Spears of the Sun (Star Sojourner Book 3) by Jean Kilczer Page A

pulled them on, though they made me shiver. At least I could feel my fingers again.
    Zorba grabbed my arm and pushed me out of the stall. He came out after me, clutched my arm again and pulled me to the barn door. I threw off his hand and paused.
    The morning sun felt warm and comforting in a cold world. A sea breeze carried the salty smell of the ocean. Waves rose and fell with the rhythm of elements moved by the invisible hands of universal laws.
    I was relieved that the view from the house was blocked by the barn. Speaking of invisible hands, though, I closed my eyes, leaned against the barn door as though I were still dizzy, and pictured that red-hot coil spinning within my head. I willed the coil to intensify. Quickening. A burn through brain cells. I attached a message as I forced the coil to gain power by sheer will and felt it grow. It hurt, but it was worth the try. I gathered the coil and threw it!
Interstel is tracking you,
I sent.
An ion device is racing here to destroy you! Flee for your lives!
I had no idea what an ion device was, but it sounded good.
    Zorga hit me so fast I never saw it coming. An explosion of pain shook me to the core and dissipated the mental coil. I found myself on my knees.
    “Ye do that trick again,” Zorga yelled and whipped out his stingler, “and ye spend the ride back with ye brain in deep freeze!” I saw him turn the weapon's ring to “stun.”
    Dammit! He was a sensitive.
    “Zorga,” Huff said, “we're not supposed to do that. You might harm him.”
    “Ye are beginning to vex me!” Zorba told Huff and waved the stingler at him.
    I tried to stand up and the stalls turned like a carousel, complete with horses who peered curiously out of their stalls.
    Huff took my arm and helped me to my feet. “Can you stand by yourself?” He brushed straw off my clothes.
    Who did he think he was kidding? Good cop, bad cop? He was just another devious, greedy slime. I yanked his paw off my arm. “Get away from me, you lying bag of slime.” Anyway, the barn had stopped turning.
    He nodded and moved back.
    My tel powers were stronger since I'd intimidated the five crotes in the tunnel, but I still couldn't send on Spirit's subliminal level, a level that didn't alert a sensitive, including alien races. I would have to learn that skill if I lived long enough.
    I walked outside.
    The Shayl crouched on their hovair with his wings folded, looking for all the world like a gargoyle hood ornament. Six appendages. Two arms, two legs, and wings. Six was an unusual pattern. They are a cunning race, but not technological. That takes teamwork. They paid their way for space travel by catching native fish with their talons as they skimmed the surface of their lakes. The eggs from the Six-Fins, as the fish were called, were prized throughout the colonies and Earth as a delicacy that rivaled Earth's truffles.
    Huff opened the hovair's door.
    “Get in,” Zorga ordered.
    I was halfway into the vehicle when a voice from behind me grated in stelspeak: “Stay right where you are. Move and you're dead.”
    I stopped and ventured a look back.
    A muscular man, with kinky black hair and the dark skin of an Earth African, stood with legs braced, and an old bullet semi-automatic rifle pointed at the group. The Shayl spread his great wings and hissed. Zorga and Huff stopped moving.
    “Me too?” I asked.
    “You'll want to move away from them,” he told me. “Out of range of my rifle.”
    I felt a great sense of relief. “Sounds good to me. But what about the Altairian's stingler? He's dangerous, tag.”
    “Call me Chancey. You got a problem with the way I'm rescuing you?”
    “Your call, my friend.” But as I stepped away, Zorga reached out and grabbed me. Altairians are stronger than humans by far. He dragged me in front of him and drew the stingler. Chancey fired above my head. I heard Zorga's helmet crack and the hiss as gas poured out. That would be ammonia and methane! I broke from his grip and threw