Rift in the Sky

She gave him a drink from his cup. “Easy.”

He swallowed, eyes dull. “Try to fix . . . com. No time . . . Pirates followed . . . they find me . . . they take . . . they take . . .” His lips worked in silence and he gave her a helpless look.

“I know.” No need to explain, she thought. The swarm might eat you alive, but theirs was honest hunger. The mindcrawler? “The pirates are dead,” she reminded him.

Marcus rallied. “Site Four . . . still intact . . . Vogt? Tsessas? You save . . . them too?”

“We were too late.” She opened her fist and let the scraps fall on his blanket. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

He fingered the names gently, smoothed them flat, then sighed. “They died to . . . save history.” With a gesture to the crates that walled him on three sides.

She didn’t correct him; he deserved better memories than their suspicions. “The Runners went back for the artifacts when the water began to rise. Some Tuana,” her lip curled, “can’t resist what might be of value.” A “value” that had done this to Marcus. At least the others hadn’t allowed the foul things inside the Cloisters. She couldn’t help but add, “They should have left them to rot.”

“Aryl.” The Human gave her a distressed look. “History . . . not to blame. These . . . these are important. These . . . yours now. Keep . . . safe.”

“If you say so,” she said to please him. She’d trade them all for his survival. “What about your starship? Can you contact it?”

“Local com only . . . starship too far . . . but . . .” a sudden gleam in his eyes, “. . . when they get here . . . they’ll send down . . . search parties.” Marcus reached for the ’scanner, only to pull back. “Not here. You take . . . to my camp. Close as water allows . . . Set distress beacon.” He showed her how to turn the dome, then press it down. “Away from Om’ray,” he insisted.

Even now, he wouldn’t draw the attention of his people to them.

There were cracks in the cliff—better still, she’d climb the Hoveny structure and put it on one of its wide ledges. Aryl took it and stood. “We’ll watch for an answer,” she promised. “Bring you to them as soon as—”

“Aryl. No hurry.”

“What do you mean?” she bluffed, knowing full well. “The faster we get you help the better.”

“There is no help.” This with such calm certainty, she sat back down, the ’scanner clutched in both hands. “I know this,” Marcus brushed trembling fingers across his forehead, “can’t be . . . fixed. Best my people . . . do . . . is keep me . . . breathing. Not enough. . . . Not enough . . . Already I don’t . . . always know where . . . I am or . . . who. I . . . can’t taste . . . can’t smell. Things . . . things I know,” with a hint of desperation, “. . . slip away. To speak . . . hurts . . . to think . . . hurts . . .” His gentle brown eyes pored over her face. “Aryl. Only one . . . thing left . . . I need you to . . . do it.”

She’d known this, too.

With a heavy heart, Aryl drew her longknife and laid it across her lap.

Marcus pressed back into his pillows and raised both hands to fend her off. “Not that . . . !” He didn’t relax until she sheathed the blade. “Should know better . . . what I ask . . . a Yena,” he said, making a croaking sound and wiping his eyes. A laugh?

“Your choice,” she told him, trying not to show her relief. “How can I help?”

“I . . . want to . . . leave a message. To put with . . . the beacon . . . for my family.” He pointed to the image disk on the crate.

She gave it to him and waited, curious. Marcus half smiled. “Alone.”

“Of course.” Sensitive as an osst, Aryl chided herself. He wanted to say good-bye to his Chosen, his children. “I’ll be outside. Call when you’re done.”

“Then . . . you can tell . . . me all about . . . you and Enris and Sweetpie. I want to . . . know the . . . future of my other family.”

Aryl managed a smile.

So did she.

Water was more trouble than winter. Aryl glared at the flood. The dirt-heavy waves rolled a bloated Oud corpse past the Cloisters, one of many. Nothing feasted on them. She never imagined she’d miss underwater hunters. Maybe a rumn or two would . . .

“How is he?”

Aryl glanced at Naryn, then put her chin back on her crossed arms. She was watching a particular nekis stalk, hoping to see the water level go down. It hadn’t, as yet, cooperated. “Leaving a message for his family.”

Her friend joined her at the wall, shoulder against hers. After a long moment, “So he knows he’s dying.”

“Marcus isn’t a fool!” Aryl snapped, then gestured apology. “Yes, he knows,” she sighed, counting corpses. Three. Five. “Did they agree on a Council yet?” Decision makers. She’d wanted to be free of that responsibility, Aryl reminded herself. Another good reason to be here and not in the Council Chamber.

“Done.” Naryn snapped her fingers.

“That was—” too fast. “How?”

“The Adepts. They sort themselves by strength and desired Talents. When they proposed that reasoning for our Council, argued it was the M’hiray’s best chance for survival, no one objected.”

She’d have objected. Power wasn’t everything. “Adepts, then.”