March is the only one who brought bivouac.
Like I said, he’s the survival expert. Doc packed all his lab gear, various scanners and samplers, other stuff I don’t know the names for, while Dina brought her tools. As for me, I grabbed my favorite shoes and clean underwear. What can I say, some of my mother’s lessons stuck, although I refuse to put my hair up, and I haven’t worn a dress in almost twenty years.
If she had her way, I’d have a vanilla husband and a dignified career as an art dealer, selling to the cultured at an exorbitant price. Instead, I’m plodding through a field, lost, while my belly chews through my backbone. For a fleeting moment I wonder what the life I left behind would’ve been like. Just as quickly I dismiss the curiosity; I’d have choked to death in their world.
We walk until true sunset. I pause, gazing up at the streaked sky, tear trails of scarlet blurred over cobalt. Damn, haven’t seen one of those since we left Lachion, though I’m not sure how long ago that was. I wonder how Keri is faring among the clans, whether she’s married the Gunnar yet. Nobody says much as we set camp near a scrubby copse of trees that exist only to demarcate one field from another.
The rain subsides into a miserable mist, drizzling down through our clothes until we’re all irascible. Dinner takes all of thirty seconds, but my mood improves marginally when I see Doc and Dina wrap up in rain slickers and bed down on the wet ground. Seems like I may end up the same way since all I have is clean underwear, but then I see March beckoning me from the mouth of his sleep cylinder. This thing only holds one person, but I manage to wriggle in beside him. He fastens the end up, and we elbow each other more than once in getting settled.
As he pulls me close, I hear Dina grumble, “Shit, I’d sleep with him to get out of this weather.”
Into the silence, Doc stage-whispers, “So would I.”
I break down as March calls back, “No thanks, I’m good.”
Guess I am crazy because even though I have no earthly reason to believe things are going to work out, right now I’m happy. Maybe I’m like March, and I thrive under less than-ideal circumstances. What a fragging understatement.
“Please don’t make me listen to you shagging,” Dina cracks. I hear Doc laughing, like this is an adult sleepover. “The rain’s bad enough.”
“You’re just jealous you didn’t get me while you had the chance,” I shoot back, before March shushes me with a kiss.
But there’s no room for anything else, even if we were so inclined, and I’m not. Though I’m fine with the other two knowing about March and me in the abstract, I don’t get into V&E. My kinks are pretty tame, come to that. His body heat warms me, and I fall asleep listening to him breathe.
In the morning, it’s more paste and some bitching for breakfast. No surprise that I bear the brunt of it because I just thought to check my PA. As it turns out, 245 does, in fact, possess a navigation system, even if I don’t.
“Greetings, Sirantha Jax. It has been six days since your last entry.” Do I detect a trace of censure in 245’s synthesized tone? I’m telling you, this little gadget is not like other AIs.
“Sorry about that.”
“Are you still having the dreams? Would you like to—”
“Er, no. Let’s not talk about that.” My cheeks burn as I try to shut the machine up. Yeah, I talked to 245 when I was on Gehenna. I cringe, remembering the way I rambled about March. “Can you figure out where we are? I saw that you have—”
“What world is this, Sirantha Jax? I possess the ability to calculate geographic location based on latitude and longitude, but I need to assimilate certain local parameters to ensure accurate computation.”
“New Terra.” I give the same answer as yesterday, but it offers significantly different results this time.
“According to my best estimate,” 245 says modestly, “the nearest settlement lies eighteen kilometers north-northwest. Unless I have erred, this would be Maha City.”
Shit.
I can see in their faces, they have no idea what that means. But we’re halfway across the continent from New Boston. “Thanks, 245. See you later.” With that, I snap the sphere shut, only to notice the way the others are staring at me. “What?”
“It’s your best friend, huh?” Dina smirks at me.
“No, that’s you, sweetness.”
I make like I’m going to hug her, and she shuts up real quick. She even backs away like I’m dangerous, deranged, or diseased. Doc glances up from organizing his gear to offer a half smile. He’s been too quiet.
“Not a bad hike.” March tips his head back, assessing the clouds.
I could tell him it’s not going to rain. Today, the sun beats down on us from a pure blue sky, drying up the muddy patches. Even the grain glitters in the distance, throwing golden sparks row to row with each ripple of the wind. But it is going to get hot.
Sighing, I say, “Let’s see how far we get then.”
Nightfall finds me exhausted and bitchy, although the other three hold up better. March wants to press on. Doc and Dina don’t seem to care, irritatingly solid, both of them, so I drag my feet and mumble. I feel sweaty and wilted; my scalp itches, and every exposed inch of skin has been stung or bitten by something. We’ve passed several farms and outbuildings, but we agree that it’s a bad idea to linger where strangers must be scarce. So I suck it up and keep going, but I draw the line when I overhear the whispered conversation taking place as the first city lights come into view.
“She’s got to,” Dina murmurs, low. “You know she’s the one they’re looking for, and with all that hair—”
“What about my hair?” I stop in alarm, gathering the wild mass in both hands.
“I don’t know that it matters,” Doc says with a strange, tight smile.
My eyes go to March, who produces a wicked-looking knife. “I’m sorry, Jax.”
“No! Come on, I can…” But I come up with nothing, so I bend my head dumbly, the sacrificial goat.
I’m not brave. As March starts hacking, my vision blurs, and I can’t help but sniffle. I don’t remember the last time I had my hair cut; it’s my trademark. Maybe it’s frizzy, unruly, wild as an Anduvian ice otter, but it’s me—
And that is exactly why it has to be shorn.
But he’s not content just to slice it short. I start when I feel the blade scraping across my skull. “What the frag—”
“It’ll help you pass for a boy,” Dina explains. She takes a closer look then and gives me a roguish grin. “Or a really cute butch. Rawr. Er, anyway, try to keep your head down until we can do something about those eyes.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?!”
“They’re memorable,” March says, wiping the blade on his thigh.
Sweet, but it doesn’t make me feel one bit better about being bald. The wind feels too cold against my nak*d scalp, and I run my fingers over the rough shave with a pained little whimper. I think I might cry.
“For Mary’s sake,” Dina grumbles, “it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”
“Want me to shave yours?” I growl at her.
She shrugs. “If it’ll shut you up.”
“Let us give them a moment.” Doc guides her away, probably whispering that she needs sensitivity training.
March bends his head to mine, kissing me in a delicate brush of warmth. “You’re gorgeous. All that hair hiding such beautiful bones, I can’t believe it.”
Though I know he’s bullshitting me, trying to smooth me past the desire to throw a fit, it helps. “You’re so full of it.”
March shakes his head, solemn as a barrister. “No, really. You might even look better this way.” I narrow my eyes on him, knotting my fist in his shirt. “Too much?”
“Uh, yeah.”
After lacing our fingers together, he leads me toward the others. Maha City twinkles against the dark, glints of scarlet and silver snaking together as if to form a cogent image. We’re just not high enough to appreciate the art.
“So who are you, Jax?” I see him smiling, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Oh, he’s teasing me, but his comeuppance is nigh. “My little brother?”
I shrug, studiedly casual. “That’s not what you need to worry about.”
His thumb slides over my index finger in a soft, proprietary caress. “And what would that be?”
“Being the guy who wants to shag your own little brother.”
That’s the first time I’ve gotten the last word with March.
CHAPTER 46
Our credits are running low.
I made enough to get by on Gehenna, but Outskirts currency possesses no exchange value on Conglomerate worlds. Keri could wire us funds, as Lachion is nominally a Corp world, but it would link her to us, and that’s something we need to avoid, considering our infamy. If anyone suspected them of bankrolling our activities, that would be the end. So I’m not sure how we’re going to pay for somewhere to stay, or how we’re supposed to make our way all the way to New Boston.
Worry nags me like a frigid wife. We can’t take public transport because I can’t use official stations. It would be disastrous if I tried to travel using my own identity, and it would take both creds and connections to acquire a good forgery. And we don’t know anyone except my parents, and it’s not like I can ask them for help. If they’re alive, they’re mortified at how low I’ve sunk and are telling everyone they aren’t related to me. I don’t realize I’m scowling until March smooths the lines from between my brows.
“We’ll figure something out,” he assures me softly.
Maha City spins out in concentric rings. At the center lies the posh upscale area, including the business district, the metropolitan museum, and the municipal center. I gleaned that much from looking at the map 245 showed me, but what I didn’t realize is that the farther you go from the city center, the worse it gets.
We pass through shantytown first, hovels scraped together from spare parts and scrap metal. A dog sits in the road, gazing at us with uncanny eyes. Its lips curl back from its muzzle, and it growls deep in its throat as we pass by. The only vehicles seem derelict, rusted, and we find a family asleep when we peer inside.
“I’d rather camp than look for a room here.” Dina speaks for all of us, for once.
“I thought the Corp promised prosperity for everyone.” The skin on the back of my neck prickles, as if we’re being watched. As we continue deeper into the city, I feel glad that from my silhouette and shaven head, I look like a boy although that wouldn’t discourage the determined.
“Only in advertisements,” March murmurs.
A yawn that crackles my jaw overtakes me, the sort that leaves your eyes watering, but we can’t rest until we find a safe place. Dying in our sleep won’t solve anything in the long run, even if a nihilist would argue it’s coming down the pike at some point anyway, so we might as well embrace it.