Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [68]
“Thousands.”
Thank Mary. Unlike last time, the ship sails through the atmosphere smoothly. I stare out at the tangles of green jungle flashing past the hull. It’s raining, but on Marakeq that’s nothing new. If the Mareq are active, then it’s a warm shower.
Either Hit’s a better pilot than March—and to be fair, he was out of practice when we put down here the first time—or this ship’s more maneuverable. It might be a combination of the two. Either way, within moments, we set down gently in a muddy clearing less than a klick from the river. No damage that I can see.
“Really well-done.”
She flashes me a cocky grin. “Like you expected anything else.”
“True enough.”
I check the small bundle beneath my shirt, and Baby-Z2 seems content enough, plenty warm and lapping at the protein on my chest. If things go well, I won’t be wearing him for long. I’ll give him back to his mother to assuage my sore conscience. Leaving the cockpit, I head for the hub to look for Vel.
Not surprisingly, he’s already waiting with his ubiquitous bounty-hunter pack, weatherproof gear in hand. We can’t afford to let the hatchling get cold or to have the rain wash his food supply off my skin. It’s a couple of kilometers to the settlement from here. While Hit might have been able to take us in closer, I was afraid of frightening them. I want to ensure a peaceable exchange.
In transit, I downloaded all the sounds Fugitive scientists have recorded, and my chip has been working on processing them. Nonhuman languages are more difficult to decipher because sometimes the sounds don’t have equivalent word meanings; they’re more nuances, intimations, and hints. But the Mareq tongue appears to be fairly complex, and my chip now has some idea how to decode them, which means my vocalizer can attempt a reply.
After checking Baby-Z2 one final time, I shrug into the slicker and take my pack from Vel. “Ready?”
“I am.”
“We’re gone,” I call, without touching the comm since it’s a small ship. “I’ll signal when and if it’s safe for you to join us.”
“Because I can’t wait to take my own walk in the mud,” Dina grumbles.
But she smacks me on the back as a measure of her affection when I go past her toward the exit ramp. I lead the way with Vel at my back, the way it should always be. He’s been quiet since we left Gehenna, but I’m hoping this mission will distract him from his loss. Deep down I know one person can’t replace another, but at least he’s not alone.
“Do you need scrubbers?” I’m already fitting mine in place.
The last time, Doc reminded me to wear them, but he’s gone, and I have Vel at my side instead of March. Everything changed once on this planet. I think this is where I started to love him, no matter how much I didn’t want to. I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change again.
“Yes. The atmosphere has spores and pollens that make raw inhalation a risky proposition.”
It also contains trace elements of chlorine, hence the scrubbers. Vel fits himself with compact breathing apparatus, slightly different from my nasal plugs, but they function in the same fashion. Once we’re ready, we step off the ship and into the muck. The planet is every bit as dismal as I remember, algae growing in the mud sucking around our feet. All around us, the jungle breathes, leaves rustling, rain spattering on the sodden trunks. But even the plants have a secondary layer of green growing over the top of them, moss or mold in swirling patterns.
Before we move away from the ship, he scans the area with his handheld. “No large predators.”
“The Mareq hunt to keep the territory surrounding their settlements safe.”
That’s all I remember from Canton Farr, other than the fact that he was a terrifying lunatic. As far as I know, none of the Fugitive scientists who studied the Mareq ever made contact, which means this is a historic moment, and it should be recorded for posterity.
“Turn on your ocular cam?”
“Already done,” Vel answers.
“Then let’s move out.”
The air is hot and sticky, even beyond the rain. There’s a heaviness to it that weighs on a