“Pig for sure,” his fat friend agreed.
Kayla’s cheeks burned. Even knowing the consequences, she wanted nothing more than to ford the river and grab the tall blond boy by his ugly purple cape. She’d shake him, hard, and give him a dunking in the river.
The good-looking one whispered to his friend, then they both bent to gather up a handful of the smaller perma rocks under their feet. The fat one lobbed a rock toward Jal, but he had such lousy aim, Kayla doubted he could have hit a stationary pub-trans with a boulder. Jal dodged the rocks, leaping side to side as if it were a game.
But the taller trueborn had a better arm. The chunks of permacrete he cast fell precisely to either side and just short of Jal, closer and closer. When her brother tried to back away in the dank water, a jagged piece grazed his left cheek, scratching across his GEN tattoo before it plunked into the river.
That was enough to send Kayla scrambling down the trash-strewn bank, a prayer to the Infinite and all three prophets flung off in her mind. But before she even reached the water, the good-looking trueborn raised a massive piece of perma and shouted, “Hey, jik! Catch this one with your teeth!”
Kayla screamed, “Jal, run!” as she slithered to the river’s edge and struggled for footing in the slippery riverbed. His carrysak heavy with toads, Jal took a bad step, losing his balance. He fell to his knees in the shallow, slow-moving water. The trueborn stretched his arms back, ready to heave the permacrete at Jal.
A pair of hands wrenched the rock from the good-looking trueborn boy’s grip. The slope of the riverbank and the broad-shouldered trueborn blocked Kayla’s view of Jal’s rescuer. She heard him shout, “Leave off, Livot, or I’ll take some perma to that Bullet of yours.”
A few more shouted words, then Livot and his fat friend retreated to their micro-lev-car, their footsteps crunching in the rubble. Kayla grabbed a handful of Jal’s shirt, lifting him off his feet, the heavy carrysak and his wiry thirty-five kilos a featherweight to her strength. He squawked at the indignity of dangling from her hands, but she didn’t let him go until she’d carried him to the water’s edge.
The bank was steep enough she had to pull herself up on all fours, but as usual the hyper-genned strength of her upper body got the better of her lower. She fumbled more than once, muddying her knees, adding to the ugly ankle-high sludge staining her best leggings.
It wasn’t until she and Jal had reached safety on the top of the bank that she realized the third trueborn was following them across the river. He’d found a path of rocks, barely wetting his boots with his careful steps, let alone the cuffs of his pants.
Kayla bent to whisper in Jal’s ear. “Run to the flat. If I’m not back in an hour, tell Tala what happened.”
Jal’s eyes widened. “I can’t leave you.”
“I’ll be fine.” The trueborn’s head had appeared above the riverbank. “Do as I say! Go!”
Carrysak clutched to his chest, Jal took off down the narrow weed-choked path. He disappeared around the corner of the kel-grain warehouse before the trueborn topped the riverbank and started toward Kayla.
Read more in Tankborn by Karen Sandler! Available in print and e-book.
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Diverse Energies Page 28