The Winds of Altair by Ben Bova Page B

they waited for him to leave before they dared to descend and start to fight over the remains.
    With a final roar of triumph, Crown left the bloody carcass behind and resumed his trek across the rocky wasteland.

    It was late in the day when he came to another range of hills. They were steeper and rougher than any hills he had ever seen before. Their bases were solid rock, slashed with narrow ravines cut through them by ages of rain erosion. About halfway up their rugged slopes, grass and brush clung precariously to the rock. Farther up, near the top, there were trees. A thick, beautiful forest hid the top of the ridge line; the branches swayed rhythmically in the breeze and sang sweetly to Crown.
    Crown climbed catlike, more in leaps from rock to rock than step-by-step. As he neared the top of the ridge, his ears perked up. Something strange up there. A dull, booming sound, over and over again. He had never heard anything like it. His fur bristled, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. A low growl rumbled from the cavern of his chest.
    The slope was gentler up near the top of the ridge. The grass felt deliciously cool to his singed paws. But the strange sound was louder up here, drowning out the gentle voices of the wind and sighing trees. Sss-vroom . . . sss-vrrooommm! And now a strange new scent came to him, wafting in on the steady breeze, a scent Crown had never known before.
    Slinking through the grass and brush, belly almost touching the ground, ears flattened back and teeth showing, Crown crawled through the woody underbrush as silently as a gray shadow and suddenly found himself facing . . .
    Something in his brain broke into laughter. Crown's tensed muscles relaxed. He sat down on his haunches and stared out at the beach that stretched below the crest of the hills and watched the waves build up on the ocean, steepening and steepening until they crashed over on themselves with a long, foaming, mighty sss-vrrroooommm! of surf.
    Crown had never seen an ocean before. Neither had Jeff. He simply sat there next to a thick, gnarled tree trunk and watched the blue-gray water gather its strength and rush in toward the land, a white curl of foam flecking the crest of each wave. Vrrooomm! The waves broke with a thundering, shuddery roar and slid up onto the sandy beach as nothing more dangerous than froth, while the next wave was coming in.
    Finally Crown got up and trotted down the easy slope of the hill and out onto the beach. His paws left deep prints in the sand as he went straight out toward the water. He bent his massive head and lapped at the little slitherings of water that edged up and swirled around his six legs. It tasted much too salty to drink, but now he knew what the strange new scent was.
    The breeze was cool and tangy with the new odor, but there was no food on that wind. Up in the hills, among the trees, Crown knew, was where the food existed. But probably there were other wolfcats up there, too. That could wait. At least, for a while.
    The camp's on this beach, about four kilometers north.
    Crown headed north, loping easily along the sand. Every once in a while he would veer out to splash into the surf, romping playfully like a cub, pawing at the water and sending up huge sheets of spray.
    He's playing!
    It's the first time he's been at the beach.
    Madonna! We have serious work to do and he's playing!
    Don't be a sourpuss.
    Crown finally arrived at the camp. Long before he could see it, he smelled it. Rancid, oily smells. Strange new odors that made him wrinkle his muzzle with distaste.
    It looked even worse. Scattered across a long curving section of beach were hundreds of blocky metal machines. Some had treads and bulldozer scrapers on them, some were wheeled. Others were simply standing there, bulky square shapes that tilted oddly where the sand beneath their dense weight had shifted. Farther up the beach was a huge plastic dome, big enough to house dozens of people. Jagged holes had been smashed through