internal bleeding,” the soldier said.
“That’s something.”
“What are your plans for the natives?” Skar asked.
“Let me sit down,” Cyrus said. Without moving his head or neck, he managed to sit on the ground. He leaned on his right side and sipped from the canteen Skar handed him. After capping it, he moved his eyes and looked up at the wispy clouds. He could hardly believe they had come down from outer space to land on dirt. He would have laughed, but that would have pained his left side too much.
“How come you’re not hurt?” Cyrus asked.
“I have space dropped before,” Skar said. “It was part of my training.”
“I bet you landed on your feet like a cat.”
“What is a cat?” Skar asked.
“How far away are the natives?” Cyrus asked, ignoring the soldier’s question.
Skar shaded his eyes from the rising sun. “I can see their dust.”
Cyrus managed to twist around. Yeah, he could see dust, too. In a little while he saw the outlines of men. Yeah, they were headed this way.
“How did you see they had spears earlier?” Cyrus asked.
“My helmet had a HUD. It shorted out, unfortunately.”
“We get all the luck, don’t we?”
“We live,” Skar said.
The crash had welded Cyrus’s neck muscles into place. There was no way he would try to nod in agreement. That didn’t matter now, anyway. He had to think. Cyrus closed his eyes and opened them thirty seconds later. “The way I see it, we have one clue. We know the Anointed One’s name. I’m hoping Klane is older than a baby. The Reacher never told me how old he’s supposed to be now. I guess there are many things the Reacher never explained. But if Klane is the hero of this holo-vid drama, the big savior of the human race, he must have done a few things already to show his greatness.”
“What kind of things?” Skar asked.
“Good question. I have no idea. I’m just speculating.”
“I see,” Skar said.
“Unfortunately, that’s all we have. That’s our clue: the name Klane. I’ll ask them if they’ve heard about him. If they have, I’ll ask how we can get ahold of him. If they haven’t . . . we’re crap out of luck.”
“We wait for them, then?” Skar asked.
“What’s troubling you?”
Skar glanced in the natives’ direction. “We are strangers. How do the Tash-Toi or other clan members treat strangers on Jassac?”
“You think they’ll attack us?”
“There are five of them and two of us.”
Cyrus thought about that. “One of my teachers once told me that intercity gangs act like primitives. I happen to know a little bit about gangs. Yeah, maybe this is their territory and they’re coming to chase us off. But I’m not too worried. We have guns. We ought to be able to make them listen to us.”
Skar folded his arms, watching the dust, no doubt watching the outlines grow. “We will not need guns to deal with them.”
Gingerly reaching up, Cyrus attempted to massage his neck, particularly a hard knot the size of his eye. When he touched the bruised flesh, he winced, dropping his arm. He thought about lying down, but wondered if he’d be able to get up again anytime soon. He might stiffen into a log. That would be bad, especially if any Kresh came to inspect the wreckage.
“We can’t stay here,” Cyrus said, indicating the antigravity sled in the distance. “In fact, we’d better leave before the Kresh show up.”
“Can you walk?” Skar asked.
“I don’t have a choice, not if I want to remain free. Let’s go.”
“Do we head toward them or away?” Skar asked.
You’d better think really hard here. This isn’t a game. This is life or death for you and for your friends in High Station 3. It could even be life or death for the solar system . He knew what he should do, but just how hardened a survivor was he? He knew about making the tough choices. He’d been doing it all his life in Level 40 Milan. The schooling he’d received in Crete had given him a veneer of
“That’s something.”
“What are your plans for the natives?” Skar asked.
“Let me sit down,” Cyrus said. Without moving his head or neck, he managed to sit on the ground. He leaned on his right side and sipped from the canteen Skar handed him. After capping it, he moved his eyes and looked up at the wispy clouds. He could hardly believe they had come down from outer space to land on dirt. He would have laughed, but that would have pained his left side too much.
“How come you’re not hurt?” Cyrus asked.
“I have space dropped before,” Skar said. “It was part of my training.”
“I bet you landed on your feet like a cat.”
“What is a cat?” Skar asked.
“How far away are the natives?” Cyrus asked, ignoring the soldier’s question.
Skar shaded his eyes from the rising sun. “I can see their dust.”
Cyrus managed to twist around. Yeah, he could see dust, too. In a little while he saw the outlines of men. Yeah, they were headed this way.
“How did you see they had spears earlier?” Cyrus asked.
“My helmet had a HUD. It shorted out, unfortunately.”
“We get all the luck, don’t we?”
“We live,” Skar said.
The crash had welded Cyrus’s neck muscles into place. There was no way he would try to nod in agreement. That didn’t matter now, anyway. He had to think. Cyrus closed his eyes and opened them thirty seconds later. “The way I see it, we have one clue. We know the Anointed One’s name. I’m hoping Klane is older than a baby. The Reacher never told me how old he’s supposed to be now. I guess there are many things the Reacher never explained. But if Klane is the hero of this holo-vid drama, the big savior of the human race, he must have done a few things already to show his greatness.”
“What kind of things?” Skar asked.
“Good question. I have no idea. I’m just speculating.”
“I see,” Skar said.
“Unfortunately, that’s all we have. That’s our clue: the name Klane. I’ll ask them if they’ve heard about him. If they have, I’ll ask how we can get ahold of him. If they haven’t . . . we’re crap out of luck.”
“We wait for them, then?” Skar asked.
“What’s troubling you?”
Skar glanced in the natives’ direction. “We are strangers. How do the Tash-Toi or other clan members treat strangers on Jassac?”
“You think they’ll attack us?”
“There are five of them and two of us.”
Cyrus thought about that. “One of my teachers once told me that intercity gangs act like primitives. I happen to know a little bit about gangs. Yeah, maybe this is their territory and they’re coming to chase us off. But I’m not too worried. We have guns. We ought to be able to make them listen to us.”
Skar folded his arms, watching the dust, no doubt watching the outlines grow. “We will not need guns to deal with them.”
Gingerly reaching up, Cyrus attempted to massage his neck, particularly a hard knot the size of his eye. When he touched the bruised flesh, he winced, dropping his arm. He thought about lying down, but wondered if he’d be able to get up again anytime soon. He might stiffen into a log. That would be bad, especially if any Kresh came to inspect the wreckage.
“We can’t stay here,” Cyrus said, indicating the antigravity sled in the distance. “In fact, we’d better leave before the Kresh show up.”
“Can you walk?” Skar asked.
“I don’t have a choice, not if I want to remain free. Let’s go.”
“Do we head toward them or away?” Skar asked.
You’d better think really hard here. This isn’t a game. This is life or death for you and for your friends in High Station 3. It could even be life or death for the solar system . He knew what he should do, but just how hardened a survivor was he? He knew about making the tough choices. He’d been doing it all his life in Level 40 Milan. The schooling he’d received in Crete had given him a veneer of
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