It was the best headache he’d ever had in his life.
“Kin Stewart,” a voice came in return—the same voice they’d heard before the jump. “I’m looking for Kin Stewart.”
“He’s here.” Her voice wobbled as she jumped up and down, arms in full waving motion. “He’s here, and he needs help! Hurry!”
Kin wanted to yell his objections, to tell her to stay quiet, remain hidden from a sure TCB trap. Who else would know it was him, here, now? His voice echoed in his own mind, filling the space with a silent scream.
Footsteps cut through the brush, going from a thin pat-pat-pat to a full-on stomp that crushed the foliage and kicked up dust clouds. The man knelt down beside him, his face out of view. “I’m a doctor. I was told to find Kin Stewart here.”
“By who? Did Markus send you?”
“Markus?” His words flew out at breakneck speed, only eclipsed by his hands opening pouches from his backpack. “I don’t know anyone named Markus.” A small device beeped in his hand as he waved it over Kin’s fallen body. “Brain swelling. Minimal respiration and circulation. Barely detectable by the scanner. Probably can’t even see it,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of his vision. “No reflexive motion. Come on, prognosis.” The device beeped again, and the man focused in on the holographic text it projected. “Okay. That’s it. A few more things. We can do this. Stabilize.” More pouches and pockets opened from his bag, and Kin’s whole world shook as the man jabbed him in the neck. He heard a hissing sound. “Eight...nine...ten. Okay, now this one.” Another hissing sound came by, and within seconds a familiar pounding hammered Kin’s temples.
It was the best headache he’d ever had in his life.
