Trial by Ordeal

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I heard his steps long before I saw him coming. I knew from the labored tread and huffing breath who it was—Ronald Hickok, one of the contact team; the group responsible for negotiating with the Onalbi.

Well, I’d given them something to negotiate about.

He scrambled to the top of the rock where I sat and collapsed heavily next to me. After he caught his breath, he finally spoke. “They treating you OK?”

I nodded. “No complaints.”

His arm swept across the periphery of my vision. “No complaints? They give you a rock valley to live in, no shelter, no food—”

“They bring me food,” I corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “And you built yourself a little mud igloo to live in, too, but it’s—”

“Ron, I don’t need a mansion. All I need is protection from the elements and food.”

He grunted and I could hear him fumbling in his pockets. “I brought that pair of socks you wanted,” he said, placing them next to my hand. “You know, I think they’d let you have more if you’d only ask. A view screen, maybe? How about—”

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