As Growl said, Turlon noticed no immediate change in his routine.
Over the last few months, he had grown to know the other students
and to make friends with them, or at least to become passably
friendly. Except for himself, all the people at the retreat were
feline. So it was with a little surprise, he saw a new face at
practice one day, a canine who called himself Jack Buck.

Buck was a lighthearted soul, a demeanour at odds with the seriousness
evidenced by most of the students.  In fact, he soon found himself
skipping classes in order to tinker with and fly the light VTOL
plane that was used to ferry supplies to the dojo.  He was well liked
and contributed to the community, and so even though he was no longer
a student didn't seem to matter.

About this time, Red left the retreat.  Turlon didn't know if
she was gone on her own business or the sensei's.  With her,
though, his closest friend was gone.

*       *       *       *       *

Two weeks later, there was a commotion in the dojo
when Turlon arrived after his morning husbandry.  The word
poacher was on everybody's lips.  Sensei Growl arrived and with
him came other students so that the entire student body, and a
few of the support staff, including Buck, were present.

"As you have heard rumoured," began Growl without preamble, "there are
poachers.  Jack Buck found a dead and skinned kralda on the tundra
not far from here.  The location was well within my domain, and as such
this touches upon my honour.  I shall be addressing this matter
as quickly as I can, and I may call upon some of you to aid me in this.
If you feel you cannot do so, no onus shall fall upon you.  For all of you,
this matter is a voluntary one.  For me, it is not; I am bound by law
and honour to investigate and pursue."  He bowed and withdrew. In his
wake, senior students began to organize the class.

An hour or so later, Turlon was summoned to the Sensei's office.
"Turlon," bowed Growl.  "I would have your help in this matter of
the poachers.  Your special talents will be of particular use,
as will your previous training."

Turlon bowed and sharply responded, with an air of his military training
seeping through, "Sensei, I am honored to be selected to address this
concern.  I eagerly await further instruction as to how I may assist you."
Inside Turlon was happy to be getting a chance to get outside the dojo and
do something.  Training was good, he learned that in StarForce, but
application was oftentimes the best teacher.  The techniques he had been
learning had increased his intrinsic awareness tenfold, but there was that
thrill of accomplishing a mission that had consequences which surpassed all
the internal battles.  Whoever these poachers were, they had trampled upon
something that was sacred -- not just the kralda, but Sensei Growl's honor.
To Turlon, this was an insult to himself, as well.

"Normally, I would only send the most advanced students on such a mission,
and I confess to some trepidation about sending you.  However, the gravity
of the offense and the usefulness  of your unique talents combine
to make me think it is worth the risk." Growl rose and touched
a keypad concealed in a wall mosaic.  A tridisplay popped up,
with some areas highlighted.  "The kralda was found here, on this
plateau.  As you can see, there are many places where the poachers
could hide.  The have to be careful, though.  They'll need to get
to the hide off-planet, which means getting it to the starport, unless
they've got contacts with a smuggler who's going to try to slip onto the 
planet undetected.  The populace is always watching for poachers and
those who use poacher's tools, so they will be careful."

"Jack Buck will fly over this plateau and drop you and some of
the others from the plane.  You will use gravbelts to land.  You
will fan out and search and deal with the poachers if you find them.
They will be desperate men and will probably prefer death to
capture.  Catch them if you can, kill them if you must."

"As you wish Sensei," Turlon's right hand almost shot up into a StarForce
salute but he caught himself.  "I will use all resources at my disposal to
assure a successful outcome."  Turlon excused himself and withdrew to
gather his items, before he left Growl stopped him.

"I had meant to save this for some later date, but I would not send
you on this mission without it," said Growl turning to a sword
rack at the back of the office.  He picked up a Fith'Ik and
returned to face Turlon.  "This Fith'Ik has been constructed to suit
your unusual hand shape.  Do not dishonour it."

Turlon accepted the blade with reverence, then departed to prepare.

When Turlon had gathered his gear, he met the others at the landing
pad. There were six overall, not counting Jack Buck who would be
doing the flyby but not landing. Kral'Hiss'Growl would stay on the
plane and coordinate, ready to drop in if needed.

Jack Buck was ready for action, though, with a laser pistol strapped
to his thigh.  His usual jaunty manner was gone, but his high spirits
were still in evidence.  "It's going to be tight with eight of
us in here," he said, "so I hope you're all friends.  Meowra, you're
out first so sit nearest the door."  Buck packed the men aboard,
the rotated the thrusters.  The plane rose up, then Buck rotated
the thrusters back to flying position.  Within a few minutes, Buck
gave the sign and Meowra dropped out the door.

Turlon was third out, he let himself fall clear of the plane before
activating the jumpbelt. With the belt on, he fell slowly toward the 
plain below him.  To all sides, the mountains rose steeply into the
sky, the plane making for a notch between two of them.  From his
briefing, he knew that he had been dropped close to the killing ground;
somewhere on this plain was the dead kralda.

Buck liked to fly low, so Turlon had been dropped from about 1 km
up, so Turlon was on the ground in only a few seconds.

Turlon landed softly and immediately fell into a crouch and scurried from
the landing zone.  Old habits died hard, Sgt. Suropka-de would be proud
that he remembered the warning never to hang around after making landing or
you'd be staying there permanently if a sniper was worth his salt.  Turlon
oriented himself and tossed some grass in the air to gauge the wind.

Seeing the direction, Turlon set off into the wind.  At least whatever is
out there, they won't smell me coming the thought.  Off he went, into the
circular pattern to work his way around the sector assigned to him.  Turlon
scanned the skies for birds of prey, the ground for unnatural tracks, and
the horizon for any unusual activity.

He did a scan on the ground, drawing on his survival and scouting
experience to try to track the poachers.  He fairly quickly found the spot where
the kralda body lay.  The magnificent predator had been swiftly and
brutally skinned, the body left in a jumbled heap for the scavengers.
Already the fleshworms were working on the carcass, and his arrival sent
a pair of small jackal-like creatures scurrying away.


He found nothing else of interest for the rest of the hour, then, at
the assigned time, he pulled out his communit to check in.  The other
reports were similarly negative.

Turlon looked around him.  Where, he thought, would poachers flee after
making a kill.  Surely they wouldn't be content with only one hide, so they
must still be hunting.  The solitary habits of the kralda meant that
finding them would require luck or exceptional tracking and Turlon didn't
think these poachers had that kind of patience.  He looked around for the
highest peak within walking distance, "There," he whispered.  The view from
that area would provide a good perspective to survey the area for more
kralda and poachers.

The peak was about 2 km off to the northeast, only a few minutes
if he used the jumpbelt.  Climbing it was another question.  He could
always just overload the 'belt and fly up, though, if it got too hairy.

Turlon bounded off in the direction of the peak, if it proved to be as
difficult a climb as it initially looked then he doubted a gravsled was
able to find refuge there so it was going to become just a lookout point.
Scaling to the top would not be needed, so his jumpbelt wouldn't have to
undergo the extra strain since a good vantage point could easily be found
lower on the mountain.

Turlon remembered that the poachers sometimes used a gravsled fitted with
auxillary thrusters, which would allow them to scale the mountain with
ease.

As Turlon neared the mountain, he began to look for displaced rocks, bent
branches, singed leaves which could indicate a modified gravsled or other
signs of a group foreign to this area.

Luck was with Turlon.  He found a rockfall that looked recent. It could
have been natural, but it seemed suspicious.

Turlon followed the unnatural progression of the rockslide, expanding the
vacinity to look for any more signs.  He scanned the rockface looking for
what could be a recently made path as well as any hiding places.

Turlon paused and gripped his PK crystal.  He let his mind drift
inward, which paradoxically sent it floating outward.  He
let it roam around him looking for life.  Life he found in abundance;
it was all around him, in the air, beneath his feet, on the surface.

He focussed his thoughts, tuning out the lowest level of life
the vegetation which surrounded him. Then he began to narrow
his search further.  Success?  He felt the presence of sentients
within his range. Two, he thought.  They were that way, up and
across the mountain, or through it? Four or five hundred meters.

With a life reading and direction, Turlon released his mind to expand
throughout the area, where that which was distant became near as his vision
transcended that of normal human limits.  Images began to swim into view of
those he sensed many meters from his present location.

There was a cave.  The entrance was well-hidden, but to his inner eye
it was plain to see.  Two men were inside the cave and a vehicle of some
kind.  The entrance was perhaps 450 meters away and up, and then sloped
down to the cave itself.

"Bingo," he whispered as he shook the crystal and placed it back into his
backpack.  Turlon checked his blaster as a force of habit, returned it to
his holster and began to head off in the direction of the cave cautiously.
Communicator contact, he thought, may be risky.  These poachers didn't
remain free for long by being careless, if they were waiting for something
or someone they could be monitoring communicator frequencies.  This was a
solo operation, Turlon seeped back into his Commado training, integrated
with what he had learned of Purr'Meowr'Hiss'Ka.

The climbing wasn't too difficult as he felt he could be less stealthy the
further out.  The closer he got, however, the longer it would take to
approach with the necessary caution.  Two men seemed like a small force for
such profitable and dangerous poaching, there were probably others out on a
hunt now which meant company with an unknown ETA, he would have to be
cautious.

Turlon was able to reach a position with a view of the cave mouth
without too much difficulty.

With the cave mouth in view, Turlon found a place of adequate shelter from
which to unpack his armour.  Going through the ritual dressing for danger,
Turlon donned the armour he had become so accustomed to and stashed his
backpack in the rocks.  Carefully he approached the cave, so as to not
disturb any rocks.  There was no need to draw any attention before its
time, he drew his blaster.

This close, it was obvious that a large object had passed this way
recently.  The gravpods left no tracks, of course, but there were
fresh scrapes on some rocks, and a few other signs.  He appeared
to be undetected.

Slowly, Turlon inched his way up to the mouth of the cave looking for any
signs of surveillance devices.  He listened.

He didn't see any surveillance devices, but it would be easy enough
to set up a watchdog scanner down in the cave to cover the cave
entrance and without some more sophisticated scanning devices he
would never be able to detect it.

Oh what he'd give for a smoke grenade at a time like this, he thought.
Turlon wasn't too keen on treking off into an unscouted cave without
backup, so he was going to have to get them to come out somehow.  He looked
down and found a fist sized rock, which he tossed down the cave opening.

Silence.

Why is it always the hardway, thought Turlon with a grin.  With his Blaster
drawn he creeped in hugging the wall.

Suddenly, the chilly prickle he had come to identify as immenent danger
ran up his spine.

Turlon dropped to a crouch, looking for a position of cover in the cave
interior.

He did his best to press into the wall and stared into the darkness.
A moment later he saw a slight movement from down in the cave.  A
figure was moving up carefully toward the entrance.

The figure stopped and lifted something to its head, a small
something, indistinct in the darkness.  Not a weapon, though.

Immediately, Turlon thought night-vision and cursed himself for
short-selling the poachers.  Ice water flushed through his veins as he
called out "Who's there?"

The vague figure jerked sideways and raised what could only be
a rifle ...

"You've got the wrong man," Turlon said trying to sound nervous.  "I'm just
a hiker, I don't know nothing about kralda," he continued, slowly keeping
an eye on the shadowy figure.

Turlon felt a pair of soft impacts on his right leg.  There was
no muzzle flash, and only the barest chuff to indicate that the
weapon being fired was a needle gun.  Turlon realized that the
gun was loaded with hollow darts for use against soft targets
and that he was relatively immune in his armour.

A disgusted sigh escaped Turlon's lips as he lifted the blaster and fired
down the rock corridor from whence the darts came.


The whining crack of the blaster pistol ripped into the silence
of the cave.  Thr first flash showed Turlon where to aim the
second shot and the bolt grazed the feline's leg.  His third shot
wasn't as low as the second and took the man in the neck. His target
dropped like a rock.

Quickly, Turlon hustled up toward where the body lay.  The sound of blaster
fire certainly ruined any chance for surprise and whoever was left in the
cave knew that his compatriot was hopelessly outgunned.  Coaxing this
sandturtle out of its shell would prove more much harder.  Turlon needed to
move fast and make up some ground, plus he needed to save one for capture.

He checked the body in passing; the cat wasn't dead yet, but would be soon
without medical help.

He heard the whine of the hydrox turbine at almost the same moment he
saw the lights of the souped up gravsled roaring up the cavern at him.

Turlon dropped to a knee, steadying his blaster as he had thousands of
times before throughout StarForce drills and let loose with a volley of
shots toward the onrushing lights.  Rolling aside as they bore down upon
him.

On full auto, the blaster wailed like a banshee. Some of the shots
went wide, others simply melted chunks of metal off the sled without
doing anything but cosmetic damage, but at least one hit something
important.  The whine of the turbine cut off abruptly and the sled
careened into a wall. A figure rolled clear and landed on the ground.

Turlon holstered the Blaster and drew the Fith'Ik while approaching the
fallen poacher.  "Surrender and I will guarantee your life, failure to
cooperate will result in death," he said in almost as on autopilot as it
had been drilled into him the Commandos.  How many times had he said or
heard that standard phrase while on operations in backwater villages and
urban jungles?  Sometimes people even heeded the warning, most did not.

The man considered for a moment, even in the dimness Turlon could
see that, then stood, hands wide, "I think they will kill me anyway,
you know.  That is the usual penalty."

"That is out of my hands," he said coldly.  "But I'm sure it is less
painful."  Turlon gestured for the man to stand aside and face the wall.
The Fith'Ik returned to its scabbard, and Blaster leapt out to cover him
while Turlon patted him down and removed any weapons.

Turlon found a utility knife and a small minineedler holdout pistol,
which he removed.  Then he frogmarched him up and out of the cave.
Turlon kept the blaster on him while he raised the plane.

"Buck here, who is it and what's up?" asked the pilot.

"Vantilles, calling for pick-up.  The package has been retrieved, area
secure." rattled off Turlon giving his coordinates and informing the pilot
of needed medical treatment for the wounded Mek'Purr inside the cave.
Turlon placed a boot behind the knee of the poacher and pushed to force him
on his knees, barking for him to put his hands behind his head.  Now, all
he had to do was wait.

Buck found the nearest decent landing site and coordinated the pickup.
One of the other students beat Buck to the area and was able to spell
Turlon on guard duty.

Buck set the plane down VTOL on the plateau a klick or two away,
only a couple of minutes by jumpbelt for Kral'Hiss'Growl.

Turlon saw that the situation was under control and jogged back over to
pick up his pack and set off back into the cave.  Cautiously he approached
the Mek'Purr and checked for vital signs.

Fortunately for the victim, blaster wounds tend to be charred and
self-sealing, so he wasn't losing a lot of blood.  However,
Turlon still estimated that his odds were not good unless he got
medical attention soon.

Turlon did what he could to dress the wounds, before running out to the
mouth of the cave to see what help he could get in transporting him to the
ship.

Several more students had arrived and one, Fith'Gr'Fith, joined
Turlon in the cave. "If we can strap his neck down to something,
we can put one of our jumpbelts on him and float him out," he
offered.

Turlon looked about the cave for something that could be used to immobilze
his neck.  He came upon the wrecked gravsled and eyed the seat.

A quick wrench pulled loose a section of the flooring that had nearly
popped loose when the sled crashed.  The two quickly taped the neck
down to the support and Fith'Gr'Fith strapped his jumpbelt onto
the unconscious cat and switched it on.

Turlon synched the field of his jumpbelt to the other, then began to
lope gently up and out of the cave, then toward the plane.

By the time he arrived, the other prisoner had already been installed in
one chair and several other seats had been folded down to make
room for the wounded.  Sensei Growl was seated near the prisoner
and he helped to load the wounded man in.  "Do you with to fly back with
us?  There's room for a few more.  The others will return via jump belt."

"With permission Sensei," he bowed, "I would like some time to look around
and see if there are any others helping them."  Turlon could get back to
the dojo via jumpbelt after looking in the cave a bit more.  If the taken
hide wasn't there then that meant someone had already picked it up, and
anything he found couldn't hurt in cracking this ring wide open.

"Of course," said Growl.  Turlon left to return to the cave, passing
a few students on the way.  He took Fith'Gr'Fith's jumpbelt back to him.
Just as he reached the foot of the mountain, he heard the faint roar of the 
VTOL jets as the plane lifted off.

By the time he reached the cave, everyone had left except for
Fith'Gr'Fith. "Fang Whitefang," thought Turlon, realizing that
he had been immersed in Mek'Purr culture and language so long
that he hadn't even translated the name 'til now.

He told Whitefang his plan and the feline agreed it was a good one.
The pair descended to the wreckage of the gravsled.  A quick search
there turned up the pelt of the kralda.  It had been sprayed with
QuickCure and was already mostly clean of flesh.  The wreckage also
contained the remains of some camping gear, food supplies and so on,
as well as a needler rifle and a couple of boxes of drug dart ammo.

The flashlight was especially welcome to Turlon since he had neglected to
bring one.

Turlon checked the condition of the needler rifle, and dug through the
gear.  He doubted they had the time to grab anything important like maps,
comm frequencies, or anything else that was incriminating.  Whoever was
supposed to fly them out and take possesion of the kralda hide was still
out there.  Making contact was the hard part.

"It's a lot of food," commented Whitefang.  "This rifle looks in good
shape," he added picking up the one the wounded feline had been using.

"Must have been planning to stay alot longer," Turlon surmised.  "Guess
their pickup time and place can only be gotten from the poachers
themselves, I don't see any other leads," he said disappointed.  Turlon
decided to get a look at the gravsled, or what was left of it, and see if
it held any clues.

There was nothing else of much interest besides what they had already
found.

Turlon searched a little further back into the cave and found
a couple of sleeping bags and a few discarded food tins.  There
was nothing else of much use to be found.

"Doesn't look like there is much else here," commented Turlon to Whitefang.
He grabbed the hide and took the food, rifle and ammo.  "We can destroy
this back at the dojo," he said gathering the savagable items in
preparation for the trip back.

The pair exited the cave and found twilight outside, they began the
process of loping back to the dojo, and Turlon again found himself
pleased to have discovered the flashlight.

A few hours later they arrived at the dojo.  The steward rushed
out to them.  "Thank heavens you have arrived! Purr''Vantilles
you are wanted immediately in the communication room."

Turlon hurried to the comm room, and pushed open the door.
Inside, Growl was in conference via tridisplay with three
Mek'Purr.  "Ah, Vantilles.  This is Growl'Chak'Mreer, Baron of Chiss;
Ryear'Ba'Chikik, Count of Hassa; and Meowr'Gr'Fith, Sherrif of
HissP, acting for Earl Brak'Ni'Raer.  This last was a female
of strong features, with a sharp white stripe down her facial
fur on the left side.

"Purr''Vantilles, please tell us what happened concerning the capture
of the poachers," asked the Sensei.

"Shortly after I arrived," he began, "I found the slain kralda and looked
for a high point from which to see better.  Upon coming to the mountain I
saw a rockslide which could have been from a gravsled since I have heard
they are vehicles of choice among poachers."  Turlon felt comfortable
giving an accounting as he had done many times before, "I found a cave that
housed the poachers and was forced to defend myself resulting in the
wounding and capture of the two."

"The wounded poacher is still unconscious. The other has told all in
the hope of mercy.  I believe him to have told the truth," said Growl.

"Did you verify his story?" asked Meowr'Gr'Fith.

"Yes, he was questioned under sss'duro'kik, and his story while
drugged corresponds with that he volunteered.  I have already
forwarded that information to the Sherrif.  I feel mercy should
be shown to these two, recognizing their cooperation," finished
Growl.

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

"Agreed," said Ryear'Ba'Chikik.  "Was the pelt recovered?"

"Vantilles?"

Turlon answered that it was.

"It shall be destroyed as soon as a record has been made for evidence,"
said Growl.

The other officials indicated their agreement and signed off.

Turlon awaited further instructions from the Sensei before being excused.

"Thank you, Turlon," said Growl.  "I expect your unique skills were
of some use to you in this?"

"Yes Sensei, my gifts proved beneficial in subduing the targets," answered
Turlon in military fashion.

"Go now and rest, tomorrow all returns to normal, exept at noon,
when we shall burn the skin."

Turlon bowed and exited the communications room to return to his quarters.

As predicted, the next day, all had returned to normal, save that
at noon, all the inhabitants of the retreat, including Buck and
those few servants/support people who were not students, gathered
by a small firepit.  A tridisplay camera had been set up to
monitor the pit.  Growl approached the pit bearing the pelt.
He laid it reverently on the stacked bracken, then stepped back.
The youngest student approached with a torch and applied it to
the bracken, which immediately began to burn with a sweet, clean
smell.  That was soon overlaid with a sour smelll as the pelt took
fire.

All watched until the pelt had burned mostly to ash, then at
a signal from Growl, classes were resumed.

Over the next few days Turlon spent some of his free time around the metal
working shop at the dojo.  He wasn't skilled by any means, but through some
basic instruction he was able to fashion a pendant which encased the
mysterious crystal he had received many years ago from unknown sources.  It
wasn't going to draw top dollar at any bazaar or even the lowiest pawn
shop, but the craftsmanship was his own; besides, he had felt kind of naked
without the StarForce identitag dangling from his neck.

Turlon threw himself into the training program once again, studying the
kralda spear, and immersing himself in the Purr'Ka philosophy that was
so integral to Do-Fith'Ik. 

One day, upon arriving at the dojo to study, Fith'Gr'Fith paired him
off with a new arrival and told him to begin teaching the new student
the Twelve Forms. It was a turning point in Turlon's training, for
now he was advanced enough to help teach the newcomers.  He realized
a few days later, that he had been at the dojo for just over one
local year.

His own meditative studies of his Meowr'Hiss continued as well.  Each
day, he would peruse the training texts that Sensei Growl provided
and he could feel his mental powers growing.

It was not all work and no play at the dojo, though.  Students were
provided with free time to pursue other interests, and some, like
Red came and went fairly often.  

There were also the holidays. With its short year, the New Year celebration
came often enough to make it a useful time of reassesment.  No classes
were held, instead there were competitions and feasts.  Turlon
did poorly in the unarmed matches, but adequately well in the
Fith'Ik tournament.

Turlon spent some time camping in the mountains around the dojo,
often by himself but sometimes with Fith'Gr'Fith.  One a couple of
occassions he hitched a ride into town with Buck and one of those
times purchased a nice pair of electrobinoculars with an integral
laser rangefinder.