text: [Themes: sci-fi]
  
  "Lieutenant, it's possible we might have another option," Starman Quabiss says. "If you come out here, I can show you what looks like a clear trail leading down the mountain."
  
  Quabiss has been outside the dugout the entire time, as if standing guard or simply reluctant to come inside. Curious, the four of you head out of the blind to see what he has seen. "It's hard to tell in this crazy red moonlight," he says. "But I've been looking at it the entire time you all were inside talking, and I'm pretty sure that's a foot trail leading down in that direction."
  
  You shine your handlight at it briefly, and indeed Quabiss is right: a trail leads downward from the post and across the slope of the mountain. Whereas the slope is far too steep to descend straight down, the trail cuts sideways across the mountain at a reasonable slope.
  
  "Could just be a game trail," Dansmith says. "Nothing but wild critters using it--and Folvan has more than a few dangerous critters we'd prefer to avoid."
  
  "Plus, it could be dangerous descending a trail like this in the dark," Hun-Spruk adds.
  
  "But it will be morning soon, right?" Quabiss says. "We could hang out here a bit and start down at the first sign of light."
  
  Hun-Spruk pauses, consulting her WristComp map. "Well you know what? This trail does point in the direction of the main research post," she says.
  
  "So basically, our choices are to fly to the next research post, or walk there?" you ask.
  
  > If you wait for dawn and follow the trail down the mountain, turn to page 135.
  "You said that Dr. Munro hikes between the research posts, right?" you ask Lieutenant Hun-Spruk.
  
  "Yes," she says.
  
  "Then it stands to reason this trail is one of her travel routes," you say. "We might as well try and retrace her steps to see what that tells us, if anything."
  
  "To walk a mile in her shoes, as they say," Dansmith muses.
  
  "All right," Hun-Spruk says. "It's mid-summer here, so daylight should come early, maybe in about forty minutes."
  
  "I certainly wouldn't recommend venturing down a mountain trail in the dark," Dr. Wildon says, apparently nervous that that's exactly what you're thinking.
  
  "Don't worry, neither would I," you say. "So let's take Quabiss's advice and rest here for a bit."
  
  Chief Dansmith nods without saying a word, and everybody finds a spot to settle down for a short rest, either inside the abandoned post or on the small patch of flat ground in front of it. Dansmith opens his pack to pull out a NutriRation and some water, and you see the others following suit.
  
  You seize upon this moment of down time to contact your shuttle pilot and inform him that you will be proceeding down the mountain on foot at dawn. "In that case," Hinju says, "you have no need for me parked up on this mountain. I'm going to take off and keep myself out of visual range. I'll be right above you in the upper atmosphere. Just give me a call when you're ready for a ride home."
  
  "Will do," you say. And then you too take the opportunity to relax in the few remaining minutes of darkness.
  
  > Page 80
  It may be pre-dawn here, but if you were back on the Orion it would still be mid-afternoon. Therefore no one is truly tired; it's just the darkness that inspires everyone to close their eyes, and maybe take a quick nap. The spot you have selected is just outside the entrance to the research post, where you have propped your pack against a rock so that you can use it as a backrest. The dark-red moon is setting at one end of the vast landscape before you, and at the other end you can already see the glow of the approaching day.
  
  Dansmith and Quabiss have settled down just around the corner, sitting next to each other in front of the blind. Neither seem particularly tired.
  
  "You're a country boy, aren't you?" Dansmith is saying as he gnaws away at his NutriRation.
  
  "Sir?" Quabiss says.
  
  "Don't 'sir' me. I enlisted in this here outfit, same as you." Dansmith chews for a moment, and then continues: "It's just that you spotted this trail in the middle of the night, is all. That's not the type of skill many city kids tend to pick up."
  
  "I guess not, Chief," Quabiss says.
  
  "Hey, we're off duty for a few minutes. Call me Jod. So tell me, you are a country kid, right?"
  
  "Yes. From the Oltio Hills on Atam."
  
  "The Oltio Hills, huh. On Atam." Dansmith mouths the words as if they re unfamiliar to him. "Is that good hunting country?"
  
  "My Dad and Grandad are probably hunting prigbacks right now," Quabiss says. When matched against Dansmith's coarse voice, the starman sounds especially young, you've noticed. "They're like a type of antelope, I guess. Except that at night they sleep underwater."
  
  Dansmith chuckles. "Amphibious antelope! Ain't that the thing. And I suppose if you weren't here hunting for lost xenoanthropologists, you'd be back in the Oltio Hills prigback hunting with your dad and grandad."
  
  "I used to every summer. And I suppose someday I will again."
  
  "Well I'm a deer hunter myself," Dansmith says. "Although I guess you ain't never heard of a deer."
  
  There is a pause, as if Quabiss is seriously trying to think if he's ever heard of a "deer." You most certainly have not.
  
  "A deer is probably something like your prigback," Dansmith continues. "Except they have fur and sleep in the woods, not in some pond."
  
  There is a long moment where neither man says anything--perhaps lost in their memories of times spent outdoors with people they haven't seen in too long a time. You are jolted out of your own sleepy reverie when Dansmith starts back in again.
  
  "There's your Homo sapiens for you," he says. "He might never have been to Earth. He might never have seen a deer, except maybe in some fairy tale. He might live on a rock orbiting one of them dim stars in the night sky, one that had a name once that no one remembers anymore. He lives his entire life fifty lightyears from the tundra and the steppes where his forebears once hunted mammoths and giant sloths. And yet despite all that time and distance, his fundamental nature never changes. Instead of still-hunting a whitetail deer, he learns the habits of the pond-sleeping prigback so that he may hunt it and put its meat on his table.
  
  "But do you know what really gets me?"
  
  Quabiss is really hooked now. "What?" he says.
  
  "This damned 'Grass Planet,'" Dansmith says. "When I first heard about this place, I pictured nothing but barley, wheat, and rye as far as the eye could see. Can you imagine all the beer you could brew on a planet that grew nothing but grains? And the whiskey? Wait--do you people even drink that stuff in the Oltio Hills on Atam?"
  
  You can almost hear Quabiss, confused by this sudden swerve in Dansmith's line of thought, shaking his head. "I'm not of legal age," he says.
  
  "Legal age," Dansmith says in mock disapproval. "Why, where I come from we did away with that nonsense-- Not that it matters in a place like this, anyway. There's not a damned thing that grows here that's fit for a human."
  
  And so the conversation goes until the Folvan sun begins to peek above the horizon.
  
  > Page 71
  In the dawn light, you get a better look at the trail that Quabiss found. It is a crude path that leads in a relatively straight line down the face of the mountain, descending at a gentle angle across the otherwise steep escarpment. Only a portion is visible, though, before it disappears around a prominent ridge.
  
  Beyond the foot of the mountain stretches the vast prairie, bounded only by the shores of the distant lake. The morning sky is clear, but you see clouds on the far horizon.
  
  The colorful chat between Dansmith and Quabiss is over, and everyone is quiet as you carefully lead the way down the trail; the steep slope to your left inspires you to watch closely for loose rocks and other trip hazards. The path is only wide enough to walk single-file. There are no trees on Folvan, and little vegetation of any kind on these mountains, and therefore there would be nothing to grab onto should you start to tumble.
  
  Nor is there anything to give you cover from being spotted. The lake glistens under the light of the rising sun, and you can now see the native village on the nearest part of the shoreline, just a few kilometers away. You can detect no movement, though, except for what appears to be a distant pack of large, long-legged animals out on the prairie.
  
  Lieutenant Hun-Spruk sees them too. "I think those are garda beasts," she says. "Best not to get too close to them."
  
  "So what exactly is our plan?" Dansmith asks as you navigate the narrow pathway. "I mean, anybody watching this mountain right now is getting a good look at us, and once we reach the bottom I assume there will be no shelter from any of those... what did you call them? Garda beasts?"
  
  "Hun-Spruk," you say, "what does your map suggest about the destination of this trail?"
  
  "Obviously the trail doesn't show on the topo map," Hun-Spruk says. "But I've been tracking our progress, and we're still heading in the direction of Dr. Munro's main research post."
  
  "How far of a walk will it be?" Dr. Wildon asks.
  
  "About five kilometers from the bottom of the mountain," she says. "If the trail doesn't continue through the prairie grass, it looks like there is a seasonal stream bed that we can use as a guide."
  
  "And how are we going to protect ourselves from the local wildlife?" Dansmith asks.
  
  "We'll use Dr. Munro's method," the lieutenant says. Everyone waits for a further explanation of what that method is, but it never comes.
  
  > Page 136
  It takes the better part of an hour to follow the trail all the way to the foot of the mountains, where the bare rocks blend into the dense grassland vegetation. There are no foothills. Instead, the rocky escarpment abruptly ends at the valley floor, with pockets of tough grass extending a short distance up the slope, and a few wayward boulders laying out on the flatland.
  
  Since you left the research post, the distant clouds have been advancing much closer. The dusty trail does seem to extend out into the prairie, but the grass is so tall that it is impossible to see how far it goes.
  
  Hun-Spruk comes to an abrupt halt in the shadow of a boulder and starts scanning the vegetation. She seems to be looking for something in particular, but to you it all looks like grass--tall, thick, and unusually sharp-edged grass.
  
  You are startled by the sound of something rustling through the grass behind you. Immediately you spin to confront whatever is making the strange call; Dansmith and Quabiss have their plasguns drawn. But whatever it was, the rustling is moving away from you, not toward you.
  
  Dansmith slowly holsters his plasgun. "That took a few minutes off my life," he says, still watching the motion of the rustling grass until it fades from view.
  
  While your heart rate is still recovering from the sudden scare, Hun-Spruk seems unconcerned. "Here, crush these," she says, holding a collection of green pods in her hands.
  
  "What are they?" you ask.
  
  "These things are full of cio oil," she says. "Dr. Munro stockpiles this stuff. If you rub the oil over your exposed skin, it masks your scent from the garda beasts. Just don't apply any of it near your eyes or mouth; like most everything on Folvan, this stuff is not very edible for Earth-based lifeforms."
  
  Dansmith looks at her doubtfully, but Hun-Spruk punctures one of the palm-sized pods herself and a yellow goo oozes out. You watch as she rubs it like a lotion with both hands over her face and forearms, and then you do the same thing. It smells like wet hay.
  
  Dansmith holds his handful of cio oil up to his nose, wrinkles his face at the pungent odor, and then applies it sparingly over his exposed skin. "Don't be shy," Hun-Spruk chides him.
  
  > Page 49
  "Now walk spread apart," Hun-Spruk says. "Far enough that you can only see one person ahead of you."
  
  "Now hold on," Dansmith says. "Won't that increase the chances of the guy in back getting picked off?"
  
  "It eliminates the possibility that we'd all get surrounded at once," Hun-Spruk says. "This is how Dr. Munro makes her prairie crossings."
  
  "But we've already established there are inconsistencies in her reports," Dr. Wildon cautions.
  
  Hun-Spruk seems to be getting impatient with all of this doubtfulness. "You're all thinking like you're still back on Earth," she says. "There, you have safety in numbers. When the predators attack, they pick off the stragglers. But that's not the way it works on Folvan. Here, the predators try and corral their prey all in one spot. If we're strung out along the trail, with lots of space between us, we all stand a better chance."
  
  "I think I see the logic in that," you say. "Basically, we need to remember we're not home, and the rules are a little different here."
  
  "Just so you know," Dansmith says, "suppressing 100,000 years of human instinct may be easier said than done."
  
  Lieutenant Hun-Spruk shakes her head, realizing she's being baited. Dansmith smiles. "But of course a key aspect of being human is the ability to reason. Therefore I have applied the cio oil as you have suggested, and I will remind myself to keep far enough back that Dr. Wildon will be the only person I see ahead of me. Those garda beasts won't stand a chance."
  
  "Shall we continue?" you say.
  
  Hun-Spruk assumes the lead as your expeditionary party proceeds out into the prairie. After such a long trek pounding your way down the mountain trail, it is discouraging to be walking on the level again, struggling against the 2.3-G gravity as the air grows humid. There is no sunshine now, and dark clouds have taken over the sky.
  
  "I think rain is coming," Starman Quabiss says. "Back home my Grandma would say these clouds mean trouble."
  
  "If all goes well we should be at the research post in just an hour," Hun-Spruk says, loudly enough to be heard. Because of the prescribed distance between the members of your group, it is sometimes hard to hear what another person is saying. It also doesn't help that the lieutenant, who is twelve centimeters shorter than you, is virtually lost in the tall grass.
  
  For that matter, wading through the tall, stiff grass is not easy for anyone, with or without a faint track to follow. This isn't the soft, lacey plant imported from Old Earth and habitually planted around every home on every world ever settled by humans. This stuff is coarse and abrasive, making your hike seem like a walk through a kitchen drawer filled with knives wrapped in sandpaper. Fortunately your field uniform covers most of your skin, but after just a few minutes your hands are already starting to turn red from all the contact with the vegetation.
  
  Therefore it almost seems like a godsend when you reach the open expanse of a dry streambed. It seems to cut straight through the grassland, from the foot of the mountains out toward the distant lake, like a road unevenly paved with rough stone. The trail continues on the far bank, but didn't Hun-Spruk say earlier that this stream also leads to the research post?
  
  "Hey, Ceta, hold up for a second," you call out. When Lieutenant Hun-Spruk reappears on the far bank, you ask, "Would it be better if we followed this stream?"
  
  "Maybe," she says. "It meanders a little bit according to my map, but I do know that it comes within half a kilometer of the research post. From what I can tell this trail is a little more direct, but of course we'll probably have to put up with all this thick grass the entire way."
  
  > If you choose to continue following the trail, turn to page 112.
  "Better the devil we know, I guess," you say. "Let's stick to the trail and get this over with."
  
  As you step across the flat stones in the streambed you have a brief view to your right of a massive cleft in the mountains, from which you presume this stream originates. The prairie grass crowds the banks right down to the bare bottom, and you must pull on some of the tall, stalky growth to hoist yourself up the steep bank.
  
  Hun-Spruk is already well ahead of you as you return to the trail; you can hear her pushing ahead, but you can no longer see her. You wait for Starman Quabiss to make his way across the streambed, but then you remember the admonishment to keep spread out, in keeping with this world's code of survival.
  
  But keeping so much space between you only makes you feel unsettled and exposed, as if you weren't hiking with four other people at all, but were completely by yourself. Dansmith is right; as a member of a species that evolved on Earth, your instinct is to seek companionship, not isolation. If you don't maintain control of your instincts, the five of you will naturally reduce the space between each other until all five humans are once again huddled together, making a tempting target for whatever might be lurking unseen in all this thick vegetation.
  
  The trail turns out to be little more than a narrow track now, more like the part in a man's haircut than an actual thoroughfare for regular travel. The vegetation rises higher and higher as you trek deeper into the open prairie; it reached your waist when you first stepped down off the mountain, and then it was up to your shoulders at the stream. Now just a few minutes later, it extends well over your head.
  
  It is more than a little unsettling to be so immersed in this vegetation, crawling across this strange world like an ant making its way through somebody's backyard. You can no longer see more than a few meters in any direction; above you, only a wedge of the cloudy sky is still visible, framed on all sides by the spiky tips of the plant life that surrounds you.
  
  This may be called the Grass Planet, but you can now see that the word "grass" is loosely applied here. Yes, there is no shortage long blade-shaped leaves, which a reasonable person could be forgiven for mistaking as grass; but the sharp edges make this Folvan variety more blade than leaf. And on top of that there are also other species, including odd-looking specimens that feature stalks as wide as your leg, adorned with spiraling leaves that look a little bit like fan blades; odd things with nothing more than three green prongs that point straight up, with a scaly surface resembling the skin of a snake; and, of course, cio pods at the base of just about everything.
  
  > Page 113
  You thought the pungent smell of the cio oil would make you stand out, but you can see now that it does indeed make you blend in with the natural odor of the vegetation. It even seems to numb you against the abrasive effect of the sharp leaves; the skin on your hands is becoming ever more red from the constant irritation, but you don't feel a bit of pain.
  
  You stop dead at the sound of the loud, dreadful wail coming from somewhere up the trail. You hear no footsteps ahead or behind you; everyone has stopped, and no one says a thing. You're sure, though, everyone wants to ask the same question: what was that noise?
  
  You find Lieutenant Hun-Spruk paused about ten meters ahead. She looks briefly in your direction as you approach, but without a word she moves forward and disappears into the tall grass--toward the source of the wails. You want to step forward to see what she sees, but then you remember her warning about keeping separated.
  
  > If you follow Hun-Spruk, turn to page 108.
  You hear someone approaching from behind; turning, you see that Quabiss and Wildon have already disregarded the warning to keep separated, as they are both approaching your position. You signal with your hand for them to remain where they are, and then you step forward to where you last saw Lieutenant Hun-Spruk disappear up the trail.
  
  Whatever the source of these horrific wails, it is directly ahead of you, as if sitting on the trail.
  
  A moment later you abruptly exit the tall prairie grass and enter an open area--a swath of trampled vegetation. An enormous beast lies bleeding on the ground, with Hun-Spruk beside it scanning the area with her WristComp. The animal is big--about half the size of your shuttle, maybe bigger--with dark gray fur and curved spikes rising from its sides like misplaced tusks. Its face is blunt, with massive orange incisors plainly visible even when the mouth is closed.
  
  "It's a mumpaq," the lieutenant says. "A grazing animal, generally not dangerous unless they stampede or charge directly at you."
  
  "What happened to it?" you ask.
  
  "That's what I'm trying to--oh no. We've got to get out of here!" she says, shoving you back toward the trail.
  
  "Wait, what's going on?"
  
  "I detected garda venom in its blood," she says. "It was hunted, and the garda beast that hunted it can't be far away!"
  
  As she says this, the remaining grass behind the dying mumpaq starts to rustle, and out from hiding comes an even bigger beast.
  
  > Page 17
  The garda beast looks mammalian, with grayish-green fur and black stripes, but it crouches on powerful legs that stick out from the side of its body, each as thick as a tree trunk. At first it reminds you of an alligator, until you see the disproportionately long hind legs, perfected by Folvan's evolutionary history for the purpose of jumping long distances.
  
  The cio oil might have masked your presence before, but now you have walked right into this nightmarish grasshopper's kill zone. Your only hope is to disappear back into the grass, so you do not resist when Hun-Spruk shoves you in that direction.
  
  But out of nowhere a second garda beast lands in front of you, having leaped from wherever it had been lurking. You are now pinned between them, the direct route back to your companions cut off by one of this world's fiercest predators.
  
  "Plasguns?" you suggest, and Hun-Spruk says, "Sure, but we need to be careful. They can spit their venom a good twenty meters, and as humans we'll have no immunity."
  
  You activate your comm and transmit an open message, speaking quietly in hopes that the garda beasts won't be alerted to the fact there are other potential targets nearby. "Everyone, get out of here quickly," you say. "Don't ask, just do it."
  
  Then you cut the signal and train your plasgun on the garda beast nearest you. Hun-Spruk aims at the other predator, as both beasts inch closer. You are both prepared to defend yourselves, but you are pretty sure there is no possible way this is going to end well.
  
  The garda beast closest to you hisses. Its saliva stings your eyes, and you fall to your knees in agony.