Creamer experienced a sudden lifting of his spirits. So, he, Abibi, and Tadeo Chin would sit in judgment over Kalico Aquila? Why, imagine that. The good Supervisor was already one third of the way on the road to conviction.

He was looking forward to having Aguila locked in the Turalon brig for the entire transition back to Transluna.

Chapter 73

  73  

The fire crackled and spat sparks, the flames burning a curious blue color as they consumed aquajade and bits of chabacho wood. The camp was made on one of the basalt outcrops that poked out here and there on the mountainside. Given the bare stone’s lack of purchase, the outcrops remained the only safe haven from the eternally questing roots. Overhead, the unfamiliar constellations, the dark shadows of nebulae, and the brighter band of the Milky Way were stunningly clear. Firelight flickered on the leaves where the surrounding vegetation turned its branches toward the licking flames. The night chime, fortunately, sounded rhythmic and partially harmonious.

On the fire, two cat-sized carcasses roasted slowly, sizzling, fat dripping. The smell of the roasting meat sent a quiver through Falise’s empty stomach.

She winced, tried to keep from flexing her stinging and pain-filled fingers. Though her rifle lay beside her, she wondered what she’d do if she had to use it. Could she even stand to pick it up? Clutch it? Wrap her traumatized fingers around the wrist and reach for the trigger?

She studied her mutilated hands with disbelief, jaw tightening against the constant dull pain. Each of the deep lacerations crisscrossing her fingers, the backs and palms, looked absolutely hideous. Kylee—nursing her own wounds—had done the best job she could. The clumsy stitches—made with a needle and thread from Kylee’s belt pouch—had closed the worst of the gaping and blood-caked cuts.

As part of her training, Falise had been exposed to pain. But nothing like this. Not a constant throbbing anguish. She had never been cut like this, wounded to the point she could barely move her hands. And, damn, if it weren’t for the blue nasty that Kylee had found, sliced up, and mashed with rocks, Falise wasn’t sure she could have withstood the agony. The clotted blue goo, however, helped—even if it didn’t totally deaden the pain.

Across the fire, Kylee kept scowling at the rents in her clothing. She had her own cuts. The girl couldn’t help but keep staring out at the darkness. Her head was constantly cocked, listening.

“I’m sure Flute made it,” Falise told her.

“It wasn’t the entire flock,” Kylee repeated once again, as if to reassure herself. “That gave him a chance.” Her face worked; she winced where it stretched the cut that ran from just below her eye to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re sure he can find us?”