“They weren’t shooting at us,” I realize aloud.
As we rocketed toward the ground, the bombardment began. The wrongness hits me then. Because we left, we lived. From a certain angle, it feels like cowardice.
“No,” Hit says on an exhahle.
But there’s no denying it. I can’t see the point in destroying such a beautiful, defenseless place, but I’m not Morgut. Maybe this devastation serves their master plan, or it’s simple retaliation for our defiance. Millions of innocent civilians will die on Venice Minor, innocuously enjoying their vacations; they might’ve saved for the trip their whole lives, as such consummate luxury doesn’t come cheap.
I see the smoldering wreck of the Triumph, recognizable only from the charred metal piece bearing its Conglomerate registration number. The rest of it lies scattered around the hangar in bits no bigger than the span of my arms. God help any crewmen who were still aboard, working on repairs. My heart feels like lead in my chest. Beside me, Hit curls her hands into fists.
“We should look for survivors,” I say at last.
We ready our weapons in case the Morgut have sent a ground team—yet why would they? They can continue the blitz from above. The missiles aren’t toxic, so the natural beauty will rebound in time—and by then they will have claimed the lush, tropical paradise, a replacement for their own dying world. Once they establish a foothold on Venice Minor, fighting them will be more difficult. For all we know, they might breed fast enough to compensate for the troops lost in grimspace, and then we’ll be back where we started—with no solution in sight.
Still, I power up my laser pistol, wanting it charged and ready in case we run into trouble. Silently Hit does the same. We move through the burning graveyard with the scent of smoke and scorched metal in our nostrils, compounded by a chemical burn that makes breathing difficult. There’s no telling what might be in the air, but I don’t have any air scrubbers handy. The little ship we left in offered no special equipment, and there’s nothing left intact here on the ground.
“Any movement?”
Grimly, Hit shakes her head, continuing to pick a path through the wreckage. It looks as if we lost all our ships. How many dead? So far, we see no signs that anybody survived the attack. As far as I know, my mother didn’t have an emergency bunker. Nobody would reckon that as a necessity on Venice Minor.
My timing was off. I didn’t get here fast enough. They’ll find some way to blame you for this, a cynical little voice says.
I shake my head, trying to silence it. The Conglomerate isn’t like Farwan, I tell myself. If I’d been here, I only would’ve died with them. No help in that. But maybe it would’ve been better for me. More than most, I know the pain of surviving.
There is an awful gravitas in standing at ceremony after ceremony, listening to a holy man intone words that are supposed be comforting but instead merely remind you that you’ve been left behind.
Not this time, I tell myself. You’ll find them.
In slow, stealthy movement, we complete our circuit of the perimeter. No bodies, but I recognize the stench of burned meat. It lingers in the air, people who became ash in a white-hot instant. They rain down on us in the aftermath, clinging to our skin and hair, the dust of the ones we loved drifting in ladders of light. This is a wound too grave for weeping, a silence of the soul burned as black as a night without stars.
“Where’s the Dauntless?” Hit asks.
The question gives me pause because I didn’t notice it as we scouted the area. With the others, I saw enough of their destruction to recognize the fragments. So maybe they got away. I cling to that hope. They might have been going up to fight even as Hit and I raced down. Please, please let that be true.
“I’m not sure.”
“That might be a good thing.”
“Our ship won’t fly, but it has the only working comm in the area.” I name our biggest challenge as we head back to the tiny vessel.
“We could try hiking out of here in hope the rest of the planet has fared better.”
As if in answer, the horizon lights up with the impact of more missiles—an awful red glow that burns like twin desert suns, deeper than Gehenna’s permanent sunset and far more sinister. They’re going to kill everyone on the surface. Complete extermination, as if we’re merely pests that prevent them from taking possession. I suppose I should be grateful they aren’t eating us; maybe we’ve taught them at last we’re an enemy to be reckoned with, not mindless meat, but that elevation of status comes with a high cost. They’ll assume this area has been saturated sufficiently unless they learn otherwise, so we don’t have to worry about renewed bombardment here.
“They’re still bombing,” I say needlessly.
Even if they weren’t, I’m not up to a long walk just yet. The nanites haven’t had a chance to finish repairing all the damage I did during the long immersion in grimspace, while I reprogrammed the beacons. So I merely shake my head. Hit seems to understand my limitations, as she drops the suggestion without argument.
“If I rest some, I can keep up with you later,” I add.
“That leaves the problem of food and water.”
Fortunately we’re on a hospitable planet, not like Lachion or Ithiss-Tor. We can find fruit and fresh water nearby. The insects and hungry indigenous life will make survival a challenge, but it’s not insurmountable. The Morgut ships overhead, on the other hand, trouble me, but I’ve told our allies not to risk jump travel, which means Venice Minor won’t be seeing Conglomerate reinforcements—and maybe that’s for the best. In wartime, they talk of acceptable loss; from my training, I know that commanders are prepared to lose up to thirty-three percent of their troops—and when the representatives present this as a victory, that’s how they’ll describe the people who died here—but right now it doesn’t feel tolerable to me at all.
There hasn’t been time for my message to reach Tarn or for him to respond. Which means Hit and I must focus on finding shelter and staying alive until the Morgut finish the eradication of our species. After that, I don’t know what the hell we’ll do—steal a ship, maybe. At least with my implants, I have the advantage of understanding Morgut speech and some of their technology. I might be able to explain to Hit how to fly one of their scout ships, assuming we aren’t caught and eaten first.
“It’s gonna be a rocky few days,” Hit says.
“I’m aware.”
“The jungle’s not secure, with the fires still burning.” Her dark gaze roves around the rubble, looking for safe harbor.
We both know we can’t roam too far from the ship. At this point, stealing a Morgut scout vessel and rendezvousing with the rest of the Conglomerate fleet offers our best chance for survival. I can’t feel March, but this time, it’s because of the physical distance between us. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. It doesn’t mean he’s dead. He’s probably on the Dauntless with Hon and Loras.
You better hope they don’t jump. If they do, you’ll lose everyone on board.
Icy terror crawls down my spine. Please, please let them be in orbit, fighting the good fight. If they are, maybe . . .
“Do you remember the Dauntless comm code?” I ask Hit.
Regret colors her expression as she shakes her head. Damn. I don’t recall either. If Rose were here, I have no doubt she could tell me. She was a good comm officer, but we lost her even before we landed on Venice Minor. I remember Doc’s grief, and sorrow steals through me. War has no regard for love.
“Maybe we can find part of the Triumph’s computer and link it to ours,” she suggests. “It should have records of past communications.”
I hope her technical expertise surpasses mine, because I can’t do that. But spending as much time with Dina as she does, it’s not surprising that some of the knowledge has sunk in. For all I know, she helps the mechanic with repairs in between the nuzzling and softly whispered words.
“Let’s look.”
The Triumph wreckage lies nearby, and we creep toward it i
n silence. Together, Hit and I sort through the metal and burned components. I try not to think of Kai; he died long ago yet haunts me still. I imagine the ones we’ve lost as ghosts who prowl about the edges of the light, waiting for us to join them. Sometimes that’s terrifying and sometimes it’s reassuring, a promise of homecoming.
At length, she produces a chunk of the computer trailing wires and says, “I think this is it.”
More explosions light that bloody glow in the distance. We’re too far from ground zero to hear the booms or feel the earth shake; the Morgut are moving off now, systematically destroying the defenseless resorts and private homes. I wonder whether they had any real warning, or if they went from relaxing massages to dying in abject terror. There are no RDIs here, no ground resistance at all apart from Hit and me. Right now that seems like an impossibly tall order.
“Do you feel like we saved the Conglomerate only to lose everything that matters?” I ask her quietly as we pick a path toward the downed skiff.
“Only if Dina died here,” Hit answers. “If she did, then I’ll find a way to end the Morgut. I will hunt them to extinction and then delete all their records, all their writings. They will pass unremembered.” Her coldness gives me chills.
But I feel more or less the same way; I’m just less articulate about it. “If I’ve lost March, then I’ll help you.”
She doesn’t hesitate as she drops through the open door to the cockpit. I come in on the other side and squat on the ceiling, watching as she snips and intertwines the wires. Sparks fill the air, simmering white-hot, and then dying with a hiss as connection begins.
“Got it. Cycling through old logs now.”
Over crackles of static, I listen as Rose patches the calls through. Her voice echoes from beyond the grave, more memories I cannot shake. “You have Hon from the Dauntless requesting a connection.”
“Patch him through,” March says.
Mary, how it hurts to hear his voice, even blurred with electronic interference. It makes me feel as if he’s one of my ghosts, and I can’t give in to grief before I find the answers. Hit plays the log until she successfully extrapolates the comm code, a matter of some urgency, as there’s no telling how much longer this wreck will have sufficient power to send—or receive—messages. Hit cues me with the goahead and I angle my head as best I can toward the comm array. The video’s not working, but as long as we have audio, it should suffice.
“Hit and I have returned to Venice Minor. We’ve encountered no survivors. Our ship’s disabled, but we don’t see the Dauntless amid the wreckage, so we hope you survived the initial bombing. If you’re still in direct comm range, we implore you not to jump, as your navigator won’t be able to interpret the signals. At best, you’ll wind up far from your intended destination. At worst, you’ll be lost for good. Until we hear back, we’ll be waiting on the surface, so please advise with intel about the battle and our new orders.”
Unless they court-martial us for going AWOL. But it isn’t time for disciplinary action; we’re in the middle of a war, for Mary’s sake. Once the dust settles, then I’ll take my punishment, but I’m not letting them touch Hit. I’ll lie if I must.
After a nod from her indicating she has nothing to add, I say, “Send.”
A ping from the comm indicates it’s resolved the link, which indicates they’re up there, somewhere. Who’s on the Dauntless, we cannot know. Then from the damaged console comes an alarming beep, accelerating in speed. Even I know what that means. Frantic, I scramble out of the cockpit, cutting my palms on metal shards as I pull myself out. Hit grabs my hand and we sprint full-out away from the skiff.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ann Aguirre is a national bestselling author. She has a degree in English literature and a spotty résumé. Before she began writing full-time, she was a clown, a clerk, a voice actress, and a savior of stray kittens, not necessarily in that order. She grew up in a yellow house across from a cornfield, but now she lives in sunny Mexico with her husband, two children, two cats, and one very lazy dog. She likes books, emo music, action movies, and Dr. Who. You can visit her on the Web at www.annaguirre.com.
Also by Ann Aguirre
CORINE SOLOMON NOVELS
Blue Diablo
Hell Fire
SIRANTHA JAX NOVELS
Grimspace
Wanderlust
Doubleblind
Killbox
Table of Contents
Praise
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
If Death Is the Answer, What Was the Question?
There’s No Dave Here
Playing Doctor
Hard to Handle
Voyage to Monkey Island
Heaven and Hell
The Island Witch
Reports of My Death Have Been Much Exaggerated
Dead Man Says What?
Vagabond Blues
Deals with the Devil
Corine’s Choice
Welcome to the Jungle
Dreamwalker
Where Fire Eats the Sky
Unearthing Her Bones
Demon in the Dark
The End Is the Beginning Is the End
The Day After
Dark Tides Rising
Mundane Mayhem
The Black Rose
Swerve
Raising Hell
Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
Storm Warning
Safe as Houses
Once Upon a Time in Mexico
Blue Night
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ann Aguirre, Shady Lady
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends