"He's coming around."
Hendley tried to open his eyes, but the lids were stuck. He stopped trying and concentrated on his pain. His knee was aflame, and his neck and jaw and stomach and other, more tender parts ached. Someone seemed to be kneeling on his chest. But he could flex his toes and fingers. He could breathe, if wheezingly. He seemed whole—and he was alive.
His eyelids struggled open. He looked into a smooth-skinned brown face and brown eyes that seemed to devour him. The girl's full, wide mouth was open. Her expression was no longer indifferent. It was—eager.
He stared past her rounded shoulder at the sky, and at another familiar face which he did not immediately place. The face smiled.
"Close call," the young man who owned the face said. "But with a little rest you'll be good as new."
The statement did not seem very credible, but Hendley was unequal to argument. "What happened?" he asked.
"You won!" the tanned girl said enthusiastically.
"I did?"
"FLN-962—he's my Contracted—said you did very well. The team won. They're playing a rematch now."