor flickered in his eyes. His body tensed.

So that was the story the mutineers had spread. At least it was partially based on fact.

“You seem to have adapted to this planet with commendable success,” Varian remarked, wondering what else she could get him to reveal, and perhaps estimate how long they’d slept. Would he be the first generation?

“You are too kind,” he replied.

“My benevolence has a limit, young man. I am on my way to the secondary camp mentioned in the final report recorded on the beacon. Are any of the original expedition still living?”

Varian was trying to guess whose son he might be. Or grandson, she added bleakly. She opted for Bakkun and Berru, since they were the only heavy-worlders with light eyes. Aygar’s were a clear, bright, shrewd green. His features were finer than could be expected from either Tardma or Divisti.

“One has survived,” he said in an insolent drawl.

“One of the children from the original landing party?” Could she goad him into revealing more about the mutineers’ interpretation of abandonment?

“Children?” Aygar was surprised. “There were no children on the original expedition!”

“According to the beacon,” she replied, sowing what she hoped would be fertile seeds of doubt, “three children were included; Bonnard was the boy, and the two girls are named as Terilla and Cleiti, all in their second decade.”

“There were no children. Only six adults. Abandoned by the ARCT-10.” He spoke with the ring of truth in his voice, a truth which she knew to be false no matter how keenly he believed it.

“Discrepancies are not generally committed to satellite beacons. The message clearly read nineteen in the landing party, not six,” she said, permitting both irritation and surprise to tinge her voice. “What’re your leaders’ names?”

“Now? Or then?” He covered his chagrin with anger.

“Either.”

“Paskutti and Bakkun who was my grandsire.”

“Paskutti? Bakkun? Those are not the leaders of record. This is all very strange. You mentioned one survivor of the original group?”

“Tanegli, but he is failing,” and that frailty was anathema to Aygar’s youthful strength, “so his passing will occur in the near future.”

“Tanegli? What of Kai, Varian? The physician, Lunzie, the chemist Trizein.”

Aygar’s face was closed. “I’ve never heard those names. Six survived the stampede which overran the original camp!”

“Stampede?”

Aygar gestured irritably toward the far distant herbivores. “They panic easily, and panicked on the day my grandsire and the other five nearly died.” He grounded his spear and straightened in pride. “Had they not had the strength of three men, they would not have outrun the herd that day!”

“Stampede?” Varian looked at the peaceful grazers as if assessing their potential. “Yes, well, I can imagine that a mass of them in hysterical