Free Alien Jungle by Roxanne Smolen Page A

She knew how he felt about his father.
    With a wordless cry, he rushed back into the tube, away from the main dome. He imagined them talking about all the ways he had disappointed each of them, imagined them making fun of his mistakes. They expected him to fail. Just like Arkenstone and the Board. They were wrong. He could do this.
    But what if they were right?
    His step lengthened until he was hot and winded, as lost in his thoughts as he was on the planet. He found himself back at Cole’s quarters. His friend’s shadow darkened the translucent wall as he moved about the tent.
    There was no place to knock, so Trace lifted a corner of the weighted flap and called, “May I come in?”
    Cole coughed and looked up. How withered he seemed, as if something were sucking the marrow from his bones.
    “Did you find your friend?” Cole asked.
    “Yes. I found her.” Trace took a breath to tell him about Impani and his father, but suddenly it seemed trivial. He cocked his head. “Are you all right?”
    “Tired.” Cole nodded. “That was quite a trek.”
    All for nothing . “Can I leave my backpack here?”
    “Sure.” Cole coughed again.
    Trace released the harness and lowered the case. It felt lighter than it might have on a typical drop—the fifteen skinsuits within it were less bulky than the supplies normally carried by a team leader. He stowed both the pack and Impani’s mask beneath a table. He would tell her where to find it later.
    “I’ll let you get some rest.” Trace snapped his own mask in place and walked out of Cole’s residence.
    Daylight waned. Mist fogged his faceplate. Trace gazed up the long slope of the valley toward the encroaching jungle. He imagined moss men watching from beneath the mushroom trees and gave an involuntary shudder.
    He should check on Natica and Anselmi. They had gone back to the warehouse district to get a better feel for the gellasene issue. Maybe they could help him puzzle out why the creatures took Farley. But Natica was so distraught that they hadn’t found the woman. He didn’t want to upset her further by asking questions.
    Suddenly, Robert Wilde came to mind. He was always quick to understand alien environments. Would he still be in the hospital? Would he agree to see Trace? They weren’t on friendly terms.
    He threw back his shoulders. He was team leader. It was logical that he should check on an injured team member.
    Filled with new purpose, he walked along the outskirts of camp. Silhouettes moved within the tubes, but no one crossed the grounds. He passed the group of Quonset huts where he had seen the flash of Natica’s gun. If he’d responded right away, he might have saved Farley. But that would have left Impani in danger.
    The thought dredged up the sight of her with his father. A pang of betrayal twisted inside. He never expected her to take sides. Not against him.
    With a scowl, he entered the hospital dome. Everything was white or chrome, which had a calming effect after the garish planet. A dozen patient rooms lined the circumference. Between them, Trace noticed smaller hatches labeled QUARANTINE 1, QUARANTINE 2… There were four. Why did they need so many?
    Medical staff hovered around a central desk. He slid his mask to the top of his head and strode toward them.
    “May I help you?” a woman asked. “Oh, you’re Mr. Hanson’s son.”
    “Yes.” Unfortunately .
    “I’m glad you’re here.” She picked up a notepad. “I need to speak to you about your employee, Mr. Wilde. I’m afraid he’s not being cooperative.”
    Trace wanted to tell her that Wilde wasn’t his employee. Instead, he said, “What’s the problem?”
    “He has a concussion, and Dr. Abrams would like to keep him overnight for observation. If you could sign this authorization form…” She handed him the screen.
    He wondered if being team leader gave him that authority. With a smirk, he affixed his signature. “Where is Mr. Wilde?”
    “Room ten.” She pointed.
    Trace took