by Lucas Bale
No, he thought. More than respect.
‘I think the chukiri want the ship,’ he said, but too quickly. He tried to keep calm, to resist the urge to stay with them and get it all done himself, because their way of life was threatened now. He could see that. For too long they had believed themselves safe up here—believed that the chukiri wouldn’t find them as long as they were careful. And they had been careful. They had built slowly and taken few risks. That had been Gant’s strategy, and it had worked for a long time. But now their lives had changed—this new ship had seen to that—and he was the only one who could get to it quickly enough. It was a hard trek, and they had to move fast. As it was, the chukiri were stronger and fitter, and might still get there before them.
He felt a wretched pang of guilt to be leaving them, but he needed these people to understand. They needed to learn to look after themselves—to make decisions without him. He had to trust Kayt to lead them while he was away. You do trust her, he told himself. She will protect them.
‘I think the chukiri set signal fires for it,’ he said finally. ‘I think they were expecting it. I don’t know what ship it is; maybe it’s the shuttle, or maybe it’s something else. I can’t tell. But it came in fast and it hit a little way behind us. They’ll have to come our way to get to it, and when they do, there’s a chance they’ll see one of the huts. You have to be ready for that.’
‘We’ve stayed hidden from them for so long,’ Kayt said quietly. ‘We’ve had close calls before. What makes this any different?’
She was desperate for some hope to cling to—he could see that. Not this time, he thought. This time is different. Everything is about to change, I can feel it.
He pointed upwards. ‘Something… exploded up there. Maybe it was the ship that brought that shuttle, maybe it was something else, I just don’t know. But we can’t pretend it doesn’t affect us. Things have changed now. We need to know exactly what just crashed on this planet and, if I’m right, what the chukiri were expecting.’
‘If those were signal fires…’ she began.
Gant nodded but didn’t finish her unspoken thought. He knew he didn’t need to.
‘And if they see one of the huts?’ she asked.
‘Withdraw to the next, then the next,’ he said. ‘Defend each as long as you can. Stay alive. If you have to, take to the mountains and head for the caves. Hide, and I’ll meet you there.’
‘How will you know?’
‘Use the comms line. If they find the huts, and attack them… well, by then it won’t matter if they hear us.’
Kayt’s face didn’t change. Instead she nodded and turned to Bradman. ‘Time to go, Henrik,’ she said.
For a moment Bradman didn’t move, and Gant wondered if there was going to be a problem. It would be just like Bradman to refuse to flex his muscles now that he had a chance to show he was doing something instead of just blowing hot air. But he seemed to understand the urgency, and he turned away and pushed through the door.
Gant watched him run along the trail away from the hut, then he turned back to Kayt. He could see the fear still hanging in her eyes, and he cupped her face in his hand. She leaned against it and closed her eyes.
‘Do I need to tell you to be careful?’ she said.
‘No,’ he whispered. As he looked at her, he realised how much time he had wasted; how much he had wanted to be with her, but had bowed to the belief that it was inappropriate for them—for the leaders of two huts—to become involved. Stupid that we wasted our lives like this.
She opened her eyes and took his hand away, holding it for a moment longer than she needed to before letting go. Then she turned away from him and made her way to her hut.
C H A P T E R 11
MEIER WAS leaning against a bulkhead when Natasha stepped out of the communal showers. He was dressed in his spacesuit; she was wrapped in a thin dressing gown that clung to her wet skin. For a moment, she was alarmed to see him standing there. Was he watching me? she thought, angrily. Her muscles tensed, and she could feel the familiar acidic burn of bile in her throat as she considered it. But when his horrified face flushed red at the sight of her, she realised he hadn’t had a clue she was there.
‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ he stammered, glancing away. ‘I was waiting for Kent. I thought you were Kent. Oh shit—’
‘What do you think Arvika would say if he thought you were leching over the female crew in the showers? Not good for morale if we both think some pervert’s watching us when we’re alone. Doubt Kent would be impressed either.’ It was cruel to tease him, she knew that, but she was enjoying it too much to stop now. Meier’s flustered demeanour around her, while not necessarily attractive, was almost endearing.
‘Don’t tell the captain,’ he said, his face growing even redder. He shook his head furiously. ‘He’ll go nuts—he’s in a bad enough mood already. It would probably give him a stroke. And damn, Kent might actually kill me if he thought I was… shit.’ She allowed herself the admission that she silently enjoyed his desperation.
He’s so naive, she thought. He has no idea what’s out there. So innocent. How the hell did you end up way out here, Meier? She smiled at him and stepped into the heat exchanger, pulling the door to. ‘I’m teasing you, boy,’ she called, over her shoulder. She glanced at him from inside the exchanger.
The relief that flooded his face was palpable. An uncertain smile broke across his lips. He swallowed hard. ‘Sure,’ he said, his voice shaking. He nodded quickly. ‘Of course. I knew that.’
There was a moment of silence, and Natasha was reaching for the button to engage the dryer when Meier spoke again.
‘Natasha,’ he said, very quietly. Still unsure of himself, his voice shaking. ‘I, uh… I really want… I mean, I think I need to know about the tunnels.’ The words came in quick, unsteady bundles, as if he needed to get them out or they might not ever be said. ‘I mean, I’m a pilot, and I think it would be useful.’ He paused again, trying to find the right words.
Natasha rested a hand against the wall. Don’t say it, Meier. Don’t make me say no.
‘I know you… stay up when we’re in the tunnels,’ he said, and then, realising how that might have sounded, quickly added, ‘I haven’t been watching or anything, I just happened to be up once.’
Dammit, Meier. Don’t be an idiot.
‘Maybe I could sit up there and you could explain it all to me… if you want to.’
The silence hung in the air for too long. She could so easily have brushed him off—she’d done it to dozens of men, more times than she could count—but she couldn’t bring herself to say something hard to Meier. The words stuck in her throat, and she found herself gnawing at her lip instead. Maybe that’s the answer—hurt him, so he doesn’t try again. He’s just a hick kid desperate for an adventure, for crying out loud.
She didn’t look at him. ‘It’s better for me to work on my own, Meier.’
She hit the button for the heat exchanger, but the familiar roar as the hot air blasted her skin did nothing to drown out the sound of his misery in her head.
Eventually, when the exchanger had finished its cycle, she glanced out and was relieved to see he was gone. She pulled on her clothes and headed out of the showers.
There was a single door leading to what should have been a short corridor and a stairwell, but when the door opened, the passage was different. It was familiar to her, but the memory was too distant—a hollow ghost on a light wind. It was long and sleek, dimly lit by what could have been emergency lighting; cooling pipes, heating systems, electronics, and all the other paraphernalia of working in space were secreted behind smooth, polished metal. At one end of the passage, haloed by a rim of emergency lamps, were heavy blast doors. The yellow and black hatching was crisp and neat, like it had been painted in space dock a week ago.
A burst of heat washed over Natasha, searing her skin. Sweat prickled on her face and ran down her cheeks. I’ve been here before, she thought. I know this place. But fr
om where?
She walked down the passage, opened the blast doors, and stepped through into a small room. There were two steel doors in front of her, and the whine of an elevation chamber echoed around her.
When the whine of the chamber’s servos ceased, she found her chest was heavy and her breath caught in her throat. Something dark seeped beneath the steel doors and spread across the floor. It glistened as the light touched it.
She reached for the control pad and opened the doors. They dragged deep trenches in the dark, viscid pool as they slid back. Natasha stepped through into the room beyond.
A space suit hung in the centre of the chamber, suspended by thick chains that disappeared into a black fog, like a roiling smoke that smeared the ceiling. The suit was Meier’s. The same one he’d been wearing when he saw her in the showers. Its torso was stained dark red and covered with dozens of puncture tears. Blood dripped from the torn holes into a shimmering pool on the floor.
Meier.
The suit’s helmet was still attached, and she reached for it. The moment she touched it, it dropped from the suit and clattered to the floor, splashing into the crimson pool. It rolled to the corner of the room, drawing a line of red behind it.
A matted, dark mess of hair on a head lolled forward.
Don’t look.
I have to.
You don’t want to know.
I already know.
It was your fault.
Yes.
He died thinking you hated him.
Please don’t.
She reached forward, as if something unknown drove her movements, and lifted the head up. Beneath the hair was a chaos of red. A thousand delicate lines of muscle and sinew, disorderly and confused, glinting in the bright lights of the chamber; broken shards of teeth lining the gaping hole of his mouth; dark chasms where once there had been eyes.
Meier’s face was missing.
‘You left us behind.’ The voice clawed at her ears—a harsh, rasping whisper that filled the room. It stunned her, shattering the silence. She couldn’t say where it had come from.
She looked round feverishly, but saw nothing.
‘You let them kill me.’
No! No! I didn’t. I came as quickly as I could. I didn’t know what was on there. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She wanted to explain, but all that spilled from her mouth was a gurgle as if she were drowning.
‘They raped Benton,’ the voice said. ‘Did you know that? They raped her while Kent was forced to watch. He loved her, you know. Like I loved you. Would it have killed you to let me be with you?’
I couldn’t. You don’t know me, you don’t know what it’s like. Who I am. What I’ve done.
‘You’ve killed.’
Yes, but I can’t control it.
‘Do you even try?’
Of course I try. I didn’t know.
‘The man in Brauron just wanted your affection. As I did. But you don’t have any to give. You’re selfish. And you murdered him. You’re a murderer. A wild animal, to be put down.’
No, no! I’m not!
‘There is nothing but ice in your heart and blood on your hands. You’re not human.’
I can’t control it. I don’t even remember. It’s not me.
‘It is you. You know it. Take your own life. Spare those of others. You let us die. You should be with us.’
I’m sorry.
‘What good is that to us now?’
Something wet touched her face, and she reached up to it. When she looked at her hand, she saw blood. More hit her face and her head, gradually at first, then coming more quickly, like thick red rain. She looked up and saw the fog was no longer black, but a deep, dark crimson. It swirled like mist caught on the wind, and the drops became a deluge. The blood seeped into her hair and oozed over her skin, coating her in a viscous shroud of red. It swept into her mouth and down her throat. She fought to take in a breath, but could find only liquid. It leached into her lungs and she found herself suddenly swimming in a deep pool of red. It was all she could see. She flailed, trying to claw her way to the surface, but all around her was red. She was dying.
‘You left us behind.’
Her eyes snapped open.
She was breathing hard, struggling to haul in even shallow gasps. The heat had subsided a little during the night, but it was still warm, and sweat poured off her. Around her were only vague shadows and the hiss of wind through leaves.
The jungle, she thought. I’m in the jungle. She remembered abruptly—the climb up into the trees, finding one not laden with wet moss; making her bed in the canopy on a thick branch. She had tied herself to the broad trunk of the tree so she wouldn’t fall as she slept. Not too high, but high enough that she could sleep away from predators, or whatever else lived on this planet. Whatever, she thought, laid those fires.
Eventually her breathing slowed, calming enough that she felt her muscles relax and the tension bleed away. I did leave them behind, she thought bitterly. But what choice did I have? Were they even alive? Or is that just an excuse? I should have at least looked for them. Kent, Benton, Rasmussen, even Arvika. I should have checked before I ran away.
She reached into the pack, the straps of which she had attached to the loop she had thrown around the tree, and took out some of the tasteless emergency rations. She had been walking for nearly thirteen hours without taking more than a few minutes’ break. The jungle had been hard going, and she had been forced to check the navmodule repeatedly to stay on track. Her legs and back ached with the effort of pushing through the almost impenetrable vegetation. She hadn’t wanted to stop, but she had grown so weary she knew she needed a few hours’ sleep.
She unwrapped one of the bars and began to eat. She swallowed the last of it quickly, wanting to get it down rather than savour it. As she ate, her ears became accustomed to the rhythm of the forest. The hollow rush of the wind alongside the creak of old trees swaying. The rustle of insects labouring in the coolness of the night. She rested her head against the tree’s trunk and stared upwards. Through the leaves, she could just make out the deep blue night sky, the sporadic glimmering stars. Her mind seethed with questions, the uncertainty drawing on her, exhausting her. How do I get back up there, if Skoryk’s freighter is too damaged? Will I have to stay here? Build myself some sort of shelter? Hunt for food? Are there more of those scarred men in this jungle? Did they set the fires? Do they know I’m here?
A sound interrupted the jungle’s natural cadence—an alien intrusion that did not belong. A long, heavy rustle. She would have missed it, she was sure, were she lower down and surrounded by the rest of the jungle’s noise; but up here it was quieter, and the sound carried upwards unhindered.
She craned her neck, almost absently, as though she would be able to hear better. The noise came again, louder, and for longer this time. And again, and again. Something was moving through the forest, coming towards her.
She panicked, looking around her small perch. Can they see me from the ground? she thought quickly. There’s nothing you can do about that now. Don’t move! Stay still!
She pressed her back against the trunk of the tree and drew her legs tight together. She’d had no need of the survival blanket in her pack because of the warmth of the night, so it was still stowed away. She silently thanked her good fortune—its bright, silver mesh would have given her away instantly.
The noise was almost constant now, and she looked to either side of her, searching for a track through the trees and vines, desperate to find the route an intruder might use.
And suddenly, inexorably, she knew. Of course there were more of them—more men with jata, and tattoos and scars. The fires she had seen should have told her that. Had they seen the lifeboat, dropping out of the sky and crashing through the trees? Were they now looking for it? The jungle was theirs, their terrain, their home—of that she was now sure. How could it not be? Were they tracking her? Or had they seen Skoryk’s freighter, coming down shortly after hers? Wa
s it his ship they were looking for—heading in the same direction as her?
The noise was continuous and steady now, but still soft.
She saw the first of the savages slip between the vines and twisted trunks below her. In his hands he carried a heavy military rifle. She thought at first that his skin was black, but then she saw he wore an armoured suit. Peacekeeper armour. He wore no helmet, but the brightness of the orange jata was muted by the darkness.
He moved slowly and carefully through the jungle, picking his way between vines and hanging tresses, between the trees and across the layer of moss on bark and rock. The rustle came from his movement through the pall of dense foliage that billowed up from the ground and reached his thighs.
He searched as he walked, looking around in slow, methodical sweeps. When he reached the small cluster of trees within which she now lay, he slowed and hunkered down. She could see him beneath her, close enough almost to hear her heart hammering in her chest. He reached up and rested a hand against his neck, and stopped. She heard him speak quietly—too quietly to catch any words.
She wasn’t breathing now. She dared not move even a fraction.
If he looks up, he’ll see me. She felt like there was a beacon flashing above her, and a klaxon screaming for his attention.
He lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and she tensed. He knows! He’ll pivot, point it upwards, and fire. He can’t miss.
Stop it! she told herself. If he knew you were here, you’d be dead by now.
She searched the trees urgently. Could she get away? Scramble across branches and run? She looked again at the rifle and wondered: If she dropped onto him, could she take it from him? Would he be expecting that? And what about the others? How many are there? Can you take them all on, you stupid girl?