We all stopped, without a word of command or comment among us, and looked back. Through the trees, against the darkening twilight sky, we saw a mushroom cloud boiling up and up, bloodred in the light of the dying sun.
“There goes the base,” someone said.
“You were right,” Frede said. She was floating beside me, her encased legs dangling uselessly. “If we had stayed there…”
“Maybe the Skorpis think we did stay,” I said. “Maybe they think we’re all dead now and they’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Frede said, “Maybe.” But the tone of her voice told me that she did not truly believe that.
The nuclear blast set off a forest fire. We could see flames leaping through the distant trees. Thick dark smoke blotted out the stars. We hurried through the night, trying to put as much distance between us and the fire as possible. It was spooky gliding through the forest by the light of our helmet sensors. Every time I turned to look back over my shoulder the sensors would be momentarily overloaded by the bright flames; it was like glancing up at the sun.
Throughout that night we saw animals fleeing the fire. I thought I saw, out in those flickering shadows, creatures much larger than tree lemurs hopping and darting frantically to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the forest fire. Just as we were. The ground was rising, higher and drier as we advanced; the insects that had plagued us during our first nights on the planet seemed less annoying now. Or perhaps we had merely grown accustomed to their whining, bloodsucking company.
At last we came to a broad, swift-moving river. It surged quietly between steep banks, deep and wide, a good firebreak, I thought. We skimmed across the water and made camp on the other side. It was close to midnight and we were all exhausted.
I posted a light guard, expecting no dangers. Nonetheless, we made no fire in our camp. I took a quick meal of tinned rations, bland and almost tasteless, but steaming hot once the tin was opened.
“Hey Klon,” I heard a trooper whisper in the darkness to his buddy, “I’ll trade you my 24-C/Mark 6 for your 24-C/Mark 3.”
“What the hell for? They all taste like dust.”
“I like the Mark 3 better.”
“Lord God of Battles. Here, take the friggin’ thing. What the hell difference does it make?”
Another voice chimed in, “Hey, don’t you mutts know that these here rations have been prepared by the army’s best scientists to provide all the nutrition a soldier needs in his daily requirements? It says so right on the label.”
“He likes the Mark 3 better,” Klon growled disgustedly.
“He likes this crap?”
“Yeah, I like it. So what’s it to ya?”
“I dunno, Klon. What do you think?”
“You know what they say, pal—”
And a whole chorus of voices chimed in, “You’ve got to be born to it!”
They all laughed, and I wondered what made the punch line so funny to them.
After eating, I scouted around the area, glad to be on my feet again after a day of gliding in the flight pack. The guards were reasonably alert, and the forest seemed to offer a decent stock of small game. Even without the sensors in my visor I spotted several rabbitlike animals and a few smaller things nibbling on the foliage between the trees. There must be plenty of game here, even if those poor things running from the forest fire did not make it across the river. We would not starve.
Usually I need very little sleep. But the past night’s battle and the strain of this day were catching up with me. Satisfied that the camp was secure, I turned over command to Lieutenant Quint and looked for a spot to lie down.
And almost tripped over Lieutenant Frede’s encased legs.
Dropping to my knees beside her, I whispered, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Only a little,” she whispered back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired, mostly. There’s no pain from the legs, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s good.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be much good as a sex partner for a while.”