Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [103]
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