"It's okay, Harry," he said to the pilot. "They've swung back north again." "Right, Luke," the pilot replied. "Scout report just in says there's a real big outfit about eighty miles settling down around a lake. Shall we hit them?" "We the closest?" "Singer's forty miles the other side of them, but he's tied up chasing some mavericks." "Let's go then." Luke holstered his glasses and slid down into the cargo hold. The rest of the team were taking advantage of the lull in activity to catch up on their relaxation. They had been constantly on the go since the migrations had begun in earnest two months earlier. Luke kibitzed a card game for a few minutes, then announced: "Action coming up in about twenty minutes. Grab something to eat and run a check on your costumes." The copter dropped to treetop level five miles from the lake and came to ground four miles further on. The team piled out, stretched the tensions of the long ride out of their bodies, then started out through head-high dwarf trees that separated their landing spot from the lake. They wound through the trees and over a low, rolling series of hills. The cover stopped suddenly, two hundred yards from the beach. "Big family is right!" said Luke softly, gripping his axe. There were nearly fifty huts in various stages of construction along the beach. Twice that number of adult males were working on them, while the women were bringing in armloads of grass for thatching. The children were waist-deep in the lake with fishing spears. A still wriggling pile on the beach testified to their prowess. Luke glanced over the dozen members of his team, shaking his head. "I don't know," he said. "Those are pretty hefty odds." "What's to worry about, Luke?" asked one of the men. "You don't expect those characters to put up a fight, do you?" "God only knows. They just might take it in their heads to do that. From looks of things, either this outfit has been traveling far or else several villages have combined forces. If it's the last, then I'm plenty worried." "So what do we do? Go back and yell for reinforcements?" "Not yet. Not until we try these babies ourselves. Everybody got his courage screwed up?" There were soft murmurs of assent from each man. "Make torches." Two men faded away and returned a moment later with arms full of the same grass the villagers were using. Half the team set to work, twisting them into torches and tying them with short lengths of a twine-like vine they had brought along from the equatorial jungles. The torches were passed out, and Luke took a deep breath: "Let's go!" * * * * *