Fire in the Sky

3

Tech Girs snorted, slapped at a sensor. “Cinsing ‘bats. If there’s a way to chich up, they’ll find it.” He hunched over his board, eyes on the readouts, fingers busy on the touch plaques.

Yadak leaned back in his chair, patted a yawn. “Bet it’s number five. What’d it get up to this time?”

The younger tech finished what he was doing, watched a moment, then said, “Ol’ five’s scratching along like it knew what it’s for. It’s nine this time. Messy eater and it’s in a finicky fold area, chunk got past the shields, don’t ask me how, sent the pichin son of a poxed deve straight at seven. Hoo, that’d been a thing to watch, hadn’t I caught it, each of ‘m trying to chew up the other.”

“Ayyunh. And t’ Ykkuval he’d take cost out your hide the next fifty years.”

“Mp. Shift’s nearly up. You hear what Nemlen said?”

“About spotting that herd of jellies?”

“That’s it. Want to jog over on the way back and do some jelly burns?”

“Why not. Nothing else to do in this cinsing hole.”

Girs swung down from the cabin of the tracker, stretched, and strolled toward the patch of pulverized scree they used for a pad as the flier from base settled with a quickly corrected sideways lurch. His replacement punched the door open, swung his feet out, and jumped down. Rubbing his fist against his coverall and swearing at sticking-locks and cranky lifters, he trudged toward Girs.

“M’rab, Choban. How’s a guy?”

“M’rr, Girs. You wanna watch this junkheap, think there’s a hairline in one of the lifters.”

“Ayyunh? Thought it was you hung over so bad you can’t see straight.” He wrinkled an eyeridge. “You on your lonesome?”

“Nah. Herm’s in there working up nerve to move his head. He won himself some bonus time in Farkli’s backroom and he spent it hard.” He shrugged, started walking for the tracker, boots crunching on the gravel. “Me, I’d leave him lay, he has to move, he’s gonna be wanting to kill something.” He slapped at one of the small black flies that kept trying to bite them. “Kirg! I hate these things. Be glad when I earn enough time-tickets to transfer to a decent world with cities on it. Any problems?”

“I set a watchlink on nine. Went off program about an hour ago, charged number seven like a twi-horn in must. I reconfigured, but it’s only a patch, not a fix.”

“And five?”

“Chewing away, not a glitch in eight solid hours. Hear any more about those cinsing Yarks?”

“Rumor says Ykkuval’s spy come over last night. Ol’ Pismek was in tower like always when there’s something going the Big Man he don’t want stripped to heartstone.”

“Chich! Might’s well be blind in both eyes and deaf besides for all the talking Fisk does. So?”

“I heard that them from University got here, dossed down with a bunch of locals, and the Big Man, he’s having fits at the thought. Buzz is, you volunteer for agitation over there, you can pick up extra time in s’rag, and if you manage some real hurt to the fuzz-heads, maybe even a bonus time-ticket or two. Ta’ma’, it’s only buzz, I believe it when I see it posted and certified.”

“Hoy, Chob, you pilling a single?” Yadak tossed his yamsac from the door of the sleeping cabin at the back end of the tracker, followed it with Girs’. “This lot of mudworms will keep you crazy.”

“Nah. Herm’s along. He just not moving well right now.”

“His luck’s still running with the vagnag, hunh?”

“Ayyunh.” Choban grinned, his eyes almost vanishing in a web of wrinkles. “Zorl was the big loser this time. He was really pissed.”

“Ta’ma’, Chob, alarms are set, any problems you get bonged. Girs, got a back on you? Flip you for who rousts Herm.”

As they flew across the rolling savannah, Girs listened to the uncertain whine from the lifters and fiddled with the coaster pad, trying to get a better balance. After half an hour of it, he said, “Don’t know, Yad. Maybe we should go straight back. ‘S a light world but I never much liked walking.”

Yadak slapped his arm. “Naymind, look there, there’s a clutch of ‘em. Kick in high, it’s not big enough jag to worry about.”

“Look at ‘em scatter. Take it right through the middle, Giro.” Yadak triggered the beam, sent it cutting through a large lumbering jelly, shouted as it burned. “Two miles if it’s an inch. Look at that ‘un, going down ‘stead of up. Trying to be sly, hunh ol’ havva? Gotcha. What you think those things there on the ground are? Those brown lumps, one of ‘em’s burning, of jelly fell on it. Hoosh, what a stink. M’ra, you feel that? Go through that smoke again, Giro. Haaaggghhh, that’s good, you feel that, that’s goo’ tha’ ssss goooo…”