“Two choices: collapse, or keep going.” She gave a fatalistic shrug. “So we fly forward. There are too many battles to fight—and I don’t want to do PRAXIS’s work for them. The only way I stop fighting is if they shoot me out of the sky.”
Understanding was a bolt of ferrium along his spine, shoring him up. He refused to fail. For the 8th Wing, for Celene. And for himself.
She saw the resolve in his gaze, and in response, her eyes shined deeply.
After finishing their meal, they continued on. The going was tough as they clambered over massive tree roots, forded swift rivers teeming with unknown life and edged carefully up and down steep ravines. He thanked the foresight that kept him consistently training on base. The bare minimum on base would’ve left him a liability now. Celene would have had to leave him behind, gasping and nursing a sprain or break. But he’d pushed himself then, and reaped the benefits now. Though it was hard to feel as though he’d emerged the victor, especially as he climbed, hand over hand, along a vine that dangled over a hundred meter-deep chasm.
His limbs ached with weariness and strain, and sweat coated his body. He wanted to pull off his boots and soak his throbbing feet in a basin of cool water. In his quarters on base, he’d rigged up a perfect iced-kahve brewing system and he thought of it with longing.
But when he scaled the side of a towering cliff and then caught Celene’s admiring gaze once he reached the top…energy surged through him. This dense jungle could go on for hundreds of thousands of geomiles, and it wouldn’t matter. Which was fortunate. It seemed that the jungle truly did stretch on for hundreds of thousands of geomiles.
They moved on further into the rainforest. As they entered a small glade pierced by sunlight, unease tightened along the back of his neck.
She must have felt a similar disquiet, for they both held still, heads tilted as they listened.
“Hear that?” she whispered.
“Complete silence.” None of the avian life squawked. The animals fell mute. Even the insects’ droning quieted.
Nils and Celene’s gazes met, pinned together by mutual understanding. Silence meant danger. Close by.
Her blaster found its way into her hand instantly. He also reached for his. As he did so, the underbrush exploded.
A massive animal leaped toward them. He had a fleeting impression of thickly muscled haunches, giant claws, and two snarling heads filled with black teeth. A huge canine-like beast, with a ruff of spikes surrounding each head, and more spikes on its lashing tail. It made a sound like a human scream, chilling his blood. But he couldn’t be frozen into inaction. The animal charged.
He and Celene leaped aside, narrowly missing the beast’s claws and double mouths. He rolled as the beast wheeled toward him to take another swipe. Ripples of air stirred as its claws struck out. He kept himself low, dodging the talons.
A plasma blast dug into the animal’s side. It snarled and spun around to face Celene, who stood with her plasma blaster aimed at the beast. She fired several more times at it, but its thick, leathery hide absorbed most of the impact, leaving only charred marks rather than deep wounds. Growling, the animal crouched, then bounded toward her.
She stood, caught between two huge tree roots too high to climb. There was nowhere for her to run. Instead of crumpling into a protective ball, she braced her legs wide and made ready to grapple with the beast.
Fierce warrior she might be, but Celene did not have claws or massive fangs. And her uniform provided minimal protection. She’d be ripped apart.
He acted without thought. He took off running after the creature, gaining momentum, and then, muscles coiling and releasing, jumped onto the animal’s back. He looped his arm around one of its necks, gripping his wrist with his other hand to lock himself tight.
The ruff of spikes tore through his uniform and pierced his skin. Bucking and writhing beneath him, the creature fought to shake him off. He wouldn’t let go. He tightened his hold on the neck, hoping it had a standard respiratory system that would suffer from having its air supply diminished.
Above the animal’s snarls, he heard Celene cursing. As he continued to press on the beast’s windpipe, he caught glimpses of her struggling to take aim with her blaster. Yet she didn’t fire.
“Take the shot,” he shouted. “Aim for one of the heads.”
“And maybe hit you? Pass!”
Yet if anyone could make a difficult shot, she would be the one. “Do it,” he yelled. “I trust you.”
As the beast grew weaker, its movements less powerful, Celene dropped to one knee. She braced her arm. Nils could sense her centering herself, drawing and holding a breath. And then she fired.
He didn’t wince. But the beast roared as plasma fire caught it just under one of its eyes. It gave its head a mighty shake, and his hold broke. He flew off the animal and landed with a thud in a stand of bracken. Celene appeared at his side immediately.
“Did I hit you?” she asked, pulling him up.
“Didn’t even damage my shave.” Though he tried to speak with bravado, his heart pounded and his head spun.
He and Celene watched as the beast staggered from the blast. It appeared stunned, wounded, but alive. For a moment, both heads stared at them balefully, though the head that had taken the plasma blast drooped lower. He tensed, and felt Celene do the same. Injured animals were almost as dangerous as those guarding their young.
After a few heartbeats, the creature let out twin howls, then loped off back into the underbrush.
He and Celene stood motionless, waiting. Neither of them spoke or moved. Not until the sounds of the jungle resumed, replacing eerie silence with welcome clamor. Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the ground, his legs stretching out in front of him. He let out a long breath.
She dropped down beside him, muttering more curses. Some of them were words he’d only heard Ensign Skiren use, colorful remnants of her life as a smuggler. But now the celebrated Lieutenant Celene Jur swore like the worst Smoke Quadrant pirate, and her face was ashen.
“Thanks,” he managed, then winced when she landed a hard punch to his arm.
“You fucking dwaas,” she snarled. “Playing the damned hero like some lunc for brains.”
Nils did not know for certain what a lunc was, but he doubted the comparison was flattering. “You’d prefer I cower in the shadows while that thing turned you into its nightmeal?”
“I could have handled it,” she shot back.
He raised a brow. “At what point? When it had you cornered and your blaster fire bounced off its hide?”
She unleashed another barrage of cursing before subsiding into tense silence. At last, she said, “You worried the hells out of me.”
“Same here. But we survived.” In truth, he felt extremely close to tearing up several of the gigantic trees with his bare hands, having seen her face down a mortal threat. Yet he forced himself to take comfort in his own words. They both lived. Even that animal, whatever it was, survived to hunt another day.
“Next time that thing sees some humanoid prey,” she said with a tiny smile, “it’ll probably reconsider.”
“Today’s been educational for everyone.” He glanced down at himself. “I’ve learned that the spines on that animal can go right through fabric and into flesh.”
Hissing in alarm, she pulled the medi-kit from her pack. She crouched beside him and carefully peeled back his uniform, exposing his lacerated skin.
“Any numbness, any tingling, dizziness or shortness of breath?” She dabbed heal salve on the wounds, a frown of worry creasing her forehead. “The spines could have had venom on them.”
He tested his hands and feet, then focused on a large, translucent flower quivering on a nearby fallen tree. “No double vision. Limbs seem to be working fine.”