Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [102]
When it becomes clear to her that we’re heading out, she staggers upright and pleads, “Not to leave behind.”
With a faint sigh, I motion her onward. She can live among the native Mareq, from whom her people come; I have no doubt. Right now I don’t care, either. I just want off this rock. Once more, doing the right thing had unforeseen consequences. Still, despite the hardship and fear, I’m not sorry I brought Baby-Z2—Zeeka—home.
The return journey passes quickly because I’m running. This swamp holds no horror for me, compared to where we’ve been. The other two follow close behind.
At first, I don’t notice the changes because I’m in such a hurry, but as we get closer to the village, I can see that the undergrowth has been cut back, creating a definite road that wasn’t here before. I cast a glance at Vel, who’s noticed it, too. There are score marks on the trees from laser fire, as if someone was determined to burn a path.
“How long were we gone?” I ask softly.
He lifts one shoulder in a mute shrug. Hard to say. I don’t stop to ponder the number of trees that have been removed, however. I keep moving toward the settlement, which has changed as much as the surrounding swamp.
There’s a definite modern presence here now, bits of technology that might’ve come from our ship. A metal shard stands in the middle of the green, a comm tower, if I don’t mistake its purpose. Unease crawls through me, but I’m sure Dina’s been out to look for us. It may have been as long as a month or two; she’s gonna be so mad when we finally see her again. I don’t know whether she’ll punch me or hug me. Probably both in quick succession. Before I can decide whether to hike to the ship right away, the natives take the choice from me.
The villagers greet us with a glad hue and cry, Dace leading them. Somehow, she doesn’t seem surprised to see us. She greets us with open arms and a bump of her chest. I gather that’s something like a hug. I stumble a few steps in answer to her exuberance.
“The door to otherness is unlocked,” she proclaims. “The prophecy of Oonan has come to pass. Long live Jax Oonan!”
What the hell?
“Explain,” I demand.
“The star-walkers own the otherness doors. We walk them only with our masters.”
So the Mareq were, long ago, enslaved to the Makers? That’s my best guess.
“Will they work for you now?”
“It is promised.”
A cheer goes through the village, terrifying our alt- Mareq companion. The warrior cringes behind us, much as I would if confronted with a specter from mankind’s evolutionary past. Others push closer, touching her skin to see if it’s sleeker than theirs. They gasp and marvel while she whimpers with discomfort.
“I don’t think she likes that,” I warn them.
To my surprise, the Mareq back off immediately, and the female quivers, taking a step farther away. I understand her culture shock; this has to seem so surreal. One minute she’s in her own place, minding her business, and the next, she’s here. I get that displacement from the ground up.
“Dace, I have a ton of questions for you, but right now, Vel and I need something to eat and a place to sleep. We’ll head for the ship tomorrow.”
“The flying boat is gone,” Dace tells me.
A cold shock runs down my spine. “Gone where?”
“For many turns now,” she answers. “Gone up above the rains. But I knew you would return, for it is written.”
Many turns? Surely she doesn’t mean turns in the way I do. This must be the chip screwing with me.
“Just how many ‘turns’ were we missing?”
A puzzled silence falls in response. They don’t count as we do. They just do “few” or “many” and in conjunction with the simplicity of their lives, it works for them just fine. For Vel and me, this could be catastrophic. I really need to know how long we’ve been gone.
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