Dace hands me a dirty, crumpled piece of paper. Curiously, I unfold it and see March’s handwriting. I read the message and dread curls through me. He searched for six months. How long has it been? Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace. As if in answer to my silent horror, the female warrior we brought from the other world drops to her knees and weeps.
CHAPTER 33
In the morning, once all my physical needs are tended, I fire up the comm tower. It looks like our exit won’t be instantaneous, but that’s fine. Now that we’re back in the village, I can muster a little more patience. Our ride should be arriving in the next week, once Dina gets the emergency signal on the bounce.
“Do you still have the bone?” I ask Vel.
I’d hate like hell for our trip to be pointless. Bringing back proof of the ancients and the ruins we found renders our journey invaluable.
He inclines his head. “I also have a substantial amount of data I downloaded from the vault.”
“It didn’t fry on the return trip?”
“I have an internal data spike. The technology in our bodies was protected in passage.”
Yeah, that’s true, but I didn’t know about that piece of hardware. So flesh provides a protective cushion. Good to know . . . not that I plan on making that trip again anytime soon. If I did, I’d look for a way to pad our gizmos so they worked from the start, but that’s a disturbing mental image, a handheld cushioned in a meat pocket. I shudder a little.
“What do you plan to do with it?”
“After I take the first look, I shall auction it off to the highest bidder.”
That surprises a chuckle out of me. I shouldn’t be shocked. I mean, how else did he build a vast personal fortune? He’s not an altruist.
“So what do you make of the Mareq response to all this?” I ask.
He considers. “I believe they had a legend, and you fit the profile.”
“You mean I’m not Jax Oonan?” I clutch my chest in feigned disappointment.
“I suspect any sentient being that activated the gates would do.”
“About that . . .”
He knows me well enough to guess the unfinished question. “This is pure conjecture, but I think the Makers locked the gate so their servants would not be able to travel as they did.”
“But they respond to any other signature?” It’s a simple answer, and maybe the only one we’ll ever get. It’s not like the Makers can pop out of extinction and explain their ten- thousand-turn-old plans.
“Or perhaps one of us carries traces of Maker DNA,” he says.
“It must be you. Humans are the new kids on the block in galactic terms.”
Vel lifts one shoulder. “It is possible.”
“So you’re actually Vel Oonan. I’ll tell Dace.”
A little click of laughter. “Do not dare, Sirantha.”
Later, I check the comm tower to make sure it’s giving off a strong emergency beacon. As the days pass, I keep an eye on the heavens with every bit as much anticipation as the natives. I use my time to help the alt-Mareq warrior integrate with the others. It helps that she doesn’t have more advanced weapons to assert her will, so like us, on her turf, she has little choice but to make nice and learn their language. I facilitate that as best I can, though it’s an imperfect process.
In time, I bet they’ll figure out how to pass back and forth, open lines of trade, somehow. But that’s not my worry. I just want off this mudhole and to find March.
The fourth morning after our return, a young male Mareq approaches. He is slim and tall, with bold markings to proclaim his youth, a handsome specimen of their people, at least so far as I can tell. He holds his hands in a warm greeting, as if I should know him, and he bumps his chest gently against mine. Such familiarity startles me, but I almost feel as if I should recognize him.
Switching to Mareq, I tell the chip.
“Good day,” I say cautiously.
“You do not know me.” It’s not a question.
Mary knows I don’t want to offend him. Maybe we danced with him at the celebration, so long ago now, though I’m still not sure how long exactly. “I feel as though I should.”
“I am Zeeka.”
I puff out a surprised breath, and for long moments, I can’t process it. We were gone long enough for him to grow up, though to Vel and me, it only seemed like a few months, at most. I don’t know how long it takes for a Mareq to reach maturity; maybe they have a short life cycle. I can hardly accept the idea that I’m talking to Baby-Z2. Wonder and gratitude spill through me.
He takes my silence for encouragement and goes on, “You took me out into the singing stars, where I fell into the void. And then you brought me back again, carried me home to my mother’s arms. You are Jax Oonan, of whom much has been sung, and I am destined to leave with you. My destiny lies out there.”
Zeeka glances up at the eternal twilight of the Marakeq sky, but he sees the star-studded darkness above—or maybe it’s more accurate to say he remembers, although I don’t understand how that’s possible. The Mareq are wondrous beings.
“You want to leave with us?” I ask, astonished. “Will Dace allow it?”
“I am a sovereign creature now.” I get the sense that my chip didn’t translate perfectly, but I get the gist. It’s My mom can’t say no because I’m a big boy.
“What will you do out there?” I can’t take him on as a dependent. I just can’t.
“Learn your trade.”
The first Mareq jumper? I don’t even know if he’s got the J-gene. From Fugitive scientist data, Doc posited that the Mareq owned a genetic quality that could aid in longevity for navigators, but I have no clue whether they have the potential themselves. It’s not like you can tell with one look, either, as you can in humans. Like the Rodeisians, Mareq eye color tends to be uniform, a muddy brown, and it will require some tests in order to determine whether Zeeka can realize his dream.
I make a swift decision. “You can come with me as far as Gehenna. I can get you tested there. If you don’t have the J-gene, then I’m sending you home.”
My vocalizer has some trouble with those concepts because Zeeka cocks his head, trying to decipher what I’ve said. “You will test me? If I fail, I must go home.”
Close enough. “Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, Jax Oonan.”
I really must read these writings about Oonan. When Dace said the prophecies of Oonan, I guessed that was some old Mareq prophet, but it appears they think I am Oonan, and the person who wrote all this stuff down didn’t get remembered by name. For a moment, I’m tempted to set the record straight; as a member of the older starfaring race, it’s probably Vel who triggered the gate, but he asked me not to, and I have more pressing matters to attend to right now, such as breaking up a fight between our gate- traveling alt-Mareq and the throat-flushed male who finds her fascinating.
On the eighth day, lights appear in the sky. It can mean only one thing.
Rescue.
Quickly, I speak my farewells and thank Dace for everything. She responds with a regal nod. “Protect my son.”
Then she gives him a bundle of items that will do him little good where we’re going; the Mareq youngling vibrates with excitement. Vel and I gather our things, slight though our belongings may be, and hike toward the landing site. Halfway there, I pause. Hit is a skilled pilot, but if we’re standing where she’s trying to put the ship, that won’t end well. Vel monitors their progress, and when he gives me the all clear, I take off again at a dead run.
As we break from the swamp into the clearing, I recognize the Big Bad Sue, even from fifty meters away. The hatch opens, and Dina steps out. Her hair is a lot longer, spilling nearly to her waist, and as I draw closer, I see the signs of time on her face: new lines framing her eyes and mouth. The question haunts me anew: How long were we gone?
“What the frag happened?” she demands, sweeping me into a fierce hug. “Where were you?”
“It’s a long story. Could we get off this rock before I tell it?”
“Sure.” She pauses, angling her head to study me. “You don’t look any different, bitch. How’s that possible?”
“Has it been so long?” Vel asks.
“Five turns.” She glances at the Mareq. “And who’s this?”
She’s not going to believe it. “Baby-Z2. But he prefers to be called Zeeka.”
For once, the blond mechanic is speechless. And then she manages, “No shit. Well, let’s get inside. Hit and Argus are waiting in the cockpit. They didn’t figure you’d want to linger on world, after being lost so long.”
“You got that right,” I mutter, still reeling from her revelation.
Five turns. March must’ve given me up for dead and moved on by now. There’s a cold dread building in my stomach. For the last five turns, he’s been settled and raising his sister’s son. Sasha, the note said. Oh, Mary. What a fragging mess.
“Dace didn’t tell you where she sent us?” I ask.
Dina shakes her head. “It took us ages to communicate with them at all. I had a chip put in, but it was slow going. And then she would only say Jax Oonan is destined to open the door and return in her own time. I wanted to pound her, but Hit said that wouldn’t help anything.”
We head inside the ship with our would-be Mareq jumper craning his neck to examine all of the technological marvels. He’s seen it all before, and I wonder how much of that he remembers. Vel follows quietly, probably processing the idea that it’s been so long since Adele died, even though it has to feel fresh for him. We’re out of step with the normal world now, and I don’t know what to do about that. But there are practical concerns to address now; I head for the hub and show Zeeka how to strap in.
“Where to?” Dina asks.
“Gehenna. Zeeka here wants to become a jumper, but I don’t know if he has the J-gene.”
“So you want Carvati to check him out,” she guesses, buckling in across the way. Once she’s done so, she touches the comm unit on her wrist. “All passengers aboard, love. We’re clear to depart, destination Gehenna.”
Hit’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Glad to hear it. Welcome back, Jax. I thought you might’ve died down there.”
“I knew you didn’t,” Argus puts in. “You’re going to die in some memorable, glorious fashion, many turns from now.”
I wish I had his confidence.
Dina adds, “I’ll let March know where we’ll be. He made me promise.”
I don’t know if I’m up to facing him. Mary knows I’ve longed for him, but I’ve been gone so long. It seems wrong now to turn up like an unlucky specter, reminding him of the life he left behind. The irony doesn’t escape me that I once tried to build a life without him—and now he’s done that without me, away from the stars, away from grimspace. Some would say this is karma biting me in the ass.
The rumble of the engines comes first, then the sweet lift that carries us far from the endless green swamp that is Marakeq, but I don’t know if it’s possible to get back to where I was before, and furthermore, I don’t know if I should try.
