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Even with the winds, the beach at least is flat and clear."
"And surrounded by solid rock and barely thirty meters wide."
"The flight deck here is thirty meters wide."
Bowdie ran his long fingers through his hair so that a single brown lock fell across his eyebrow. "The
gale is now storm-force and growing. It's a hundred and fifty kays per hour out there."
Nitpicker nodded. "I'm flattered by your confidence, Feather, but even I'm not the kind of pilot you need.
Kissing this platform as I did in a ship as tiny as ours that was a stunt. Kissing a strip of sand right
beside a cliff with the up-drafts and eddies, the shear from the front, and the surf smash-ing us if we
miss& " She shook her head. "Give it up, Feather. It's not to be." She added quietly, "And it's safer that
way for you."
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Tara K Harper - Cataract
Tsia's eyes flicked warningly toward Bowdie. He said noth-ing, but she could see him filing Nitpicker's
comment away for thought. "What about landing farther in a kay or two?" she asked flatly.
"At the Hollows? If the cub can stay calm that long. The freepick stake is forty kays inland across the
first row of hills."
"No, no. Forty kays is too far." Tsia started to pace the room. "It would have to cross dozens of
established territor-ies of other cats, grown cats to get back to its mother. It would never make it."
Bowdie looked at her curiously. "Even if you do help this cub, how are you going to keep it from going
crazy in the ship, surrounded by humans? It might be engineered to bond with a guide, but it's still a wild
animal. It's not going to like being caged up with eight of us clumsy humans."
Wren jammed his gear back in his pack. "And unlike you, we," he stressed, "don't have the protection of
a biogate."
The door whipped open again, and Tucker staggered in. He caught the crank as he entered and slammed
the door shut quickly. "Finished checking the systems," he said before the wind whistles rose and died.
"We're ready for the rest of the gear."
Nitpicker nodded briefly, but her eyes never left Tsia's face. "You think a cub isn't big enough to shred
us like paper if it gets scared?" she went on. "You know our weapons don't work against biologicals
not without a specially licensed biocbip, which is illegal outside of the Shields. And with the node down,
there's no way to get a vetdarter to take care of the cub for us." She eyed Tsia for a long moment. "Ah,
hell." She glared around the small room. "Tucker, Bowdie, you want to look good for the Landing Pact?
Help Feather catch this thing?"
Tsia shook her head. "I'll catch it," she asserted. "I need help only in getting down to the weedis, and
then in getting back up."
Tucker cocked his head. "I grew up on the Keys," he of-fered. "I've walked more floating islands than
you've ever seen, and swum the distances between them."
"Sea weedis are different from swamp islands," Tsia re-turned tersely. "You have to have a feel for
them, or you could end up dragged down by the jellies and drowned in the tangle and chop."
"So what? We've got nose-breathers."
"And an enbee is made for gaseous atmospheres, not for un-derwater jobs."
"They work fine in emergencies."
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"For maybe ten minutes before their filters clog. And not in deeper waters. If you fall in& "
"Take no offense, Feather, but, young as I am" he shot her a wry grin "I can probably swim ten times
better than you. I was freediving with the dolphins when I was six. I made the skyside team by the time I
was fourteen, and competed in the Annual Gravdives for eight years. I still make it out to the sec-tor
Fluidshutes every other year I dive the Dryshutes in the off-seasons. And," he added, "I win."
"I was caught out on Needle Rock once in a storm," she said slowly to Tucker. "Had to be taken off with
a gale net. I was in the water no more than four minutes, but it felt as if a wall was slamming me in the
back every second, and a dozen vat mixers were tearing at my arms and legs. There's the bloom, too.
Jellies are dangerous, Tucker. They can pull an enbee from your face as easily as they pull you from the
sur-face. My decision is forced by the Landing Pact. Make sure," she made herself say, "that your
decision is clear."
"Do you want help or not?" he asked quietly.
She did not hesitate. "Yes."
"Wren?" prompted Nitpicker. "Bowdie?"
Wren forestalled the other mere. "Need you to work on the gear," he said to Bowdie. "Besides" he
jerked a thumb at Nitpicker "she expects me to do it anyway. Tucker, you take the middle leg of the
platform, I'll take the far leg. Feather and I will try it first. If we miss the cat, the current will push it on
toward you." He pulled his flexor from his belt and, with a twist of his wrist and pressure from his fin-
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