These Broken Stars Part 12

NINETEEN.

TARVER.

SHE WAKES EARLY, this girl who probably used to sleep until noon and lie abed until three. I roll over into the warm spot she leaves behind, eyes closed, but I can feel her watching me. She pushes away the dirt I used to bank the fire, stirring up the coals. Warmth flickers against my face as she builds the fire up again with the kindling I gathered last night.

Moving slowly, probably stiff and sore from our drowning dash last night, she crouches down beside me and rests a hand on my shoulder. When I crack open an eyelid to peer up at her, she looks tired. Both her eyes are marked underneath with dark smears of blue and purple, and one is still marbled black and yellow as her magnificent black eye starts to fade. She's pale, with new freckles from the sun overhead standing out like punctuation on a page.

But she's captivating too, maybe more than she was before, with the tale of our survival written on her features.

"I'm going to get us some water." Her whisper's barely audible-she wants to let me sleep. "I won't be long."

I clear my throat a little, and she takes that as a sign that I've heard her. I wonder for a moment if I should let her go alone, but she's not the girl who crashed with me. She'll be careful.

I didn't see any paw prints while I was gathering the kindling last night. I don't think there's anything big living around here. It's an isolated clump of trees by the bank of the river, surrounded by open plains. A predator wouldn't make the trip this far, or be able to live on what could survive here.

As I watch her through my lashes, she straightens and turns away, and I let myself drift again. Apparently I'm not going to be punished for the fact that she woke up wrapped around me. The cold shoulder would have been worth it, but it seems she's accepted our sleeping arrangements as a necessary evil. Sleep reaches for me, and I let it take me for a little longer.

When I wake, I have no sense of how much time has pa.s.sed-seconds or minutes, or longer. The thing in orbit around the planet has set, which means at least an hour or two has pa.s.sed since dawn, but how long ago did Lilac leave?

The air's so damp that my shirt still hasn't dried. I give up trying to avoid smelling like smoke, though I know she'll wrinkle her nose at it, and hold the shirt directly above the fire. When she gets back with the water, I'll try hot soup for breakfast. Some of the plants that tested okay should add some flavor, and we've still got leftover chunks of the latest small, scampery thing. I don't know what to make of its elongated snout, or the oversized ears. It's like a parody of the small fauna I usually see on terraformed planets.

Then Lilac comes crashing back through the undergrowth like somebody told her there's a shoe sale going on here at the campsite. It honestly doesn't occur to me that something might actually be wrong until I get a look at her face.

She's white, breath ragged and hair tangled. Her eyes are huge, and the knees of the mechanic's suit are covered in mud-she's fallen on her way back.

Part of me wants to drop my shirt and reach for her, but my hands know better, and first they're setting it aside where it can't catch fire, then reaching for the Gleidel.

Lilac flinches at the soft whine as the gun powers up. "No, you don't need to-it's nothing, it's fine."

"It's not nothing." I keep my voice low, lifting one arm to invite her over. As though a barrier's suddenly come down, she trips the three steps across to lean against me like she's falling. I pull her in close, keeping hold of the gun as she presses her face against my chest. My shirt's still on the ground, but I'm not cold anymore. "Tell me what happened, start at the beginning. You took the canteen to the river, and...?"

She's trembling violently, gripping the canteen with white knuckles. I can see where she's spilled some of it down the leg of the suit. My heart sinks. I recognize this now, her scattered gaze, the way her body shakes. Last night I'd begun to think that the worst had pa.s.sed, when she slept without any interruptions. But now she looks worse than ever.

"Tarver, you're just going to think I'm crazy." She's staring past me, and I focus on keeping my expression calm as I wait. She'll fill the silence eventually; she doesn't like the quiet. "Crazier," she amends herself, then tucks her face back in against my chest, as if the effort of speaking normally has cost her. I'm practically holding her up.

"Tell me anyway," I say quietly, flicking the power switch on the Gleidel and tucking it back into the holster. Now I'm free to wrap both arms around Lilac, and she tucks in underneath my chin like she's meant to be there. I close my eyes. "Never mind what I think, tell me what happened."

It takes her a little while to answer, and though the trembling is starting to fade, she's not calming down any. I can feel the way she's breathing, in short, sharp jerks. "I saw them," she mumbles eventually. "The voices. And yes, I know how it sounds. You don't have to point it out."

It's like something's turning to stone inside my stomach, heavy and painful. She's right. Crazier. Please, no. "People? You saw people?"

She nods, though it's such a small movement that I only feel it against my skin. A tiny part of my mind registers just how distressed she must be, not to notice that I'm half naked, holding her against me-that her cheek is resting against bare skin. "On the far bank of the river. One minute it was just me, getting the water, and then..."

"What did they look like? The people?" I still want there to be an explanation, something I can understand.

"I know who they were." Her voice cracks. I wish I could go through this for her, spare her. "They were all looking at me, and pointing that way." She tips her head in the direction we've been traveling, toward the mountain pa.s.s and the wreck beyond.

"You could see the mist right through them, and when the sunlight hit, they disappeared." She pauses to swallow, her voice tightening and breaking again. "One of them wasn't wearing any boots."

It takes me a moment to understand what she means. Then it hits me, and I tighten my hold on her. "They're not real, Lilac. I believe you saw them, but you know you hit your head when we landed. Once we're back in civilization, it'll be the work of a moment to fix this. For now, I need you to promise me you won't go chasing after anything you see. You could get hurt."

She goes still. I wonder if she was expecting me to believe her, that I'd find visions more convincing than voices in her head. "Tarver, how many people did you bury in that pod?"

"We didn't kill them, Lilac. We treated them with respect. If you're feeling guilty about what happened-"

"There were five of them, weren't there?" She pulls back to look up at me, intent. Her pupils are huge, the blue of her eyes nearly drowning in the black. Her gaze is so raw it's frightening. "You didn't let me see them. How could I know that? Tarver, don't you see? I'm not crazy after all. I'm being haunted."

I don't know how to deal with this. You can't reason with insanity, and you can't bark orders at a girl who's not a soldier. I keep up the calm and patient face that used to annoy her so much, allowing myself a slow breath before I speak again. "I'm sure I told you how many people I buried." But we both know I didn't. "Even so, five's a reasonable number. That's almost capacity for a pod. Let's get moving, Lilac. I want us to have plenty of time this afternoon to find a safe, warm place for camp. Let me have the canteen, I'll heat some water."

As I reach for the canteen, she pulls away from me. Her stare's unwavering as she puts distance between us. "There were two women," she says evenly. "The one with no boots was about my height. And there was a soldier. I could see his dog tags."

Something's blocking my throat, and for the count of maybe three, I can't breathe, my chest struggling to remember what it should do next. It's a mistake. She's making it up. She's seeing my dog tags now, that's how she got the idea in her head.

But she's not done. "The other two were men in evening dress."

I finally manage a breath, choking on it. No. It's impossible. She can't know. When I can breathe evenly again, I speak, keeping my gaze steady. "Of course you saw a girl the same height as you, Lilac. She had the same size feet as you. Those aren't the people we buried, though, if that's what you're thinking. It was all women in the pod. There were no men; there was no soldier." I don't even know why I'm lying to her, except that my mind's freewheeling, scrabbling for anything to grab on to, and all it can find is this: I can't buy into what she's saying. I can't make this any worse than it already is.

We stare at each other for long seconds. Her lips are parted a little, like she's been slapped, but she's trying to hide it. She knows I'm lying. Then her features settle, and she's giving me a blank stare that betters any of my efforts this morning.

"Right," she says softly. "Then let's go."

We're silent as we pack up the camp. Neither of us is thinking of breakfast anymore.

I don't know what else I could have said. I can't feed whatever's going on in her head.

It makes no sense.

She laid rocks on top of their grave, but she never saw the bodies. The bodies of the men in evening dress, of the women in the mechanic's suits, of the soldier not much older than me.

I have that man's dog tags in the bottom of my bag.

"You had nearly reached the Icarus."

"We still had to make it over the mountains. The crash site was on the other side of the pa.s.s. That's where we'd seen the ship fall."

"The reports say there was snow in the mountains."

"Yes."

"We've been at this for some time now, and you never mentioned the snow before."

"You think I'm lying about the weather?"

"I don't know what you're doing, Major. I'm trying to find out. There was snow?"

"Yes. If you have the weather reports, I'm not sure I can add anything useful."

"Try, Major."

TWENTY.

LILAC.

TARVER DIDN'T TELL ME that it would be colder in the mountains. Maybe it's always cold on mountains, I don't know. Maybe he thought it was common sense.

As we leave the river for the foothills, I find myself thinking about the girl in the salon. The one who flirted as easily as she breathed, the one who dodged bodyguards and stayed up all night gossiping. I bear so little resemblance to her now it's as though she no longer exists.

And as hateful as she was, I find I miss her. She knew where she stood. She knew what she was meant to do. She had a father who'd stop at nothing to protect her, a world that arranged itself to fit around her. She never had to care about the opinions of one lowly soldier. And it never used to matter when someone lied to her, because that's all anyone ever did.

What had looked like clouds in the distance are, now, clearly snowcapped peaks. The mountains lie between us and the wreck of the Icarus, and Tarver says to go around would take more time than we can afford. And so through we go, regardless of the temperature and the threatening sky, to shelter in some crevice overnight and hopefully make the valley beyond in the morning.

The pa.s.s he proposes to cross is not white with snow, but as the day wears on, the temperature drops and the clouds gather low in the sky. Even Tarver glances up at them, restless, picking up the pace so that I stumble and bang my knees on the rocks. My hands are too numb to break my fall.

I ought to be surprised when the first flakes begin to fall-the closest I have ever come to snow is watching the Christmas specials on the HV-but I have no energy left for surprise. Some other Lilac, the one in the salon perhaps, would have found the snow beautiful.

With the sun retreating behind the clouds, the temperature is dropping faster the higher we climb. The snowflakes linger on my cheeks before they melt. The mechanic's suit provides little warmth, but the tight weave of the fabric gives shelter from the wind. Thanks to these cursed boots, my feet are the warmest part of me.

At least I know I'm no longer going mad. No, I'm being haunted. Is one better than the other? I've been the cause of death before. Why can't I dismiss the faces of those five lost souls?

If I hadn't seen Tarver's face when I described what I'd seen, perhaps I could go on believing I was hallucinating. But his expression was that of a man who's been mortally wounded, frozen in the few shocked seconds before he falls. He knew I had no way of knowing whom he buried. Perhaps he believes he's helping me in some way by leading me to believe I'm mad. But Tarver is not given to lying, and he doesn't fool me.

Maybe it's not the Lilac in the salon that I miss. Not the Lilac on the plains, or even the Lilac before she saw the Icarus fall.

I think I miss most the Lilac who trusted Tarver Merendsen.

"What?"

"Major?"

"I stopped listening there for a moment. What did you say?"

"I suggest you make every effort to keep listening, Major. You seem tired."

"Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Could I get something to drink?"

"We'll arrange that in a moment. Are you ready to continue?"

"Of course. Eager to provide whatever it is you're after."

"We're after the truth, Major."

"That's exactly what I've given you. You're looking for something else."

TWENTY-ONE.

TARVER.

THE MORNING DAWNED CLEAR AND PROMISING, and I had let myself hope a little that the ascent wouldn't be as bad as I had antic.i.p.ated. Streams of snowmelt run down the mountainside, and though they're gut-achingly cold, I never lack somewhere to fill the canteen. But the higher we climb, the faster the temperature drops. The sunlight feels pale and cold, but I know it's the only thing standing between us and a much bigger problem. A problem we'll face when the sun starts to sink.

Lilac works stubbornly to keep up, and my heart tugs at me to slow down and let her rest. But I press on, up past the boulders and the thinning tufts of gra.s.s.

As we climb, my mind circles back to how utterly alien this must be for her-as far from her experience as her life is from mine. What must it have been like to grow up with your face on the cover of every gossip magazine in the galaxy?

I can't stand to think what the paparazzi would say if they heard her mutter one of my curses under her breath, or saw the way she nestles in close to me at night. What they'd make of her strength.

I can smell the snow coming. We don't have time to waste in getting to the crash site, and the difference between slowing down and pushing on might be an extra night up here. So we keep climbing.

It's a few hours after we split a ration bar for lunch that the first flakes start to fall, so tiny at first that they almost look like a mist. Behind me Lilac makes a soft sound, and I realize she's probably never seen real snow before. She's had more reality since we crashed than over the rest of her life put together. Part of me wants to stop and appreciate the start of the snowfall with her, but I know it won't be long until it's coming thick and fast, so I park her in the lee of one of the huge rocks that litter our path and scramble up over it for a better view. We need a cave, or at least an overhang. The twisted trees up here have bare, spindly branches, and they're useless for shelter. I've never seen trees like this-combined with the thick, pale moss on the rocks, they make this place ghostly, unwelcoming.

I used to do a lot of mountaineering with Alec when I was a kid. Me and my hero. I've been thinking about him as we climb, and about my parents. By now they must think they have two dead sons. He's one of the voices in my head that keep me moving when I want to stop. A line of sergeants and commanding officers comes to life in my head when I get tired-big, wild men from the frontier who screamed at us until their instincts became ours. They keep pushing me on, instructing me on finding the right campsite, making sure I take the extra minute to make the bed as comfortable as I can so I don't pay for my laziness by tossing and turning all night. But Alec's voice is quieter, patient, the way he used to sound when he came home on leave and taught me the things he'd learned.

It doesn't take long to find a cave. The entrance is barely more than a s.p.a.ce between two rocks, roofed over with earth and stone, but it extends farther in, and it'll do.

The cold cuts into my face and the rising wind pulls at my coat as I work my way across the mountainside to fetch Lilac. She's huddled against the rock, and her hands are freezing as I guide her up the slope toward the place I've found.

We make our way in past the first twist of the cave. It's dark, but we're sheltered from the wind. When I catch sight of her face in the flashlight, her gaze is dull and hopeless.

I wish she'd come alive and start listing my faults for me. I bundle her in blankets and build a fire with deadwood piled by old snowmelt at the mouth of the cave, then crawl inside the blankets with her. She's too tired to resist, maybe, because she leans in against me and rests her head on my shoulder. "Don't drowse," I say quietly, my voice hoa.r.s.e from disuse. "Not until you're warmer."

"Mmm," she agrees, drawing the blanket in tighter around us. "Why am I always the problem? Just once I'd like to be the useful one."

"We happened to get stranded on my turf," I say. "That's the way it goes, sometimes."

"I just wish-" She shifts a little, getting comfortable again and subsiding against me with a sigh. "Well, I suppose I wish a lot of things."

"Me too," I say quietly to the girl in my arms. I know exactly what you mean.