“She’s still critically injured,” the older voice continued glumly. “I told you we weren’t prepared for this. We don't have the medtech.”

Of course they didn’t have the tech she needed. A third grade tourist attraction wouldn’t have the resources to properly reinforce or replenish her NANs. If they weren’t fed, and she couldn’t command them, what would they do?

Would they stop? Or would they–

No, please no.

There was more movement around her. She wished she could open her eyes; see the sources of the voices. Talk to them, tell them what they needed to do.

“Then we’ll have to carry her back doma.” That sounded definite. The thought excited her. She liked going home. She wanted to go home. Home was beautiful. Home was green. Home was Emerald.

Home was forbidden.

Althea remembered where she needed to go. She remembered choosing the world, watching it spin down from the galaxy of ghosts. Choosing it… so she could speak to her dead. But… what good could come from that?

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“We’ll have to go the long way around,” the older voice grumbled.

“We can go up the promont, there’s enough power in the leva, isn’t there?” the other insisted. Then he sounded as desperate as he did determined. “We have to do it!”

Go up a cliff, she thought about it, in a sled? Wasn’t that the wrong way around? Why did these voices make so little sense? Why didn’t the wind talk to her? Tell her everything was all right; explain what it all meant. Then she remembered the wind had a name. She had given it a name. She had encoded its name.

She had concealed it, still did, even after it carried her away from home. From Emerald.

“Dorian.”

The name suffused her with contentment. The thought of it pulled her away from the noises, the constriction, the pain. Again, she was happy, comfortable, back in the sun, in the field and warmth; and it lasted a long time.

But again, the peace ended – as it had before – with a shock. She was no longer lying down. If she was, gravity was playing a very silly game with her, spinning, flipping her about. The nasty, nameless wind was back. It was howling this time, wailing. She could hear a banging, a scraping sound, felt as if she was a bottle on the water, bobbing this way and that.

She felt a jerk – then a sudden stop.

“Come on, just another five!”

“I’m losing it! I’m losing it.”

She became alarmed. Who were they? Why were they shouting? Were those the voices she’d heard earlier?

“Steady boy, it’s just another few fours.” Althea relaxed a touch; it was the grandfather, she remembered.

Noises overwhelmed voices – more scraping, banging sounds – she was again swung about wildly.

Then, a violent jerk, and she was on her back.

“Stop, stop,” the old voice shouted. “Damn – two more thrusters gone.”