Expendable - James Alan Gardner [50]
There came a time when we were both kneeling beside Chee’s body: the woman inserting pebbles through his collar and me filling his pockets. After a full minute of silence, the woman said, “My name is Oar. An oar is an implement used to propel boats.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Oar,” I answered solemnly. “My name is Festina Ramos and I take…my name is Festina. According to my mother, that means ‘the Happy One.’” I didn’t mention how Mother held that against me. You’re supposed to be happy, Festina; you have everything a little girl could want. Why must you be so deliberately miserable?
“Your mother,” Oar said. “That is the woman who gave you birth?”
“Yes.”
“Have you given birth to a child, Festina?”
“No. Not me.”
“Do you think you will some day?”
“No.”
“Why not? Would it not be interesting to have a child come out of you?”
“I suppose so.”
“And since this man here has…died,” Oar continued, “should you not produce a new Explorer to replace him?”
“It’s not that easy.”
She looked at me, waiting for me to explain. I shook my head, too tired to belabor the details. Would she understand if I explained that women received tubal ligations upon joining the Fleet? The operation could be reversed on request after ten years’ active service; but I doubted I would find a surgeon to do the job here on Melaquin. Children were impossible for me. Someday, when I was past the numbness of Yarrun and Chee dying, I wondered how I’d feel about being permanently barren.
After waiting for me to answer, Oar came up with an explanation of her own. “Oh yes,” she said, “you cannot have a child here and now. You need a man to supply his juices.”
“That’s certainly a consideration,” I agreed.
Oar fell silent. I fastened the snap on one of Chee’s belt pouches, then looked up. Her silvery eyelids were closed.
“I know a man,” Oar whispered.
“Yes?”
“I know an Explorer man.” Her eyes opened. “I have not seen him in three years, but I am sure he is still such a man as would give his juices to any woman.”
There was bitterness in her voice.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, Oar.”
And I understood why she said, Explorers only make people sad.
Fucking Explorers.
“Who was this man?” I asked.
She closed her eyes again. “Explorer First Class Laminir Jelca.”
My Heart
Jelca.
Jelca.
I’d heard he’d gone Oh Shit a few years ago—nothing in the official records, just a rumor. I should have realized there was only one place you could disappear without leaving records in the Fleet archives.
Jelca was here on Melaquin. And not just on the planet—he was somewhere close by. He had not landed on a different continent; he had not landed on some isolated island; he was here. At least, he had been here three years ago. How far could he have traveled since then?
My heart beat faster, though I knew it was foolishness. I scarcely knew Jelca—after that night we carried Tobit to his quarters, we had gone on two dates, no more. There was every chance Jelca had treated Oar badly…and yet, I was already making excuses for him in my mind. She had misunderstood mere friendliness; and perhaps Duty had forced him to leave.
Never mind that my excuses didn’t make sense. In the heat of the moment, “making sense” was my enemy.
I had killed Yarrun. Chee had died. But if Jelca was here, I was not alone.
In that moment of weakness, I thought Jelca would save me.
Jelca’s Partner
“Where is Jelca now?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“He went away with her,” Oar replied. She made the word “her” sound like excrement.
“Her?” I repeated.
“The ugly woman who blinks.”
“Ullis? Ullis Naar?” My old roommate with the permanent twitch in her eyes.
“Yes, Explorer Ullis Naar. She blinks and blinks until you scream at her to stop. She is so stupid!”
I said nothing. Ullis was not stupid; she had a good brain and a better heart. In our years rooming together at the Academy, I had never