Coop frowned, and scooped her up in both his arms. He turned to the jungle, to address his compatriots.

"I guess we'd better get this packed up, too."

Coop met the llama's eyes. He hefted Ember, settling her at a more manageable angle in his arms, and said very little.

"Hmn," Coop looked up at the sky, and some of the thunder seemed to leave his face. He grinned, lopsidedly, "I guess we're finally getting off this dump."

Approaching where his bandoleers were hung, Coop swung Ember into the crotch of a low tree, setting her upright and temporarily wedging her between the two limbs of the tree in a grim facsimile of someone sitting and enjoying the scenery.

He lifted the bandoleers over his head, one in each hand, and draped them across each shoulder. With another heft, he lifted Ember back out off her makeshift shelf, and turned back to where they had originally come--where the decrepit maze of steel platforms lead out of the water, back to the ignominiously re-purposed Malcolm HY-0141.

"Aw baby," he grinned, "field rations? I'm gettin' me a steak tomorrow night."

And Coop set off, towards the abandoned missile, where, in a couple hours--with any luck--a boat would be arriving.


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