Paul Collins - Earthborn The

He suddenly leaned over and kissed her. She wiped sleepily at her face, as if he'd tickled her. He kissed her a second time.

"Wuh?" Gillian sat up and looked down at him. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, suddenly guilty. "Go back to sleep. It's early." She lay down again and he gently stroked her head.

"It seems early," Gillian mumbled.

"It is," he said and wished he could kiss her again when she was fully awake.

"Is there something wrong? You're acting—"

Welkin quickly clapped his hand over her mouth. They both heard a twig snap, barely audible in the still night air.

"It's probably someone taking a leak," Gillian said, her voice muffled by his hand.

"Someone's leaving camp," Welkin whispered. He quickly pulled on his boots and scrambled to the door flap. Peering into the half-light he caught a glimpse of two figures fading from sight.

"Damn funny time to leave," Gillian said beside him. "Get a load of who it was?"

"Your friends," Welkin muttered. "The O'Shannesseys. Now what's their game?"

"Let's go find out," Gillian said, hurriedly pulling on her own boots. "Bet it's nothing serious, though.

Sarah trusted that pair with her life."

"Did she now?" Welkin said. They both armed themselves and scurried from the camp. "C'mon, before we lose them."

They followed the pair for the best part of the morning. At times Welkin suspected they knew they were being followed, for sometimes, inexplicably, the O'Shannesseys doubled back on themselves.

Twice Welkin and Gillian were made to separate to avoid being seen.

Morning wore on and with it a sullen sun tried pushing through the omnipresent smog bank. Of necessity they fell back out of view, and by noon Welkin feared they had lost the quarry. The weather was oppressive, and the frustration of recent events was getting to Gillian.

"This is crazy," she stated. "We've come out without provisions. If we keep searching for them much longer, we'll be camping out tonight in the freezing cold. And I for one have had it!"

Welkin dumped his pack on the ground and climbed a eucalypt to scan the valley. Low-flying cloud shrouded the distant terrain andhe cursed beneath his breath. He came back down and brushed his hands against one another and blew on them. "They're following the same path Elab and the others would have taken."

"Is that right?" Gillian said cynically. "I heard they kept their plans to themselves."

"Which goes to show you don't get to hear everything, hmmm?" She started to speak but reconsidered. "Okay. So why don't we cut out the stealth act and race on ahead? If we stumble on them, then it'll all be out in the open. If not, we run ourselves into the ground because"—she shrugged with exasperation—"we're out here unprepared like a couple of idiots. Just what have you got on your mind?"

she demanded doggedly.

"Are you finished?" Welkin squared his shoulders. It made a nice change to hear Gillian asking, rather than telling. It gave him a heady feeling. In fact, he had noticed that her whole manner toward him had changed since the Stockade incident. "I managed to live on berries and fungi, remember. It can be done."

Gillian went red. She hadn't quite got around to thanking Welkin for rescuing her. It was one of those things she preferred to leave unsaid. Like maybe thanking someone for saving your life trivialized it. Of course you're thankful. That sort of thing didn't have to be said, did it?

"So we live like sparrows for a few days. What then? We sprout wings and fly home and tell everyone we eloped but changed our minds?"

Welkin pouted at that thought. "We're armed," he said. "And I've got a strong hunch Elab might need us."

"But they've been gone days, Welkin," Gillian protested.

"And we're not laden down with supplies or hampered by numbers. The two of us should be able to move at twice the speed a party of five can."

Gillian growled with frustration. "I know you guys go back a long way and all that, but this is just ill conceived. You know?"

"Then you go back and tell the others," Welkin said stoically. He grunted when a sudden thought came to him. "I'm doing exactly what you did."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Does that mean it's my turn to save you?"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Welkin said. With that, they set off at a fresh pace.

They loped along, over the bracken, for the best part of an hour, neither wanting to yield to the other's desire to rest. Finally it was Welkin who suggested they should stop for a breather.

They pulled up just short of a dry creek bed that coiled its way across a windswept plain. Welkin kicked at a clump of spinifex; more of it stretched as far as the eye could see, tussocks of it dotting the ground like weeds needing to be pulled.

Gillian focused on two stunted trees that might have reminded her ancestors of twin goalposts. "Bare as all else. My throat's parched, and I don't see any berries or water," she said reproachfully.

"We'll find stuff once we get off this lunar landscape," Welkin said and wiped at the perspiration that caked the dirt on his face. "Hard to believe artists used to come out here and paint scenes like this," he said. "Scrub, red rocks, and sand."

"Sarah found beauty in this," Gillian said, throwing her arms wide. She looked at him with some confusion. "You Skyborn will never quite get it, will you?"

Welkin smiled reminiscently. "Sarah used to say we'd had all that mushy stuff bred out of us. Not our fault, really."

"Guess not. Tcha! You people never would have shared moonlit walks along the beach, or cuddled up on cold winter nights beside a roaring fire."

"Or eloped," Welkin reminded her. "We're just killjoys from space!"

Gillian squinted.

"What is it?" Welkin scanned the horizon.

She shaded her eyes with one hand and pointed excitedly with the other. "There they are! Look, Welkin. You were right."

Through the heat shimmer, Welkin followed Gillian's pointing finger. He could just make out the

shapes of distant figures. "Maybe a half mile away. No more," he guessed. He rubbed his eyes quickly and refocused. "Maybe it's not them. There seem to be three of them."

"Two," Gillian contradicted. "I saw only two." Before he could move, Gillian grabbed at him. "Let me do the talking. I know them."

"Suits me," Welkin said, moving off after her. They caught up with the O'Shannesseys as they passed through the "goalposts" and were wading through taller range grass and bracken that bordered the basin.

The O'Shannesseys had spotted the pair some distance off. At first they had kept moving, but finally it appeared they'd discussed this new development and had decided to wait for their pursuers.

Within hailing distance, Patrick called a welcome. Welkin noticed that he was carrying a laserlite and that his left arm was bandaged and soaked with blood.

"Hiya," Welkin replied wearily. This last jog had just about done him in. He was the first to admit he did some crazy things. Coming out here after his vigil at the Stockade was one of them. Nor was Gillian in much better shape after her ordeal.

"You'd be traveling light," Patrick said skeptically. "Quick, Mira, the water. The pair of them look ready to drop!"

Gillian took Mira's water bottle with trembling hands. She'd forgotten how fresh and wonderful water could taste. She passed the canister to Welkin, who was staring at Patrick's arm.

"Fool me," Patrick said. "Slipped a ways back and slid down into a gully."

"Could've broken his fool neck!" Mira grumbled. "You left early this morning," Gillian said cautiously.

Leaving a campsite predawn was unusual but not against any family law.

"When it was dripping cool," Patrick said heartily. "We like to travel at night, mostly. You'd be best to take heed yourselves, mind." "You've been following us," Mira said, suddenly annoyed at the charade.