Wanderlust (Sirantha Jax 2)

“I’m hungry, and I’m sick of your face,” Dina bitches beneath her breath. Loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jael really isn’t the guy I thought, because he surprises me with a sharp laugh. “I’m sure that goes for everybody else, too. But let’s break out the paste. You make a good point. We don’t know just how far we’ll have to hike to steal a ship.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Hit jabs the merc in the chest with both index fingers. I wince in sympathy, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. “I thought you and the professor over here had things planned down to the last millimeter.”

“I cannot take topography readings underground,” Vel explains in a deceptively mild tone. “But we will make for the nearest public hangar. If it comes to it, we can stay there until the Conglomerate dispatches a ship. There will be rudimentary amenities available.”

“Hit.” Dina puts a hand on the other woman’s arm briefly. “Cool down. Shit, if I’m willing to risk it with a bum leg, you can be sure these guys know what they’re doing. ’Cause I don’t even like ’em. Especially her.”

Now that’s the Dina I know and love. Mary, I’m glad to see a spark. I flash her a broad grin. “Right back at you, bitch.”

“If you say so.” But the pilot does step back, looking perceptibly calmer.

Then we enjoy a meal of nutri-paste. It’s been so long since I had real food that my teeth feel like they’re getting soft. Maybe you can live forever off this stuff as the manufacturer claims, but I’m starting to think I’d rather die.

I daydream about fresh fruits and vegetables, drizzled with a sweet tangy sauce. Maybe some strong white cheese, just a bit smoky. Oooh, and hot bread, crisp on the outside and tender on the inside, brushed with a hint of butter.

“Close your mouth,” Jael whispers. “You’re drooling. If you’re not careful, people will realize you’re thinking about me naked.”

“Only if you have a warm baguette and a crock of butter in your hands,” I return darkly.

He grins at me. “That can be arranged.”

“I hate you.” I suck down the rest of my paste, quietly stewing because he destroyed the food fantasy that made this goop tolerable.

Vel clears his throat with a look that manages to be vaguely disapproving. What? I didn’t do anything.

“Next . . . we need this.” The bounty hunter tosses me a tube of Thermud, and I eye it with dislike. Merc grunts swear by this stuff, but surely we don’t—oh, frag. Of course we do. We’re about to emerge from a bunker in the middle of two clans at war. I smear the stuff on without protest.

Hit, on the other hand, looks at Vel like she thinks he’s crazy. “I’m already dark enough to blend in, don’t you think?”

“Not for high-tech,” Jael tells her. “This stuff scrambles your heat signature so it bleeds off into the ground.”

“Making thermal goggles useless.” She takes the tube from me and covers all her exposed skin.

Dina uses it next, but I can tell by her expression she thinks it’s a waste of time. Her sled is pretty damn conspicuous. But we can only do so much to stack the deck in our favor—got to leave the rest to chance.

Too bad Lady Luck’s so often a bitch.

Watching Jael daub himself, I can definitely tell he’s used it before. His hands practically blur in the speed of the motions. “We all set?”

“How come he doesn’t have to use it?” Hit jerks her head toward Vel.

Who manages an approximation of a smile. He’s getting better at pretending to be human. “Because I am special, of course.”

He ignores her pissed-off exclamation as he goes to work on the electronic lock. Right now the display shows red. If it requires a ret-scan or a handprint, we are utterly screwed.

Or not.

Vel slips on a clear synthetic glove, pulls the tips tight, and lays his palm on the panel. The AI intones, “Thank you, Dr. Solaith. Clearance granted.”

The light flashes green, and the heavy door swings wide. That hint of a breeze we’ve been feeling for a while turns into a gust. I drink it in without minding the chill racing over me. It’s still winter, a lot of darkness and short daylight hours.

“He was kind enough to let me borrow his fingerprints before we left,” Vel says as he steps out.

Tentatively, we follow suit, single file, coming up against what seems to be a rockslide. We sidle past the narrow gap, and for a moment, I’m afraid Dina will have to leave the sled. I don’t know how the hell we’ll carry her.

Without a word, she straps herself in, lowers the back so she’s fully horizontal. She tests the strength of her belts and then flips to vertical. Her fingers seem sure on the buttons.

“I’m fine,” she says, when Hit tries to help guide the sled. “I got this.”

Now and then she scrapes the stone, throwing sparks, but she manages. I admire her so damn much. But her face is taut with tension by the time we step out onto the hillside.

“You okay?” I step closer as she switches the sled back to chair configuration.

“I gotta get out of this thing,” she tells me, jaw set. “Or I’ll kill somebody.”

“You will,” I promise. “Get out of it, I mean. I’ll help. The killing probably depends on how much they piss you off.”

I want to say more, but this isn’t the time. We need to move. For just a moment, though, I tip my head back, glorying in the icy stars.

From this higher vantage, I see that the clansmen piled those rocks before the opening to make it look like a natural formation. They did a good job concealing their escape route; I’ll give them that. But it’s not as impregnable as they thought. It’s compromised now, full of dying McCulloughs and hungry monsters.

Mary, I hope March makes it out of there. I touch the ring on my finger out of superstition, faith, or some awkward marriage between the two. In an effort to push back the pain trying to drown me, I suck in several deep, gulping breaths of cold air.

He’s my pilot, and I have to fly without him soon.

Jumpers aren’t made for this.

I expected to emerge amid the wreckage of the Gunnar-Dahlgren compound, but we’ve surfaced well away from there. No broken machinery, no rubble. No signs of bombardment. There are just barren hills, riddled with signs of the honeycomb caverns that house the Teras.

The open worries me more than the tunnels. Down there we could control the approach, limit how many could get at us. Up here we’re free targets, dinner afoot.

“No running,” Vel cautions again. “We have no way of knowing how the Teras interpret rapid footfalls or how far sound travels through the caverns.”

“Do our best to step lightly,” I say. “Check.”

The bounty hunter pauses a moment to check the readings, and then adds, “This way. We need to get as far from here as we can before daylight.”

“Why?” I ask before Hit gets the chance, and she acknowledges it with a grin. I really like her. She’s competent, confident, and doesn’t accept things at face value.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m missing March like a lost limb—glad I didn’t say that aloud, or Dina would hurt me—I’d even be glad to have Hit as my new pilot. I’m just not ready to make her part of me.

But when am I ever?

“Because there’s a storm coming.” Vel flashes his handheld.

The merc sighs. “Looks like a lot of snow. We don’t have nearly enough survival gear to handle that. We need to find a ship and fast. All right, people, forced march, double time.”

We fall in behind Vel in twos, Dina and Hit, then Jael and me. I hate how he won’t leave my side now, as if trying to make up for his prior lack of vigilance. I’m too tired to care at this point or work up any rancor. I just wish he’d leave me alone.

“Damn, it’s cold.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until I see his smirk.

“You should really keep a coat in that pack.”

“You should really fuck off and die.”

“Then who’ll save your ass when you panic over a bit of barbecue?”

I give the response my most withering tone. “The next monkey Tarn hires. See, that’s my gift. Being the last one standing.”

“If everyone you give a shit about is gone, sounds more like a curse.”

* * *

CHAPTER 38

He gets it.

That startles me. I don’t offer confirmation that he’s right, though. I don’t want to talk.

But yeah, some days it does seem more like a curse, just like that guy from mythology who doesn’t die, who’s destined to wander and suffer. But I can’t sustain that level of mental melodrama.

Pure physical discomfort edges out such self-pity. I can’t even find the energy to fret about working with Hit, or how the next jump will affect my condition. I know Doc doesn’t want me to jump, but he should’ve cut off my arm if he wanted to prevent me from jacking in.

Nothing else will keep me from grimspace. Even now, the siren song makes me feel itchy with need. The colors, the feeling that comes howling through me as my mind expands. I need to be there like I need nothing else.

More than March even. I’m sure he knows that. That’s what happens when you love a junkie.

As we walk, clouds blot out the shimmer of the stars overhead. The storm Vel predicted appears to be rolling in on schedule, and as the wind kicks up, it goes right through me. You’d think I’d have remembered how cold it is here, though to be fair, I didn’t realize I’d never be returning to the ship.

I feel like a prisoner of war.

We can’t stop moving, but I can barely put one foot in front of the other. I hate this weakness. Though I feel better than I did on Emry, I’m a long way from full strength. The others seem to be bearing up all right. Up ahead, I hear the low susurration of voices: Dina and Hit, getting to know each other.

As always, Vel leads the way in silence. Though I count him among my closest friends, I don’t know much about him. That’s not likely to change while we forge a desperate path through these hills.

Up and down we climb, avoiding scout droids, McCullough patrols, and, of course, the Teras, who will swarm and devour us if they catch our scent. But between the liquid skin and Thermud, we’ve taken as many precautions against that outcome as we can. My thighs and calves burn, taut as drawn wire.

Add that to various aches, including a stabbing pain where Jael landed on me, and I’d give just about anything to lie down. Of course I suspect I’d never get up again. I didn’t realize how soft I’d gotten, but a jumper’s life is well padded.

“You holding up all right?” Jael asks, well after I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been walking.

“Does it matter?” I mumble.

I don’t see how we’ll be in any shape to steal a ship once we finally get there. But we can’t pitch camp in the open, and a cavern in these hills would be worse.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’m just making small talk.”