Dek hurt. The throbbing pain lay deep within—a sort of background to his jumbled thoughts.
What the hell?
Where was he?
He tried to shift. Hurt more.
“Hold still,” a soothing voice ordered.
It took effort to pry his eyelids open. Seemed like they’d been glued. The pain localized—a burning sting just under his left eye. After a couple of blinks, the white haze solidified into a duraplast ceiling with a light panel overhead. The dark figure resolved into Kalico Aguila. She sat in a chair to one side, her clothing mud-splotched and filthy, hair a tangled and matted mess confined by a filthy string tied at the nape of her neck.
“What happened?”
“Seems you saved my life again. You don’t remember?”
He blinked, started to reach up for the irritating pain under his eye, only to have Aguila grab his wrist. “You really don’t want to touch that. You’ve got a shard of sialon stuck into your cheekbone. Another inch higher and it would have gone through your eye and into your brain.”
“A piece of what?”
“You don’t remember the drone? Shouting for me to drop flat? Standing there, sighting on the drone as it dropped down to kill me?”
Dek nodded, worked his dry lips. Oh, yeah. He’d heard the thing, how it made a fluttering sound with the rain in the fan blades. The way it had fallen, headed straight for Aguila, it sure wasn’t after reconnaissance.
“Kalico! Down! Now! Drop flat!” His words echoed in his memory. He’d shouldered the Holland & Holland, the rifle having the same pull and drop as the shotgun he’d used for clays and birds back home. The shot had been instinctive.
The thing exploded as the bullet tore through it.
And what felt like the fist of God had knocked him flat.
After that? Nothing.
“So, where am I?”
“Admin dome.” Kalico stood. “Muldare called. The PA shuttle’s on the way. They’ve been locked down over a quetzal scare, but Whitey’s raid failed. They’ll be here within the hour. We’ll get you back to Raya’s. Let her pry the sialon out of your cheekbone. Don’t worry about the blood caked in your nostril. Seems there’s some sort of sinus behind the bone and above the teeth that bled into your nose.”
“Why does the rest of me hurt?”
“Muldare says the blast knocked you back a couple of meters. And you’ve got bits of shrapnel here and there that will need to be dug out. Beyond that, you’re just bruised. Lucky it didn’t burst your eardrums.”
All right. Enough of this. He took a deep breath, swung his legs out, and sat up. Damn. The headache was as bad as that toilet-sucking hangover back in PA or maybe the one he’d barely gotten over from heat stroke. He figured, at this rate, he could make his fortune importing aspirin to Donovan.
Kalico offered him a hand. Pulled him to his feet.
Sure enough, Dek discovered a whole lot of hurt. His joints, arms, shoulders, but nothing like the searing in his cheek. He carefully prodded at the angular chunk of sialon. Could just see it at the edge of his vision when he lowered his eyes.
Weird.
“So, what’s with the Unreconciled?”
“Don’t know. Let’s go find out.” Kalico gave him a sober inspection. “You okay to walk? Not feeling dizzy or sick?”
“I’ll let you know.”
She took his arm, just to be sure, and led the way out into the hallway, down to the cafeteria. To one side, Batuhan’s throne sat, empty, like a monstrous reminder.
Dek turned loose of Aguila, stepped over, this being the first time he’d seen the thing. At first it repulsed him. But as he looked closer, it was to realize the mind-boggling talent and artistry that had gone into the carving of it. It begged a magnifying glass to see the intricate detail.
“Tal?” Kalico asked her com. “Status?”
She listened to the reply, shot Dek a look. “Talina’s in the barracks. She’s got the women and children there. Only three men left. Batuhan and one other were last seen taking the trail down into the forest.”
“Kylee and Flute?”
“Now there’s a question. Talina just asked me the same.”
“They’ll show up.” Dek finished his inspection of the throne. Realized he was more wobbly than he’d wanted to admit. He walked over and settled himself into a chair at one of the cafeteria tables.
Kalico was watching him, something unsettled in her laser-blue gaze. He asked, “What?”
“I think until you get back to Solar System, you’re going to have a really nasty scar. Those perfect Taglioni features of yours are never going to be the same.”
“Maybe it makes me look dashing. Like a knuckle-and-skull adventurer. The kind of tough man who takes life by the horns and—”
“Don’t push your luck. The way you are right now I could knock you over with my little finger.”
He liked the fact that she was grinning as she said it.
“Yeah, I suppose. Still, it makes a good story. But what about the Unreconciled? Think Talina’s all right alone over there? I lived with these people just one deck down. They’re not kind and loving at heart.”
Kalico took a breath, picked at the mud flaking off of her clothing. “I’m not feeling particularly forgiving at the moment either. They’ve relentlessly tried to kill us. The loss of Talbot and Dya hasn’t hit home yet. But it will. I’m angry, Dek. My inclination is to burn Tyson Station and everyone in it to ashes.”