how it meanders across the snow. Something has struck here. Perhaps they have already died. See the drift ahead? They could have swerved to miss that.'
Banalog licked his lips. He wanted to twine his tail about his leg, but knew the Hunter would see. 'I didn't know you were so sensitive to clues this small or to-'
'Of course,' Docanil the Hunter said.
He took the copter over the rails and down the side of the mountain, handily avoiding the pipes, swerving through breaks in them that Banalog did not even see until they were upon them, zigging and zagging, using the stiff wind that tried to batter their craft, moving with it instead of against it.
'There,' Docanil said.
Banalog looked. 'What? I see nothing.'
'Between the two columns of rock. The car.'
If the traumatist looked closely, strained his big eyes until they watered, he was able to make out pieces of a shuttlecraft body peeking through the snow, no section more than a few inches square.
'The vehicle is on its side,' Docanil said. 'And it is the one they escaped in.'
'They're dead?'
'I don't know,' the Hunter said. 'We will stop and look.'
Leo was roused by the stuttering blades of a copter. He sat up on the plush couch and listened closely. The noise was gone now, but he was certain he had not dreamed it. He sat very tensely for a time. At last, he got up and went to the windows, walked from one to the other. There was nothing but the trees, the snow, and the hotel grounds.
Then the sound came again.
A helicopter. Close.
He ran across the room to where Hulann slept, shook the naoli's shoulder.
Hulann did not respond.
'Hulann!'
Still, he did not move.
The sound of the copter faded, then came back again. He could not tell if it was coming closer or not. But he knew it was almost a certainty that the passengers of that machine were looking for he and Hulann. He continued to harass the sleeping alien, but with no more luck than before. There are only three ways to wake a naoli from his nether world slumber
Docanil the Hunter clambored out of the smashed shuttlecar, walked across the side of the twisted wreck, and jumped to the ground, sinking in snow up to his knees. Despite the difficult conditions, he moved with grace and catlike quiet.
'Are they dead?' Banalog asked.
'They are not there.'
Banalog managed to keep his relief from showing. He should have been anxious for the Hunter's success and against anything that benefited the renegades. Irresponsibly, he felt just the opposite. He wanted them to escape, to find refuge, to survive. Deep within, he was aware of what the Phasersystem said would happen if humans survived. A hundred years from now, two hundred, and they would find a way to strike back. His irresponsibility, if it became popular, would be a danger to the race. Yet? He did not stop to analyze himself. He did not dare
They boarded the chopper again.
Docanil pulled the patch-ins from their slots and reconnected himself to the exterior pickups. The cords dangled. When the copper alloy needles had slid into his flesh, he started the machine and-keeping it under manual control-took it up into the grayness.
'What now?' Banalog asked.
'We quarter the mountain.'
'Quarter?'
'You are not familiar with search techniques.'
'No,' Banalog agreed.
The Hunter said no more.
At length, after they had danced back and forth, up and down a relatively small portion of the slope for some time, Docanil brought the copter in over a pylon boarding station that was part of an aerial cableway running from the base of the mountain to the top.
'There,' he hissed, as excited as a Hunter could get.
Again, Banalog could see nothing.
Docanil said, 'Ice. See? Broken from the steps. And it has been melted from the control board recently.' The helicopter passed over the platform; he brought it around once more. 'They've used the cablecar. Also notice that the ice has been broken from the cable going to the top of the slope, though it still remains on the cable leading to the bottom. They went up.'
He turned the copter; they fluttered toward the peak.
The cable ran by below them.
The Swiss-styled header station laid ahead, becoming visible through the snow
Leo had heard stories of naoli and the condition they entered when they slept and when they drank alcoholic beverages. He knew there were other ways to wake them, but he did not know what they were. He had only heard about the application of pain, heard about it from spacers who had been in the outer reaches, among the many races of the galaxy. He did not want to hurt Hulann. There was no other choice.
The chopper was working closer now, swaying back and forth directly down the slope from them, around the cableway system. He could hear it coming gradually closer, then receding, only to come back again.
'Hulann!'
The naoli did not respond, and there was no time to try anything but that which he knew would work. He stood and ran through the lobby, along a corridor and into the main dining hall. The tables were set, everything ready for a full house-except dust had collected on the silverware. Leo moved between the tables, through the double doors at the rear of the room and into the large hotel kitchen. In moments, he found the knife and went back to the lobby.
He knelt next to the couch where Hulann slept. His hands shook as he brought the blade forth, and he dropped it as if it were red hot the first time the gleaming point touched the tough alien skin. He looked at the knife on the carpet and could not bring himself to lift it.
The helicopter's engine changed tone. Then, the roar of it grew steadily louder. It was coming directly for the hotel!
He picked up the knife in both hands so that he could be sure of holding onto it. He pricked the point of it in Hulann's biceps.
The alien slept on.
He jabbed deeper. A small well of blood sprang up around the edges of the knife. A thin trickle of it ran down Hulann's arm and dripped onto the couch.
Leo felt ill.
The copter's engine boomed abruptly louder, three times the volume as before, as it came over the brow of the mountain down near the header station.
He twisted the blade, opening the wound farther.
More blood sprang up.
The copter passed over the hotel, turned to come back.
The room shook with its noise.
Leo gritted his teeth, twisted the blade viciously in the rubbery flesh.
Instantly, Hulann sat up, striking out with an arm that caught the boy on the side of the head and knocked him sprawling on the floor.
'They're here!' Leo shouted, not angry that he had been struck.
'I thought you were-'
'They're here!' he insisted.
Hulann listened as the Hunter's craft swept low over the hotel roof. He stood, his entire body trembling now. It had to be a Hunter, for they could not have been found so quickly by anyone else. The Hunter-Docanil. Yes, that
