Aftermath (32 page)

The fourth morning after our return, a young male Mareq approaches. He is slim and tall, with bold markings to proclaim his youth, a handsome specimen of their people, at least so far as I can tell. He holds his hands in a warm greeting, as if I should know him, and he bumps his chest gently against mine. Such familiarity startles me, but I almost feel as if I should recognize him.

Switching to Mareq,
I tell the chip.

“Good day,” I say cautiously.

“You do not know me.” It’s not a question.

Mary knows I don’t want to offend him. Maybe we danced with him at the celebration, so long ago now, though I’m
still
not sure how long exactly. “I feel as though I should.”

“I am Zeeka.”

I puff out a surprised breath, and for long moments, I can’t process it. We were gone long enough for him to
grow up
, though to Vel and me, it only seemed like a few months, at most. I don’t know how long it takes for a Mareq to reach maturity; maybe they have a short life cycle. I can hardly accept the idea that I’m talking to Baby-Z2. Wonder and gratitude spill through me.

He takes my silence for encouragement and goes on, “You took me out into the singing stars, where I fell into the void. And then you brought me back again, carried me home to my mother’s arms. You are Jax Oonan, of whom much has been sung, and I am destined to leave with you. My destiny lies out there.”

Zeeka glances up at the eternal twilight of the Marakeq sky, but he sees the star-studded darkness above—or maybe it’s more accurate to say he remembers, although I don’t understand how that’s possible. The Mareq are wondrous beings.

“You want to leave with us?” I ask, astonished. “Will Dace allow it?”

“I am a sovereign creature now.” I get the sense that my chip didn’t translate perfectly, but I get the gist. It’s
My mom can’t say no because I’m a big boy.

“What will you do out there?” I can’t take him on as a dependent. I just can’t.

“Learn your trade.”

The first Mareq jumper? I don’t even know if he’s got the J-gene. From Fugitive scientist data, Doc posited that the Mareq owned a genetic quality that could aid in longevity for navigators, but I have no clue whether they have the potential themselves. It’s not like you can tell with one look, either, as you can in humans. Like the Rodeisians, Mareq eye color tends to be uniform, a muddy brown, and it will require some tests in order to determine whether Zeeka can realize his dream.

I make a swift decision. “You can come with me as far as Gehenna. I can get you tested there. If you don’t have the J-gene, then I’m sending you home.”

My vocalizer has some trouble with those concepts because Zeeka cocks his head, trying to decipher what I’ve said. “You will test me? If I fail, I must go home.”

Close enough. “Does that sound fair?”

“Yes, Jax Oonan.”

I really must read these writings about Oonan. When Dace said the prophecies of Oonan, I guessed that was some old Mareq prophet, but it appears they think
I
am Oonan, and the person who wrote all this stuff down didn’t get remembered by name. For a moment, I’m tempted to set the record straight; as a member of the older starfaring race, it’s probably Vel who triggered the gate, but he asked me not to, and I have more pressing matters to attend to right now, such as breaking up a fight between our gate- traveling alt-Mareq and the throat-flushed male who finds her fascinating.

On the eighth day, lights appear in the sky. It can mean only one thing.

Quickly, I speak my farewells and thank Dace for everything. She responds with a regal nod. “Protect my son.”

Then she gives him a bundle of items that will do him little good where we’re going; the Mareq youngling vibrates with excitement. Vel and I gather our things, slight though our belongings may be, and hike toward the landing site. Halfway there, I pause. Hit is a skilled pilot, but if we’re standing where she’s trying to put the ship, that won’t end well. Vel monitors their progress, and when he gives me the all clear, I take off again at a dead run.

As we break from the swamp into the clearing, I recognize the
Big Bad Sue
, even from fifty meters away. The hatch opens, and Dina steps out. Her hair is a lot longer, spilling nearly to her waist, and as I draw closer, I see the signs of time on her face: new lines framing her eyes and mouth. The question haunts me anew:
How long were we gone?

“What the frag happened?” she demands, sweeping me into a fierce hug. “Where
were
you?”

“It’s a long story. Could we get off this rock before I tell it?”

“Sure.” She pauses, angling her head to study me. “You don’t look any different, bitch. How’s that possible?”

“Has it been so long?” Vel asks.

“Five turns.” She glances at the Mareq. “And who’s this?”

She’s not going to believe it. “Baby-Z2. But he prefers to be called Zeeka.”

For once, the blond mechanic is speechless. And then she manages, “No shit. Well, let’s get inside. Hit and Argus are waiting in the cockpit. They didn’t figure you’d want to linger on world, after being lost so long.”

“You got that right,” I mutter, still reeling from her revelation.

Five turns.
March must’ve given me up for dead and moved on by now. There’s a cold dread building in my stomach. For the last five turns, he’s been settled and raising his sister’s son. Sasha, the note said.
Oh, Mary. What a fragging mess.

“Dace didn’t tell you where she sent us?” I ask.

Dina shakes her head. “It took us ages to communicate with them at all. I had a chip put in, but it was slow going. And then she would only say
Jax Oonan is destined to open the door and return in her own time
. I wanted to pound her, but Hit said that wouldn’t help anything.”

We head inside the ship with our would-be Mareq jumper craning his neck to examine all of the technological marvels. He’s seen it all before, and I wonder how much of that he remembers. Vel follows quietly, probably processing the idea that it’s been so long since Adele died, even though it has to feel fresh for him. We’re out of step with the normal world now, and I don’t know what to do about that. But there are practical concerns to address now; I head for the hub and show Zeeka how to strap in.

“Where to?” Dina asks.

“Gehenna. Zeeka here wants to become a jumper, but I don’t know if he has the J-gene.”

“So you want Carvati to check him out,” she guesses, buckling in across the way. Once she’s done so, she touches the comm unit on her wrist. “All passengers aboard, love. We’re clear to depart, destination Gehenna.”

Hit’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Glad to hear it. Welcome back, Jax. I thought you might’ve died down there.”

“I knew you didn’t,” Argus puts in. “You’re going to die in some memorable, glorious fashion, many turns from now.”

I wish I had his confidence.

Dina adds, “I’ll let March know where we’ll be. He made me promise.”

I don’t know if I’m up to facing him. Mary knows I’ve longed for him, but I’ve been gone so long. It seems wrong now to turn up like an unlucky specter, reminding him of the life he left behind. The irony doesn’t escape me that I once tried to build a life without him—and now he’s done that without me, away from the stars, away from grimspace. Some would say this is karma biting me in the ass.

The rumble of the engines comes first, then the sweet lift that carries us far from the endless green swamp that is Marakeq, but I don’t know if it’s possible to get back to where I was before, and furthermore, I don’t know if I should try.

Five turns isn’t a long time for the dome city, I suppose. Part of its charm is that it doesn’t shift. There are no gorgeous sunsets or sunrises, only the endless titian swirl of the gases in the sky above. Today they are especially dramatic with bursts of red and orange, mingled with paler cream. Zeeka stares up, mute with wonder.

I have to translate any conversation that occurs for him, which means he needs a chip and a vocalizer, as soon as possible, if he qualifies as a jumper according to Carvati’s tests.

Mentally I switch to Mareq, and say, “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“I was reborn here,” he answers.

True enough.
But how remarkable he knows that.

The
Big Bad Sue
passes all the locks without difficulty, and soon we disembark at the spaceport. I watch Zeeka to make sure he’s not overwhelmed by it all, but he appears entranced rather than terrified. Hit leads us through the customary searches with a minimum of fuss, then we look for a place to stay near the market, which is colorful, as always, full of diaphanous fabrics and belly jewels, totemic carvings and sacred kirpan. That much has not changed, but the air is smoky today, full of burning kosh. It makes my eyes water. I remember when I lived here before, how I would come to the market to shop before I began my shift at Hidden Rue. Old thoughts fill my head.

This feels as if things have come full circle. In guilt over what happened to Baby-Z, I fled to Gehenna to seek my own path, and now, here Zeeka stands, gazing around at all the marvels. Aliens are common enough in the dome that he’s not drawing undue attention. I suspect people don’t realize he’s the first Mareq to travel thus, or he’d be bombarded with attention from the paparazzi.

Then I realize why I’ve got that old woman in my head; she’s watching me from across the market. She’s even more stooped and wizened than she was when she accosted me, a black shawl wound around her slight body. I murmur an excuse and cut across to meet her. She stands patiently, as if she expected me.

“Good day,” I say, for that’s the accepted greeting on Gehenna, where there are neither nights nor mornings. “Do you remember me?”

“Should I?” Maybe my mind’s playing tricks on me. I mutter an apology and turn, but her voice stops me. “You found your shadow, and you faced your destiny, and came out stronger on the other side. But at what cost, Sirantha Jax? At what cost? Yet you are nearly to the end of your road, so have no fear.”

Nearly at the end of my road.
What does that mean? I wonder if she’s saying I’m going to die soon. It would almost be a respite at this point. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I am
so
fragging tired.

I spin to question her, but there’s only a vendor selling lovely, hand-painted fans. She raises a brow at me, but I shake my head and return to the others. After chiding me for wandering off, Hit finds us a berth for the night, a hostel with a club attached; their musicians are paid to provide an appealing background, not make conversation impossible. Mikhail’s is a sophisticated establishment, known for good food, expensive wine, and quiet entertainment, making it a rarity in Gehenna; dark faux-wood and wine red upholstery adds to the upscale ambience.

In the warm amber light, I study my companions. Hit shows the least signs of aging; her dark skin looks much the same, her features strong and elegant. I realize I have no idea how old she is. Argus, too, has changed since I saw him on New Terra; he’s a man now, not an eager boy. His shoulders are broad, and he’s lost the hint of gangly youth. From what he said on the way from the port, he spent the last five turns working with Dina and Hit as their navigator, and he wears that experience in the form of a little swagger in his stride that makes women turn as he passes.

“Is there anyone special?” I ask him, over drinks.

Argus shakes his head. “Not since Esme.”

He’s not as carefree as he seems, then. The memory of the girl he lost haunts him still. First love can hit you like that, though for me it’s the loves who came after Sebastian that have caused me the most pain.

For the first time, I understand something of what it must be like for Vel, watching everything change around you while you remain the same. It isn’t a blessing as some people would imply; it’s a curse. Anyone who wished for immortality is out of his head, as it means constant loss.

“So you just vanished,” Dina says eventually. “You want to tell me how that happened? We searched for ages before leaving the beacon in case you found your way back to the village.”

If they hadn’t, Vel and I would’ve been stranded on Marakeq until the next ship arrived, which could’ve been a hundred turns. I might’ve died there. A cold shudder works through me.

“Thanks for that. You saved our asses.”

Dina smirks. “Like usual.”

After the food arrives, I tell our story. That carries us through until the desserts. The others listen with silent astonishment, interjecting only the occasional question. I don’t think Zeeka is paying any attention at all; he’s too busy soaking everything in.