Reactions varied. The women murmured and moved closer to their men. Some smiled. One man thoughtfully eyed the mounting pyramid of supplies.
"You're getting a choice world, Jarl," Saxon said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Survey spent thirty years here, balancing the ecology, wiping out the bugs and carnivores. Eden." Saxon tasted the word like wine.
Jarl Madsen's face was stone. "Aren't they all named Eden?"
From the forest came a chittering bark, like anthropomorphic laughter. Saxon shivered, remembering the thing that chittered, the three-inch fangs and the talons. "Hardly," he lied. "That, incidentally, was a Narl. Herbivore, very harmless."
Madsen walked past him, towards the supplies.
Saxon moved among the colonists, shaking hands, congratulating, speaking of green fields and good crops and a virgin planet where every man could carve an empire. These last moments were the worst, when you said goodbye, knowing that thirty percent of them would be dead within the week. He saw Madsen opening a supply case. Damn him! Just three more minutes!
The last crew member dumped his load and hurried into the airlock. Saxon started casually after him, too late. Madsen stood there, his grin taut, nailed on.
"Primitive pre-fab shelters," he said thickly. "Axes and seeds! The city was a lie. We're on our own, is that it? Why—"
Saxon's palm flashed and Madsen fell writhing. There were shouts, hands clawing at him as he tore free, sprinting for the ship.
Always running, he thought bitterly. I'm getting old.