"Yes, Kim," said the girl softly. "I couldn't sleep. I'm ... wondering if we can hope."
Kim did not answer.
"If we live—" said the girl yearningly, and stopped.
Calhoun felt that he ought to put his fingers in his ears. The conversation was strictly private. But he needed to be on guard. So he coughed, to give notice that he heard. Kim called to him across the starlit glade.
"Calhoun."
"Yes," said Calhoun. "If you two talk, I suggest that you do it in whispers. I want to listen, in case the man I killed had friends who'll come looking for him. Did you get his blaster, by the way?"
"Yes," said Kim from the darkness across the way.
"Good!" said Calhoun. "Keep it. And against all medical ethics, I advise you to use it freely if you find suitable targets. But now, just talk quietly if you can."
He settled back. Murgatroyd stirred and cuddled closer against him without wakening. There was the faintest possible murmuring of voices where Kim Walpole and the girl Helen talked wistfully of the possibility of hope.
Calhoun felt very lonely, despite the violent activities he foresaw for the morrow. He almost envied Kim Walpole. But he could not have traded places with him. It wouldn't have been a fair trade. Calhoun was quite confident that—via Murgatroyd—the folk in the glade had a very fair chance of living for some time yet.