Maybe that was the legacy of organic-based life. It was bound to be in conflict with itself, a system built on predators and prey moving energy up the trophic levels, only to recycle it back to the lowest.

“Then which level am I on when it comes to Dek?” she wondered.

The guy had been out of his head for most of the morning, and nothing Talina had been able to do could reach him. She’d even tried a series of hard slaps to the face. Enough to raise a red welt on the guy’s already-scarred cheek. But his eyes had remained half-lidded. Whatever insane rush of memories and consciousness currently possessed him had him mumbling in poorly articulated syllables and periodically breaking out in bitter and derisive laughter—the kind that had nothing to do with delight.

“Should I have really hurt him?”

That’s when she’d had to leave.

If it meant having to break his arm to bring him back to sanity, what would it take next time? Shocking him with electrodes?

No, face it. Somewhere along the line, Dek was going to have to win this fight by himself. Or lose to Demon.

She felt so damned helpless. It hurt too much to watch. And where had that come from?

“Face it, Talina,” she told herself, “you don’t even know who Dek is anymore.”

Was he the charming fellow who’d once helped Chaco Briggs fix a broken water pump? Or the wide-eyed and sunburned Dek who’d beamed over having picked a bucket of peppers in Reuben Miranda’s fields? Or was he the Dek she’d carried up the cliff at Tyson Station after he’d pushed himself to the limits of his endurance? That Dek would never be muttering about being a spider and destroying his father in the most painful way possible.

Or would he?

She rubbed her tired eyes, futility building inside. The old Dek—the one who was willing to risk it all to make it or break on Donovan—had charmed her. She’d found herself daydreaming about his smile, the dimple in his chin, and the animation in those yellow-green eyes of his. Something about the fact that he’d been so willing, desperate even, to meet Donovan’s challenges had appealed to something in her psyche.

What had he said? “Hours, days, weeks, or months. I just needed to live. Free. On my own terms.” She pursed her lips. That was a man to respect.

“He’s been a weight around your neck,” Demon chimed in from down inside. “Can’t take care of himself.”

“He survived a mobber attack, climbed out of the canyon with a leg full of thorns, you piece of shit.”

“And you condemned him. Should have let him die.”

Talina ground her jaws, refusing to rise to the bait.