Shady Lady (42 page)

There hasn’t been time for my message to reach Tarn or for him to respond. Which means Hit and I must focus on finding shelter and staying alive until the Morgut finish the eradication of our species. After that, I don’t know what the hell we’ll do—steal a ship, maybe. At least with my implants, I have the advantage of understanding Morgut speech and some of their technology. I might be able to explain to Hit how to fly one of their scout ships, assuming we aren’t caught and eaten first.

“It’s gonna be a rocky few days,” Hit says.

“I’m aware.”

“The jungle’s not secure, with the fires still burning.” Her dark gaze roves around the rubble, looking for safe harbor.

We both know we can’t roam too far from the ship. At this point, stealing a Morgut scout vessel and rendezvousing with the rest of the Conglomerate fleet offers our best chance for survival. I can’t feel March, but this time, it’s because of the physical distance between us. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
It doesn’t mean he’s dead. He’s probably on the
Dauntless
with Hon and Loras.

Icy terror crawls down my spine.
Please, please let them be in orbit, fighting the good fight. If they are, maybe . . .

“Do you remember the
Dauntless
comm code?” I ask Hit.

Regret colors her expression as she shakes her head. Damn. I don’t recall either. If Rose were here, I have no doubt she could tell me. She was a good comm officer, but we lost her even before we landed on Venice Minor. I remember Doc’s grief, and sorrow steals through me. War has no regard for love.

“Maybe we can find part of the
Triumph
’s computer and link it to ours,” she suggests. “It should have records of past communications.”

I hope her technical expertise surpasses mine, because I can’t do that. But spending as much time with Dina as she does, it’s not surprising that some of the knowledge has sunk in. For all I know, she helps the mechanic with repairs in between the nuzzling and softly whispered words.

“Let’s look.”

The
Triumph
wreckage lies nearby, and we creep toward it in silence. Together, Hit and I sort through the metal and burned components. I try not to think of Kai; he died long ago yet haunts me still. I imagine the ones we’ve lost as ghosts who prowl about the edges of the light, waiting for us to join them. Sometimes that’s terrifying and sometimes it’s reassuring, a promise of homecoming.

At length, she produces a chunk of the computer trailing wires and says, “I think this is it.”

More explosions light that bloody glow in the distance. We’re too far from ground zero to hear the booms or feel the earth shake; the Morgut are moving off now, systematically destroying the defenseless resorts and private homes. I wonder whether they had any real warning, or if they went from relaxing massages to dying in abject terror. There are no RDIs here, no ground resistance at all apart from Hit and me. Right now that seems like an impossibly tall order.

“Do you feel like we saved the Conglomerate only to lose everything that matters?” I ask her quietly as we pick a path toward the downed skiff.

“Only if Dina died here,” Hit answers. “
If
she did, then I’ll find a way to end the Morgut. I will hunt them to extinction and then delete all their records, all their writings. They will pass unremembered.” Her coldness gives me chills.

But I feel more or less the same way; I’m just less articulate about it. “If I’ve lost March, then I’ll help you.”

She doesn’t hesitate as she drops through the open door to the cockpit. I come in on the other side and squat on the ceiling, watching as she snips and intertwines the wires. Sparks fill the air, simmering white-hot, and then dying with a hiss as connection begins.

“Got it. Cycling through old logs now.”

Over crackles of static, I listen as Rose patches the calls through. Her voice echoes from beyond the grave, more memories I cannot shake. “You have Hon from the
Dauntless
requesting a connection.”

“Patch him through,” March says.

Mary, how it hurts to hear his voice, even blurred with electronic interference. It makes me feel as if he’s one of my ghosts, and I can’t give in to grief before I find the answers. Hit plays the log until she successfully extrapolates the comm code, a matter of some urgency, as there’s no telling how much longer this wreck will have sufficient power to send—or receive—messages. Hit cues me with the goahead and I angle my head as best I can toward the comm array. The video’s not working, but as long as we have audio, it should suffice.

“Hit and I have returned to Venice Minor. We’ve encountered no survivors. Our ship’s disabled, but we don’t see the
Dauntless
amid the wreckage, so we hope you survived the initial bombing. If you’re still in direct comm range, we implore you not to jump, as your navigator won’t be able to interpret the signals. At best, you’ll wind up far from your intended destination. At worst, you’ll be lost for good. Until we hear back, we’ll be waiting on the surface, so please advise with intel about the battle and our new orders.”

Unless they court-martial us for going AWOL.
But it isn’t time for disciplinary action; we’re in the middle of a war, for Mary’s sake. Once the dust settles, then I’ll take my punishment, but I’m not letting them touch Hit. I’ll lie if I must.

After a nod from her indicating she has nothing to add, I say, “Send.”

A ping from the comm indicates it’s resolved the link, which indicates they’re up there, somewhere. Who’s on the
Dauntless
, we cannot know. Then from the damaged console comes an alarming beep, accelerating in speed. Even I know what that means. Frantic, I scramble out of the cockpit, cutting my palms on metal shards as I pull myself out. Hit grabs my hand and we sprint full-out away from the skiff.

Ann Aguirre
is a national bestselling author. She has a degree in English literature and a spotty résumé. Before she began writing full-time, she was a clown, a clerk, a voice actress, and a savior of stray kittens, not necessarily in that order. She grew up in a yellow house across from a cornfield, but now she lives in sunny Mexico with her husband, two children, two cats, and one very lazy dog. She likes books, emo music, action movies, and
Dr. Who
. You can visit her on the Web at
www.annaguirre.com
.

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