er _prove_ that it was more? Or even exactly
that?

Internal glandular actions would be too subtle for a team of explorers
to establish. They could only go on behavior. What more in the way of
behavior could he really hope to establish? The pattern was clear. The
pigs keeled over at any unfamiliar sight or sound, and recovered when
they thought the coast was clear. That was it. All there was! Why did he
stubbornly, stupidly insist there was more to it?

Actually, by his insistence, he was giving weight to the idea of the
others that he was strange and suspicious himself. Under the normal,
sane conditions of planetfall the phobias and preoccupations of a space
crew, nurtured in the close confines of a scout ship, wouldn't be taken
seriously by competent men. But hadn't his subsequent behavior given
weight to Ryan's unfounded accusations of irrational sabotage? Wouldn't
it seem that he was actually _daring_ the others to prove his guilt? If
he went on with unorthodox behavior--

That was when Ekstrohm saw the flying whale.

* * * * *

Tension gripped Ekstrohm tighter than he gripped the handlebars of his
scooter. He was only vaguely aware of the passing scenery. He knew he
should switch on the homing beacon and ride in on automatic, but it
seemed like too much of an effort to flick his finger. As the tension
rose, the capillaries of his eyes swelled, and things began to white out
for him. The rush of landscape became blurred streaks of light and dark,
now mostly faceless light.

The flying whale. He had seen it.

Moreover, he had heard it, smelt and felt it. It had released a jet of
air with a distinctive sound and odor. It had blown against his skin,
ruffled his hair. It had been real.

But the flying whale _couldn't_ have been real. Conditions on this
planetoid were impossible for it. He knew planets and their life
possibilities. A creature with a skeleton like that could have evolved
here, but the atmosphere would never have supported his flesh and hide.
Water bodies were of insufficient size. No, the whale was not native to
this world.

Then what, if anything, did this flying alien behemoth have to do with
the pseudo-death of the local pig creatures?

I'll never know, Ekstrohm told himself. Never. Ryan and Nogol will never
believe me, they will never believe in the flying whale. They're
explorers, simple men of action, unimaginative. Of course, I'm an
explorer too. But I'm d