“Come on. Let’s go eat lasagna.” She throttled up, spun the launch around and took her heading back toward the Pod.

Felix stepped up beside her as they headed west, the launch rocketing over the low swells. Felix kept rubbing his fingers on the pantleg of his coveralls. Probably thinking of what it would be like to have acid eating his skin off. Good. It was a lesson well learned.

4

Derek Taglioni lay on bedrock, at the edge of the canyon rim. His head was reeling from the pain. What the hell? How had he come to . . . ? Yes. Mobbers, it had been mobbers. He’d been down, a couple of meters below the rim, working his way along with a geologist’s pick hammer, testing samples of ore. Had heard the chittering call of the mobbers, seen the flock coming, a remarkable swirling column of multicolored, churning flying beasts.

Dek had been hurt before. Thought he knew pain. He didn’t. Not even close. Fire and agony might have been mutilating his left calf. Tears squeezed past his lids as he clamped them shut. Looking down he should see his lower left leg in shreds of ruined meat and splintered bone. Nothing else could explain this kind of agony.

Dek blinked, remembered throwing himself flat, covering his head. How they’d come, fluttering around him. Wings beating, chittering, squeaking, whistling. The patting and batting of his clothing, the vulnerable back of his neck.

And all the while what felt like acidic fire had started to eat into his left leg. Like burning needles that seared the flesh.

But I didn’t dare move. Not with the flying death hovering, trying to decide if he was prey.

And then they’d flown on, a last few pausing to flutter above him, uttering a high-pitched harmonic of curiosity before following the flock on their way toward mayhem.

Only then had he been able to look down, horrified to see the gotcha vine shooting spines into his leg and foot. He barely remembered the fight to free his leg as he slashed and hacked with his long knife. Or the crawl that followed as he whimpered, cried out in agony, and screamed each time he jarred his leg.

Somehow he’d made it to the caprock. Here, to this bit of bare basalt. And consuming pain.

His leg had to be tattered ruins. But when he dared a glance, his leg was whole. Horrendously swollen, skin pulled tight and shiny as if it would pop open, but whole.

Dek leaned his head back and screamed.

Out of instinct, he reached for his knife. Tried to crush the handle in his grip.

The knife. That was the solution.

God! Yes! He could reach down. Cut right at the knee. Sever the whole calf. Slice it clear off. A body couldn’t take it.

Fucking gods, get it over with!

“Dek?” Talina’s voice cut through the haze.