s an account of a mentacom and shield that got away.
Probably stolen about twenty years ago, planetary. We're assigned to
track it down and pick it up."

He turned to speak to a technician, who was working at another bench.

"You can have this stuff now. Bring in some more pretty soon."

* * * * *

Flor, the beater, was bone weary. The shadows were lengthening, hiding
the details in the thickets, and all the hot day, he had been thrusting
his way through thicket after thicket, in obedience to the instructions
of the foresters. He had struck trees with his short club and had
grunted and squealed, to startle the _khada_ into flight. A few of the
ugly beasts had come out, charging into the open, to be run down and
speared by the nobles.

And Flor had tired of this hunt, as he had tired of many other hunts in
the past. Hunting the savage _khada_, he thought resentfully, might be
an amusing sport for the nobles. But to a serf, it was hard,
lung-bursting work at best. At worst, it meant agonizing death beneath
trampling hoofs and rending teeth.

To be sure, there would be meat at the hunting lodge tonight, in plenty,
and after the hunt dinner, he and the other serfs might take bits of the
flesh home to their families. But that would be after the chores in the
scullery were over. It would be many hours before Flor would be able to
stumble homeward.

He relaxed, to enjoy the short respite he had gained by evading the
forester. Sitting with his back to a small tree, he closed his eyes and
folded his thick arms over his head. Of course, he would soon be found,
and he would have to go back to the hunt. But this forester was a dull,
soft fellow. He could be made to believe Flor's excuse that he had
become lost for a time, and had been searching the woods for the other
beaters.

The underbrush rustled and Flor heard the sound of disturbed leaves and
heavy footfalls. A hunting charger was approaching, bearing one of the
hunters. Quickly, Flor rose to his feet, sidling farther back into the
thicket. Possibly, he might remain unseen. He peered out through the
leaves.

The mounted man was old and evidently tired from the long day's hunt. He
swayed a little in his saddle, then recovered and looked about him,
fumbling at his side for his horn. His mount raised its head and beat a
forefoot against the ground. The heavy foot made a deep, thumping noise
and leaves rustled and rose in a small cloud.