Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [45]
She nods. “I’m in. Just tell me what I need to do.”
Over the course of the month, Faye and I train the classes together. In time, she becomes skilled enough to handle the younger, fast-adapting jumpers on her own. We develop a testing system to make sure the navigators who leave the program are competent enough to handle jumps, and gradually, interstellar travel resumes.
But more and more jumpers turn up; it seems like the job is endless.
Luckily, we find a few old-school folks who can teach the new beacons but are too set in their ways to want to use them to travel. So they’re content taking jobs passing along patterns they will never use themselves. These days, I rarely have a moment to myself, running from class to class, or supervising a test. That’s just as well, because as long as I’m secluded here, I don’t have to think about what’s going on in the greater world.
I slam into Vel on my way to an exam; it seems like ages since I’ve seen him. Honestly, I have no sense for how long it’s been because I’m running on a twenty-four-hour schedule. I sleep little, and thanks to the nanites, I can get away with it for longer than most humans without going crazy. They take up the slack, sharpening my mind.
“You are pushing yourself too hard,” he tells me.
“I broke it. I have to try to fix it.”
“You bear too much guilt.” Hit said it first—in a different way—but coming from Vel, who knows me better, it carries more weight.
“I blame March.” It’s not wholly a joke. Before loving him, it never would’ve occurred to me to take on so much. I lived party to party, jump to jump. Most would argue he made a better person of me, but I’m not as happy as I used to be.
“Come. I have something to show you.” Without asking my permission, he calls another teacher and instructs him to take over.
I raise a brow but don’t protest. This is unlike Vel enough that I’m curious what he has in store. So I follow him through the school halls, down to the comm center. He commandeers the controls from the man working there, and tells him, “I believe it is time for your break.”
It would take more bravery than most can muster to tell an Ithtorian no, so the guy scarpers, leaving Vel in charge of the various screens. He tunes them to public bounce channels without another word. With growing puzzlement, I watch.
Five minutes in, I understand. There’s no news about Sirantha Jax or the six hundred soldiers. The public is now focused on a representative from a world that just joined the Conglomerate, who apparently has seven wives, though that’s against the laws on New Terra. There’s a big debate about whether his whole family—legal on his colony—can accompany him to sessions in Ocklind without facing social censure. Though the Conglomerate promises to uphold all religious and political freedoms, they cannot mandate that the natives behave in a friendly fashion. The representative is crying prejudice and discrimination in his interview; he’s the new nine-day wonder.
“It’s not news anymore,” I admit. “That doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten . . . or forgiven. Nor should they.”
With his customary bluntness, he says, “It is more to the point to ask whether you have forgiven yourself.”
I’m sure he knows I haven’t. It’s a steel shard, lodged in my heart, not because I feel I made a mistake but because so many paid for my decision with their lives. I never wanted that kind of power. I only ever wanted to jump.
“Sirantha,” he says gently, “you may work yourself to death, and it will not bring those soldiers back. You try to atone, but you do not mourn. You must cede their loss and give them over to the Iglogth.”
He’s wise—and he’s right.
“I don’t know if I can,” I whisper. “I’ve seen some tough times, but this is the worst because I can’t get their families out of my head. I must be such a monster in their eyes.”
In a lightning gesture, he lashes out with a claw, drawing a shallow X over my heart. The blood wells through my sliced shirt, and for a moment I am too shocked to move. I can’t believe Vel hurt me. I would’ve sworn he never,