Aftermath (4 page)

Rescue will come,
I tell myself. We’re not simply waiting for the Morgut to finish conquering Venice Minor.

“Here,” I say eventually.

Though covered in moss and vines, the shelter looks like an old groundskeeper’s hut. At first, I wonder if there’s a comm panel in there, but we shouldn’t risk another message, even if there is. We don’t want them blowing up this location, too. Humidity makes the door stick, swollen from the dampness in the air, but with some effort, Hit shoves it open. Inside, it’s dim and hot, moist with mildew.

“Think there are any spores in here?” she asks.

“Hope not.” If they take root in our lungs, we could be in deep trouble without proper medical facilities and no idea when—or if—help is coming. Bluerot is one of the many strains of fungus that can thrive in the human body; I’d rather not test the nanites to that degree.

Even the faint light can’t disguise the derelict nature of the place. Spiders have long since laid claim, and the hammock has been chewed to strings, which now hang in forlorn rags. Otherwise, nothing lives here but dirt and mold, certainly no comm. I imagined a hero’s welcome when we returned from grimspace. There would be furious screaming first, of course, followed by obligatory punishment. And then everyone would cheer . . . because what we did, nobody’s ever done before. Yet here we are, hiding from the battle. There are no ships to steal, no help to summon. From Hit’s expression, that doesn’t sit any better with her.

“As soon as you feel up to it, we’re getting out of here.”

I nod. Wearily, I sink down onto the floor and lean my head back against the wall; I can’t feel the rumble of the bombs anymore. On the surface, that seems like it’s a good thing, but I imagine them raining down on innocent tourists. Their dying screams fill my head, and I feel raw, as if I’m at fault for them, too. So many restless ghosts. When I close my eyes, I see Doc and Evelyn, joining hands at the last. They seemed so small against the destruction raining down upon them—two souls, surrounded by burnt metal and flaming wreckage. They had no chance. No chance at happiness. It’s beyond wrong that a man of peace should become a casualty of war.

“I should’ve found some way to stop this.”

“Yeah? How?” Her tone is kind enough, but her expression reveals impatience. “I know we’re not as close as you and Dina, but I figure there will never be a better time for some straight talk.

“You’ve let March get inside your head so you don’t see things like a normal person anymore. He has this epic sense of personal responsibility, and you’ve let that become your code as well. Honest to Mary, I don’t see how you could’ve done more. This guilt is a joke, and it’s exhausting to watch you martyr yourself. Now shut the frag up and get some rest, so we can hike out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I’m too weary and heartsick to sleep, but I don’t burden Hit. She’s right; it’s tremendous ego to think I could’ve prevented this. And for the first time, I accept that maybe war was coming even if I hadn’t toppled the Corp. It might just be Farwan fighting the Morgut now, instead of the Conglomerate.

But Doc and Evie? I am all but positive that was me. I sent that second signal because I wanted March to be safe so much that I didn’t contemplate the risk. I was afraid he’d jump before the message I bounced to Tarn went out as general orders, so I acted to save the
Dauntless
. I don’t know for sure that Doc heard our message, but I can’t imagine what else drew them out at precisely that time. I don’t believe in coincidence, which means I’m guilty.

I wish it wasn’t true. They’re too smart, too vital, to be gone. Part of me hopes beyond reason that this is a dreadful mix-up. Eventually we’ll find out that they’re not lost, vaporized beneath the infernal heat of Morgut weapons—that Doc found somewhere to hide, where the bombs couldn’t touch him—but I know what I saw in those last moments. There is no mistake, and denial solves nothing.

On the
Triumph
, just before I left, he was red-eyed, eyes burning with pain. Doc’s raw grief when he lost Rose, the woman who had loved him all their lives, threatened to make him do something stupid. I had feared enough for his life that I put the AI on watch. My only consolation in this fragged-up mess is that Evelyn loved Saul, no matter the ambivalence of his own heart, so at least they were together at the end, and he did not die alone.

Despite my sad spirit, I try to get some rest, and as we sit in silence, rain drums on the roof. By nightfall, I’m ready to move, but it’s going to be a miserable march. At least I studied maps of the immediate area, the last time we were here; before coming up with the plan to steal the shuttle, we debated hiking out on foot, despite the dangerous fauna.

“There’s a city fifty-five kilometers northeast of here.”

My mother never traveled there, of course. Not when she had a villa with her own private hangar. There was no reason. Remembering Ramona gives me a little pang, as I must count her among the heroic dead. She surprised me at the end. Surprised the whole galaxy, I guess. She would be so furious right now to see what the Morgut have done to the place. I can almost hear her saying,
And
that’s
the trouble with foreigners, Sirantha.

“By the time we get there, the Morgut may have reduced it to rubble.”

Yeah, I’m aware. But I don’t know what else to do. Our personal comms don’t have the range to signal far enough to do us any good. I’m not even sure if Tarn got my message or if the whole fleet has been lost. Mary, I hope not. In that scenario, killing would be too good for me.

“But there’s a better chance of us finding functioning equipment there.”

Hit consults her handheld and gets us started in the right direction. With nothing more to say, we stick to the cover of the jungle. Animals snarl in the darkness, calls and cries that raise gooseflesh on my arms. At least the rain has put out the fires, though damaged branches come crashing down with the weight of the water. I learn to stay light on my feet, avoiding the deadfall as it drops from the canopy. The downpour doesn’t let up, so before long, we’re both soaked to the skin.

“In this weather,” Hit said, “we could be walking most of the night.”

“No shortage of water, at least.”

She flashes me a fleeting, rueful smile. The night passes in a tangle of dark leaves, near misses with the native fauna, and sheer exhaustion. It’s not cold, but the wet sinks into my bones, making me feel as though I’ll never remember what it’s like to be comfortable again. Still we keep moving, and at daybreak, the rain stops.

Hit shoots a furred thing with too many eyes and teeth as it leaps toward us from the branches above. The animal falls with a thud, revealing green-spotted fur. I’ve never seen anything like it, but she kneels, slices it open, and checks the meat.

“We can eat it,” she says. “If we must.”

Dear Mary.
I’ve never eaten fresh flesh.

“Wouldn’t we need to cook it? That would slow us down.”

She nods. “Point.”

I’m just as glad it worked out this way. I don’t want to see how things get turned into food, even if this beast tried to eat us first. We walk on and leave it behind for some other creature to feast on.

Eventually, we come to a point where we can’t continue, and we rest, rolled up in giant leaves. Insects bite me as I try to sleep, tortured by images of Doc and Evelyn. Worry over March haunts me, but I force myself to relax, one muscle at a time. Hit takes the first watch.

Creatures prowl around our campsite, some smaller than the one we killed. Others sound bigger, but they won’t close as long as we can find dry wood for a fire. I don’t rest well, even when I’m not on guard duty. The need to locate freshwater and forage slows our travel; but as we can, Hit and I keep moving toward Castello, the capital of Venice Minor.

She falls sick on the third day. I don’t even know she’s feeling poorly until her knees buckle. Whether it’s something she ate, or a tropical fever, the outcome remains the same. I have to take care of her. Her skin is hot, her eyes sunken in her head. I set up camp near the river, which we’ve followed as much as we can.

The night is endless as I bathe her forehead and try to get her to take some water. There might be medicinal plants nearby, but I can’t identify them. If I could use my handheld to bounce a connection to a satellite, I could scan and identify them, but I’m completely cut off from the amenities of the modern world, and my ignorance has never been more terrifying.

Helpless, I care for Hit as best I can, but the hours drag interminably. More than once, she reaches for me, whispering, “Dina,” through cracked lips, and I let her put my palms to her cheeks as if I am the woman she loves above all others. My heart breaks a hundred times before her fever does.

Day three of her illness. Sometime in the night, she sweated out the bug. I’ve been making a broth out of grass I know is harmless, but we’re both suffering from malnutrition. We should have reached Castello by now. The fact that we haven’t doesn’t bode well for rescue attempts—or the overall welfare of the Conglomerate. Surely, if they could, they would have sent a ground team by now.

A little voice whispers,
Maybe we lost. Maybe you did this for nothing.

I can’t let despair take root. I can’t.

“What happened?” Hit asks groggily, her hand on mine as I hold the collapsible flask for her to drink.

“You’ve been sick.”

“Feel like hell.”

“I’m not surprised. But you’re on the mend now.”

I hope.

On the fourth day after Hit fell ill, I forget my scruples. I can’t choose to starve down here any more than I could stay in grimspace. I have work to do yet. So I build a fire and go hunting. I provide Hit with a laser pistol, but it hasn’t been charged in days, and she won’t have many shots before the gun dies.

Leaving us defenseless.

The weapon in my hand doesn’t have much juice either. I find a likely blind and hunker down, listening to the jungle around me. I’ve grown accustomed to the insect noises over the past few days, so I tune them out. Other sounds capture my attention, and I lie in wait until something gets my scent. From the sound of it creeping toward me, it’s the same type of creature that tried to eat us once before. It thinks I’m dinner. They’re not picky about their own food, and I feel less guilty about eating something that tried to devour me first.

When the beast bursts from the undergrowth, jaws wide and slavering, I shoot it. Killing is nothing new to me; I’ve actually gotten pretty good at it. But this is the first time I’ve ever slain something with the intent to eat it. I get out my small survival knife, courtesy of the skiff we crashed. It takes me ages to skin and gut the thing, and I’m nervous the whole time. The blood will draw predators if I’m not fast enough. My hands shake, and my stomach churns as I deal with the carcass.

At last, I have good chunks of meat, suitable for roasting. Hit needs the protein to recover fully and continue our march. When I return, I find her propped against a tree where I left her, laser pistol still in her hands. But she’s sound asleep, and I send up a silent thank-you to Mary that the fire kept the animals away.

I don’t wake her as I cook, but she rouses to the smell. I get that. The scent of roasting meat reminds me of the
Sargasso
, so I have to hold my nose in order to force down the charred flesh.
It’s just nutrition,
I tell myself.
Protein, just like the paste.
Not too long ago, this protein was running around the jungle.
Gross.
My stomach threatens to rebel, and Hit quells me with a sharp look.

“Keep it down. No telling when we’ll eat again.” Even in infirmity, she has more determination than I do. I admire the hell out of this woman.

We’re both lean as blades now; I could cut myself on her collarbones, but someone will come soon. The battle has to be over by now. They must know we’re on Venice Minor, somewhere.
If they got our message. If anyone survived to hear it.

Someone will come.
I repeat that refrain for the next two days. By this time, Hit is strong enough to move again. I use my handheld to check our course—maps are on the drive already, no need for uplink—and we set out toward Castello once more. I won’t be sorry to leave this jungle behind.

In another day, my feet are raw from wearing the same socks without washing them, the salt of my sweat eating into my skin. I’d kill to be clean. Wrong thought. There’s been too much death.

I tap my comm, which gets enough light in between the canopy and the intermittent showers to hold at nearly half a charge. Our personal units are equipped with small solar panels in the event we’re stranded on a class-P world. At this point, I’m wondering if we’ll ever see civilization again.

Just before nightfall, my comm beeps, which means someone’s out there, somebody who knows my personal code. Euphoria lights me up like the bright morning sky, clouds shot with pink and gold, and that’s how I feel, despite my mud-encrusted boots and my sodden clothes.

I fumble with the buttons to answer fast enough. “Jax here.”

“Glad to hear it, Sirantha.” Even before his face flickers onto the small screen, I’d recognize Vel’s voice anywhere. “I hoped you would come into comm range.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see you.” Relief leaves me shaky. Beside me, Hit punches the air in triumph. “Can you give me a sitrep?”

The situation report will be bad, no doubt. It only remains to be seen just how dire our circumstance. At least I can rely on Vel to give it to me straight.

“I think it best if we rendezvous first, then I can bring you up to speed.”

“Can you pick us up?”

He shakes his head. “We managed to get inside their line after your first message went out, but we cannot move until you get here. I prefer not to increase our chances of detection. Scout ships are still buzzing the surface, and it would be unfortunate if they found you first. I do not imagine you are in any condition to fight.”