panel flashed brilliant white, then went dark. The skiff leaped and flipped on its back; smoke filling the tiny compartment. There was a series of shocks, a final bone-shaking concussion, then stillness, broken by the ping of hot metal contracting.
Coughing, Retief disengaged himself from the shock-webbing, groped underfoot for the hatch, and wrenched it open. A wave of hot jungle air struck him. He lowered himself to a bed of shattered foliage, got to his feet . . . and dropped flat as a bullet whined past his ear.
He lay listening. Stealthy movements were audible from the left. He inched his way forward and made the shelter of a broad-boled dwarf tree. Somewhere a song lizard burbled. Whining insects circled, scented alien life, and buzzed off. There was another rustle of foliage from the underbrush five yards away. A bush quivered, then a low bough dipped. Retief edged back around the trunk and eased down behind a fallen log. A stocky man in a grimy leather shirt and shorts appeared, moving cautiously, a pistol in his hand.
As he passed, Retief rose, leaped the log, and tackled him. They went down together. The man gave one short yell, then struggled in silence. Retief flipped him onto his back, raised a fist—
“Hey!” the settler yelled. “You’re as human as I am!”
“Maybe I’ll look better after a shave,” said Retief. “What’s the idea of shooting at me?”
“Lemme up—my name’s Potter. Sorry ’bout that. I figured it was a Flap-jack boat; looks just like ’em. I took a shot when I saw something move; didn’t know it was a Terrestrial. Who are you? What you doin’ here? We’re pretty close to the edge of the oasis. That’s Flap-jack country over there.” He waved a hand toward the north, where the desert lay.
“I’m glad you’re a poor shot. Some of those missiles were too close for comfort.”
“Missiles, eh? Must be Flap-jack artillery. We got nothin’ like that.”
“I heard there was a full-fledged war brewing,” said Retief. “I didn’t expect—”
“Good!” Potter said. “We figured a few of you boys from Ivory would be joining up when you heard. You from Ivory?”
“Yes. I’m—”
“Hey, you must be Lemuel’s cousin. Good night! I pretty near made a bad mistake. Lemuel’s a tough man to explain anything to.”
“I’m—”
“Keep your head down. These damn Flap-jacks have got some wicked hand weapons. Come on . . .” He began crawling through the brush. Retief followed. They crossed two hundred yards of rough country before Potter got to his feet, took out