CHAPTER 54
l awake in the halls of the
dead.
Everything is pale as
a fading dream. Then I open my eyes a little wider, take a second
look. This seems like any other med bay: white counters, various
drawers and compartments. A slim redhead sits at a terminal nearby,
examining data on the screen, and there’s a droid as well, probably
her assistant. This doesn’t look like a drug-induced hallucination.
I’ve seen the woman somewhere before.
She murmurs, “Don’t
worry, we’re taking care of everything. According to Chancellor
Tarn, Ielos is the next stop on your goodwill tour. We’ve got
guards on board to make sure nothing else
goes wrong.”
But my brain is too
rattled to make necessary connections. A dull throb lives behind my
eyes, pain made distant by the welcome advent of medication. I’m
too tired to ask anything at the moment, so I just drift.
On awakening for the
second time, I think:
Well, holy shit.
It worked. I can’t
believe our plan actually worked. I feel more like an interstellar
hitchhiker than a dignitary who commands respect, but what the
hell. If this vessel, whomever it belongs to, gets me to Ielos,
I’ll take it. Now I can start keeping my promises, make up for all
the trouble.
I realize I’ve lost
another bag full of new clothes. Mary curse it, I may as well take
up nudism. I haven’t been able to keep up with my belongings since
the Sargsasso crash. I sigh.
The sound snags the
woman’s attention, and when she turns, I place her immediately.
Rose looks better than she did on Lachion, more rested, but there’s
no mistaking her tousled curls, frosted with silver. My heart
immediately spikes with excited anticipation.
“You’re awake,” she
says unnecessarily. “Good thing, too. We’re nearly there now. How
are you feeling?”
I shrug, struggling
toward a sitting position. “Been better, been worse. Is Doc on
board?” That’s not who I want to ask about first. Of course it’s
not.
Maybe . . . just maybe . . .
I’m afraid to let
myself hope.
“Yes, he’s asleep.
It’s technically the middle of the night. But someone had to stay.
You took quite a knock on the head.”
“Sorry for stealing
your sleep. But thank you for watching over me.” I can’t fight a
sinking sensation. If March were here, surely he wouldn’t have left
my side, not until I woke up.
The fact that Rose
has carefully avoided mentioning his name says it all. If I were
stronger, I’d demand to know what happened, but at the moment, I
just can’t. I have to pick my battles, and I don’t have the
fortitude for this one. I refuse to hear it.
I’m not hanging
around Med Bay for another second. With unsteady hands I push to my
feet and wobble, watching the room swim. After a moment, I manage
to let go of the cot and stand, swaying, under my own power. Given
another minute or two, I’ll be able to walk. Shit. I need my bag. I’m sure it’s past time for an
injection. I’m getting stronger, so I don’t want to retard my
progress.
“Where’s my
pack?”
The redhead glances
up from the screen at last. “Constance said to tell you she has all
of your belongings, including the clothes you left on Venice
Minor.”
“Thanks.” What a PA .
. . helpful administrator doesn’t begin to cover it. That’s the
best news I’ve had in quite a while.
“She’s odd,” Rose
observes. “Very formal.”
So they have no idea
she’s a droid. I guess they’ve never run across the Lila model. No
shock since she was retired in favor of the ones with giant breasts
and shiny silver hair.
“Things are better on
Lachion?”
She shakes her head
as if in disbelief. “Much. The other clans swore fealty to
Gunnar-Dahlgren after seeing how it went for Clan McCullough. In
fifty turns, that’s never
happened.”
March always said he knew killing. That seems like
a sad epitaph.
I ache. “Where did
you find a jumper?”
“There were a number
of jumpers stranded on Lachion,” she tells me. “They had the bad
timing to be delivering supplies when you showed up.”
Fantastic. I wonder where all the Farwan jumpers
wound up.
“Am I cleared to
leave?”
“Absolutely,” she
answers.
After a few steps, I
regain my balance, and by the time I reach the door, I’ve stopped
feeling like I might tip over. I need to check on everyone.
Out in the corridor,
which is tinted a particularly bilious yellow, I stop the first
person I see. “Excuse me, where are we bound?”
The kid looks like
he’s barely eighteen, running errands for somebody. “We’re taking
the ambassador to Ielos.”
So it’s true. Tension
I didn’t even register flows out of me, making me aware of various
aches and pains. Not debilitating, however—considering what we’ve
been through, I feel strong, stronger than I have in
months.
My stride gains speed
as I explore the ship. Various crewmen nod at me in passing, like
they recognize me as a person in authority. That’s a new
sensation.
I could go looking
for Doc, but as Rose said, it’s the middle of the night. I don’t
want to wake him. I’m also not sure I’m fit company right
now.
March must be dead.
If the war on Lachion let up sufficiently for Gunnar-Dahlgren to
equip a ship in answer to Tarn’s plea, enough for Rose and Doc to
take off from treating the wounded, then the outcome must be
decided, one way or another. I guess they won, but . . . the price
was too high.
There’s no other
reason he wouldn’t have come. Unlike most, his promises mean
something. No words are sufficient to describe this loss. I thought
I knew pain when Kai died, but this—
A hole has opened up
inside me.
He won the war for
them, and it destroyed him. Though I’d known it would happen when I
left him on Lachion, the incontrovertible evidence wrecks
me.
Mary, I can’t
live without him. I don’t even want to
try.
Some mechanistic part
of me keeps me walking loops around the ship’s deck. It’s like I
expect to come out somewhere else, but each time it carries me back
where I began. The clansmen who make up the crew begin giving me
odd looks.
I can’t resist the
urge to find somewhere quiet to grieve. A primal scream is building
inside me, so I duck into the first cabin that isn’t keyed to
someone else. Must be vacant, or maybe it’s mine. I didn’t ask Rose
about accommodations.
The dark doesn’t
surprise me, but the weirdly flickering vid screens all over the
room certainly give me pause. And then I spy what’s on them.
Sirantha Jax, asleep in Med Bay, pacing the corridors, and older
clips still. Me, as I step off a vessel with Kai. Me, holding both
fists in the air as I stagger out of a barroom brawl.
This isn’t
entertainment so much as a shrine. Someone is mourning me as if I were dead. There’s only one person who
would surround himself with me like this. But it doesn’t make
sense. I’m here. Why isn’t he with
me?
As my eyes adjust, I
see a dark figure sprawled in a chair. I can’t make out his
features, but all my senses insist it’s March. The door whooshes
shut behind me.
“I wondered how soon
you’d find me,” he says quietly.
I mumble something
about it being a fair-sized ship. I want to be glad because,
whatever else is wrong, at least he’s not dead. But what sits in
this small, dark room might be worse, if anything could be.
I take a step toward
him, but his stillness alarms me. Something prevents me from
running to him. He feels . . . wrong somehow.
If only I could see his eyes . . .
My voice comes out
raw. “Rose was careful not to mention you. I thought—”
“I know. I asked her
not to. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look at me. I can’t make out his
features, but I can tell he’s still staring at his Jax collection
on the screens.
This isn’t how I
envisioned our reunion, when I dared think about it at all. The
silence wears on me, but I don’t know what to say to him. Words
pile up in my throat, leaving me mute.
March became part of
me as nobody else ever had, but this isn’t the man who pined for
me, who would’ve killed the world if anything happened to me. Oddly
enough, I feel as though I’m standing before a stranger.
“How did it go on
Lachion?” I manage to ask.
Pointless small talk.
I already got the gist from Rose.
“Slaughtered the
McCulloughs to a man,” he answers, low. “The tunnels ran with
blood, and then the Teras turned on them. After that, we hunted
them through all their holdings. I haven’t seen killing like that
since I left Nicu Tertius.”
Where, he told me, he
slew thousands.
“I’m glad you made
it.” That’s not what I want to say. It’s banal, but the unearthly
chill streaming off of him makes me want to turn tail and
run.
Intellectually, I
understand the need for him to disconnect from his emotions. How
could he annihilate his fellow man if he felt anything for them?
This, then, is what Mair saved him from before. But the price for
such detachment comes steep.
Because I stand on
the other side of the wall and I don’t know how to reach him. I
don’t know what Mair did or how to bring him back. He promised I’d
see him again, and he’s kept that vow. I touch the ring he gave me,
hoping for inspiration. Where do we go from here?
Well, for me, there’s
no direction except toward him. I ignore his body language; his
muscles seem coiled and ready to fight. I don’t want to believe
he’ll hurt me, but Mary, I’m afraid. He’s like a wounded beast that
doesn’t recognize a friendly hand.
I reach toward his
face with trembling fingertips. He lashes out, a move that would’ve
broken my forearm if he’d connected. I leap back, shaken.
But I don’t quit.
Maybe I’m not Mair, but I’ll figure this out. I won’t lose
him.
“You know what? I
don’t care. I should, but I don’t. You
could’ve put a million McCulloughs in the ground, and I wouldn’t
care as long as it means you’re here with me.”
He shudders. “I
shouldn’t be. I should’ve cut and run once I saw you were all
right. I could hurt you, Jax. Kill you in my sleep. Even though I
remember how I used to feel about you, I
can’t—” March makes a slashing gesture with one hand.
I catch on. He can’t
access it, as if some necessary neurological pathway has been
severed. Afraid to touch him, I seal a kiss into my palm and then
blow it into the air. It’s a romantic gesture, not like me at all,
but I intend it to be symbolic of how far I’m willing to go for
him.
“I need you, March. I was scared as hell to admit it,
but I can’t do without you, and if that makes me broken . . .” I
shrug. “I’ll take you any way I can get you. And I don’t give a
damn what you’ve done. You will never be
rid of me.”
“You have no idea how
much I don’t deserve you.” He pitches the comment low, almost
dispassionate.
His gaze belies his
words. March stares at me as if I stand across a chasm he has no
hope of crossing. Maybe he can’t feel the warmth between us, but it
exists. There must be a bridge, so I’ll take the first step toward
finding it.
“I want you inside
me.”
After a moment of
silent resistance, his icy soul fills mine.
