“What’s wrong?”

The girl took a deep sip of the restorative drink before she spoke.

“You were right,” Varian said. “The heavyworlders are reverting to savagery. I had two of them out on a survey. Paskutti was flying the sled as we tracked a fang-face. It chased down one of the herbivores and gouged bites out of its flank. It made me sick, but Paskutti and Tardma exhibited a grotesque fascination at the sight. I insisted that we save the poor herbivore before it was killed. Paskutti promptly blasted the fang-face with the sled exhaust, showing his superiority like an alpha animal. He did drive it off but not before wounding it cruelly. Its hide was a mass of char.”

Lunzie swallowed her disgust. As surrogate mother-confessor and psychologist for the team, she knew that a confrontation with the heavyworlders was required to discover exactly what was going on in their minds, but she didn’t look forward to the experience. Right now she needed to refocus Varian on her mission, to take her mind off the horror.

“The predator just took the animal’s flesh,” she asked, “leaving a wound like Mabel’s? That’s interesting. A fang-face has a tremendous appetite. One little chunk of herbivore oughtn’t to satisfy it.”

“They certainly couldn’t sustain themselves just by eating grass. Even though they do eat tons of it in the truce-patch.”

Lunzie stroked the back of her neck thoughtfully. “That grass is more likely to provide a nutrient they’re missing. We’ll analyse anything you bring us.”