Withdrawing from a bond was far easier than establishing one, and Victus had to expend the last of his reserves to keep his awareness from being flung back into his corporeal body with shock-inducing speed. When he finally did open his eyes, it was to full darkness and the sound of alien insects chirruping mating calls to one another. He had a funny taste in his mouth, and his lips felt like they had been glued together. He was beyond tired, and the fact that his neck was a bit damp pointed to a non-zero chance that he’d been drooling. Ah, he thought wryly, the romance of Kenzine life.

Compounding matters was the fact that he, Bo and Dan had not moved from where they’d been standing when they left the physical realm. All three were stiff and sore from standing in the same position for so long, and Victus was fairly certain that had they not been supporting each other, they might all have collapsed from sheer physical exhaustion. He was curious whether Bo’s mind would reject him again now that they’d finally shared a bond, but curiosity was as far as it went. For once, he was too tired to worry about it.

Victus knew that he’d pushed himself to his absolute limits today and it would be several days before he regained the energy he’d expended. Not wanting to dampen the good spirits of his friends, he straightened his back, put a reasonably pleasant expression on his face and bid them good night.

Victus gave no indication of noticing, but he had definitely seen the imprint of two small tennis shoes in the dirt only a few meters away from where the three men had been standing. They had not walked around, they had simply come up the hill and stood, watching. Judging by the impression, he thought that they’d been there for more than an hour but certainly less than two, and he was fairly certain to whom they belonged.

He made a beeline for his tent, his only diversions being a brief trip to the well so he would not dehydrate and a somewhat longer trip to the bathroom to ensure that necessity would not wake him in the middle of his rest. Nature satisfied, he collapsed onto his bunk. He barely had time to curl into a ball before being swept away by the tidal wave of exhaustion.

***

The next morning, Bo awoke in the sleeping bag he shared with Dan feeling…how did he feel, anyway? Somewhat perplexed, he stretched his arms until his joints popped, then levered them behind his head and did it again. He gave his headfur a good scratching and smacked his lips a couple of times while he considered. After a good, long night’s sleep he felt better than he had in years, and he realized that this was perhaps the first day since the accident had killed his squad that he hadn’t struggled his way out of bed feeling as if he had a massive medication hangover. It was also the first time he could remember calling the explosive Trojan horse left by aliens “an accident” instead of blaming it on himself. That felt good.

He pushed his razor-sharp claws out just enough to reach through his fur and gave his belly a gentle scratch.

Hey

he called to Dan,

where are you

The response was immediate.

good morning sleepyhead

i am at the job site

which one

the main dorm

welding the main trusses

You want breakfast

It is past lunchtime

*alarm*

holy shit

Bo fumbled his comm out of his pocket as fast as his sleep-addled fingers would permit, and was shocked to see that it was almost three in the afternoon, or whatever the local time was. His mind whirled. Why had his previously infallible time sense suddenly failed him? His ears were hot with shame that he’d missed a work detail. They might think he was lazy! More importantly, what had happened to his breakfast? Missing work would put him on short rations and he would go hungry!

do not panic

Dan said anticipating Bo’s distress,

i saved yours

you and victus have

medical exemption today

Bo’s spirits immediately lifted. Medical exemption was good! As any self-respecting varius would, Bo would always do his job, no matter what that job was. Today his job was to rest, and rest he would. They might give him a little extra food to help him heal!

they did give you an extra portion

Dan confirmed,

but i gave that to victus

it only seemed fair

Bo chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, then decided that, as nice as it would have been to have a full belly for once, Dan was right.

i woke him up and made sure he ate it

Dan added,

as soon as he did

he fell back asleep

go check on him

Bo was certain that Victus was fine, but if Dan wanted him to check on their friend, he’d do it. After a quick smoothing of his headfur he reached for their tent’s door flap and saw that Dan had attached a full ration pack to the pull of its zipper, where it was safe from insects but impossible for him to miss. Bo stashed it in a pocket, zipped the door closed behind him and considered his footwear options.

His work boots, athletic shoes and sandals were lined up in a neat, orderly row. Dan had teased him about bringing composite-reinforced boots on a pleasure cruise, but Bo had argued that they doubled as hiking boots so they made sense. He also knew that Dan thought he looked hot in them, so bringing them along was the obvious choice. But wearing them? Not today. His enforced rest, seasoned with a liberal sprinkling of sunshine and warm breeze, suggested that he choose something less stuffy. Not bothering with the straps, he kicked his feet into the rugged, oversized sandals and beat feet for Victus’ tent.

Rounding the corner, he saw that he was not the only person who was concerned about the lupine. “Hey, Clay,” he knelt down, speaking softly to keep from waking the sleeping man. “How’s he doing?”

“He hasn’t moved,” Clay said, sounding mildly concerned.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Bo asked, deadpan.

Clay considered for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Bo asked, again. “He looks pretty dead.”

“His chest is moving up and down,” Clay answered, seriously. “If I had a mirror I could put it under his nose.” He looked up at Bo. “Do you have one?”

“Not on me,” Bo said, with a smile. “If you think he’s alive, I trust you.”

***

Dan lifted his helmet and took a long look at the surrounding terrain. Sweat dripped past the supporting frame of his welding helmet and down his face, running blessedly past his eyes to trickle down the side of his nose.

In the distance he saw tall, green trees that reminded him of home. The branches on the trees nearest him had fern-like leaves that looked almost feathery as the mild breeze flowed through them. If he squinted his eyes, he could almost convince himself that he was looking at some weird hybrid between a blue spruce and a scotch pine. Almost, but not quite.

He’d examined them more closely a few days ago, and found that they didn’t seem to have much in common with their terrestrial counterparts other than general shape and color. Instead of developing bark, the trees on this planet had evolved almost perfectly cylindrical trunks that grew a satiny brown-green coat that looked made of helically wound fiber.

The seamless trunks looked ideal for building structures, for they had no bark to strip and few irregularities to remove during harvest. They had a tough outer wall and a hollow center, much like Terran bamboo. Beginning eight to ten feet off the ground, mature trees developed branches in mathematically regular rings. Secondary branches similarly formed off the primary branches in a pattern that was almost fractile in its repetition.

At the very tips, the growths were still cylindrical but ceased to be hollow. Dark, viscous fluid passed through the tips of the leaves, assumedly carrying on the business of transpiration. Dan thought that the plant resembled an artificial Christmas tree built by someone who’d never actually seen one. He wasn’t even sure the things would burn, but that would probably be an experiment better left to his husband, who displayed the occasional pyromaniacal tendency.

Dan wiped his face with the back of a gloved hand and drank in the natural beauty. The components making up this landscape might not be exactly the same as those back on Earth, but he didn’t let that distract him. It was every bit as wonderful as the limited nature preserves in Colorado back on Earth, and he was determined to do everything in his power to keep it that way.

The corners of his mouth screwed down as he thought of how mankind had raped their home planet, and he hoped like hell they’d learned their lesson. Not here, he vowed, not again.

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t sense Bo’s presence until the big varius was almost on top of him. Turning, he greeted his partner with the warm smile that came so naturally when Bo was near. Bo grinned back, displaying a toothy smile that as often as not sent those who didn’t know him mistakenly backing away in fear. “Where’s everyone else?” he asked. “You up here by yourself?”

Dan looked around, for the first time realizing that the rest of the crew had gone. He shrugged. “I guess. They were setting the anchors in the floor an hour ago. They must have gone back to working on the main building. Oh, and that new guy on the planning committee? Bartram? He took a bunch of people inland to scout for new plants, so that left it pretty thin up here.”

“So how’s it going?” Bo asked, as he examined the rafter that Dan was working on.

“Pretty good, actually,” Dan said, looking around him. “This thing’s just flying together. They designed it to only go together one way, and the pieces are light enough that I can lift them by myself.“

“Foamed alloy?” Bo guessed, hefting one of the parts.

“Yup.” Dan pointed to an assembled section about fifteen feet away. “Once you connect them all they weigh is about a hundred kilos, so I’ll need to borrow a couple of the guys to help lift them into place after I get the rafters built.”

“I could do it,” Bo offered.

“Sure,” Dan said, “but if you slipped or something went wrong, we’re screwed. Besides,” he reasoned, “it’s an opportunity to involve a bunch of people building their new home. Give them a feeling of ownership.”

“And we know how important it is to give people the feelings,” Bo said, sarcastically.  He nodded and pulled a stimulant drink from his belt pouch. He handed it to Dan and examined his partner’s work. “You say you’ve never done this before?” he asked.

Dan shrugged his shoulders, trying to hide the swell of pride. “I’ve had a lot of practice, lately.” Squeezing the flexible drink pouch, he found the grape-sized cooling button floating around in the bottom and gave it a good pinch. It broke with a sharp cracking noise, and a few seconds later the silvery pouch grew damp with condensation as the liquid inside chilled. He pulled the drinking tube free of its adhesive and tried to poke it through the pouch’s membrane, but instead of liberating the cool, refreshing liquid for his enjoyment, the straw bent in half.

*frustration*

Bo put the truss down, took the pouch out of Dan’s hand, perforated it with an extended claw and gave it back. “So what keeps the girders from burning through?”

Dan’s annoyance instantly disappeared. “Yeah, it should melt like a marshmallow, right? But Eggar showed me this really cool trick. You flick this switch here,” he demonstrated, “and the ground strap becomes a sensor that controls the current and the pulse width! It acts just like it’s a solid piece of metal instead of a foam.”

Dan’s enthusiasm elevated one of Bo’s eyebrows. He might not understand much of what Dan was saying, but if it made his partner smile, that’s all that mattered. “I’m glad you’re happy.” he said.

He thought for a moment, consulting the daily schedule on his comm. “Dali’s out picking salad with the little-old-lady brigade. I’ll talk to him at dinner tonight and we’ll come out tomorrow morning to raise those. And don’t worry,” he added, patting Dan on the head placatingly, “I’ll bring a bunch of pinkies too, so everyone can stand around feeling useful.“

Bo began to turn away, then he stopped and turned back to Dan as if he’d forgotten something important. He cupped Dan’s hands in both of his and looked deep into his partner’s eyes. “Buddy, you are doing an absolutely amazing job, and I’m incredibly proud of you.” He brought Dan’s hands up as if to kiss them and, before Dan could react, he clamped his lips around the straw and slurped down half of his drink. He ran off, giggling madly.

Dan shook his head, chuckling happily. Children...

***

Awareness returned to Victus in a rush. He remembered Dan coming to wake him hours earlier, and he remembered eating the ration pack he was offered, drinking some water, and going right back to sleep. He hadn’t taken time to relieve himself before sinking back into his dreamless sleep. Now, however, his bladder was full and was quite insistent that he get up and do something about it. When he rolled over, he was startled to find that he had an audience. “Good morning, Clay.” The boy was sitting cross-legged in the dirt about three meters away, silently watching him with that disquieting lack of expression that reminded Victus of a store mannequin.

When the boy did not respond, Victus asked, “Have you been there all night?”

Clay shook his head. When no additional answer was forthcoming, Victus nodded his head in understanding and walked to the latrines.

As he relieved himself, he reflected that in some ways it was easier to deal with Clay than many others. Almost always, Clay gave the most literal answer to any question you posed, and that answer was devoid of nuance or subterfuge. Extricating the seminal truth from most people involved a great expenditure of ego-stroking and comforting to let them know you were on their side, and to reassure them that they were safe confiding in you.

With Clay, that rebuilding of personal trust at every single conversation was not required. With him, it was a simple process - you asked, he answered. Done.

Victus finished, tucked things back where they belonged and took a few moments to look in a mirror. A somewhat-rumpled-and-somewhat-thin-but-overall-healthy, male, lupine varius stared back at him. Something about his own image looked alien to him, the way it had when he’d had his first migraine when he was ten or eleven. Back then he’d gotten stuck staring at himself in a mirror, fascinated by the feeling that he was looking at a stranger instead of staring at his own reflection.

With a feeling of chagrin, he realized that today, that feeling had been triggered by the fact that it had been the better part of a month since he’d cared enough to look at himself in a mirror, and his reflection since then had changed significantly. He was thinner now, and he could swear that there was more silver in his hair than had been there a month ago. The face staring back at him looked tired, but from work, not exhaustion. His eyes were clear and his nose was dark. In short: better. Not great. Not even good, yet. But better.

He stuck his handpaws into the washbasin to trigger the feeble stream of water, then wet down his headfur and carefully smoothed it into place. A few of the varii had left combs and brushes on a shelf above the sink. There were more lingering scents than there were brushes, so Victus inferred they were for communal use. Still, he would check to be sure that was the case before he used one. Interestingly, one of the combs carried Dan’s scent as well, but his was the only sapiens scent among them.

The scent of the man brought Victus up short. He could smell Dan, but the feel of the man, the sense that his mind was just around the corner waiting to be interacted with, was gone. For the first time since the Kenzine had started helping Bo and Dan with their troubles, he was truly alone in his own head. Dan’s presence had never been objectionable, but it was unusual for a mental resonance to persist like that. Now that it was gone, Victus would enjoy having his mental space to himself again.

Satisfied with his appearance, he checked that the latrine was in order then freed it up for its next user. Dazzled by the brilliant sunshine, he almost tripped over Clay as he exited. “What the…” he remembered who he was speaking with and started over. After getting down on his knees to be at eye level with the boy, he calmly asked, “Are you following me?”

Clay nodded once, somberly.

“Interesting,” Victus said. “Should you not be in school?”

“Probably.”

Victus tried again. “Do you wish to remain with me instead of with the other children?”

This time, the response was definite. His eyes locked on the wolf’s and he nodded his head twice.

“I am not an educator,” Victus reasoned.  Despite the teacher’s robes he wore, he had not begun his new post and held no accreditation.

“Neither is she,” Clay returned. “And you’re smarter than she is.”

Victus had seen the woman at work, and regardless of her good intent, he could not honestly challenge the boy’s evaluation of her capabilities. He thought back to what he was doing when he was Clay’s age; an orphan, tottering on the cusp of what he was to become. He had been headed for disaster. But for the intervention of a kind stranger, he might have spent his days pounding rocks on a distant ice planet, or worse, as a low-level governmental bureaucrat. With the assistance of the entire Kenzine Order, Master Dagen had shown him that a better future was possible. He had spent years learning, more years training, and had served as a contracted protector to some of the galaxy’s most important people. A month ago he’d been given teacher’s robes and asked to return to Earth to teach at the main Kenzine monastery. All this he’d been given, and now it was time that he repaid that debt. Clay was waiting patiently for his answer.

Wondering if fate was amusing hirself by throwing him something he needed instead of something he wanted, Victus tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. “Let us walk…”

***

Dan felt that dinner that evening was the most pleasant one they’d spent on their new home. The strings of small lights strung back and forth to illuminate the inside of the canvas tent that served as their dining hall lent the otherwise drab room a festive atmosphere

The gathering expedition had discovered a new type of non-toxic root vegetable that reminded Dan of an oversized watermelon radish. While it was true that it currently provided nothing nourishing to the human body, the armchair geneticists in the group felt confident that it wouldn’t be too much work for them to splice in enough complimentary code for the plants to become a food source, once their labs were up and running. The kitchen ladies had thinly sliced the roots and had supplied a variety of dressings that would appeal to almost anyone.

Nutritious or not, Dan enjoyed the root’s interestingly citrus-y flavor that he thought tasted like something between a kiwi and an orange. He was certain that Jack, the enormous bovine varius who was their gym buddy as well as their roommate’s boyfriend and budding epicure, would find room for something like that in their refrigerator. The colonists all qualified to share in the profit from marketable indigenous species, and while such a find as this would hardly make them wealthy, it would at least sweeten their financial situation, should they ever return home.

As usual most of the varii grouped themselves at one table, with Dan in the middle of the action. He never planned it that way, but every time someone nudged or bumped up against him, it was toward the center of the group. Like it or not, he usually ended up in the middle of a rambunctiously noisy, occasionally smelly, mosh pit of fur. He sometimes felt as if he were being herded.

Happily, he saw that Victus had chosen to join them that evening as well, although he elected to sit at the table next to theirs rather than squeeze in with them. His choice was explained when Clay sat across from him, protectively isolated from the melée by the width of their table. From time to time Victus interacted with the group, but mostly his conversation seemed to be with the boy.

For once Dan didn’t hear a single person in the tent complaining about bad food, hard work or the probability that they might never be rescued. For once nobody moped that their vacation had been interrupted or bitched about the lack of amenities. For once, their group actually seemed peaceful and happy, and Dan drank in the pleasant mood like a tonic. It seemed too good to be true when four of their group found musical instruments and began to play, encouraging younger people to push tables out of the way and improvise a dance floor.

Dan noticed that so effective was the spell that it had even trapped Jon in its snare. Uncommonly, the man had lingered after his meal, even if he didn’t choose to mingle. Dan occasionally caught a glimpse of him tapping his foot to the music as he studied what was on his book’s screen. Curious what the man was reading, Dan pushed, poked, and nudged his way free of the group.

“Hey!” he called, voice slightly raised to be heard over the band’s enthusiastic blare. He motioned to the table behind them. “Come join us!”

Jon took a moment to examine the activity at Dan’s table, then looked at him skeptically. “You’re kidding, right? How do you keep from getting crushed to death?”

“It’s not so bad,” Dan promised. “Everyone’s real friendly.”

“That’s okay,” Jon waved him off. “I’m good.”

Dan peered over at Jon’s book. “Still working on the antennas?”

“I think I’ve pretty much got that figured out.”

“What about that interference?”

“Those cosmic ray bursts?” Jon shrugged. “They’re already fading out. They’ll be gone in a week.”

At the same time, Bo reached over to pull his husband back into their group. “Honeeeey, come back!” he called, in his most playful voice. “I miiiiss you!”

Dan tried to ignore him. “What?” he asked Jon, “I couldn’t hear you.”

Impatiently, Jon pulled up the same graphic he’d showed to Dan a week earlier. “Sunspots,” he said again, “It’s fading out all by itself.”

Bo got up and moved closer to Jon’s table. “What’s fading out?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

“Nothing,” Jon said, protectively pulling his reader where Bo couldn’t see it. “It’s just sunspots.”

Flattened ears signalled Bo’s suspicion. “Bullshit,” he said, instantly wanting to see the reader. “The sun’s stable, and has been for at least the past six months.”

Dan groaned. Did Jon really think he could keep something away from a canine varius by trying to hide it from him? Not the path to success, he told himself. He took a moment to shoot a quick, mental message to Bo telling him to back off. Then he politely asked, “Jon, may I please see that?” He did not reach for the reader, but waited until it was offered before he took it. “Thank you.”

Dan turned the book to face Bo, but did not give it to him. “A couple of days ago, Jon found an interesting signal sweep that’s interfering with his project.”

Conspicuously not touching the reader, Bo leaned over to examine the squiggly graph at the bottom of the page. A second later his spine went rigid. He turned to Jon. “What’s the period?” he asked.

When Jon was slow to answer, Dan answered. ‘Every twenty seconds, or so?”

Jon instantly corrected him. “Twenty-three point two,” he chided. “Get it right.”

Bo spoke with absolute certainty. “That’s a military beacon.”

***

They could do nothing in the dark, so they spent the rest of the evening planning. Dan was convinced that they should tell the planners what they’d found and get them on board, and Bo was equally certain that they should just hop a speeder and go. Ever since Bo had ignored Bartram’s orders to install bathrooms into the planning committee’s individual quarters, the man had insisted on interjecting himself into every decision Bo made, regardless that his realm of expertise extended little farther than the care and pampering of wealthy socialites.

Bartram’s influence was rapidly tainting Bo’s reputation among the other members of the committee, and the varius had no love for the man. “They can’t hold us back if we don’t tell them,” Bo rationalized. “If we find that shuttle, who’s going to complain that we borrowed the transports to do it?”

“It’s not YOUR transport. It belongs to everyone, so they should all have a say.” Dan said, hating always having to be the diplomatic one.

“I’m part of everyone,” Bo grumbled, but he let it go, knowing that Dan was right. He didn’t give two lactose-intolerant shits whether he had another man’s respect, but the way Bartram was turning the others against him, making him seem like an out-of-control danger to himself and others, was truly galling. The last thing Bo wanted to do was to give the man ammunition to throw back at him.

He turned to Jon. “How directional is your radio?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. “Fairly. But the way that signal’s bouncing around, I’m not sure it’ll do you any good.”

Bo looked thoughtful. “Can you hook it up to some sort of meter so I can tell when the signal’s getting stronger or weaker?”

“That’s easy, but you’re going to end up carrying an armload of equipment around with you.”

Bo grinned. “I’ve got an idea about that…”

The night was half over before it was ready, but once they were finished the radio was packed securely inside a backpack, along with a signal recorder, an amplifier, and three sets of spare power cells. An aluminum mast protruded from the top of the pack, elevating the large directional antenna to a position a half-meter above Bo’s bowling-ball head. A thin bundle of wires ran down Bo’s arm, terminating in a small, illuminated readout strapped to his wrist.

Everything appeared to be working correctly but the meter barely changed no matter which direction he was facing. Bo tapped a finger against the display’s polycarbonate face. When that didn't make a difference he tapped harder.

“Don't whack it!” Jon protested. “It's not the display's fault you don't know how to use it!” When Bo glared at him, he said, “I told you the signal was bouncing around all over the place. Maybe it would behave if you got it up higher?”

“Sounds good to me.” Bo settled the pack on his back and made for the door. “I’ll be back before dawn,” he promised Dan. “I'm going up to the top of the hill and see if the signal’s any better up there.”

“You should…”Jon called after Bo, before the door between them slammed shut. Exasperated, he turned to Dan. “Why does he always have to be so fucking grumpy?”

***

Bo’s eyes had little trouble seeing in the dim light provided by their world’s twin moons. If what Martha said was true, he might soon lose that advantage unless they found some way to replace the nutrients supplied by his supplement pack. They were available anywhere on Earth or any other civilized world, but out here…

He tried not to think about it as he trudged up the hill. He would rather have taken one of the utility vehicles, but he didn’t want to wake anyone. Right now, the fewer people who knew about their plan, the less chance that some bumblefuck would jump in and ruin it. He still had six or seven hours before daybreak. Plenty of time to get up the hill, take his readings and get back before they could leave.

An hour into his journey he felt the antenna mast start wobbling back and forth. He pulled the pack off his back, reinforced the webbing holding the mast in place, and began the arduous process of putting the pack back on his shoulders. It was a far more difficult process than it should have been, due to the pack’s short straps and high center of gravity. By the time he crested the hill he had a solution to that problem in mind, but he would have to wait until he got back to implement it.

Bo was pleased to see that once he had some elevation, the signal was behaving more as he expected it should. Settling himself, he faced due north until his receiver detected the first signal ping. After checking to be sure that the recorder had made note of the signal, Bo turned twenty-two degrees to the east and waited patiently for the next ping. He repeated the process fifteen more times, and in a little over six minutes he’d taken readings from every direction. He asked the recorder to turn the readings into a graph, and was soon looking at clear evidence that a military beacon was sounding from the southeast, far away from any place the settlers had installed any sort of equipment.

To forestall any complaints that his measurements had been imprecise, Bo moved thirty meters along the ridge of the hill and repeated his sampling. He overlaid the results, and they could not have been a better match. He still could not say how far away the signal was, but at least he now had a direction to travel.

***

The sun had not yet risen before Dan walked up to Victus’ tent and crouched outside the netting a few feet away from his friend. “Victus!” he whispered, urgently. “Wake up!” Dan supposed he had nothing to fear, but the memories of videos where ninjas slept with daggers under their pillows kept him out of the lupine’s reach.

He need not have worried. At the sound of his name, Victus was instantly alert, as if he’d just laid down a moment before. His sleeping platform creaked quietly as he sat up and swung his legs over the side. “What is it?” he whispered back, mindful that Clay was sleeping just a few feet away. “Has something happened?”

“Bo thinks he has a bearing on the locator beacon,” Dan said. “He’s negotiating use of the transport with Bartram right now. Do you want to be on the team?”

Victus’ answer was a long time coming. After a few moments he began shaking his head. He wanted very much to believe that somehow, by some miracle, Lucas might still be alive, but he had to be realistic about this. Even if the beacon was still with the shuttle, which was doubtful, he’d watched his mate’s ship flying wildly out of control, and he knew in his heart that there was no way anyone could have successfully landed a ship in that condition. To rekindle the hope in his heart, only to find Lucas’ charred body among the wreckage…

“No, Dan,” he said, finally. “I appreciate your thinking of me, but I will remain here with my student.” He straightened. “My being with you will not change what you find.”

Dan understood. He nodded sympathetically and, not quite knowing what else to say, withdrew.

Back at his tent, Dan wondered how long a rescue effort would take? Should he pack a bag, or just plan on jumping into the transport the way he was dressed now?

do not waste a lot of time packing

Bo advised,

just throw a few pairs of underwear

in a duffel and get moving

where are you

Dan thought back.

Silence came back to Dan, and a moment later Bo’s oversized frame shouldered past the tent flap. “Help get this crap off me,” Bo complained. “I think it’s rubbing a raw spot on my right shoulder.”

Dan hurried to lend a hand, and with a few tugs Bo was free of the survey pack. “It’s no wonder,” Dan said, “You had the buckle completely twisted around on that side. If we have a little time, we could replace it with a magnetic catch, or something.”

“No time,” Bo grunted. “We’ve got to get moving.” He rubbed his sore shoulder. “Who else is going?”

“Not Victus,” Dan replied, shortly.

“You sound disappointed.”

Dan stuffed a few pairs of clean socks and underwear into his backpack. “I’m not disappointed,” he said, finally, “I’m just sorry that he’s given up hope.”

Bo sighed. “There is no hope,” he said, softly. “I want him back too, but you’ve got to be realistic about things like this. Nobody could have brought that shuttle down. Not even Lucas.”

“I know.” On impulse, Dan grabbed Bo and hugged him fiercely. Bo, feeling unexpectedly tender, hugged him right back.

“Come on,” the varius said, after a moment. “Sun’s rising. Let’s go talk to Bartram about that transport.”

***

Bartram, as it turned out, was far less amenable to the thought of a rescue party than Dan had imagined. Bo stood off to one side, annoyance at the delay simmering just inside his control, until Bartram suggested that they convene the council and take a vote.

“Fuck no, we’re not going to take a vote,” Bo growled, his patience finally worn through. “If you’re going to be a god-damned leader, then lead!” He snatched the map out of Dan’s hands and slapped it flat on the table with one handpaw. “We need to find the remains of that shuttle and salvage whatever we can out of it before that beacon goes dead.”

“You can’t-” Bartram started, but Bo cut him off.

“We can ease the disruption by joining with your survey crew. That’s no problem.”

“But the survey crew isn’t-” Bartram started again, and again Bo cut him off.

“There is no reason the crew has to run the northeastern survey first! They can run the southeastern survey instead, and do the northeastern next week!” Bo glared at the administrator with disgust. “You’ve been riding my ass ever since I had the guys put the toilets in the dorms and not the senior living quarters. This isn’t a popularity contest, Bartram! It’s survival, and you need to start treating it that way!”

Bo grabbed his rucksack and threw a withering glare at the administrator. “In an hour, we’re taking the transport. That’s plenty of time to get the survey crew prepped and onboard. Come along, if you’d like, and micromanage the whole shebang, but we’re going. Come on, Dan,” he snapped, as he shouldered past Bartram on his way out the door, “we’re leaving. Go get Dali and Chuck and Dante if you can find him, and whoever else you can find to help out. Tell them to pack for a three day salvage op, maybe four.”