“Shit!” Lasher exclaimed, dropping to a knee when Ender did in order to ease her gently into the ferns and leaf litter. Bronse was rushing up with a loud crush of underbrush as Lasher rolled her onto her side. She was deathly pale, and her hair was soaked in sweat. Lasher repeated his curse, realizing that she had lied to him, that he should have forced a stop and checked her more thoroughly.
“Lash!” Bronse commanded.
“Out cold, sir. From the pain. The fever is back too. And before you yell at me, she kept telling me she was fine.”
“Do you have another shot for the fever?”
“No. I’m going to narc her and break a chill pack. It should keep her fever down. Jeez, she’s a mess.” Lasher lifted the back of the shirt to show the soaked and bloody bandages.
“How far?” Bronse demanded, turning to Kith.
“Not far now. Four miles max.”
“We could take turns piggybacking her,” Ender suggested.
“Not Bronse. He cracked some ribs,” Lasher said, giving a smug sideways look to his commander.
“Me and you then. It’s only a few miles.”
“And you’re already exhausted from the last twenty-four,” Lasher dismissed him. “Maybe we ought to camp here.”
“Not a good idea,” Kith warned. “The Fromegs are in rut. See the marks on the trees? That’s from rubbing their horn against the bark to mark territory. Fromegs are mighty territorial and awful big.”
“Then we fashion a litter. Jus, Lash, Ender—strip your outer shirts. Kid, find me two man-sized limbs fallen from trees. Strong, no dry rot. Justice, gather up some of this bracken.”
With quick efficiency, Bronse had fashioned, and cushioned, a litter for Ravenna. They carefully laid her onto it after Lasher stuck the narc patch on her. Bronse switched off with Ender, and Kith replaced Lasher. They were back on their way in no time.
Bronse was leading the litter right behind Lasher, who was on point. They hadn’t gone but half a mile when a crash in the brush brought everyone’s attention swinging left. Out of the dense, dark vegetation sprang a lightning-fast body. A giant wall of fur, it crashed through the ranks of the humanoids and struck a random target.
Bronse was plucked out of line so fast that the litter didn’t even drop on its end before he and the beast hit the forest floor ten feet away. They rolled. Or the beast rolled with Bronse caught between its four massive paws. The pounce ended with Bronse slamming hard onto his back and the snarling forest creature pinning him by his hips with its hind legs and paws, and his shoulders by the front paws. The animal was some sort of cat; Lasher had never seen anything so enormous in his life. The paws alone were twice the size of those on a Turba tiger.
“What the fuck is that?” Ender was screaming as they all drew laser weapons on it.
“It’s a Hutha lion!” yelled Kith.
Lasher didn’t care what it was. He was already firing on it.
The first stun didn’t even seem to phase it. Lasher heard Bronse shout out as he flipped over to a kill setting. The laser whined loud and sharp through the air and struck hard enough to send the cat rolling to the left. It sprang up instantly, though, wounded and seriously pissed off. It roared, an ear-shattering sound that sent chills down their spines. The next shot came in a trio as Justice and Ender fired with Lasher. The smell of roasting flesh surrounded them as they aborted the cat’s second pounce on Bronse. The animal hit the dirt mid-stride, mid-roar, kicking up leaf debris and bracken as it slid to a halt with its muzzle in the soil. It released a horrible shudder, its breath rattling loudly out of its enormous body.
Jus and Ender both rushed up to the beast, their weapons still fully trained on it. Lasher went in the other direction, heading for Bronse now that the threat was neutralized. Lasher dreaded what he was going to see, and he was right to feel that way. Bronse lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath, and Lasher could smell fresh blood. The animal’s claws had torn through his vest and the Skintex shirt over his shoulders, exposing large, deep furrows in his skin. Looking farther down, Lasher saw that Bronse’s pants across his thighs were in similar shape, only the wounds were deeper, having borne the brunt of the weight of the attacking animal.
“Great Being,” Lasher whispered, his voice failing him as he dropped his rifle and flung himself down to his commander’s side. “Bronse!” Bronse turned dark blue-violet eyes on Lasher, his expression stark and horrifying. Bronse was struggling for every breath and could not speak, but he reached out with strength to grab Lasher’s forearm. “Bronse, relax. I think one of the ribs you cracked earlier may have hit a lung.” Lasher tried to reassure his friend that he knew what was wrong, though fixing the problem was not going to be so easy. He whipped out the first-aid kit as the others finally arrived to kneel beside them.
“What can I do?” Justice demanded.
“Give me something to stop the bleeding,” Ender commanded Lasher as he pressed a hand to the free-flowing blood on Bronse’s right thigh.
“Justice, get up and maintain a guard,” Lasher barked. “For all we know, there’s more of these things. Cats can hunt in prides. Ender, forget the blood. He needs to breathe before we worry about that. Close ranks and bring the kid and his sister close over.”
“Got it.”
Lasher looked down into a desperate periwinkle gaze. Bronse’s skin was turning dusky and tinged with blue around his lips. “Easy does it, my friend. I’m going to take excellent care of you.” Lasher pulled out a breathing assist disc and ripped it out of its sterile packing. He reached to tear open Bronse’s shirt—the task made easy by the rending left by the beast—and exposed his chest. Then he placed the disc along the breastbone, beneath the heart and between both lungs. The device blinked to life almost instantly, and Lasher watched carefully for the readout and diagnostic.
Sure enough, with a petulant beep, the disc warned that Bronse had punctured his left lung, and the technology would now be inserting tubules into the healthy lung so it could enrich the oxygen intake enough on the functioning side in order to sustain the patient until advanced medical services were reached. Bronse did not feel the invasion because the tubes were smaller than needles, but the difference in his coloring and the urgency of his breathing was immediate. The commander was breathing far easier by the time Ravenna was set down beside him.
“Okay, now let’s stop the bleeding. The worst is the legs.”
Ender and Lasher worked quickly and with little need for instruction as they prepared the commander for stasis until they could reach help. Bronse hardly made a sound outside of the odd groan of pain. Lasher gave him blood fortifiers and, without even bothering to ask, a mediumdose narc patch. It didn’t put him out, but in a few minutes there was clearly no focus to his light eyes.
“All right, I’m open to suggestions,” Lasher bit out as he continued to tend their newest patient. He tore into a pressure bandage with his teeth, shucking off the packaging.
“We can’t remote the ship this deep in,” Jus said. “It’s too dense here. Nowhere to land.”
“I can get help.”
They looked at Kith as a trio, giving him a chill at the synchronized effect. “I’m light and fast and I know where I’m going. I can fetch Ophelia and one or two of the others to help us bring them back to the temple.”
Lasher didn’t know what a sixteen-year-old healer could possibly do that he couldn’t, but Kith had been itching to get his sister to Ophelia from the get-go, so it was more than worth thinking about. If it was good enough for Ravenna, it would have to be good enough for the commander.
“That doubles the travel,” Ender said. “There and back.”
“And halves the time,” Kith retorted. “Trust me, it’ll be easier to travel to the temple after Ophelia tends to them and the others come to help.”
“I don’t see any other choices. Can this little sister of yours run as fast as you do? Can she travel this kind of terrain?” Lasher asked.
“In her sleep. We w
ere born here, remember? You have to trust me. The longer we argue—”
“Right. Jus, go with him.”
“Hey …,” Kith protested.
“You’re no help dead. Justice is light and fast, too, but a crack shot besides.”
“Fine.” Clearly Kith was not fine with it, but he was anxious to get home now that it seemed imminently in his future. “Let’s go.”
They went crashing off at a run through the underbrush, making Lasher wince visibly. “Well, I think all of Ebbany can hear them coming.”
“No doubt. How’s he doing?” Ender asked, nodding to their leader.
“Breathing easier, stoned to the gills, bleeding like a stuck pig on that left thigh. Improvement on the right. The shoulder wounds are shallower, but I think one joint is dislocated, and there’s a good chance that the bruising you see there is a broken clavicle.”
Ender released a low whistle and shook his head.
“That thing had to weigh at least nine hundred pounds. More, I’m sure. No wonder it kicked the shit out of him.”
“Envision if we’d been five seconds slower on the draw.”
“No, thank you. Imagine it. After all of this—assassination by Hutha lion.”
Lasher laughed sardonically, the sound decompressing in its relief as he understood that the most immediate danger had passed. However, there were still others to consider. It was already midday, and Lasher didn’t want to be in the woods come nightfall. “What time is nightfall on this forsaken hunk of planet?”
“I think we have five to six hours tops.”
“Yeah? You don’t happen to remember Justice’s cross-country times from last season’s IM games, do you?”
Ender chuckled, reaching to help Lasher bind one of Bronse’s wounds.
Lasher heard footfalls long before he could see the source. He was checking Bronse’s dry skin by touch, knowing that he needed blood among other things, but he had traded saline supplements in order to make room for some of his last-minute medical changes. Since the benefits had far outweighed the detriment so far, he didn’t kick himself over it at all.
Not willing to take any chances and assume that the approach was friendly, Lasher and Ender drew weapons and took aim where the noise was coming from. Ender was closer to the sounds, so Lasher got the benefit of a forewarning when the arms master shot him a look across the distance. Curious, he watched the trees.
The small troop that came through the foliage was exactly that—small. Or, rather, young. There were four of them, including Kith. One was a tiny girl, her features elfin and as fragile as a pixie’s. Most outstanding was a cape of white and ash blond hair that nearly reached her knees, and this even though it was braided. Lasher could see it swinging behind her with her forward progress, and several thin, long braids with blue beads worked into them were swinging free from the rest of it. She clutched a bundle that was nearly as big as her entire torso; both arms were wrapped tightly around it. Lasher could make out little else about her. He had never seen anyone so petite—five feet tall at most and looking as though she could use some of Lasher’s mother’s Uhauh stew to put some meat on her. It wasn’t until she was a bit closer that he was able to see the angelic baby blue of her large eyes, their color announced by the backdrop of mocha-colored skin and the accents of the blue beads in her hair.
Lasher couldn’t explain it, but he had the strangest sensation of familiarity as he looked at her. He knew it was impossible, knew for certain that they had never met, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.
He realized then that Kith had chosen to fortify himself with males, in addition to the single girl child. Lasher’s lips twitched in amusement. Did Kith think that these young ones could fight against even their diminished ranks? Had he learned nothing in his short time with ETF officers? Although it wasn’t until then that Lasher realized that Justice was not with them, and he wondered what had happened to the pilot.
The taller of the two new males was also clearly the eldest—older even than Ravenna, Lasher realized upon closer inspection. He was a full-grown man, broad in the shoulder though tending toward the same lean athletic build that seemed to characterize their people. He was firm and healthy, evidently used to exercise and—Lasher guessed—hardship. There was something about the roughness of his features that announced this to the worlds. He was about the same height as Kith, but what truly stood out was the shocking contrast of his black and white hair. There was no rhyme or reason to it, it seemed. It was long in back and shorter in front, and the hanks of color were in random blocks of white and black, each distinct and not blending in with the other even where they met.
The other male was younger than Kith. He was a bit shorter than the other boys, but he was broader in his frame. He was also heavier, although Lasher couldn’t call him fat. He seemed densely built, solid, and perhaps even strong. Lasher couldn’t tell right off. His hair was an intriguing rust and gold color, the gleam of the loose curls brightly catching the sunlight. His light brown eyes appeared gold as well, probably because of the highlights of his hair and the swarthy tan of his skin.
They each wore a tunic and trousers that were neat and well made. The garments were trimmed in expensive threads and decorated with Delran platinum discs and chains. They wore these with the comfort of dismissive experience, as though they thought little to nothing of the valuable baubles. Even Kith had changed from the soiled tunic he’d worn since the escape from the prison. Only the girl wore anything else. She was adorned in a multi-tiered necklace made up of many flat blue speckled stones. The stones had been smoothed into glossy squares, but they didn’t seem to have the glow of precious gems. Delran platinum linked the stones in an upside-down pyramid, from wide around her throat to a single dangling chip between her breasts. The platinum had to be the most valuable part of the entire ornament. It was unique and beautiful, if a little gaudy to Lasher’s eye.
But she wasn’t here to be judged for her fashion sense, he acknowledged as they broke into the small area that had become increasingly trampled by their activity.
“Where is Justice?” Lasher asked.
He didn’t miss that the girl nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke. The reaction made him suspicious. What did she have to hide? Was Justice okay?
“She remained behind,” Kith said quickly. “She wished to guard the girls, since all of the men were coming to help.”
“This is all of the men in your temple?” Ender asked with surprise.
“Of course. Men don’t have much power,” the girl said with a matter-of-fact shrug.
The statement, so clearly innocent and misinformed, made Ender laugh in a loud guffaw. The girl rapidly blushed to the roots of her fair hair and beyond. Charmed enough to take pity on her, Lasher waved Ender to silence.
“Greetings to you all. I am Lieutenant Commander Masin Morse, but everyone calls me Lasher. You can take your pick of whatever name suits you—I answer to most of them. This is Arms Master Rush Blakely, but we call him Ender.”
“This is my sister and our healer, Ophelia,” Kith returned graciously. “This is Domino.” He gestured to the obvious choice of the black-and-white-haired man, making Lasher wonder if that strange hair coloring had been just as obvious at birth. “This is Fallon,” Kith finished.
“Thank you all for your assistance. Please, Ophelia, your patients await you,” Lasher invited warmly, holding out an arm and gesturing her forward. He smiled at her when two spots of color burned her cheeks, but her eyes had already fallen to her upcoming duty. It allowed her to overcome her shyness and move forward into his care.
Lasher led her directly to Bronse.
Ophelia saw her patients lying together, and she couldn’t suppress her cry of dismay. Her sister lying lifeless and wounded was a shock, and it took all of her will to turn away from her to the one who was obviously more in need of her attention. She kneeled hurriedly beside the large male, dropping her pack into the soft bed of leaves and ferns on the forest floor. Ni
bbling anxiously on her nail as she looked over the soldier, she took in a soft, sniffing breath through her nose. She leaned cautiously closer and repeated the sniff, this time taking in a deep breath. She jerked back, her nose wrinkling with obvious distaste.
“There are pollutants in this man’s body,” she accused. Then her china blue eyes widened to the size of large coins. “And in my sister!”
“The drugs,” Kith clarified when Lasher looked at her with puzzlement.
“Yes. Narcotics. For pain.”
“I see. They must be removed.”
“I can take off the patches and they will be diluted within a half hour,” Lasher said. “But they will be in tremendous pain once I do. Why can’t you just—?”
“Masin, correct?” she interrupted, her big eyes taking him in as her head tilted to the side.
“Yes …”
“Healer, correct?” she asked, pointing to herself simply.
Put delightfully in his place, Lasher chuckled and nodded. “That would be correct. Might I suggest we work on one at a time though? Just in case things take longer than expected, I wouldn’t wish Ravenna to suffer.” It was the perfect way to phrase it to get her to think very carefully. Finally, she nodded acquiescence.
Lasher peeled off Bronse’s narc patch. He glanced up at the sky, betraying his nervousness at the low angle of the sun, because Ophelia looked at him as she folded her prim little hands into her lap.
“Looking at it will not slow it down,” she mused. “Darkness comes of her own will and no one else’s. Only Daylight may push his sister around, as brothers are wont to do with sisters.”
“Indeed, we’re very guilty of that,” he agreed, amused by her wisely proposed advice. “Does your brother push you around, honey?”
“Incessantly.” She sighed, rolling her big blues with drama. “But he does so out of love and concern. It makes me happy to know he cares. Have you a sister?”
Lasher did not answer straightaway. He looked at her bundle, then at Bronse, and wondered why she didn’t begin to work. The narc would wear off soon enough, and Bronse would be in brutal pain.