The Mystery of Ireta_ Dinosaur Planet & Dinosaur Planet Survivors - Anne McCaffrey [119]
He rose slowly, swallowing against a dry and strained throat. He made no move to massage the nerve pinch although his arm hung limply and ought to be painful. He also ignored his damaged clothing. She kept her eyes on his face, now somewhat obscured by the swarms of blooding insects whizzing about them and the carcass. He drew in deep breaths, his face expressionless, and she could easily understand her perturbation. The man was muscled, not as a heavy-worlder against the constant pull of gravity, but there couldn’t be a milligram of unnecessary flesh on him: he was truly one of the most beautiful men in form and face that she had ever seen. She regretted having had to best him with the unfair advantage of her Discipline. Raised by heavy-worlder notions, there would be no forgiveness in him, for her. Nor could she ever explain why she had been able to throw him.
“Your physical strength was unexpected, Rianav.”
“I have often found it so, Aygar, although I dislike having to resort to such exhibitions. I am a reasonable person, for reason tends to secure a more lasting outcome than a show of physical force.”
“Reason? And honor?” He gave a dry sour laugh. “To have abandoned a small geological group on a savage world.”
Varian opened her hands in a gesture of regret. “It is a risk of the Service which we all—”
“I did not. I had no option.”
“In justice, you have the right to be bitter. You are the innocent victim of circumstances beyond ordinary control. The ARCT-10, the vessel which landed the Iretan expedition, is still missing.”
“Missing? For forty-three years?” His contempt was obvious. “Were you looking for it when you found this beacon of yours?”
“Not exactly, but our code requires that we respond to your distress call.”
“Not mine. My grandparents—”
“The call was heard and our ship has responded, whoever made the original signal.”
“I’m supposed to be grateful for that?” He resumed his slicing of meat from the ribs of the monster, discarding the initial hunk, which was already crawling with winged vermin. Despite Discipline, Varian found herself revolted by his activity. “Forty-three years to answer a distress call? Mighty efficient organization, yours. Well, we’ve survived and we’ll continue to. We don’t need your help—now.”
“Possibly. How many are you after two generations?” With such a small gene pool, she wondered if they were already inbred.
He laughed, as if he sensed her thought. “We have bred carefully, Rianav, and have made the most of our—how would you term it, inadvertent plantation?”
“Ireta is not on the colonial list. We checked that immediately for we are under no compunction to aid a colony which can’t fend for itself.” Her Discipline must be dropping, Varian thought, from the sharpness with which she answered him. Gaber’s rumormongering had lasted unto the second generation.
“To be sure,” he said, angry sarcasm masking as courtesy. “So, what are your plans now, honorable Rianav!”
She gave him a long look, playing her role as rescuer to the hilt. “Instructions, rather. I shall return to our base with my report on your presence.”
“No need to concern yourself with me.”
“How can you possibly transport all that . . .”
“We’ve learned a trick or two,” and Varian was certain that his smile was faintly superior.
“May I have the coordinates of your present location?”
His grin was more amused than insolent but the mockery was in his reply.
“Run at a good steady pace to your right, through the first hills, turn right up the ravine, but mind the river snakes. Continue along the river course to the first falls, take the easiest route up the cliff—it’s pretty well marked by now, and follow the line of limestone—you do know limestone from granite, I assume? The