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’em on the stiffs?” Bass called.
    â€œStrip ’em,” Mitford yelled back. “They won’t need ’em. We might.”
    Remarkably everyone, Deskis as well, fell to and by the time Zainal had brought back the filled crate—without so much as puffing from the trek uphill—the count was complete and only the dead remained behind in the field.
    By the time the sun had reached its zenith, everyone living had been revived and informed of the current situation. There was one more flying attack, but Deski ears had heard the three creatures approaching long before they were seen and everyone was able to play dead. The creatures, still whistling their unbearable noise, caught nothing on that run.
    By tearing strips from spare blankets, crude carrying straps were contrived to make crates easier to transport, for Mitford intended to leave nothing behind that might later come in handy. He even ordered the dead stripped of footwear and coveralls. He got some resistance for that decision but in the end, the unpleasant task was done and garments stored.
    When the columns were ready to move off, Kris had acquired considerable respect for Mitford. She was equally glad she’d made the effort to spare Zainal for he had more than talk to use to placate dissenters. The added benefit to hisshow of strength was that few would have tried to take him on even if they hated his guts for being a Catteni, like Arnie. Some of the more recently revived were weak, so Mitford assigned each a buddy and announced that he intended to take skin off anyone who might happen to “lose” his or her buddy as they moved out.
    â€œHow many bought it?” Mitford asked Bass, who had kept a tally.
    â€œEighty-nine didn’t make it,” the lanky man said. “Mostly Deski and some older humans and two kids. That’d make about a ten percent loss if you figure a hundred bodies in each of the eight rows. Live head count’s five hundred eighty-two: haven’t sorted ’em out by race yet.”
    â€œForget race,” Mitford said with a snort. “We’re all in this together. Operation Fresh Start.”
    Bass snorted good-naturedly. “You military types with your operations this and that.”
    Mitford raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s good for morale.”
    â€œSo’s a fresh start. And being free again,” Bass added with a sideways glance at Zainal.
    Mitford walked to the top of the field and, fists on his hips, roared for attention.
    â€œListen up. We’re moving out. You lot,” and he pointed to a bunch of humans, “form up in a column, four abreast. We got nine water carriers: distribute yourselves along the line of march. You with buddies, sing out if you got trouble but
try
to keep up. Don’t be shy asking for help if you need it. Bass, you be rear guard. Take Cumber, Dowdall, Esker, Movi, Tesco, and you three.” He held up three fingers at the nearest group of Rugarians and gestured them over to Bass. “We’re all in this together, remember!”
    â€œYeah, sarge, Operation Fresh Start,” said Bass, evidently having thought the designation appropriate: “Okay, now move it out.”
    Mitford motioned for Zainal to join him and they trotted out to where people had begun to form up the column. Atthe front he swung in his arm the wide gesture that meant advance.
    â€œMOVE OUT OPERATION FRESH START!” His parade-ground voice reached all ears.

Chapter Three

    KRIS WAS BUDDIED WITH A FRAIL-LOOKING RED-HEADED girl with the delicate complexion that often accompanies red hair. Patti Sue had been one of the last to rouse. She did a lot of coughing but she didn’t feel feverish so Kris decided she must have had some kind of allergic reaction to the drug they’d been given in their soup. Patti Sue spent a lot of time apologizing for being a burden. Such self-effacement bothered the hell out of Kris, who was