celebrated before the victory had been achieved. That always brings bad luck.”
Cyrus watched the ground rush up. At the same time, Skar’s hands blurred across the controls. The antigrav plate shuddered, shuddered again, and the thing billowed smoke. Yet it floated again.
“All we need is another minute,” Cyrus said.
Skar must have worked a miracle. The ground floated up toward them. Then, through the smoke, Cyrus noticed movement in the distance.
“Hey!” he shouted. “What do you see over there?” He dared to point.
Skar twisted around. “Natives,” he said. “I count five primitives with spears. They’re racing here.”
Neither man had time for speech after that. The antigravity sled plummeted the last one hundred feet toward the rock-hard surface below.
Cyrus knew they were traveling too fast. Fifty feet, forty, thirty, twenty—
“Jump!” Skar roared.
The soldier sprang off the sled. Cyrus followed a second later. Relieved of their combined weight, the antigravity sled slewed to the right, and it moved more slowly. Cyrus fell. His stomach tightened and he tried to ready himself. The jump had thrown him off, though. He struck with his side, bounced up, and hit again. He groaned in agony, twisting on the ground. What had he broken? His entire side felt as if it were on fire. He tried to breathe, but his lungs locked. He groaned again, twisted again. Then Cyrus Gant blacked out from the pain.
Cyrus’s eyes fluttered as an odd, dusty odor permeated his nostrils. His entire left side throbbed and felt numb at the same time. Breathing was a chore.
“Can you hear me?”
Cyrus wondered who spoke to him. He was disoriented, dizzy, and—oh. He was in an alien star system. He had landed on an Earth-sized moon. The air was cold, crisp in his lungs, and it tasted different from anything he’d known. He was on a foreign moon in a different star system. He might be the first human to have reached another world like Earth.
Well, no, that didn’t make sense. The first colonizing ship from the solar system would have held the first people to do that.
His eyes finally came into focus, and he saw Skar staring down at him. The soldier had shed his vacc-suit and he wore his brown uniform with red shoulder taps. Skar had a thicker chest than anyone Cyrus had known. In reality, the soldier didn’t really have a neck. With his helmet and alert eyes, Skar seemed like an alien, especially with those gorilla-like arms. He had a sidearm and a short-handled axe dangling from his belt. Cyrus recalled the first time he’d seen Vomags, inside the belly of a Kresh military vessel. He was glad the soldier was on his side.
“Can you understand me?” Skar asked.
“Yeah,” Cyrus whispered. He noticed Skar had twisted off the bubble helmet—he could breathe the planetary air. So, Cyrus took off his own helmet, figuring the air was good.
“The natives approach,” Skar said. “You must get up.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Are any bones broken?”
“Maybe. I hurt like hell. Does that count?”
“No,” Skar said. “Broken bones—”
“I’m joking. How about helping me out of this suit?”
Skar reached down and pulled. Cyrus yelled and flinched from the contact. The soldier frowned. “I will try again, more slowly this time.”
“Yeah,” Cyrus wheezed.
Bit by bit, Skar, with Cyrus’s help, removed the vacc-suit. There wasn’t any blood, nor did any bones stick out of his flesh. That was good, right?
Cyrus wore a sidearm and had a High Station 3 knife. It wasn’t a vibrio-knife from Earth, but it had good balance, at least.
The big test came a moment later. With Skar’s help, Cyrus climbed to his feet. Standing made his left side throb even more, and his neck had stiffened into near immobility, but at least he could balance on his own two feet.
“Spit,” Skar said.
Cyrus wondered what for, but he did it.
Skar examined the spittle on the red ground. “I don’t think you have
Cyrus watched the ground rush up. At the same time, Skar’s hands blurred across the controls. The antigrav plate shuddered, shuddered again, and the thing billowed smoke. Yet it floated again.
“All we need is another minute,” Cyrus said.
Skar must have worked a miracle. The ground floated up toward them. Then, through the smoke, Cyrus noticed movement in the distance.
“Hey!” he shouted. “What do you see over there?” He dared to point.
Skar twisted around. “Natives,” he said. “I count five primitives with spears. They’re racing here.”
Neither man had time for speech after that. The antigravity sled plummeted the last one hundred feet toward the rock-hard surface below.
Cyrus knew they were traveling too fast. Fifty feet, forty, thirty, twenty—
“Jump!” Skar roared.
The soldier sprang off the sled. Cyrus followed a second later. Relieved of their combined weight, the antigravity sled slewed to the right, and it moved more slowly. Cyrus fell. His stomach tightened and he tried to ready himself. The jump had thrown him off, though. He struck with his side, bounced up, and hit again. He groaned in agony, twisting on the ground. What had he broken? His entire side felt as if it were on fire. He tried to breathe, but his lungs locked. He groaned again, twisted again. Then Cyrus Gant blacked out from the pain.
Cyrus’s eyes fluttered as an odd, dusty odor permeated his nostrils. His entire left side throbbed and felt numb at the same time. Breathing was a chore.
“Can you hear me?”
Cyrus wondered who spoke to him. He was disoriented, dizzy, and—oh. He was in an alien star system. He had landed on an Earth-sized moon. The air was cold, crisp in his lungs, and it tasted different from anything he’d known. He was on a foreign moon in a different star system. He might be the first human to have reached another world like Earth.
Well, no, that didn’t make sense. The first colonizing ship from the solar system would have held the first people to do that.
His eyes finally came into focus, and he saw Skar staring down at him. The soldier had shed his vacc-suit and he wore his brown uniform with red shoulder taps. Skar had a thicker chest than anyone Cyrus had known. In reality, the soldier didn’t really have a neck. With his helmet and alert eyes, Skar seemed like an alien, especially with those gorilla-like arms. He had a sidearm and a short-handled axe dangling from his belt. Cyrus recalled the first time he’d seen Vomags, inside the belly of a Kresh military vessel. He was glad the soldier was on his side.
“Can you understand me?” Skar asked.
“Yeah,” Cyrus whispered. He noticed Skar had twisted off the bubble helmet—he could breathe the planetary air. So, Cyrus took off his own helmet, figuring the air was good.
“The natives approach,” Skar said. “You must get up.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Are any bones broken?”
“Maybe. I hurt like hell. Does that count?”
“No,” Skar said. “Broken bones—”
“I’m joking. How about helping me out of this suit?”
Skar reached down and pulled. Cyrus yelled and flinched from the contact. The soldier frowned. “I will try again, more slowly this time.”
“Yeah,” Cyrus wheezed.
Bit by bit, Skar, with Cyrus’s help, removed the vacc-suit. There wasn’t any blood, nor did any bones stick out of his flesh. That was good, right?
Cyrus wore a sidearm and had a High Station 3 knife. It wasn’t a vibrio-knife from Earth, but it had good balance, at least.
The big test came a moment later. With Skar’s help, Cyrus climbed to his feet. Standing made his left side throb even more, and his neck had stiffened into near immobility, but at least he could balance on his own two feet.
“Spit,” Skar said.
Cyrus wondered what for, but he did it.
Skar examined the spittle on the red ground. “I don’t think you have
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