battle. They walked on two legs and actually looked a lot like Grik, she said, except they were considerably smaller and had no upper limbs at all. They were walking mouths, for all intents and purposes, with quick, powerful legs and a long, whiplike tail. Bradford couldn’t wait to see one.
Perhaps there? he thought, as something seemed to move. He was having trouble holding the binoculars with one hand since his other arm was still in a sling. “Blast!” he exclaimed, lowering his good arm to rest for a moment. He would just have to wait until there was enough light to see. He glanced to his right and was surprised to find a number of Lemurian warriors, on guard against a renewed Grik assault, staring at him with open curiosity. He looked to the left, saw much the same, and felt a twinge of unaccustomed self-consciousness. “I’m a scientist, not a ghoul!” he announced harshly, brandishing the binoculars. They continued to regard him with their inscrutable stares. He sighed and stepped away from the barricade. Most of these wouldn’t understand English, he realized, since the majority were Rolak’s or Maraan’s people. They had made every effort to retrieve all of their own few wounded and many dead throughout the night, but some would undoubtedly remain. The idea of him watching in fascination while some scavenger chewed upon anyone besides Grik—and maybe them too—might be a less than popular morning activity.
With as much dignity as he could muster, he stuffed the binoculars into his sling and strode away from the breastworks toward the guttering torches that surrounded the hospital tent. Marine guards ringed the area, nearly dead on their feet. After the treachery of the day before, they’d been reluctant to allow the Aryaalans and B’mbaadans to take their place on the barricade, but they were exhausted and Adar ordered them to rest. They weren’t about to trust undependable allies with the security of their wounded comrades and leaders, however. Battle-weary Marines rotated the duty throughout the night. Bradford knew now what had happened, and he personally felt nothing but gratitude for the warriors that came to their aid, but he could sympathize with how the Marines felt.
There were many, many wounded lying on the ground in the vicinity and he carefully picked his way through the sleeping forms. Many, he suspected, would never awake. Most would, however, and that was largeng torchesg into the gray morning light. He realized she’d probably brought little in the way of medical science to the Lemurian people. In many ways their medicines were more effective than those she knew—the strange antiseptic paste for one—but she had introduced the idea of battlefield triage and the associated patch-and-splice that went with it. That was something the local healers had never considered. The sea folk didn’t need it because they so rarely fought anything like a major battle, and the locals, who fought all the time, had just never thought of it. Perhaps it was because even they had never fought a battle such as this, in which the sheer numbers of casualties were so high. Unlike anyone they’d met so far, the B’mbaadans and Aryaalans understood the concept of surrender, at least among themselves. Maybe they had never let things go this far before one side or the other just quit. Whatever the case, the exhausted young nurse had done heroic work that night. He picked his way toward her.
“You should rest, my dear. You are destroyed.” He spoke quietly so as not to disturb those nearby whose sleep was only temporary. She nodded at him and smiled weakly. “But you know that, of course.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “The healers we brought are a wonder. I couldn’t have managed without them.” Her face brightened somewhat. “Pam Cross and Kathy McCoy came from Mahan to lend a hand. God, I’m so glad they’re safe!” She gestured under the tent and shook her head. “They’re in there now. Last
Perhaps there? he thought, as something seemed to move. He was having trouble holding the binoculars with one hand since his other arm was still in a sling. “Blast!” he exclaimed, lowering his good arm to rest for a moment. He would just have to wait until there was enough light to see. He glanced to his right and was surprised to find a number of Lemurian warriors, on guard against a renewed Grik assault, staring at him with open curiosity. He looked to the left, saw much the same, and felt a twinge of unaccustomed self-consciousness. “I’m a scientist, not a ghoul!” he announced harshly, brandishing the binoculars. They continued to regard him with their inscrutable stares. He sighed and stepped away from the barricade. Most of these wouldn’t understand English, he realized, since the majority were Rolak’s or Maraan’s people. They had made every effort to retrieve all of their own few wounded and many dead throughout the night, but some would undoubtedly remain. The idea of him watching in fascination while some scavenger chewed upon anyone besides Grik—and maybe them too—might be a less than popular morning activity.
With as much dignity as he could muster, he stuffed the binoculars into his sling and strode away from the breastworks toward the guttering torches that surrounded the hospital tent. Marine guards ringed the area, nearly dead on their feet. After the treachery of the day before, they’d been reluctant to allow the Aryaalans and B’mbaadans to take their place on the barricade, but they were exhausted and Adar ordered them to rest. They weren’t about to trust undependable allies with the security of their wounded comrades and leaders, however. Battle-weary Marines rotated the duty throughout the night. Bradford knew now what had happened, and he personally felt nothing but gratitude for the warriors that came to their aid, but he could sympathize with how the Marines felt.
There were many, many wounded lying on the ground in the vicinity and he carefully picked his way through the sleeping forms. Many, he suspected, would never awake. Most would, however, and that was largeng torchesg into the gray morning light. He realized she’d probably brought little in the way of medical science to the Lemurian people. In many ways their medicines were more effective than those she knew—the strange antiseptic paste for one—but she had introduced the idea of battlefield triage and the associated patch-and-splice that went with it. That was something the local healers had never considered. The sea folk didn’t need it because they so rarely fought anything like a major battle, and the locals, who fought all the time, had just never thought of it. Perhaps it was because even they had never fought a battle such as this, in which the sheer numbers of casualties were so high. Unlike anyone they’d met so far, the B’mbaadans and Aryaalans understood the concept of surrender, at least among themselves. Maybe they had never let things go this far before one side or the other just quit. Whatever the case, the exhausted young nurse had done heroic work that night. He picked his way toward her.
“You should rest, my dear. You are destroyed.” He spoke quietly so as not to disturb those nearby whose sleep was only temporary. She nodded at him and smiled weakly. “But you know that, of course.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “The healers we brought are a wonder. I couldn’t have managed without them.” Her face brightened somewhat. “Pam Cross and Kathy McCoy came from Mahan to lend a hand. God, I’m so glad they’re safe!” She gestured under the tent and shook her head. “They’re in there now. Last
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