Free Jenna Starborn by Sharon Shinn Page B

was time for me to catch my bus back to Thorrastone. I waited for a little while in the airbus terminal till my bus arrived, then I climbed aboard and settled against the cushion with a sigh of satisfied exhaustion.
    I was deposited at Thorrastone Park barely an hour before sundown—a time after which any reasonable person did not want to be out of doors. For the planet seemed to make one quick, violent rotation away from its distant sun, plunging the world into sudden and instant blackness; even the presence of artificial lighting strategically placed all over the grounds did not entirely counteract the total bleakness of the Fieldstar night. The airlock lay a little more than a mile from the doorway, a distance I could usually cover in less than half an hour, so I did not worry about being safely inside before total darkness descended. The airlock door closed behind me as I hefted my packages one more time and set off toward the house.
    I had not taken five steps when there was a wild disturbance behind me, and a large shape careened through the outer door of the airlock. An awful sound of rending metal echoed through the small enclosure, a counterpoint to the whoosh and choke of air exploding outward, then being swiftly contained. I dropped my packages and whirled around in time to see a small aeromobile bounce against one nearly invisible wall, knock backward against another, then come shuddering to a halt on the stony floor of the lock. It did not move again.
    For a moment I was motionless with stupefaction, but I soon realized there was probably at least one individual inside the downed car, very possibly seriously hurt. I ran back to the inner door, checked the gauge to make sure the atmosphere was breathable, then hurried into the airlock to see what assistance I could offer.
    Even as I approached the craft, the bubble lid was being raised from within, and in seconds, a head and shoulders emerged. I had very little time to assess any particulars of the new arrival except that he was male, dark-complected, and sporting a trickle of blood across his forehead.
    â€œSir!” I exclaimed, reaching up to catch the weight of the lid with my own hand until I felt it click into place in its upright position. “You’re hurt! Can you speak? Can you move? Shall I fetch help from the manor?”
    I found myself fixed in the glare of a pair of dark eyes set in a very irate face. “Who the devil are you?” the newcomer growled. “And why would you be out prowling around at such an hour?”
    I thought him extremely rude, though perhaps the accident had impaired his natural civility, but I was relieved to note that he at least appeared to have retained his senses. “I suppose anyone may walk around at any hour she pleases, assuming she has a right to be on the property in the first place,” I answered. “But tell me—how badly are you injured? There is some blood on your face. Have you sustained any hurt to your head?”
    â€œI have sustained a great deal of hurt,” he replied, again in that impatient, rumbling voice. I presumed he meant his tone to sound forbidding, but to me he sounded cross and fretful, like one of my students at Lora Tech who had been balked in his plans because of some homework assignment I had distributed. “My head throbs with a remarkable sharpness, and my ribs feel as if they have each individually cracked and reknitted in a manner not conducive to easy breathing, and I am sure I have twisted my ankle. However, I am most injured in my pride, for only the stupidest, most inexperienced boy would so misjudge his landing speed and angle as to crash headlong into the forcefield. My only excuse is that I caught a glimpse of you heading across the lawn, and I was so amazed that I stared in the wrong direction.”
    â€œAnd that’s a poor excuse by any standard,” I said cheerfully, “for I have never before caused any vehicle to stutter from