“Harvey bent over Igan shaking him out of sleep. They were in a narrow earth-walled room, ceiling of plasmeld beams, a dim yellow glowglobe in one corner. Sleeping pads were spread against the walls, Boumour and Igan on two of them foot to foot, the bound form of Svengaard on another, two of the pads empty. “Come quickly!” Harvey pleaded. “She’s sick.” Igan groaned, sat up. He glanced at his watch—almost sunset on the surface. They’d crawled in here just before daylight and after a night of labo...ring on foot up seemingly endless woods trails behind a Forest Patrol guide. Igan still ached from the unaccustomed exercise. Lizbeth sick? She’d had three days since the embryo had been placed within her. The others had healed this rapidly, but they hadn’t been subject to a night of stumbling along rough forest trails. “Please hurry,” Harvey pleaded. “I’m coming,” Igan said. And he thought, Listen to his tone change now that he needs me. Boumour sat up opposite him, asked, “Shall I join you?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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