Herod looked up into the sky and saw the first grim clouds trekking across the sky towards them. They were heavy with rainwater–his bones told him so. They rattled and ached whenever it was humid. It wasn’t usually so bad. The blue sun had turned the planet into an arid wasteland, so there wasn’t much humidity to speak of. But whenever his knees would buckle, he knew there was water nearby. It had saved his life more than once. Herod had started to think that falling from that helicopter had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. In his world, there were few things left to compare shattering one’s kneecaps to.

Herod limped across the helipad and gripped both sides of ladder tightly, sliding down to ground level with ease. The rainwater had put Herod in a good mood, and suddenly he was thankful for everything. His upper body strength allowed him to stride across the skywalk to the main building where his friends were huddled together sleeping. He hadn’t always been so strong–he’d had better use of his legs before.