The frost could turn her fingers black, and it still wouldn’t matter. A Dyssian spore-child could descend from the skies above, and perform some ancient hibernation ritual on her, and it still wouldn’t matter. Caly was not going to fall asleep while that lying, conniving xeno was snoring an arm’s length away from her.
Olm whispered, “You’re imagining things.” He warned her to stop dreaming up dark thoughts and darker fears. He told her not to do anything crazy by getting hyperfocused on this one little coincidence, but Caly was convinced. Last watch. The traitors’ hour. That’s what they called those early hours of the morning, before any right-thinking individual wakes up. They also called it the bakers’ hour, because they need time to prep dough, but that was beside the point.
The way it worked was simple: build trust by showing that you trust others. You let your “friends” think they were watching over you. And then, when it was your turn to take the last watch, the safest watch, that’s when you made your move.
“We’re out here, now,” Olm whispered, “He’s not going to do anything. If Yole was coming, she’d already be here by now.”
“Then why are you still awake?”
“Because you’re making me anxious.”
A small part of Caly wondered if she was being paranoid. Something about this felt unreal. Like she was coming up with a bad narrative, just because that’s what she always did. In fact, there was nothing to cause alarm, other than her own paranoia.
Then again, wasn’t that the sign of a trap perfectly laid? No alarms. Just a snap, and that was it.
Then again, hadn’t they warned her about this, at Iocalta? The most dangerous trap of all is the one imagined. Nothing can ruin you as completely as your own mind.
Caly rolled over in her blanket, making it crinkle like a thousand tiny firecrackers. At least it was warm. She found herself replaying the footage of the human catching that kell ogre’s fist. Impossible, unless it was some trick of motion. Or maybe he had known about some pressure point, a tiny fact of kell biology that he could exploit. It seemed hard to fake something like that. And it wasn’t like the human had known Caly was watching.
And then, there had been the arena … and the missile. Why did he save me?
Maybe he wanted to lure us out here.
But why bring us out here?
He saw an opportunity and took it.
And then … and then he fell asleep? Right in front of us? Caly lifted her head. The human was snoring. His neck was twisted at an odd angle, and all she could think was how easy it would be to cut his throat.
Far too easy. It’s what he wants you to do. Wait, that doesn’t make any sense. And you call him crazy.
She ran circles in her own mind for what felt like hours, until she heard Olm join the human’s snoring chorus. Both of them. Idiots.
And I’m the one who decided to come out here. What does that make me?
The biggest idiot of them all.
Then, it came to her, an idea so good that Caly had to seize it, like a starved korote seizes a dropped scrap of meat.
Ever so slowly, she slipped out of her blanket (wincing at every crinkle), and crept over to the human. He was on his back, his arms tucked inside his vest for warmth. In the light of the pocket fire, of the tarp, it was easy to see the color of his skin was wrong, nothing like a couran at all. Still, it had a dark, pleasant cast to it. A dark bloodstone tan. His mouth hung wide open like he was trying to catch flies, and Caly thought that maybe, if he closed it, and wiped the drool off his chin, maybe he’d look a little more interesting. Dark. Handsome, maybe. Mysterious, even. Maybe, if someone was interested in a xeno like him. Caly grimaced. What is wrong with me?
Well, it has been a long time. There was that rancher’s son, a few months back, with the big arms. And a poorly-made choice above the bar in Yonder. But other than that … Caspian had been two and a half years ago.
Before the old wound started to split open, Caly slipped her fingers into the pockets of the human’s vest. It wouldn’t have mattered if her fingers were as dull and clumsy as hammers—the human’s eyes didn’t even flicker. His mouth was wide open, and she thought she could make out his uvula, rattling with every breath.
How the void did he survive on this world?
Caly slipped out a plastic medicine bottle that appeared to be full of stale marshmallows. Then, a candy bar wrapper, licked clean. A wad of fishing line or floss that was so tangled up it was essentially just a ball of plastic. A toothbrush (but no toothpaste). Two candles, pink and blue, probably from a birthday cake. A half-eaten piece of boveer jerky that Caly thought was moldy until she realized it was just covered in pocket lint. And, finally, two pieces of paper: one crumpled and yellow, the other neatly-folded, but the folds were so worn it was almost falling apart.
She took it out, and clicked on her visor’s low lights, so she could read them.
The white one said, “I don’t want this to be us. I love you, but I have to try.” It was signed with an H, and the words “Burn this” scribbled on the back.
Yikes, Caly thought. What a way to break someone’s heart. Talk about mixed messages. I love you, but I have to try? Try what? And whoever this H is, she really needs to raise her standards, because this idiot can’t even follow a simple instruction. Burn this.
The yellow one was a note from Gran. She called Taws a damn fool, and told him not to eat all his sandwiches on the first day, and that he better come back in one piece. And again, that he was a damn fool. There was a crudely drawn map on the back. No, crude was being too kind. This was chicken scratch, and Caly sincerely doubted that Gran had anything to do with it.
The word “fort” was circled at the bottom. A line pointed up and said “go to bar” and another pointed to the top of the map, saying, “Black tree? Then more north.”
Caly whispered a disbelieving, “What the f-” and shut her mouth when the human rolled over.
He lifted his head. Caly held her breath. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or not.
“Listen and listen good,” he muttered, “There’s no such thing as too much syrup.”
His head dropped back to the ground, and he let out an ear-blasting snore.
She lifted his blanket. The stiff, shiny material crinkled, and she stopped. What if he wakes up? What would the human say? For that matter, what would Olm say if he saw her with her hands under his blanket? She felt herself blush, and told her stupid, unwanted thoughts to shut up.
This was serious. She wanted to know what she was dealing with. Had to know.
His pants were made of a material unlike any other. Tough, yet flexible, and made up of millions of tiny scales. Yet, when her finger pressed on it, it was smooth and almost slippery, like the skin of an eel. The pockets in his pants bulged with odd shapes, but that was where she drew the line. She wasn’t about to put her fingers there.
So, instead, she pulled his vest away from his holster and scanned that huge handgun resting on his hip. Despite the dust and scratches on his vest, the frayed string of his poncho, and the filth in his vest pockets, the human’s firearm was spotless. It was bulky, with harsh, sweeping lines and an absurdly long barrel. Must weigh as much as my rifle.
Before she could touch it, a silvery dust accrued on the pads of her fingers, and Caly swore the air around the gun turned to vapor. Even though she was wearing gloves, her fingers began to go numb. Not from the cold, but from something else—some force that wanted to push her hand away. Caly gritted her teeth, and strained forward until her arm was numb up to the elbow and—
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The human’s hand clasped over hers. His grip was stronger than iron and threatened to crack her bones. Fear plunged into Caly’s heart as she tried not to make a sound despite the pain. She couldn’t pull away, not without waking him.
The human lifted his head. Blinked at her, fuzzy and confused.
“Oh,” Taws said. “It’s you.” His hand softened over hers, and his head fell back, and he started to snore as if he hadn’t woken up at all.
It took a long time for the fear to melt, but when it did, all that paranoid fear melted with it. She stared at Taws, wonder and confusion grappling for control over her emotions. What are you?
There were species of xenos out there who were raised with their weapons, like the hrutskuld. Some, who were melded to them, like the warrior zealots of Ithha. And Caly had heard of some who had weapons built into their bodies, horrifying amalgamations of flesh and machine who were designed for war. These last trended towards mindlessness, and in many cases were simply organic robots that posed little threat to society at large.
But this xeno before her—this human—had reacted as if he could feel her through his weapon. Was that even possible?
Why didn’t you try to shoot me? Crowns knew that Caly would’ve shot him, if their places were swapped.
Unless, she hovered over the thought, unless I’ve got him all wrong.
Most people had a look, if they were planning something serious. Sometimes it was obvious distrust. Sometimes, it was just a hint of extra alertness. But when he saw it was only me, he just went right back to sleep. She stared at his face a while longer, searching the star-lit planes of his cheeks and nose, the shadows of his eyes. If he’s faking it, he’s doing a damned good job.
Caly, more confused than ever, crept back to her own blanket. She stared up at the tarp, watching it ripple in the wind as she troubled over her thoughts, until a new, strange idea crept into her mind. But she would not entertain it.
She rolled over, and stared at him. His buzz saw snores had softened into quiet murmurations that rolled smooth under Olm’s rumbling breath. Taws twitched a little in his sleep.
The thought hummed back into her mind like a fly, too swift to be swatted away: What if we can trust him?
As she lay there, fighting off sleep, a slew of possibilities opened up. Two was a team—her and Olm—and a team could let a lot done. But if they had a third, a real partner …
Think of the backup in a fire fight. Think of the new angles of attack, when hunting down their bounties. Think of the extra sleep she could get, from not having to watch her back. Caly fed herself on these waking dreams until her watch was over. Then, she woke Olm, and did not remember the bone weariness that dragged her into deep sleep, all those paranoid fears replaced with sweet, golden ideas. She even dreamed, of her and Olm and him. Not that she wanted to dream of him, of course, but the dreams weren’t entirely unpleasant. He had a way of looking at her, even in her dreams. Not that she wanted him to…
***
The sun was up.
Olm was not. Of course. He was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Not to mention, the living. Caly thought about kicking him in the foot, just so she could close her eyes for a minute longer.
But then who will be on watch—?
Caly bolted upright and her visor’s screens glowed to life. She looked around the tarp, half-expecting to see the Mad Queen’s people surrounding their campsite. But all she saw was Olm, and the spot where the human should have been.
She scrambled out from the warmth of her blanket, her limbs screaming at her to lay back down, please, we’re so tired. A crick stabbed her in the neck, probably from the way she’d slept in her helmet. The adrenaline overrode it all.
She clutched her rifle and pulled herself out of the tarp. The wind clapped against her chest, making her gasp. A red-gold sun crested over the low hills, stretching their shadows across the desert and painting the sands a soft red.
But there was no one around the camp. No screaming engines. No gangs of half-mutilated xenos or grim mercenaries, or whatever Yole employed in her underdoings.
No human, either.
And no tracks. Just rolling scrublands rising up to either horizon, and the first mirages forming puddles in the folds of the hills.
Back under the tarp, the pocket fire had switched off, and was now nothing more than a black, metal ball sitting in the middle of their knapsacks.
“Olm,” she prodded him with her foot.
“Another one,” Olm said. “Make it a double.”
“Olm!” she kicked him hard. A mistake. Caly gasped as she hopped around on one foot.
Olm grunted himself awake. Blinked up at her. And said, “You look like all the hells.”
Her suit was covered in dust, which was nothing unusual, but she must’ve drooled in her helmet, because there was a large patch of frost on the inside of her visor.
“Nevermind me,” she said, “The human.”
Olm followed her finger to the human’s sleeping spot. He let out a sleepy, “Oh.” And then, a more alert one. “Oh.” And then the hrutskuld was up too, scanning the horizon just like she had.
“Find any tracks?” He asked.
“Nothing.”
“Wait,” Olm said. “What’s that?”
There was a word scratched into the sand. Caly must’ve covered it with her blanket when she got up.
It read in giant, chicken-scratch letters: SORRY.
“At least he left us a note,” Olm said, “That was nice of him.”
Caly frowned at Olm. “What kind of hrutskuld are you?”
“One who has learned to appreciate the little things.”
“Yeah, well, check your gear. See if he stole any of the little things you appreciate so much.”
But it was all in place. The bike, the blankets, even the emergency medical kit in the driver’s storage. Not even a single boot print, nor broken twig of brush. Only that hole in the ice the human had made last night, now almost frozen over again, a couple of eye-worms blinking up at them.
How? The harder she bit down on the question, the less sense it made. How does he leave without a trace?
As her mother used to say, answers don’t fall from the sky. She stretched her neck, wincing at the stiffness. “We need to get moving.”
Olm frowned at the word in the sand, “I don’t think he means to bring Yole down on us.”
“Neither do I,” Caly said. “But we need to move fast if we’re going to catch him.”
“Catch him?”
“He can run, but so can we. And I’m not giving up.”
“We don’t even know which way he went.”
“Yes we do. To Yole’s.”
“Then you don’t think he turned tail and ran off?” Olm said, his anger softening into a kind of hope.
“I don’t think he’s a coward,” Caly said, “Well, not that kind of coward, anyway. Taws was on a mission before we found him in Scipio’s saloon. He won’t change his mind.”
Caly rolled up her blanket and stuffed it into the bike’s storage, holding the compartment door open for Olm to do the same. Without a word, the two of them swept away the traces of their camp with their feet, and scattered fresh sand and gravel on the ground. Caly swung her leg over the bike, keyed it on (please start, please start) and nodded triumphantly when the repulsors kicked to life. The bike thrummed and bucked, lifting her off the ground. Thank the stars.
“If we find him, you think he’ll still help us with Yole?” Olm asked.
“He made a promise. Guess I’ll have to help him keep it, even if that means I have to rope him and drag him across the dunes myself.”
“Hm,” Olm mused. Then, a sly grin crinkled the corners of his eyes, and made the cracks in his skin glow warm and bright, even in the gathering sunlight.
“What?” Caly said.
“So you do like him.”
“I do not ‘like him.’ I need him.”
Olm raised an eyebrow.
“Quit being a child. You know what I mean. We both need him to pay off Zyroc, and that’s it.”
“That’s it?”
She glared at him until Olm put his hands up in surrender. “Okay,” he said, “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Do I look like some common fool, yearning and falling in love with every handsome idiot I meet? I don’t go around liking people, Olm. I’m the daughter of a Ring Matron. The last time I was in a relationship—” the words caught in her throat as the sudden rush of bad memories sapped the strength from her limbs. Caspian. Even thinking about his name made her want to drive a dagger into something. After everything we did together. After everything I did for you. How could you? The fact that he could still affect her so, when she was all the way out here only made her angrier. “The last time I was in a relationship was the last time I will ever be in a relationship.”
“Hmm,” Olm said. And for a moment, she thought she’d won. Then, that sly smile slid back into his eyes. “But you did call him handsome.”
“I also called him an idiot.”
Olm gave a half shrug that made Caly feel as if, somehow, he was going to walk away with the last word. Unacceptable.
“He’s naive to the point that I think there’s something seriously wrong with him. Books? Who in their right mind reads books? And that stupid smile. And he sleeps with pigs, Olm. Pigs.” Her face wrinkled in disgust. “And even if he is okay, I mean, somewhat good-looking, he doesn’t even have horns!”
“Neither do you,” Olm said.
Caly glared at him.
“What?” Olm asked, feigning ignorance. “It’s just bone sticking out of your forehead. Isn’t it? Caly, come on, don’t be like that. I was only joking.”
“Get on the bike,” she said, no longer enjoying this game. “We’ve got a human to hunt.”