CHAPTER 32
We’ve made our
plans.
In four hours, we’re
out of here. Vel and Jael have fashioned a back harness, and
they’ll take turns carrying Dina. Now we just need to say good-bye
to Doc, quietly, and collect March, not necessarily in that order.
It goes without saying that I’m in charge of the latter.
He’s probably in some
meeting, so I leave the other two and go looking for him. Chemical
stoves emit a burnt polymer smell as I weave my way through the
tents. This nomadic encampment has taken on certain clan
characteristics by this point. They’ve allocated a training circle
where the rehabilitating men spar to keep from killing each other,
and the women occupy themselves across the way devising new uses
for old rubbish.
In the distance I
hear sounds of combat, cries of pain and rage. Overhead the
bombardment has stopped at last, making me think we may have a
chance. If Vel’s intel is correct, and we time our run to a
McCullough retreat, we might get off this rock.
I settle outside the
tactical tent and wait. Passing clansmenno longer glare at me, at
least. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I glance up and find
someone who looks more like a raider queen than a Lachion
native.
She’s incredibly
tall, dusky-skinned, and she wears her hair in a short pouf. Her
bare arms reveal whipcord strength. Slim metal rods pierce her
nose, lower lip, and left brow. She glimmers with silver at throat,
fingers, and wrists, highlighting her exotic allure. In the diffuse
light, her eyes gleam tawny gold, like a predatory cat.
“Can I help you?” I
don’t recognize her, but that doesn’t mean much. I haven’t met
everyone down here.
She folds herself
into the lotus position beside me. “Whispers say you’re making a
break. I want to hitch a ride.”
I recognize her
accent, match it to a small world in the Outskirts. If I recall
correctly, a bunch of artists and poets settled the place. I wonder
if she can fight.
“May not be a smooth
run. We could die out there.”
“We could die down
here. I know which I prefer.”
The woman has a
point. I offer my hand. “I’m Jax.”
A faint smile creases
her mouth. “I know who you are.”
But she takes my
hand, firm grip. Calluses. Okay, so maybe not a useless arty type
after all. “And you?”
“My name is Suraya,
but my friends call me Hit.”
I have a feeling I’m
going to regret asking. “Why’s that?”
Her smile widens.
“Because I only ever need one to take someone down.”
Oh, that
type.
“What’re you doing on
Lachion?”
She shrugs. “Bad
idea, this supply run. My whole crew died in the attack. I can
pilot, so I won’t be deadweight.” Hit shows me the shunt in her
wrist as if I might doubt her word.
Well, it’s never a
bad idea to have a backup pilot on board. “I’ll need to talk it
over with the others. I’m going to assume they don’t object, so
meet us at the south exit in three and a half hours.”
Her eyes gleam.
“Done. I won’t forget this, Ambassador.”
I’m still not used to being addressed like that. “Don’t
thank me yet. We have klicks of enemy territory to cover, and then
we still have to find a way off this rock.”
“You’re the kind of
person who makes things happen,” she says.
Am I?
Just now I feel like
I’m the world champion at waiting. Hit climbs to her feet and sets
off, presumably to collect her gear. I sit and brood.
An hour later, March
comes out of the tent, no surprises there. His expression doesn’t
warm when he notices me. In fact, he looks mildly annoyed, but that
might be projection more than accurate interpretation on my
part.
“Jax.” He bends to
greet me with a light kiss on the mouth. “You caught me just before
I take another team out.”
“Forget that, let
someone else do it. Say your good-byes and pack your stuff. We’re
getting the hell out of here. Meet us at the south exit in two and
a half hours.” I clamber to my feet and jerk my head toward the
tunnel for emphasis.
His eyes go very dark
and still. March studies me for a moment in silence, and then the
saddest smile curves his lips. He takes my hands in his and seals a
kiss into each palm. I can’t feel him at
all; he hasn’t touched my mind in days, and the physical contact
seems sharper in contrast.
“Good luck,” he says
quietly.
Two words. How can two words make me feel like
this?
For a moment, I can’t
breathe for the bands tightening around my chest. My eyes sting. I
tug my hands away from him and curl them into fists. Against my
best efforts to wear a poker face, I feel the tears slipping down
my cheeks.
“You don’t mean—” I
try to say, but my voice comes out strange and strangled.
People passing by
give us odd looks, and March tries to take my arm, draw me to a
quieter place to talk. Fuck that. I jerk
away and glare at him through blurry eyes, jaw clenched.
Say it here, damn you. Right now.
He offers an almost
imperceptible nod. “I’m staying. I owe it to Mair’s memory,
and the clan, after all they’ve done for
me. They took me in, after I walked away from the merc life. And
Mair asked me to look after Keri, when she was just ten years old.
You don’t need me, Jax. Keri does. This is my war—I have the training, the experience, and
I’ll make the difference between their survival and annihilation
here. I have to see this through. But you don’t need my help
getting to Ithiss-Tor; another pilot can get you there.”
So he’s cutting me
loose. I raise my chin and wipe my face with the backs of my hands.
In my heart, I know I’ve already lost him.
He’s going to die
down here, and it’s killing me. I feel a scream building in my
lungs, raw and angry. I don’t want him to become a martyr. I want
him beside me.
No surprise when he
reads me. I’m an open book where he’s concerned. His expression
softens, and March pulls me into his arms. At first I resist on
principle because the bastard is leaving
me—
“No,” he whispers.
“I’m not. You’ll see me again, I swear. This isn’t
forever.”
Tears course down my
cheeks. I squeeze them shut, but it doesn’t help. They don’t stop
falling.
Because I don’t
believe him. I know a good-bye when I feel one.
His mouth finds mine,
blind and hungry. March hasn’t kissed me in days, but suddenly it’s
like the only thing he knows how to do. Lips clinging, he tastes
salty and bittersweet from my weeping. Again and again, until we
gasp for air and lean our foreheads together.
Grief roars inside
me. His breath stirs against my damp cheeks, and I try to memorize
everything about this moment. How he feels against me, his scent,
and the weight of his arms curled around my back.
I never thought he’d
leave me. Whatever he thinks, I do need
him. Just not in the way he wants. I can’t be someone other than I
am; I can’t love him except the way I know how.
“I know,” he
whispers, setting his cheek against my downy hair. “It’s enough. It
is. But I have to pay my debts. If I take everything Mair gave me
and walk away from her kin when they’re in need, then I’ve forsaken
what little honor she taught me. Can’t you understand that? I can’t
be that guy again.”
“Yeah, I get it. But
it’s killing you,” I choke out. “A centimeter at a time. So even if
by some miracle you survive, you won’t be March, not this March. You’ll be—” I break off, tipping my
head back to search his gaze with mine.
But I don’t have the
words for the darkness I sense coming for him. What good is honor
when compassion is lost? And he knows. I see it in the gravity of
his expression.
But he pretends he
doesn’t, another stone in the wall between us. “I’ll come back to
you,” he promises again.
“Sure.” I manage a
smile. Soon the pain will crystallize into a diamond in my chest,
allowing me to function. “Have you thought about paint?” When he
looks puzzled, I add, “To combat the Teras? As things stand, it’s
all but impossible to fight them without heat-sensitive equipment
that you don’t have on world. But you could jury-rig a weapon that
sprays them, making them easier to target.”
The clans left the
Teras alone because the danger meant nobody else wanted to settle
here. And then the McCulloughs figured out how to harness them,
catching the others flat-footed. Maybe March can benefit from this
idea.
Mary, I feel
raw.
“I’ll mention it in
strat meetings,” he says. “It might make the difference when we
start trying to retake surface holdings. Please, Jax, don’t look
like that.”
Like what? Like my heart is breaking?
He delves into his
pocket and produces a ring that shines, cheap and tawdry even in
this light. The red stones shimmer like glass. Without ceremony he
shoves it onto my middle finger, where it hangs loose.
“Svet collected
trinkets like this. I bought it for her on Gehenna,” he says
softly. “Last gift I ever got her, and I didn’t have a chance to
give it to her. It’s never left my possession since I heard—” March
rubs a thumb over my cheek. “Anyway. I want you to have it . . .
for now. I’ll repo it someday, Jax. Get you something nicer. That’s
a promise.”
I close my fingers to
keep the ring from sliding off. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He kisses me one last
time, and I pretend I believe him, at least until he disappears
from sight.
Deep down I’m sure
I’ll never see him again, and it feels like my heart is
dying.
