Ruins (Pathfinder 2)

“Yes, that’s so,” said Param.

“You should be sixteen, but do you think you are? Perhaps you’re only fifteen years old. Or fourteen.”

“I feel very old,” said Param. “Are you sure it doesn’t work the other way?”

He chuckled—not a loud laugh, so it didn’t sound derisive. It sounded as though he enjoyed her remark, as though he thought it was witty.

“Where have the others gone?”

“With Vadesh, to go into a starship,” said Olivenko. “Shall we find them?”

Param strode boldly forward, though she did not know where she was going. It seemed the thing to do, the antidote to her timidity of a few moments before. Soon they saw Umbo among the machines, but he was alone.

“Where did they go?” Param asked him. She made her tone peremptory, commanding, so that she would not have to deal with any questions from him about where she had gone when she disappeared.

“I don’t know,” said Umbo.

“Why aren’t you with them?” she insisted.

Then he told them that his future self had appeared to him with a warning: Stay here. Do nothing. He did not know why the warning had come, and in her impatience, and partly because she had assumed an air of command, it quickly turned into a quarrel, each accusing the other of cowardice. Param said harsh things, but so did Umbo; Umbo’s words stung all the more because she knew that they were true. And when they found the place where the others had gone down the stairs, her fear began to rise again: What was the danger that Umbo’s future self had warned against? She felt herself starting to slow down, to vanish, and so she paced back and forth, determined not to let herself disappear again. She could not let this habit master her.

Umbo went down the stairs to look for Loaf and Rigg and Vadesh. But Olivenko stayed with her.

“Why don’t you go, too?” she asked.

“Loaf can handle anything that comes up,” said Olivenko. “I don’t like the idea of any of us being alone. So I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Do what you want.” She sounded surly, though she hadn’t meant to.

“I always do,” said Olivenko, sounding amused.

“You think I’m funny?” asked Param.

“No, I think I’m funny,” said Olivenko. “I gallantly stay behind to protect you—but of all the people in our group, you’re the one who least needs my protection. I’m not good for much, am I? I’m not half the soldier Loaf is, and I can’t fiddle with time the way you others can. Maybe I’m along to write the history afterward. Or perhaps I’ll be the one who dies, so that you can be warned that danger has arrived. That’s how it works in stories—there’s one who isn’t really needful to the tale, and so he’s the one who gets killed first. Usually he’s forgotten; nobody even mentions him at the end.”

“That’s bleak,” said Param. But she knew what he meant. She had heard many such tales, growing up. The one who can die and not be missed. She had never thought of that. Was it her role, after all? Mother thought so.

But no. Sissaminka would be missed. Her absence would be noted. She was not one who could die without repercussions. Mother would see. She had put too much trust in General Citizen. And when word got out that Param was gone, everyone would be sure Mother and General Citizen had killed her. There would be outrage. There would be rebellion, vengeance, justice.

“You look very fierce,” said Olivenko.

“Thinking of Mother,” said Param.

“It must have been devastating,” said Olivenko, “to have her turn on you.”

“I always knew what she was,” said Param. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.” And then, quite suddenly, she found herself crying. “I don’t know why I—please don’t touch me—it’s just that I—”

“It’s all right,” said Olivenko. “You’ve been very calm through everything. You’re entitled to unwind a little now.”

“But there’s still danger, there’s still . . .”

Olivenko said nothing.

Param felt herself swaying. She put out a hand and found his arm, leaned on him. In a moment she found that he had led her to a place where they could sit on a part of one of the machines.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m glad.”