“Oh!” Trey says, like I’ve said something extraordinary. “But, other than that…you feel healthy, right? No fever…cough…rash?” he asks. I raise my head a notch, holding out my wrists to him mutely.
As I watch Trey untie the rope, Jax springs away, coming back with a small package. “Here, this is for…uhh, there’s a diagram, if you need help,” he says.
“I need a light,” I say, curiously taking the soft bag from him that looks like it came from a day spa. When Jax returns with the light, I get to my feet. I feel light-headed and it causes me to sway a little. Trey’s arms go around me, steadying me.
“Jax, get the visor,” Trey orders, “we need to check her vitals—something’s not right.”
“I’m fine.” I push away from Trey but he doesn’t let me go completely; his hand remains on my elbow. “Just had a head rush…stood up too fast. Stop hovering,” I scold him.
“I’m not hovering,” Trey retorts with a frown. “I don’t hover!”
“You’re hovering. He’s hovering, isn’t he, Wayra?” I ask, seeing Wayra watching us.
“You are hovering, sir,” Wayra replies with a smirk.
“I don’t hover,” Trey growls, scowling at Wayra, who holds up both his hands.
“I need some privacy,” I say softly, looking at his hand on my arm. He immediately lets go of me, turning away.
Taking the package, I go further away from them, around the other side of the enormous tree. I scan the contents of the satchel; it’s full of toiletries. It has wipes that are like wet naps and a sponge, that when I unwrap it and squeeze it, contains a soapy solution for washing my body.
Quickly, I take care of my pressing needs. Then, I use the sponge, cleaning myself as quickly as I can. After I put everything but the comb back into the bag, my stomach growls loudly. Knowing I have to keep my strength up, I move back around the wooden deck of the tree, finding Trey, Wayra, and Jax sitting with their backs to the trunk speaking quietly to each other.
“I’m not quite sure what to do with this,” I say to Jax, holding up the bag he had given me.
“I’ll take it,” he says. Thanking him, I hand it back along with the headlamp. They have a long stick-like lamp that’s glowing dimly near the turn of the tree. Its light isn’t yellow, but ice blue and it doesn’t seem to be attracting any bugs. I sit near them and let my legs hang over the edge of the deck, while holding one of the woven rope spindles of the railing.
I can’t help marveling at the night sky, the immensity of it. No lights mar its perfection. Goose bumps, rising on my arms, make me realize that the lack of light means there aren’t any cities around…no civilization that I’m accustomed to for survival. Feeling myself panicking, I begin combing out my hair, trying to calm myself. I have to stay with them until I can find some sort of civilization. I don’t know how to survive here.
The conversation behind me slowly dies. Glancing over my shoulder, I pause, seeing them all watching me. I narrow my eyes at them, and Jax straightens, saying, “Are you hungry, Kricket?” Nodding slowly, I see him get up. Rummaging through his pack, he produces something packaged in a clear wrap. He hands it to me. “I think this one is pheasant.”
“Mmm pheasant,” I say sarcastically, and see him grin.
“It’s like…hen,” he says, “with bread…uh, dough?”
Opening the package, I extract a small pie from it. “Does it taste like cat poop?” I ask, sniffing it suspiciously.
“Just try it,” he says before returning to his seat. I take a tentative bite and find it tastes like a chicken-pot-pie. My stomach growls again as I take a larger bite, chewing it hungrily.
“I think the pheasant is the best one…better than the quiche,” Wayra says. “I once traded four quiche packs for one pheasant. That was the day I got this,” Wayra holds up his arm and shows us a long, thick scar. “Sactum amp tossed by an Alameeda who snuck into the compound at chow time.”
“You’re supposed to get out of the way when someone throws an amp at you,” Trey says with a sarcastic grin.
“Oh really?” Wayra fires back.
“Why didn’t you get it wrapped?” Jax asks, looking at the scar.
“Because it looks tough. The blushers love scars. I’m not going to get it removed either…it’s a badge of honor,” he says, flexing his arm and showing off his powerful muscles.
Jax rolls his eyes. “You think that’s tough, check this out,” he says, lifting his shirt and showing us a deep scar across his back. “That’s from a squelch tracker.”
“How did it just skim over your back like that and not rip you to pieces?” Wayra asks, looking at Jax’s scar admiringly.
“I was laying face down in mud,” he grins as an explanation. “The heat seeker couldn’t find all of me to rip apart. So, the next time you dig your trench…go deep,” Jax says, with a cheeky smile.
“You’re a cautionary tale,” Trey says. “Remind me to use you when we’re training the new gits.”
“Where are all your scars, Trey?” Jax asks curiously. “Did you get wrapped?”
“Yeah…I don’t remember it though,” Trey replies softly, looking down. “One moment I was in a battle, the next thing I can remember is waking up at an outpost.”
“Did they do regeneration?” Jax asks, definitely interested.
“Yes, extensive regeneration, so they tell me. They almost had to go to my brother, Victus, for DNA, but they managed with what was left of me.
“That’s so crystal,” Wayra says in awe.
“No, it’s not. Regeneration is disturbing,” Trey says honestly.
“Did you watch the re-growth?” Jax asks.
“I watched my hand reattach, but they put me out for the rest. When I woke up, I didn’t have a scratch on me,” he replies, grasping his hand and flexing it. Looking up, he catches me watching him.
Jax follows Trey’s stare to me. “What about you, Kricket? Any skinned knees or broken bones?” Something in his eyes tells me to be careful. I stiffen before trying to pull off a casual shrug.
“You know,” I say quickly, “the usual.”
“No…I don’t know. What counts as ‘usual’ on Earth?” he asks doggedly, like he knows something.
“I once had a paper cut…right here on this finger. That hurt a lot,” I hold up my little finger and wag it in the air.
Wayra and Trey both grin, but Jax frowns. “I read your medical files,” Jax says in a low tone.
“Oh?” I ask, pretending that I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Broken clavicle, dislocated shoulder, broken radius, three broken ribs, and a stab wound to your abdomen…there was more,” he replies, watching my reaction. “What was that all about?”
“Would you believe I’m clumsy?” I ask in an off-handed way, watching all of them scowl at me.
“You are as nimble as a cat, Kricket,” Trey replies.
“Perhaps I have a problem with authority.”
“A very dangerous problem to have.”