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two months ago almost immediately after we d left for the Hub, as a matter of
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fact the Tuskason Sleds reported to mainland authorities that something had
killed off their entire fraya pack.
Nile whistled soundlessly. That s bad news, Dan! I m sorry to hear it. You
think there s a connection?
I don t know. The authorities sent investigators who couldn t find anything
to show the pack hadn t died of natural causes. The sledmen claimed the frayas
were deliberately poisoned, but they had no significant evidence to offer. The
feeling here is they were fishing for federal indemnification. I ve asked
Machon to find out where the Tuskason fleet is cruising at present. He ll let
me know as soon as it s been located, and I ll fly out there.
He added, Then something occurred to me that might help explain the problem
on the ranches. There s a possibility that it s chiefly the spot-counts on the
beef that are way off at the moment. The computers figure that beef which is
feeding submerged or napping on the bottom will, on the average, surface every
ten minutes to breathe.
But say something s happened to poison them mildly, make them exceptionally
sluggish. If every animal in the herds is now surfacing only when it
absolutely has to breath, it might almost make up for the apparent drop in
their numbers.
That s an ingenious theory, Nile said. You ve suggested an underwater
check?
Yes. It will be a monstrous job, of course, particularly in an area the size
of Lipyear s, but some of the ranchers are going at it immediately. You didn t
. . .
She shook her head. So far there s been nothing in the water and blood
samples I ve sent in to the lab to suggest poisoning of any kind as a
causative agent in the disappearances. But, as a matter of fact, I have
noticed something which supports your idea.
What s that?
The old bull who showed up just now, Nile said. I don t know if you were
watching him, but he went down again almost immediately. And one reason I
wanted a blood sample from him is that he did not surface to breathe in
anything like ten minutes after I d started checking the pool. When you
arrived, he d been under water for better than half an hour.
However, he isn t acting sluggish down there. He s busy feeding his face. In
fact, I don t remember seeing a beef stuff away with quite that much steady
enthusiasm before.
Now why, Parrol said, puzzled, would that be?
Nile shrugged. I don t know yet. She picked up the king-sized syringe again.
Like to come down and help me get that sample? He doesn t want to let me get
behind him, and Spiff and Sweeting aren t much help in this case because he
simply ignores them.
The bull was stubborn and belligerent, not unusual qualities in the old herd
leaders. Parrol wasn t too concerned. He and
Nile Etland were natives of Nandy-Cline, born in shallows settlements a
thousand miles from the single continent, quite literally as much at home in
the water as on land. Nile, if one could believe her, had been helping herd
her settlement s sea beef by the time she was big enough to toddle. She
slipped away from the bull s ponderous lunges now with almost the easy grace
of her otters; then, while Parrol began to move about near the gigantic head,
fixing the beef s attention on himself, she glided out of sight behind it.
She emerged a minute or two later, held the blood-filled hypodermic up for
Parrol to see, and stroked up to the surface.
Parrol followed. They climbed back up on the Pan, leaving the sea beef to
return to its surly feeding, and pulled off their breathers.
I m going to pack up here now, Dan, and move on, Nile said. She d stored the
hypodermic away, was arranging her equipment inside the car. I ll drop this
stuff off at the lab for Freasie to work over, then run eighty miles south and
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duplicate the samplings in an area where the herds don t seem to be affected
yet. That might give us a few clues. Want to come along, or do you have other
immediate plans?
I . . . just a moment! The communicator on the rack of Parrol s borrowed
scooter was tinkling. He reached over, picked up the instrument, said, Parrol
here. Go ahead!
Machon speaking. It was the voice of the secretary of the Ranchers
Association. We ve contacted the Tuskason
Sleds, Dan, and they very much want to see you! They ve been waiting for you
to get back from Orado. Here s their present location . . .
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