By the time the men reached their objective, a little trailside clearing just out of sight from the cave, the language expert was thoroughly winded. It was some satisfaction to him to note that the scout was sweating heavily too. Brettner unshouldered his equipment, took a sip of water from his canteen, and moved up the path a few meters to keep watch on the cave. The opening glowed less brightly than the luminescent rock around it. Stuart worked as rapidly as he could in the moonlight and ghostly shine of the hill. His footing was uncertain on the irregular coral. Twice he stopped and crouched, rifle ready, as his sensitive ears detected a change in the pattern of night sounds. A wild assortment of odors drifted with the faint breeze; once a friendly little creature smelling like fragrant Scotch offered him a pebble and giggled. In his anxious haste, the linguist dropped two bolts into the twisted crevices of the rock, and he began to feel he was having a nightmare. When the assembly was nearly completed, Nestor warned over the radio, "Better step on it, guys. We can see daylight coming from up here. You have about half an hour to get away." By the time the device was operating satisfactorily, there was enough light to see clearly. The two men on the ground picked up the tools and canteens hastily and hurried back along the trail. They had gone about halfway when a stone the size of a baseball landed with a vicious clank on the scout's headgear. He swore softly and sagged against a bush, fighting dizzily to stay on his feet. Stuart snatched up a smaller rock and hurled it at the attacking stone-hawk, which was banking into another dive in the dim morning light. The stone smashed one wing. The creature spun and flopped through the air, screaming and gobbling, until it crashed into a tree and fell dead. Brettner shook his head and grinned ruefully. "Good thing I got a wooden head.... Yeah, I'm okay." He examined the dent in his helmet, and spit contemptuously at the dead hawk. "That's some arm you've got, mister," he added respectfully. Stuart examined his arm, pleased. "Used to pitch on the varsity," he explained. "Did you hear the mouthings of that vicious bird? He was swearing at us, I'm sure!" He resumed the march, wondering absently whether all these Azuran creatures spoke basically the same language. From what little he had been able to observe, it seemed likely. * * * * * It was almost full daylight when they reached their scout ship. "Come on up," Nestor told them. "No sign of activity around the cave yet, but you better keep between it and the sun just in case somebody peeks." Brettner took off immediately.