Immunity (Book 3 of the Dana Halliday series)

HAFRA. FLAPPY HUMANOID. BAD MEMORIES.

 "Dana," Flynt called.

I returned to the fire pit while Jori was opening the door under the wall.

"We'll be quick," I said. "At least, I think we will. How far is 'less than half a morning's brisk walk?'"

"Probably more of a hike than you should be taking, after being in space for a week," Flynt retorted, but he smiled a little. "Tell him to slow down if you need to."

I nodded.

He touched his temple to mine. "You'll be within range to call us if there are any problems, but if he tells you to do something—stay still, hide, run—you do it."

I swallowed, giving him a half-humorous grimace. "Anything in particular to watch out for?"

Flynt shrugged. "Any animal bigger than a coyote."

"If you think we shouldn't go—"

"Oh, no. You're safe enough with Jori."

"He gives that impression," I said. "Are you okay?"

Flynt let me slip an arm around him. I felt the tension in his breathing—slow, measured tides—against the rapid thrum of his weird heartbeat.

"I can't—I shouldn't trust my senses right now." His gaze took on a faraway, glassy appearance. "This happened the last time we were here, it just wasn't as bad and I recovered quickly. It...something just doesn't feel right yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I think...it was spring the last time we were here. The position of the sun has changed. It's...disconcerting, like..." He sighed and appeared to give up. "My world needs to accept me again."

I'd seen him like this before, when he couldn't control his innate responses to various triggers. I imagined the current assault on his instincts was overstimulating at best.

Flynt rubbed his wrist behind his ear, then on my neck. I let him do it twice, just to make him feel better, then caught his hand and held it.

"It's probably reasonable to stay here tonight. We all need to rest," I said. "Now you're the nervous wreck."

He smiled gratefully. "Just get back safely."

Jori called, "You two prepare a meal—there's just enough left for all of us, I think—for when we get back."

A grumble from the younglings. Some things are just hard-wired into intelligent beings, it seems.

While Tillen muttered mock epithets at Jori, Flynt whispered at my ear, "Go. You can trust my father."

* * *

Outside the cilmon, the plains rolled away toward the horizon, undulating waves of sage-green dinlen, the dimly shining bow of a river, outcrops of gray rock, and patches of lighter, shorter foliage almost like a bristly shag carpeting. The breeze, which blew with a relentless determination that said it would quit when it was damn well ready, brought no odors beyond damp soil to my nose. I followed Flynt's dad onto an obvious path to my left—south, apparently.

Jori set a pace that was steady but manageable. I hoped I wouldn't have to ask him to slow down. There were medications, exercises, and fancy-schmancy muscle stimulators one could use during prolonged periods of weightlessness on a small shuttle, but nothing matches actual cardio.

We strode along the rougher edges of the hills that crept up toward the mountains. The sky was a hazy silver-blue, the yellow star called Distant Father struggling to burn a hole through the scrim of clouds. It seemed...different somehow, than Earth's Sun, but I couldn't put my finger on why. I hadn't the same impression, say, on Magnolia Base, while Tirza 50 had the ever-present looming gas giant it orbited to make it obvious you weren't in Kansas anymore.