“Asked or ordered?”

I shrug. “Same thing.”

“So what went wrong?”

He squeezes so hard that I have to pull away, rubbing my fingers to bring back the circulation. Soon I may have bruises, purple fingerprints where he ground skin against bone. There used to be flesh, muscle, but I’ve withered like the crone dolls children make from the husks of sere, out-of-season fruit.

“I don’t know.” Hurts to say that for what seems like the millionth time. “Safety check went fine, the flight itself…nothing out of the ordinary when you consider we had seventy-five souls on board and only eight crew, most of whom weren’t accustomed to serving on passenger flights.”

“It was a big ship then?”

“An X-class professional transport vessel. Kai had only piloted one like that maybe two or three times in his life, apart from academy sims.”

“But he was certified, competent to handle it?” When I nod without hesitation, since Kai was the best damn pilot I ever knew, he asks, “What about you?”

I give him a half smile. “Size doesn’t matter much to a navigator. Interface is everything.”

Not until afterward do I realize how suggestive that sounds. To his credit, March stays focused, although I wonder where he’s headed with this. Probably he could’ve accessed my Psych reports to find all this out.

“So you made the jump, then it was a straight cruise to Matins IV…?”

“Yeah. There was a conference, something to do with…I can’t remember, actually. But I’m sure it’s public record.”

“Tell me the rest, Jax.” Maybe he doesn’t realize how demanding he sounds.

“That’s all. In my head it’s like there’s this big red hole. I remember making our final approach, Kai kissing me for luck and me…” I suck in a sharp breath. Oh Mary, can I truly say this out loud? Yes, I can—quid pro quo. “Teasing him. As he started making adjustments to the controls, being extra careful because it was a strange ship, bigger than he was used to, I asked, ‘Are you afraid of falling, baby?’” My voice breaks, and I feel tears welling up, salty heat that doesn’t matter in the rain. “And he answered, ‘No, I’m afraid of landing.’ H-he laughed. I smiled. I don’t remember anything after that, March. On Mary’s Sacred Shroud, I don’t. Next thing I know I’m on the ground, pinned. People are…are…”

“Shh,” he whispers without touching me, which is good, because I’d break. “I know all that. Stop now. Stop.”

“Your turn.”

I’m not an idiot. I already know that someone important to him died in the crash. Question is, who? The body count from Matins IV stands at eighty-two, and that planet should have been my grave. I’ll spend the rest of my life carrying scars from wounds that ought to have killed me.

Should be dead twice over. The facilities on planet weren’t sufficient to handle burns like mine, so they jumped me to Perlas. I’m told I lay there for twelve hours, listening first to screams, then to silence, before the salvage crew arrived. The landing authority figured there was no hurry…nobody could’ve survived.

“I’ll tell you, Jax.” He offers a smile laced with wry humor. “On Mary’s Sacred Shroud, I will. But right now we need to move.”

I follow the trajectory of his gaze downward and see that we’re sinking into the ultrasoft Mareq soil. Vines stir around us in a way that I can’t help but find disturbing, like the planet’s alive, tentacles of a beast about to feast.

Shit.

March pulls me out of the mud with a hard tug, then we sprint deeper into the trees. Hope to Mary he knows where he’s going.

“Me, too,” he mutters.

Huh, wonder why I’m not reassured?

CHAPTER 22

We stumble on the settlement by chance.

My legs ache because we had to run in long, bounding strides to keep from sinking, slip-sliding along in the driving rain. I feel the sting of it on my skin long after the downpour finally abates. And my fingers feel cramped because he never let go of me; I understand why. Getting lost here would be a death sentence.

The community looks about as I expected.

But the mud mounds are the best biotecture I’ve ever seen; class P or not, this civilization clearly understood the value of a harmonious habitat. We walk through the deserted arcology and see no signs of struggle, no damage to external environs. Though I don’t know what’s on March’s mind, I’m wondering what the hell happened here.

If we go inside one of the structures, we’ll need to do it on hands and knees. The openings are more suitable for children, and I recall from my reading that the Mareq seldom reach more than 92cm at full maturity. A chill rushes over me as I realize we may be the only sentient creatures left on planet. I’ve visited dead worlds before, logged the existence of ancient ruins, but that doesn’t possess the same immediacy as knowing you’ve glimpsed the death of a thriving culture.

As we explore, the sky overhead darkens to slate, and the gauzy star that functions as this world’s sun slips below the horizon. Apparently this is the closest thing to true night Marakeq possesses, a dreamtime twilight where the trees take on fantastic shapes.

“I thought this run would tell us something,” he says finally. “What type of weapon was used, where they went…” Sighing, March taps the communicator to get in touch with the Folly.

“Everything all right?” Doc’s voice sounds reassuring, even from four klicks out.

“Yes and no,” he answers. “We got nothing, but we’re safe enough. Going to spend the night and head back to the ship in the morning. March out.”

“Let’s find a place to pitch camp,” I say, tilting my head toward one of the larger structures. “In there might be good.”

“You think? If it was a disease that took them—”

“Where are all the bodies?” I shake my head. “Plus a disease that’s fatal to the Mareq probably wouldn’t even translate to our systems. We’re fundamentally different; they’re not even warm-blooded.”

As we’re crawling inside the mound I indicated, something about what I just said resonates. I stop just inside the low arch, and March butts me with his head. “Get moving, Jax. It’s fragging cold, and it’s starting to rain again.”

But I’m waiting for my eyes to acclimate to the dim interior. Hoping I’m right. And yeah, there are small bulges all over the earthen floor.

I laugh softly, delightedly. “They’re not gone. You said yourself, it’s cold, March. They’re in the ground. Sleeping until it gets warm again.”

“And their heat signatures have equalized to the earth around them. Shit, you’re right. We were sharing a paranoid delusion.”

“Partly at least, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be wrong.” I’m beaming at him over my shoulder.

He smiles back, a real one, not the parody that twists his mouth and never reaches his eyes. “Me, either.”

Backing out, we make a quick visual inspection inside all the buildings and find most of them are occupied, their residents asleep for the winter. When we find an empty edifice, probably a meeting place, not a home, that’s where we make our last stop, hands and knees muddy beyond belief from all the crawling. Inside the hut, it’s surprisingly inviting, cozy, the sloping walls covered in soft moss.

“So what do we do? There’s no guarantee we can wake them, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea, even if we can.”

“First thing we do is warm up,” he answers, digging through his pack. “Or we’re going to die of exposure. Get your blanket, your lips are blue, Jax.”

There’s no way he could tell that. Too dim in here, everything is gray. But I do as I’m told, fish out my supposedly weatherproof bedroll and wrap up. Sometimes it’s stupid to argue. But why am I not surprised to learn that dinner will be squeezed out of a packet? I sigh and suck it down.

Later, I feel substantially warmer, and I’ve nourished my body, if not satisfied it. March sits across from me, leaning against the wall. His eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. He might as well hold up a sign that says: I don’t want to talk.

So I shut my eyes as well, and I’m nearly dozing when he murmurs, “I hate how well you understand me.”

“You’re not exactly inscrutable.”

“The rest of the universe doesn’t agree with you, Jax.”

At that I grin and open my eyes. “Right, sorry. You’re the soul of masculine mystique. Better?”

A pale flicker tells me he’s probably smiling. “Not what I meant, but I’ll take it. Have you seen the ship’s official manifest?”

Talk about non sequiturs.

I shake my head. “Why would I?”

“It’s registered as a privately owned vessel out of Gehenna, full designation—Svetlana’s Folly.”

Now it makes sense; he’s just no better at segues than I am. “Who was that?”

“My half sister.” He sighs. “Long story, all that matters is…she was among your crew on the Sargasso.”

I want to show sympathy, but that’ll earn me a rebuff quicker than anything I could say. So I just ask, “She joined the Corp?”

I sense more than see his nod. “She was tired of living hand to mouth. Said I’d one day grasp the value of working for the establishment. I didn’t want her to go, but she wasn’t somebody who listened to advice. When I could finally afford my own ship, I named it to poke at her that I’d made good, right? Without selling my soul to the corporation. We were supposed to meet up after she made the Matins run. Said she had something important to tell me and wouldn’t trust open comm channels.”

I flinch. March, I’m so sorry. But I don’t say it aloud, and I don’t even know what I’m sorry for, really. Being alive? I don’t recall what happened; I truly don’t. Clearly, the Corp intended it to become my fault; they shaped my treatments so I wouldn’t be mentally competent to deny charges laid against me. Whatever else, that’s one reason they didn’t kill me. A living cat’s-paw serves a number of purposes, PR and otherwise. They probably hoped to get me to the point that I would confess, sobbing and broken. Apologize in tears to the bereaved families; you can’t buy press like that.

“I understand,” I manage through an aching throat.

And I do. Much as I’d like to, I can’t blame him for feeling I’m tainted by what happened on Matins IV. I can’t blame him for seeing in me a living reminder of his sister’s death. He probably wishes she was sitting here instead, and no, I can’t blame him for that, either. I wish she was, too. Instead of family, now all he has is a ship bearing a name that probably hurts each time he hears it.

“No,” he says quietly. “You don’t. If I hate you for what happened to Svet, then I’m no better than the Corp, practicing prejudice because it’s convenient. And I’ve spent my whole life fighting against what they represent. I wanted you to be the cocky, care-for-nothing nav-star we saw on the holo. That woman, I could’ve despised. But…you’re not. Maybe you were, I don’t know. But that’s not the woman I see now.”