Song of the Navigator (9 page)

Tover hesitated. He put the vase back on the shelf. And then, realizing what he had done, he let out a sob and covered his face with his hands, taking deep breaths, trying not to cry out.

“Tover.”

Tover kept his face covered. He struggled to contain what he felt inside, even though everything threatened to flood out.

“Tover.” Cruz said his name again, gently. He'd moved closer. Tover lifted his head and looked directly into Cruz's eyes, standing beside his bed. “I'm going to get you home. I promise.”

Tover didn't answer.

“I didn't know they would hurt you,” Cruz said after another long pause.

Tover grimaced. “What did you think—”

“I knew they'd force you to work. But you're a
navigator
. Even here on Carida we honor navigators. I thought they'd treat you respectfully. I had no idea they'd go so far.”

“Well, you fucked up,” Tover snapped.

“And I meant to get you out of there the following day. I only planned on leaving you for
one day
.”

Tover glared at him. “
What?
”

“I told you it wouldn't last long.” Cruz swallowed. “But we got caught at Jarrow's exit docks and were deported. It took four weeks to convince my superiors to pay for the transport back to Jarrow, and in the end they only agreed to give me soldiers once we learned that five Caridan girls had been sold by a smuggler.”

Tover's legs ached.

“Tover.” Cruz sounded frustrated. “I thought I'd stay away to make this easier on you, but I couldn't. I needed you to know that I never intended this. I—”

“Stop saying my name.”

Cruz ran his hand through his hair. “If you knew why I did it, you'd—”

“Fuck you.” Tover shook his head. “Why help me now, after everything?”

Cruz didn't answer for a long time, and when he did, he spoke quietly, his eyes a little glassy. “Because you are a rare, beautiful flower. And I crushed you under my boot.”

Tover's throat felt tight. He turned away from Cruz, overwhelmingly tired by it all.

He heard Cruz expel air, sensed his frustration. He felt the other man's presence a few seconds longer, before he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Tover released the breath he'd been holding.

Chapter Eight

“Come on, lazy, time to walk outside for some fresh air.”

Tover flipped over in bed and glared at Ana, pointing at the clip on his mouth. “Fresh air? It's toxic to me, remember? This entire fucking planet is poisonous.”

Ana slapped his back, hard. “Stop being such a baby. You have a respirator. Let's go outside!”

Tover glared at her but didn't respond, realizing he complained merely to be petulant.

Over the last week he had been in turns rude, indifferent, and downright hostile to Lourdes and her daughter. Yet they seemed oblivious to his seething hatred, chatting amicably as if he'd asked about the weather instead of telling them to fuck off.

“You have to see what my mother has done,” Ana continued, fussing around in some large bag she'd brought in with her. “Every year Cruz and I warn her to stop planting, and every year she ignores us. Now there's acres of flowers, and it all blooms at once and we're going to be screwed trying to harvest it all before the flowers wither.”

Ana finished fishing in her bag and looked up in surprise. “What? You've been complaining about being bedridden all week, and now you don't want to walk?”

“I'm not going outside in a pair of baggy pajamas.”

Tover had already had this argument. Despite the fact that Lourdes was a doctor, and that Ana had assured him she'd already seen all his body parts while washing him, Tover was mortified at the idea of walking around their house in nothing but the late senior Arcadio's ill-fitting clothing.

Ana rolled her eyes. ”Now you're just making excuses.”

“And besides, it was
your
mother who warned me that the Pulmon Verde were watching the house.”

“They know exercise is part of your healing,” Ana said. “Besides, they don't care where you go as long as you don't get in a nave. There isn't a town or city for fifteen kilometers, so they're only guarding the vehicles. Come on, it's only the garden. Don't be such a coward, it won't eat you.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're bitchy?”

“Has anyone ever told you you're a snob?”

“Yeah. But it didn't matter, because I was a navigator.”

“You still are.” Ana shook her head. “But if you're so picky about your wardrobe, I guess you'll have to make do with these.”

Ana triumphantly pulled a pair of trousers from her bag. “Ta-da! Someone went shopping for you.” She tossed more clothes on the bed.

Tover stared at the clothes, feeling both embarrassed by his childish behavior, and grateful that it had actually panned out for him.

The trousers were made of the thin, cotton-like linen that everyone in the Arcadio family seemed to favor. They were a pale khaki color and looked to be Tover's size. There was also a dark-blue T-shirt, socks, a pair of dark underwear, and boots that were startlingly familiar. He picked them up and examined them closely.

They weren't exactly his brown faux-leather boots from back on DK station, but a nearly identical pair. It was too coincidental to have been an accident, which meant that Cruz had been the one to pick out Tover's outfit.

Lourdes came in, bag slung over her shoulder, looking exhausted. At least once a day some local farmer or Pulmon Verde soldier seemed to stop by her office for medical care, but she also had a clinic in Villazul, and she'd spent the last two nights there caring for an emergency patient. Tover was surprised at how the idea of someone else getting her attentive care made him feel almost jealous.

“How's it going?” Lourdes asked him. She took the bag off her shoulder and plopped it on the chair beside the lamp.

Tover shrugged.

“You try standing yet?” she asked.

“No.” He'd waited for her to be there before he gave it another go. After all, if he fell, the last person he wanted to have help him was Cruz.

He hadn't seen Cruz since their discussion a few nights before. He hated the fact that he still wanted to see the man, even after everything that happened.

“Well, no time like the present,” Lourdes said. “I put out some clean towels and a razor in the bathroom if you want to wash up.”

Tover nodded. Both Lourdes and Ana hovered anxiously beside him. He bunched the clothes in his hand and slowly stood. His knees ached as his legs locked straight, but he could bend his legs, and after a few shaky moments, he lifted his hand from the side table and took a step on his own.

Tover concentrated on the door to the bathroom and took a deliberate step. It felt jarring, but he could walk. At the door, he turned and waved at the apprehensive but smiling faces of Lourdes and Ana, and closed the door.

Muted, pale lights came on automatically, illuminating the wooden-paneled room. He limped over to the luxurious-looking bath and ran the water. There was a large stack of white towels on a low wooden table, and a stone sink. Houseplants grew from the stone shower stall upwards out an open skylight, and Tover could look up and see trees around the house, and smell the slightly sour, thick carbon-dioxide breeze wafting in from the open windows set high in the walls.

He stepped to the sink, bracing himself with his hands. He looked into the mirror. He'd caught glimpses of himself when Lourdes had helped him in before. But this was his first hard look at himself in almost two months, and he was shocked by his ghastly pale complexion and long hair, strands in his eyes and peeping beneath his ears. Despite all the eating he'd done, his cheekbones were pronounced. A black ring circled his eye, and numerous bruises yellowed over his jaw and temple. The knitter had repaired his broken nose, but it too was still slightly swollen along the bridge, and his lip split in the corner of his mouth, near his breathing clip.

But the most distressing sight was his neck. A vivid red line marked where the restraint wire had cut into him. It looked far more garish than he'd imagined. He used to have such pride in his good looks. Now, like everything else, that had been taken from him.

Tover washed his face and shaved, ignoring the pain. He undressed and stepped into the steaming bath, and let his mind go blank.

He felt empty, futureless. There was no tomorrow. There was only this heat, and the pain in his legs, and nothing more.

Long after the water turned cold, Tover pulled himself from the tub. The new clothes fit perfectly. The trousers and shirt were very thin and light, not cotton but some similar textile that seemed to let air through. Tover would never wear such clothes elsewhere. But here, in the thick humidity of Carida, it seemed appropriate.

He felt like he'd been in the bathroom for ages, so he was surprised when he re-emerged that Lourdes and Ana were waiting for him. Lourdes beamed a proud smile.

“You look fantastic, and you can walk!” She approached and gave him a one-armed hug. Tover wrapped his arm around her shoulders, partially for support, partially because, despite everything, he was still very grateful for her care. She was small enough to tuck her under his arm without effort.

“Thank you,” he said roughly.

“Don't thank me yet, you still have a ways to go.” Lourdes handed him an industrial-looking cane. “Now go outside and humor my daughter before she drives me absolutely insane.”

Tover felt like he moved in slow motion. He waded through the Carida air, the thicker atmosphere making it harder to lift his feet and press forward.

He began to sweat. In most of the places he'd lived, he only sweated when he exercised, but here the air was humid, and he quickly grasped the benefits of thin fabric in such an oppressive heat.

But he was grateful to be outside, despite the heaviness of it. The air smelled both sour and sweet at the same time. Green crops, as tall as his shoulders, stretched as far as he could see. He didn't recognize the unusual plant, with swollen bulbs at the tips, the size of fists.

He was curious about the crop but wasn't quite ready to engage in idle conversation with Ana, so he let her lead him in silence, making his way slowly over a pathway of cobblestones, protecting his boots from slushy-looking, blood-red soil.

Everything within sight was some shade of brilliant, florid green. The sky seemed to merge into the surrounding vegetation and leave him feeling buried in a monstrous garden. The height of the crops blocked out most of his view of the surrounding terrain, but Tover noted a slight incline on the backside of the single-storey house.

As they walked around the house toward the back driveway and his room's view, he caught sight of the two Pulmon Verde soldiers, hands on the velocity rifles slung around their shoulders, staring at him. They lounged against an all-terrain vehicle with tall polyfoam tires that looked covered in red mud to the tops of the windows. Apparently Lourdes's house was only accessible by crossing some sort of swamp.

As the soldiers stared, Tover stopped walking. Ana noticed the guards as well and must have caught his tension. She turned and smiled at him.

“You see how insane my mother is?” she pointed to the tall plants. “All of this is going to have to be harvested at the same time. Acres of it! I'm trying to get Ricky and his sons who live down the road to help us when the time comes, but they have their own crops to worry about.”

“What is it?” Tover asked, pulling one of the stalks toward him. A bright, floral odor came from some plant, but not from the buds.

“Insulin violets,” Ana said, making a face. “Ugly flowers, but good for pharmaceuticals. I planted sugar trumpets in here but Mom's plants take over everything.” Ana pushed through the neat rows to show Tover some small, sickly-looking yellow blooms that were the source of the bright smell. “They can't get enough light,” Ana complained.

“Does she use the flowers?” Tover asked.

Ana shook her head. “The nectar has been genetically bred for insulin but it's a delicate distillation process that has to be done at a processor in Serica. We sell it, so I don't know why she even bothers.”

“What was here before the crops?”

Ana shrugged. “Ivy, skunk weed, and some rice patties my father planted before he died. He had a fantasy of developing a real farm but none of us have ever had any time for it. My mom's got her clinic, Cruz is too much of an activist, and my interests change every month.”

Tover wondered how someone as likeable as Ana could have been married to a terrorist, a man in the same group that held him prisoner.

As if summoned by his silent thought, the two Pulmon Verde soldiers swaggered over from the driveway. One of them gave Ana a leering grin but the other had no expression, eyes focused on Tover with such intensity he shivered between his shoulder blades.

They must teach that blank stare in terrorist school
.

“Hey, guys,” Ana said, smiling. She put her arm through Tover's and pulled herself closer. “Taking the patient out for his first walk.”

The one grinning at Ana spat on the ground. “How you doing, Ana?”

Ana shrugged. “Hanging in there. How's your sister, Lalo?”

“Good. You should stop by.”

The other one stared at Tover.

“Are you really a navigator?” the man asked.

Tover scowled at him.

“I heard you have all sorts of implants,” he continued. “In your neck and brain.” He narrowed his eyes at the scar around Tover's neck. “Is that from the shit they put in you to make you fly?”

Fury and embarrassment rushed through Tover. There was nothing he'd like to do more than navigate away from this prick, but his throat swelled at the mere thought. The sensation of Cherko sticking that pipe down his throat, his hands locked on the console as Savel beat him…

“You don't look like you're worth the life of the Caridan who died getting you out,” the man said. “I think Ramirez is right. We should sell you straight back.”

Horror washed through Tover.

But the other fellow, the one named Lalo, punched the soldier on the arm. “Shut up, asshole.” He grinned at Tover and held out his hand. “Welcome to Team Swamp.”

Tover shook his hand, too surprised to do otherwise.

“Come on, let's go back in.” Ana tightened her grip on Tover's arm. Tover gratefully returned to the house.

The next morning Tover slowly walked from his room, following the sounds of clanking plates toward the kitchen.

The layout of the house was open and spacious, with expanses of warm wood floors, every space filled with crawling vines and exotic blooming flowers. Bright, fleshy red petals and orange and magenta spikes colored the walls as blooming vines crept along the plaster and made the house itself feel like a living being.

Tover heard laughter. He stepped up a level carefully, feeling the jolt through his legs and nearly toppling.

The smells of pancakes brought saliva to his mouth, and with surprise he recalled he hadn't smelled the odor of pancakes on a griddle since he was a little boy, five years old, in his own home.

He froze, trying to lure that memory closer. He couldn't even recall what his mother's face looked like, or his house, or anything about his childhood. But this smell brought with it a vivid recollection, and a sense of safety and warmth.

As he stepped through the wide doorway, Lourdes turned from the sink and Ana, standing over the stove, smiled.

Tover nodded nervously.

They both looked surprised by his appearance, but Lourdes quickly rallied. “Join us for breakfast.” She motioned to a round table tucked under bay windows with a brilliant view of their crops. The sky seemed hazier this morning than yesterday when he'd walked outside.

Tover noticed the table set for two and relaxed a bit. Cruz wouldn't be joining them.

Lourdes added another table setting. Her plates were vivid blue and pink. Tover sat down, feeling intrusive. He knew Lourdes watched as he bent his legs to sit in the chair, so he turned away in case he made a face. He didn't want her to worry.

It hurt to sit down, but once sitting he could stretch his legs out straight and it didn't hurt as much as he had feared.