It clacked and clicked, seeming to make an effort to still most of its forelegs, save for the topmost pair. With these it motioned towards Crista. The plastic box around its neck fired up. “Excusses to make, thiss one. Thiss is civic community center, yess?”

Christa recomposed enough to nod slightly, but realizing this probably meant little to the Kreeb, added, “Yes, so far as we have gotten, it is.”

“Some temporary issues for the colony, to discuss, now.”

I took a closer look at its carapace. Extra markings decorated the shell above its clan sign. Also it was a little bigger than average. Good chance it was the same bug then. Never really studied one with the intent to individualize one from another before. There were some minor differences. Its mandibles were a little grayish, I realized.

The Kreeb continued. “S-some instabilities in the geology of the Mountains, we find. Safety concern iss. Land slidess possible. Will provide chart soon.”

Christa reached for a pen. “I'll post a notice.”

“For safety, better to explore later, perhaps is. We will advise.” The Kreeb turned and shuttled out of the tent.

Christa finished her note. “Well, that's new.”

I thought about it, and noted, “I think I just saw that one talking with Bill. Bothers me a little. Which tent belongs to Rouk, the Map guy?”

“The meteorologist? Oh, I know where Rouk's pitch is. let's see – ” She consulted a layout of the camp, and tapped at a spot on it. “About here. He's four rows back, sixth tent from the north row end. You look perturbed.”

“Rouk and I were going to do a little exploring tomorrow. Just, the timing of the Kreeb's warning is a little inconvenient. I should tell him what the bug said.”

“Good idea. Was there anything else?”

“Naw, but thanks for the help. Let's go, Reems.”

We picked our way back through the camp and found Rouk, who was squatting just outside his digs, rolling up a map. I told him about the Kreeb, and my observations.

“Curious. You may be on to something. That probe came from someone. Bill, eh? Still up for the hike?”

“More than ever.”

“Right. I've finished dividing up the camp for Henry; was about to drop the chart off. Considering the Kreeb announcement, maybe we should leave right away. Go get your kit together, and we'll start out after I drop this off.” He finished rolling up the chart and stood. “Meet you at your tent.”

A couple more Kreeb prowled about the edge of tent city. Each carried a thin pane of plastic, that they seemed intent on. I could make out some red dots moving across the panes. The men's room was close by, being also on the periphery, so I detoured a little, sauntering toward the latrine. As I approached, the bug sidled around, still consulting the thing. It waved at me. I waved back and continued on. It scuttled my way.

“Sentient. Wait. To speaking you briefly?”

I shrugged and waited for it. “Yup?”

“Query. Inoculations earlier did you have?”

“Full set. I'm good, thanks.”

It dithered and tapped its plastic panel.

“Well, I gotta pee. Thanks for the concern, though.”

Later, I thought about the thing it held while throwing together my gear. I had turned down the locator inoculation. Was that bug's panel some kind of tracking screen? Why would the Kreeb be suddenly concerned with patrolling the camp's edge?

Rouk strolled up just as I finished packing my rucksack. A canteen bounced at his belt, and a pouch-like affair hung from a shoulder strap, bulging with the end of a rolled map sticking out.

I waved. “Oughta get a back pack. That sack's gotta be a nuisance.”

Rouk shrugged. “Sure, next supply store I come across. You ready?”

“All set, Mr. Rouk.” Something nagged at me. “Did you take the meds the Kreeb doled out?”

“Call me Gary – and no, I was busy with the maps then. Why?”

“Just, maybe we'd be better making for the brush near here, than cutting across camp. I don't particularly want the Kreeb watching us leave, Gary. We can circle around from the river path. Reems and I went that way before.”

The weatherman adjusted his sack-strap and glanced at Reems, who quietly paced in front of the tent.

“Lead on then.”

Rouk easily threaded the tangled greenery almost as naturally as the cat did. Reems as usual, took the lead, once we reached the camp's verge. We followed the riverbank towards the foothills. The clear waters bubbled on as before. Light breezes pushed the occasional overhanging branch above its flow, dislodging a leaf or twig. These tumbled into it, to float away downstream. Eventually we left the creek behind, and turned up the steep mountain roots towards the site I had told Rouk, eh, Gary, of.

The slope was strewn with boulders, and barren, but there was no evidence of the landslides predicted by the Kreeb. Rouk knelt and unrolled the terrain map from his bag, taking bearings from the creek, still visible well below us. Reems loped over to the rock patch where he had tussled with the Geo-probe and sat on his hind legs.

Gary tapped on the map. “This place is one of the resource areas marked out. Copper, some Uranium.” He rose, re-rolling the map, and walked over toward the cat. He pulled a meter from his sack and passed it over the area around Reems. A thin weep-weeping wheedled from the meter. “A marker here, someplace.” He bent down, scuffling the rubble. “Ah.” he pulled up a sort of spike with a quarter-sized silvery head. “Probe marker. They carry three of these in an internal cartridge, a responder to mark important sites. We must be over the vein of ore it found.”

“Huh. Neat. Where'd you get the pinger?”

“Oh, this?” He waved the small yellow meter at me. "It's just an old NOAA receiver. I like it because it can be set to activate all kinds of marker frequencies. Helps to find weather metering stations I used to set up in out of the way areas. Old habit. Had it on me when I was 'invited' here. NOAA uses it to locate test buoys. Foresters and naturalists, to activate beacons on feeding stations they set for population studies, all that. Anyplace where you can't afford to keep a full transmitter under power because they aren't visited often enough. A lot of 'em are low tech stuff really, work like old-time crystal radios. Fed the right signal, the crystal turns on the transmitter for a minute or so.”

I tried to look interested. “To save power. So the Geo-probes use the same system. I get it.”

The weatherman's eyes crinkled up, and he smiled. “Standardization can be a wonderful thing, sometimes. Did you explore the area around here?”

“Nah. We left almost right after. Had enough fun for one afternoon.”

Gary pulled himself straight, and pointed to a ridge a bit higher up. “I'm going up there. Want to check the area a little more.”

At the ridge top, I can't say the view was much better. The river below looked more obscured by fog at this height. But down the other side, some evidence of digging could be seen. Boulders and dirt flung back from a spot on the down slope. Gary packed off towards it, with Reems and myself in tow.

“This was done by the probe?”

Gary shook his head. “No. Probes don't dig out areas like that. Someone else has been here.”

Whoever it was had cleared a hole in the slope side maybe four feet around. It went back into the slope generally in the direction of the probe's marker.

“Colonists?”

“With what? A Hand ax? Fingernails? There's a lot of granite here.” Peering in, it looked to end about ten feet farther on. Gary pointed out an off-color area in the rock face. “Ore vein. See the powdery yellow in it? Don't have a Geiger, but bet it's radioactive.” There was a lot of loose earth underfoot, and Gary squatted to look at it. “See these long thin marks?”

“Yeah?”

“They're foot marks like the Kreeb make, except that one.”

Looking close, I could see the mark of a Cuban shoe heel. The weatherman pulled me up. “We should go. I don't like this. The Kreeb said nothing about exploratory tunneling, and someone human was here too, who's also kept quiet about it.”

“The Kreeb did say the place was ours to develop.”

“The Kreeb are also keeping close tabs on the colonists, and warning us off from exploring, and didn't bother to mention this stuff.”

I thought back again about watching Bill, passing something like the probe to a Kreeb. There were several hundred of us in the camp, but planets are big, and over the decade bugs had been working the streets. It did seem funny there weren't more colonists. If there were, why were they not all in the same camp, or area, or even mentioned. Were there other sites?

We made it back up the ridge, and set out for the stream below. Once under the foliage near the water, a hum overtook the breezy sigh and burble of the creek, and a small flying platform whined by, towards the ridge line.

“Didn't know they had things like that here,” I noted.

Gary just watched it go in silence, looking troubled. Then, “We'll need to talk to Henry and Christa, when we get back, but don't say anything to anyone else for now, okay?”

“Uh, sure.”

With a determined look, my string-bean companion turned suddenly back the way we had come.

“Hey, camp's this way. Where are you going?”

“Gonna follow that craft for a little. You head on to camp. I want to see if it ends up at the dig.”

Reems, mostly quiet till now, yawned. “Boring is. I am to hunt going.”

I looked quickly one to the other. “Reems, wait. Mr.Rouk - Gary, I want to tag along.”

The weatherman hesitated. “I don't intend to announce myself there. Just get a sneak peek. Easier if it's just me. Besides, if something happens to me, at least there will be someone who knows where I was going.”

His concern was alarming. Was there really something to worry about? “Reems, follow Gary back there. Keep your distance though.”

The cat shook itself. “But, hungry ist. Should...”

“You can hunt along the way. Just keep him in sight. Scat back right away if there's a problem. You understand?”

Reems sat and looked away, but at least didn't hike off into the brush, which was promising. Gary started back, and the cat disappeared after him, or at least, in the same general direction.

***

Camp came into view an hour later. The Kreeb were still watching the camp perimeter. .

I stepped into the clearing and made for the town hall tent. Maybe Christa or Henry were still there. A Kreeb took notice, and scuttled up on two pairs of lower legs.

“Sentient. Wait. To speaking you briefly?”

It was the same line they hailed me with before my capture. Did the things boilerplate their greetings? Irritated, I waited for it to get closer. “The name's 'Tomas'. Not 'Sentient'. You have a name too, right?”

That seemed to bring the beetle up short. It stopped, anyway.

“Individuality noted. Tom-as. My individuality is -” Some clacking poured out of the box around its neck. Sounded like a comb being thumbed. I gave the sound a try anyway. Used to be pretty good at bird calls. The bug seemed to jitter a little. “You make, iss term for cast off shell.” He repeated the sound from before. I gave it another shot. More tittering. “Closer, this time. Will accept your...word for person this one.”

“Hey, I don't have a box to talk for me. Haven't heard you try my name on your own.” The Kreeb fiddled with its neck box, then gainfully worked it's six mandibles.

“Takk-ckas. Ta-Kass.”

It was my turn to snicker. “Okay, okay, I get it. You can call me 'Taks' should your box break down or something. I'll call you ... Clacks.” To keep the initiative, I asked, “Why are you guys watching the camp so close now?”

“Was told to. Some worry over tectonic aberrations...correct, tremors. Am to warn residents. Report strays.”

“Well, I was just at the creek. No worries.”

The bug tapped its panel. “Not on screen, are.”

“Sorry. So someone told you to keep an eye out? Your boss?”

“Mission Leader. Individuality iss -” he fumbled at the box again and made another comb/finger noise. I waved it off.

“Never mind. We've already established I'm no good at making your sounds. Anyway, the mission leader. That's the big guy with the extra marks above his clan crest, I take it?”

“Observant, you are. Is badge of office in sect, but is also mission leader, is biggest here.”

“Is that important?”

Biggest leadsss, always. Biggest obeys queen, others obey biggest. Is simple.

“What do you usually do?”

“Query again?”

“Your job, position, normal work.”

“Ship Maintenance, my caste. Discard removal, sanitation, alternate skiff pilot...”

“You're a janitor?”

“Important function, iss sanitation. Also, can fly skiffs.”

“Indeed. So your boss doesn’t tell you very much, most times, though. Seems unfair, you having volunteered for this great Kreeb crusade and all.”

Surprisingly, the Kreeb trembled a little. "Not sufficient tchak..." There was some static, evidently the translator had some difficulty finding a equivalent term. The box seemed to confer with Clacks, then continued, "Size, gravitas, insufficient to receive such policy data."

I was beginning to get a feel for some of these expressions, if I could call them that.

“But, agree.”

“Maybe you should find out more on your own, then. Clacks fidgeted with his upper appendages for a bit then, “Is discouraged in the society, but not forbidden. But though this one can ask...”

“No one has to answer. Got it. Still, a smart Bu...Kreeb like yourself ought to be able to find out something. We should talk more later. You're the first Kreeb I've ever really had words with.”

This one had a notched lower left mandible, a little lighter in color than the rest. I made an effort to memorize the bug's over all look. “I'll talk to you again when I see you around, okay?”

“Yess, speaking pleasant to you is. I think you are right, knowing more might advantage to me.”

“Never know till you try.” I made a gesture, then turned to go briskly toward the tents. It seemed to have forgotten to do...whatever it had been told to do with strays, and I didn't want to remind it.

A group of men milled around a campfire to the right of the latrines, beneath a stringer of makeshift flags that fluttered in the light breeze. An odor of cooking meat wafted from the fire, tempting me to wander a little closer. One stocky set of shoulders turned. It was George. He squinted and waved me over. Jeeze. My heart wasn't in it, but I'd been obviously heading his way, and saw no easy way out.

“Grillin' a little hot lunch for some of my friends. You can grab some, if you like. Tomas isn't it?”

I nodded, noticing a sack of what looked like freeze dried coffee near the fire, and a tin tub of steaming water balanced on the rocks piled around the blaze. “I'd like some of that coffee, if you've got a spare cup. Thanks.”

“Front of the tent, my friend. Help yourself. Say, You voted me down yesterday,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Maybe I can change your mind for the next vote?”

“Maybe. Just thought I'd like to see a form of government decided on first, wasn't voting against you. Ducks in a row sort of thing, George.”

“All right, I can give you that. I'm pretty sure of a council seat, and you’re not in four, my zone, but after that, there's gonna be a general vote to head the council.”

Looking down, I noted his footwear. Sports shoes, no heels. Not like the marks near the mine. “Promise to give it some thought. That whole sack of coffee yours?”

George waved at the group generally. “One of the boys brought it. I trapped the meat, a Kreeb tested it, says it's OK to eat. A little salty.”

We'd been walking toward a pile of stuff fronting his tent. I picked up a tin cup there, filled it with boil from the pot, threw in some of the crystallized coffee. “So, this is sort of a rally then. Who's the opposition Candidate?”

George's face darkened a bit. “Guy named Josef Segudson, been here longer than me. Not a player though. I got this one.” He clapped me on the back, and nodded further right, where a another distant group congregated, maybe a bit larger than George's, a more mixed group too, seemed to me. There was a notable lack of ladies in George's camp, and most of the men seemed built like miners or bouncers, a tough crowd. I finished my coffee and with a few more noncommittal words, left the scene behind.

I headed over to the community tent, to see if Christa was still there. Figured I'd better update her with what we had found out, even if Gary wasn't back yet. If he didn't show up, I'd be in trouble otherwise.

On arriving, Henry was present instead of Christa. Henry looked up at me. I summarized what had happened, concluding; “So Gary says the resources were being marked with NOAA type beacons, and it looks like some settler had been digging around at the one we discovered. Gary stayed a little longer to check out a flyer, to see if it was going to land near the dig.”

Henry frowned. “I don't like it. Means someone's been working a lot closer with the Kreeb than we've been led to believe, and worse, hasn't said anything. Maybe it's nothing, but I don't like people sneaking around that way. Puts a suspicious light on the Kreeb's warning about exploration, too. Don't see why they didn't mention they had smaller craft available, though I suppose that's not any of our business.”

I shrugged. “Don't see the point of all this secrecy.”

Henry set his elbows on the table, and steepled his fingers. “Not much on history, are you. Know what a company town is?”

“No.”

“At one time mining companies would set up a camp town near a coal site, and import workers to live in it and work the mine. Now, the mines were pretty far from anyplace else, those as lived there had to rent from the company, and buy every damn thing from the company concessions. In the end, the workers were no more than slaves. Almost everything earned, the company took back in their concessions. Also, there was no other work available but for the mines. The company didn't let outsiders just wander in and start competitive businesses.”

I considered this. “So, you think it's possible the Kreeb are setting up some sort of Coal-town here?”

Henry lifted his shoulders. “I didn't say that. But the opportunity is here, especially if they are working subversively with just a few people, and with Earth-side equipment. I'd be eager to hear from Gary who the hell it is running around in Kreeb fliers staking out sites, and where this equipment is coming from. You ought to confront Bill about that survey drone you saw him pass off to the Kreeb. I have a few harsh words to share with the guy, if I catch him off ship.”

“Gary didn't want me jumping the gun and saying anything yet. Maybe the flier was headed somewhere else. Maybe the Kreeb made a deal for the probes and stuff with someone on Earth, to help us out.”

“That don't get our secret Sam guy off th' hook, whoever it is.”

“Bill, maybe?”

Henry shook his head. “Too old, I think. Don't see him digging up ore samples. But I sure want to know where he got that probe. Too many things going on right now.”

I recalled the district elections “You running to represent your district?”

Henry nodded glumly. “Yes, and you are in my camp district, by the way. Christa's out campaigning for me right now. God, I hate this stuff, myself.”

“Well, you have my vote. When is it?”

“The balloting? Two local days from now. I Didn't see any reason to drag this out. Everybody pretty well knows everyone else in camp.”

I hesitated for a second, thinking. "One other thing though. Might want to pass the word about Kreeb tracking colonists. Maybe some might want to dig those tracker chips out from under there skin, at least while all this gets sorted out."

Henry started. "Thats a good point. I'll do that right away."

The tent door brushed open and Reems limped through it. A gash of burned hair scorched his back quarter; he limped badly. I jumped to my feet, shocked at the cats condition, and knelt to examine it's back.

“Gary ist gone. Flying boat, got. Burned me taking off.”

Henry looked abashed. “Are you all right? Are you sure about Gary? He didn't go aboard by his own will?”

The Rottengal squatted gingerly, licking one of his fore-paws. “Ist being wrestled to the ground some kind of boarding ceremony?”

Henry turned angry, looked at me helplessly. “So it's true. There's some kind of iron fist inside the velvet glove. Maybe we were brought here to form some sort of labor camp.”

I wasn't so sure. But, Gary's abduction hit me between the eyes. He was a good guy, someone I'd gotten to know. Somehow this didn't jibe with Kreeb behavior. "Wait. Reems, were these bugs that did this?"

"One big Bug, Three men."

“Not just the bugs, then. Hard to believe Kreeb would do that. Passing out out tracts and stuff seems more their style. Some do net up people to bring them here though."

Henry flattened his hand to the table. “You some sort of Kreeb expert? You just accept everything at face value? What are we going to do about Gary?”

“No. but there has to be some reason for this. I gabbed with a Kreeb recently, Says they don't tell each other everything, and seem to have some kind of caste system in place. Bothered the one I talked with, too.”

“So what now?”

“The camp will be gathering for the elections tomorrow, right?”

“As many as give a damn, yes.”

“Maybe the meeting would be a good time to ask a few questions. Like why one of their ships abducted Gary. Who the people involved were, and what they intend to do about getting him back. There was Kreeb involvement, so they gotta know something.”

Henry's eyes narrowed, forearms flexed tautly as he squeezed his hands on the table edge. “Maybe, Maybe not. You intend I make these accusations on the word of a cat and some speculation? To the campers? What if it sparks something? We're unarmed, and they own the ships. ”

I thought on this. It wasn't at all like just reporting something to the police. In this case, the "police" could be the problem. “So we need to know more, get some evidence first.”

Henry made a wry smile. “If they are not all in cahoots, maybe we can rustle up some inside help, or at least the backing of the camp. If, of course, you can get some facts together before the meeting.”

I turned to the cat, still preening on the tent floor. “Reems, you see anything else interesting?”

The Rottengal winced in thought. “Vell, I chase the flier a little. Ist a farm of some sort in the next valley. But lost the flier then, unt came back.” It yawned and stretched then went back to licking its singed fur.

Henry and I both blinked at this.

“A farm? Here? You sure, Reems?”

“Plants in straight rows. Seen such before, have.”

“What kind of plants. Local? Some of ours, or of the Kreeb?”

“Don't know. Different from around the camp. Long stalks. Almost as tall as you.”

I wasn't much of a farmer either, so that didn't help. Wished I had Crandall here. Someone who knew about crops and stuff. “We need to see this, maybe take a picture of it.” It occurred to me I knew nothing about Kreeb diet. “Anyone know what the Kreeb eat? Or just generally up on agriculture?”

Henry pulled at his jaw a moment. “There's Burt. Usta' Farm, knows a little botany. Dunno about the Kreeb, never thought about it much.”

“Guess no one in camp is farming anything on the side, right?”

“Not I've heard tell of. Besides, where would they get crop seed from? Or plows, or such like?”

“So we should talk to this Burt guy.”

***

We found him squatting in front of his tent vigorously scouring out a pan with sand. He wore a dusty, plaid shirt half tucked into a wide brown belt. The shirt generally matched his red hair. Freckles ran across his wide face and dripped down past a collar fuzzed with stray light chest hair. He stood when Henry approached, and grinned our way. "Hiya Henry!"

Henry nodded. "Burt, this here is Tomas, a new arrival."

Burt swung an arm up, enveloping my hand in a giant paw almost as calloused as a Kreeb's shell. "Any friend a' Henry is a friend of mine. Glad to know ya."

Henry went on to explain our visit. Turned out, s we talked, that Burt didn't accpt getting chipped either. "So you willing to go take a look?" .

"Ah-yeah, got me curious, is to say. A farm, eh? Been a while since I've seen any cropland,” he sighed. “Where is it?"

Since only the cat had seen it, I worried this might be a deal-breaker, but Burt took it stride.

"Always trust an animal's sense a' direction. A Rottengal cat. Huh. You commin' too, Henry?"

Henry looked distracted and fidgety. “I hate to say this, but I'm needed to drive the election campaign here. You two are on your own. Get back quick as you can.”

Henry made his goodbyes, turned and stalked off.

Burt raised an eyebrow at me. “So?”

I shouldered my field pack. “So now we follow the cat.”

***

We bypassed the mine site and trudged to the ridge top of the next valley. Though we were still quite a distance away, there was no mistaking the clean rows of plantings for anything natural. The plantings looked a little like pictures of young bamboo I'd seen, only bushier. There were no machines or buildings around to hint at the farm's origin. I squinted, trying to make out details.

“So, what do we have here, Burt?”

Burt stared down at the valley nodding to himself. “Well. There's something you don't see above the Mason/Dixon line much.”

“That being?”

“Saccharum officinarum. Ah, sugar cane. Lots and lots of it. Not exactly a survival crop. I'd go fer wheat or corn, or just veggies. That there, is a commercial crop, not a staple.”

“Sugar?”

“Yep. White, brown or granulated, once processed. Maybe some molasses down th' road, er heh, make Rum. You can eat th' sap right outta the stalks, ifn' ya want, but, hardly somethin' I'd think ta plant right off the git go. Stuff won't grow just anywhere, climate has to be just right. They got the field behind some perty tall embankments. Maybe for irrigation. Hard to say.”

“Man, wish I had a camera.”

Burt smiled, and brandished an all-in-one survival knife. Obvious he'd come with some personal equipment, not only the generic kit the Kreeb offered up.

“Son, just go cut up a few sections to take with us. Can't mistake what it is onct ya taste it. Ain't no local herbage, that's sure.”

Some vague movement at the far verge of the field caught my eye. "Burt, you got those field glasses of yours handy?" Turned out Burt was one of those semi-prepared refugees who'd either packed a little for the trip, or had simply gotten nabbed at the right time. His pack was a veritable boy scout's wet dream. I felt annoyed by this, found myself wishing for my shotgun again. All I'd had with me when caught was a sack full of vegetables and a flashlight.

His pack rustled behind me, then "Here y' go."

I focused on the movement and zoomed in. A pair of blindfolded Kreeb wrestled with a third bug. The unfortunate captive was netted up same way they had captured me. They pulled it out near the cultivated fields embankment, and started waling on it.

I sucked in air sharply. This was the first time I'd ever seen Kreeb get physical with anyone, handy as they were with nets. The victim shuddered and jerked. Its shell seemed to split, though this was just an impression at this distance. One of the captors fiddled with something, and the netting dissolved.

The shell split, part of it sticking up in the air like the hood of a Chevy. More jerking came from it. Then something green and shiny crawled out of the shell's wreckage. It moved slug-like across the ground while the two other Kreeb looked on, then the slug seemed to stretch out. The wet gloss dulled, the green darkened. They quickly put a bag over its head and lead it off out of sight. Not far away, another triplet of blinkered bugs emerged from the forested edge, and the floor show repeated. I passed the binoculars back to Burt. "What do you think of this?"

Burt squinted through them at the tableau. "Huh. looks Kinda like June bugs hatching out. Only Huge. One of 'em is getting up. Sure is a bit bigger than the other ones."

"What? Let me see." I wrestled the glasses away from Burt and zoomed in on the scene. Sure enough, the first green slug had turned gloss black, and towered a foot or so over its captors, who seemed to have lost interest, and all of them turned to wander back into the woods.

Another group emerged, dragging another netted bug. "This is how they grow? Why don't we see this going on around camp?"

I swung the binoculars across the field. Smaller bugs, these white, resolved. They looked somehow mutilated, antennae gone and also blindfolded, knocking down plants here and there. I hadn't noticed before, as they were obscured by the cane, and the rise of the embankments surrounding the small field. Meanwhile just outside the field, one of the crippled bugs handed a small piece of cane off to a normal black specimen. It brought the stalk up to its jaws and started masticating it. It shuddered, then fell out of sight. Refining my focus, I caught other Kreeb hauling it, now perhaps dead, into the wood. "They're either crazy about the stuff, or its killing them, maybe both."

Burt snickered. "Bugs and sugar? You kidding? ever hear of flies to honey?"

"Yeah, but Sugar cane is an earth plant. Can't be what they normally eat, can it? Never see any of...this, around camp."

"Ahyah, its a poser, alright. Don't see no people around, though, or any storage cribs or a processing plant."

"Storage? Cribs?"

"Well if you're gonna crop, you need a place to keep what you reap. Les' they hauls it elsewhere for that. Don't see no roads though, an' the flitters 'r too small to move much crop. Though it's a perty small planting."

"Let's get a sample." I started up, but Burt clamped down on my arm.

"Look."

Reems was loping up the hill, keeping low, like a hunting lion, dragging some of the cane. I'd almost forgot about the cat, being so intent on the field.

The big cat dropped them in front of me, like a house cat showing off a mouse it had caught. "Ze bugs vere eating this, I don't like it, but brought you some anyway."

I turned the sticky stalks over in my hand. How to approach the Kreeb. Maybe through my new bug buddy, Clacks. I wondered what he'd make of the cane. I thought on the reactions to it I witnessed in the field. Like a kind of addict/drug reaction, or alternately, some ritual of passage. Bigger bugs coming out of the shells of smaller ones, like a snake shedding its skin. I hadn't known enough to bridge anything like this with Clacks, but he'd honestly seemed unaware of anything going on outside of camp, and hadn't seemed evasive. I'd be interested to have his reaction to the cane.

"Come on. I gotta see a man about a dog."

"Vas?"

"Sorry Reems. I mean, talk to a Kreeb I know about this cane. It's just an expression."

“Humans unt dere dogs. Vas ist this connection?"

"Just an expression. Could you get me some more of this cane? Might come in handy."

***

Clacks wasn't patrolling the camp periphery anymore. My backpack was now stuffed with sugar cane, and I didn't want all of it on me when I approached the bug anyway, so we trudged back to my tent and scooted most of it inside.

The political contestants seemed to have set up next to each other in front of the bug dome to harangue voters. Burt took the scene in, and turned a side glance on me.

"If you don't mind, I'm gonna see if I can find Christa. Henry will be up front of that mob somewhere, by the looks of it. Bad time to be discussing any of this with him."

"I agree."

The crowd made it difficult to pick individuals out, but I thought I saw Lisa, and waved for her attention. She glanced back at my frantic waving, and hesitantly returned a nod, a puzzled look on her face. I continued my efforts, and curiosity deepening, Lisa finally turned away from the crowd to come my way.

“So what's up, champ? What'd ya want?”

I shuffled a little, realizing that my need to share what I'd found out had overturned my normal level of cool. “Just, well, some stuff I saw. Is Henry up front of that crowd? It's stuff he wants to know about.”

“Yah? Sure, he's up front with the other candidates. This is for the zone elections, and Henry's the only one running in his –- your zone, but he showed up anyway. Is that it? You can always just muscle up to the front and get his attention, you know. It's just a handshake party for him. The shouting is all form zone three and four guys, where there's more than one candidate. You know, George VS Josef Segudson, and that. Don't know 'em all, it's a big camp.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks Lisa. I'll just wait, I guess.”

Lisa looked at me oddly. “You're not going to tell me what this is about, are you. And you want to; I can see it all over your face. Go on, get it off your chest!”

“Can't yet. Henry would get hopping mad.” Her face started to take on a familiar red tinge. “Look," I placated. "Bert knows, and has gone off to tell Christa. Maybe she'll share with you. I've got to wait on George, cause I promised.”

Lisa huffed, only partially mollified. “Well, maybe I'll talk to Christa, maybe I won't bother.”

“I hoped to report to Henry right away, forgot about all this though,” I said pointing at the election crowd. Lisa turned away and went back to listen to the debates. The caucus didn't look like it would be breaking up anytime soon. I headed off towards the perimeter, to check again for Clacks.

Found Clacks back on the job, near the latrines. I had no idea how to approach the bug, but showing him the cane seemed a safe enough start; could always say the cat dragged it in, which was no less than the truth.

The bug turned when approached. Seemed to recognize me, his forelegs rippling in a patterned manner I decided to take for a greeting. “Thiss one notices you, Tom -as. Vocorder working, so use real name. Better is, yess?”

“Got that. How's the project coming?”

“Iss to go well, am told. Off duty s-soon. Mosst denizens at the Civic electionss, told. You use latrine?”

That threw me a bit, but I caught his meaning.

“Actually no, I came to ask you about,” I rustled around in my pack, pulling out the palm sized sample of cane I'd snapped off, “this stuff. My cat brought it to me. Seen any around here?”

A shivering fit passed over the bug, and Clack's forelegs reached out for the cane in a flash.

“Where-where-where is! Location! Hard to stop...”

He seemed struggling not to cram the sugarcane into his maw, and losing that battle. With what appeared to be superhuman resolve, he shot his cane-holding appendage as far from him as joints would allow, out of sight. The bug's whole body leaned towards me but away from the cane, and an almost seamless stream chatter issued from his box.

“This causes grow to me. Status, and size, elevation to to greater purpose in my nest, moremoremore. Food/mates/sstatus/leadership. Causess grow. Want/ mustnot/ no beaterss for deshelling here, not prepared...musst eat eat eat, firsst. Fasst/fast it is – not need queen-honey, selection just growgrowgrow. Must eat eat eat much more first!”

Having watched the process from a distance on the farm, I caught some sense to his jabber, alarmed as I was by the response.

“If you eat it, you grow too big for your shell? You need someone to crack the old one open, then you get bigger?”

“YesYESSYes-s!”

“It's a status thing?”

“Bigger more power. Biggest leadss alwayss! Is nature of us! No queen here, to make bigs...I will be BIGGESST!”

“Should I go get someone to help?”

“NoNo NO! Forbidden such growing iss. Terran thing causes, not queen choosing way. Elderss kill before get big, or during deshelling, or cannot kill - by law, must accept status! Only way; only way!”

“It's really obvious you want to chew on this. No offense, but If I can help you out of, er, your old shell, you'd do it in a heartbeat, right?”

“Oh yes yes yess. After gorging first. When big-big, is too late, must to me all defer, recognize, obey!”

“So lets talk about what I get out of this. If I help you eh, get big, can you help me get back home?”

“Bigbig big, yes yes, Then I work for you.”

“Huh. So how much would you need to get big enough to run this sideshow?”

“More, more, three, four times more, to run sect. Where where where is?”

“I can get more. If some of your kind grew it, say farmed it, that would be bad?”

“Baad Bad Bad. Decides heads of colonies; you say Sects. Authority without being chosen, baad. A Maker is queen to the leader. But cannot. No workersss could resist, to grow it. Would need be crippled, just to be near it.”

“But you'd do it anyway?”

“Oh Yeess. Want. You musst pull it away. I cannot any longer touch ... Eat now, would die, need shell-club, gorging, and enough to grow big-big to be leader. Bigger than any other in camp, or be challenged.” The bug danced about in blind ecstasy. In camp, not very big. Lucky isss.”

I pulled the cane out of the extended claws and buried it in my pack. Some of the Kreeb in camp were over six foot, Which gave me thought as to just how big Clacks expected to get.

“I'll get enough to make you head Kreeb. Be here tomorrow night with your desheller. But then, you order us taken back home. Back to Earth. Deal?”

“Yes Yes! Start own colony/sect. Deal Deal. Will bring cracking club, you release, I have ship return all all all humans!”

I left the bug recovering from the shakes and headed back to camp. This put a spin on things I needed to digest. The plant was addictive on sight and touch to Kreeb.

Why? Maybe because it wasn't a native substance and they had no way to react to it unless it was right there in front of them. A guess, unimportant, though the gathering bugs at the farm did seem to have crippled antennae as well as being blindfolded, and white colored.Maybe they were smeared with some kind of coating. Then again This was just all from my inpression while squnting through binoculars. I'm not a detective.

Thing was, according to Clack, the Kreeb couldn't work with it close enough to plant and harvest it. Maybe an O.D. problem, whatever. Also such manipulation bypassed their natural order, which I take it, is generally a bad thing, far as they are concerned.

Second, there were people involved with the kidnapping of Gary near the cane field. Not just bugs.

Seemed to me, someone didn't want the bug juice thing discovered. I couldn't see this as just a cover-up of a test mine dig. Then again, there were the tracking implants, bug perimeter patrols, and warnings against wandering about.

But addiction, that was a no-brainer. Addicts do anything for a fix, and the bugs were, evidently super addicts, of a sort. Literally, who ever controlled the cane, controlled the bugs. All of the bugs. The stuff made head bugs. Someone was on top of this, and it likely reached back to Earth. The cane had to be brought here. Had to be cultivated.

Gary said the resource probe was of Earth manufacture too. The whole situation needed more brains than I had, to dope out, and there were only a pocketful of people here I'd trust to tell. Ships come, and ships could leave - without us on them. Then there was getting Gary back. Who knew what else was going on?

Some of the crowd noise from the campaign reached me. The onlookers were getting really rowdy. I could see a blaze flaring up. Like maybe a tent or two had caught fire.