LEGACY LOST (12 page)

“I’ll only bring the jewels of my collection,” Augustus said, surveying the largely ruined showroom. “The fossilized dodo egg, the ermine robe of the last Old Earth president, the anatomist’s model of the female in third trimester, the sphinx skeleton, the illustrated encyclopedia of unusual deformities, the–”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vector interjected. “The funny thing about space is that it’s limited.”

“Hmph. Then . . .” He scrutinized the room, much of it in shambles, though some pieces, by complete happenstance, were still intact. “I’ll just take . . . the anatomist’s model. The others are mostly replicas anyway.” Augustus looked from one man to the other. As an aging aristocrat, albeit academic, he had a tendency to scrutinize individuals for their utility. Vector was small in stature, it was true, but the jacketed one, though larger, seemed so lamentably coarse; Augustus shuddered to consider a priceless antique under this man’s care. He grimaced. “Where did the big one go?” Augustus asked. “The one who carried the girl away?”

“Legacy,” a stern voice corrected Augustus. The broad redhead reentered the room, a serious demeanor about himself to which the doctor felt immediately endeared. “Her name is Legacy, and I’m Liam.” The wheezing bastard followed shortly behind.

“What did Rain say?” Vector demanded.

“Going to be fast asleep for the next couple hours,” Liam replied. “Wake up with a bitch of a headache, but be fine.”

“Jolly,” Augustus commented brightly. “Would you be a dear gentleman, Master Liam, and tote this anatomist’s model onto the ship for me? You see,” he went on, even though Liam had already gripped the big-bellied porcelain girl and hauled her into the air, “she was designed by the late Doctor Phineas Coleridge, and she’s authentic, you know.” Augustus followed Liam out onto the companionway, hesitating for only a moment as he regarded the deathtrap of an airship onto which he was poised to stop. “There are only twelve left in the entirety of New Earth,” he finished. “And does anyone onboard have a Hermetic device? I hate the things, personally, but I’ll be needing to contact a towing company in Pollax. Have you chaps ever been to Pollax? Lovely township. Very small, rather expensive, providence of Celestine. My ex-wife has a house there. I’m sure they’ll follow us on to – Where, now?”

Gustav, followed by Vector, followed by Dax, followed by Augustus, followed by Liam, toting the porcelain sculpture of the nude pregnant woman, crossed the shuddering companionway and descended onto the
Albatropus.

In passing, none heard the hushed conversation of Claire and Saul, who had filtered up from the laboratory in order to give Rain space.

“How much time does he have?” Saul whispered to Claire, both eying Dax.

Claire grimaced and whispered back, “I heard he lost a lot of his potassium hydroxide, and it was already vastly degraded. Whether or not he could make the trip – that was already a question. And now . . . Rain asked him if he had any more. He said his potash supply went down with Icarus. The way he’s losing oxygen? And now, with what, half a filter left? If you just want my opinion? I think . . . I . . .” Her eyes became large, and she hesitated to speak it. Saul didn’t relent in his stare, and the answer came tumbling out as if pushed. “Maybe twenty-four hours.”

Chills aroused Legacy from the strange puddle of slumber into which she’d fallen. She’d been on the floor, battling – pirates? – and then . . . now . . . the laboratory again, on the table . . . But she wasn’t the one on the table, was she? Wasn’t Dax the one who should’ve been on the table? Dax . . . and his scrubber . . . Oh, no.

Legacy’s head lulled drunkenly beneath the harsh lights.

“What happened?” she blurted, alarmed to realize that her face was wet. She was crying. Crying uncontrollably in front of all these people, these swarms of blurry faces: Rain, and Vector, Liam,
Dax
. He receded as quickly as he’d appeared, and her head throbbed. “Dax,” she moaned.

“You’re very lucky that Gustav has had some experience with ether,” Rain’s voice came to her. “You could easily have died, passing out so close to it like that.”

“
Where is Dax?
”

There was a pause, and a hand went into hers. “Hey, I’m here.” His face swam into view again. The mask! He was wearing his rebreather!

“You’re okay.” She sighed and closed her eyes, calm enough now to swallow and note how parched her throat was. “How long . . . What time is it?”

“It’s been a few hours now,” he informed her, not releasing her hand. In fact – and she may have been hallucinating this, but – she believed his thumb was rubbing in a circle at the center of her palm. It was very relaxing. “The, uh, the women escaped. We got the doctor out of his cage, but the
Chrysalis’
engine was destroyed in the whole mess, and we had to send Izzy’s Hermetic device to a towing company in Pluto or something. Pollax. We’re moving again.”

“Your mask,” she said. “How is your mask? Is it okay?”

“My mask is totally fine, and I’m going to be fine,” he said, smooth, not missing a beat. “The scrubber lost a little potash, but . . . it’s fine.” Her eyelashes fluttered open at the sensation of his lips pressing to her knuckles. “You just relax and feel better. How do you feel?”

Legacy searched her mind for the correct term. “Like shit,” she deduced flatly.

Dax laughed breathlessly.

              That Tuesday night, in the crowded common room, Legacy slowly recovered from her ether inhalation and held Dax’s hand, clammy and cool and returning every ounce of pressure. At least two dozen of their total huddled together in the narrow berth, rapt with attention as their unexpected guest, the Doctor Summat, professor of natural sciences, regaled them with harrowing tales of his lifelong exploration of Old Earth.

              “How did you ever have the money for such travels?” Izzy wondered, ogling.

              “Oh, you make a fantastic living in the auction or sale of saplings and seeds,” Augustus divulged, winking and tipping his pipe toward the girl.

              A murmur rippled through the crowd.

              “How did you get into that?” Claire asked.

              “I excelled in the field of botany,” Augustus replied. “And I was willing to brave the terrain of Old Earth to begin with. That is no small feat!” He took a smoky sip at his wooden pipe. “Takes quite a man to glare down the barrel of a dazzler musket, knowing that the treacherous brown recluse before you will only be stunned for a matter of seconds, and may in fact crush or poison you in its spasm of disorientation alone!”

              Another murmur.

              “Don’t tell me you also collected silk,” Gustav said.

              “Oh, my boy, you can’t afford a ship such as mine without collecting silk. Even saplings don’t fetch such coin as does a ream of spider’s silk.”

              Rain tentatively raised her hand. “Is it true that they get as big as a peasant’s apartment?”

              Augustus laughed. “Well. I won’t say yes. But I will say that I have used the molted exoskeleton of a departed Brazilian wandering spider to stay dry in a torrential downpour.”

              Gasps resounded.

              “So, what do you do now?” Liam called out. “Just collect more oddities for your display cabinets?”

              Augustus puffed his pipe and waved off the question. “No, no,” he murmured. “That’s merely a hobby. I’m becoming too old, in truth, for most positions. I collected seeds and saplings for a while, and then moved on to the silk, which afforded me this life of leisure, truth be told. It’s amazing stuff. You’d be surprised how often it’s used. But! Now my work is . . .” He sighed, sudden and deep. “Now my work is suited to the old man I’ve become. I excavate volcanic sites for gemstones, mostly.”

              Legacy frowned. “That doesn’t seem very ‘old’ of you,” she replied.

              “Oh, my dear. You have no idea. You see . . . Those damned spiders. They’ve grown out of control, and they . . . They have infested the planet below. I suppose it’s only fair; they are truly wonders of evolution. But our environment is not very hospitable to an insect population any longer, nor bird, certainly! And so, they have a limited means of diet, save that of fish and amphibia, which they do certainly enjoy. Being as that fish and amphibia solely inhabit our jungles and swamps, the dry zones are also dead zones. The trees, and obviously the silk, they are in wet zones. But the gems . . . thankfully . . . they are in dry zones. And, all told, it’s not a terrible way to make a living.” Augustus beamed.

“As with the silk, you’d be surprised how many real and vital products utilize gemstones. Your friend there, with that . . . charming rebreather.” Augustus gestured flippantly toward Dax, who frowned and straightened. His mind had been drifting and he wasn’t sure exactly what everyone was talking about. “Your friend there, with that charming rebreather, knows what I’m talking about, I’m sure.”

“What?” Dax replied drowsily.

“Peridot! Peridotite, my dear boy! Olividite! Very useful stuff in the absorption of carbon dioxide!”

Rain suddenly stood. “Did you say you were here to excavate a site? Are we still close? We haven’t gone far!” She looked wildly at Dax. “It might only mean turning back for a few hours!”

“I had not yet reached it when I was so rudely boarded, my lady,” Augustus answered. “This expanse of obsidian lies deep in the jungles of central Mexico. We would likely be reaching it . . .” He considered. “In the morning, I’d estimate, considering we have been bearing south for roughly four to six hours now.”

Rain now turned to Vector. “We have to,” she said, communicating of some secret conversation had between them to which the room was not privy. “We have to stop.”

Vector nodded. “Of course we have to stop,” he said.

Legacy frowned and glared at Dax.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he explained limply.

Legacy’s shoulders hunched.
I knew he was lying to me about being all right,
she thought. But how could she be mad?

Legacy didn’t sleep all night. She laid beside Dax and listened to the chest congestion as he breathed, her eyes bolted open, cradling Mudflower between folded hands. Like Dax, the rusted, forgotten automaton had flooded back to her, as vivid as sense memory, and she didn’t know how she’d ever forgotten it now. The familiar quality with which he would fling himself up the ladder to her bedroom. The crinkled corners of his eyes. The way he was only mad when he cared, and he even apologized for that. Although it was sometimes days later and very subtly done.

And all the little intersections where both their lives could have changed forever, but simply did not make the pivot for so many little reasons, and now, what if it was too late?

She was already thinking of him as if he were dead.

Losing Dax would be like losing Mom and Dad . . . the whole city . . . all over again. My life . . . just keeps tilting beneath my feet.

Then the sun rose, and Legacy slipped from bed with grainy eyes, dressing quietly in Rain’s clothing. The nurse had offered her something other than the fish-tail skirt and blouse in which she’d been trapped for almost four days. The sepia pants and navy blue tank top may have been only borrowed and oversized, but they were clean and comfortable, to be worn during a few hours of excavation.

Legacy took care not to wake Dax as she slid the items over her body one by one, cautious as a ballerina.

On the deck of the
Albatropus,
lit by pale dawn light and hemmed in a fine mist which splashed down even thicker over the thick forest below, a small faction of Chance for Choice outfitted itself to descend onto Old Earth. Vector, Gustav, Liam, Legacy, Izzy, Ray, and Doctor Augustus strapped picks into their belts and looped their shoulders with whips and rifles. There had also been an offer made by an overly excited and somewhat unrealistic Levi Connelly, whose submission was tactfully rejected. Levi didn’t understand the gravity of this mission quite as Legacy did, and he reminded too many people of the proverbial village idiot.

Rain had explained that her services were too valuable to desert the ship, though she also confessed that she had been a lifelong arachnophobic and might get them all killed, attracting spiders with the vibration of her scream. Then she’d shuddered. But Legacy appreciated the offer of clothes, at least.

Albatropus
was still on the last leg of its voyage toward this brief stop. They moved lower and lower toward the canopy of the Mexican cloud forest, a beautiful but dangerous swath of foggy, dripping foliage which bordered a wide expanse of smooth, black obsidian. This volcanic site was encrusted in old ash, split and rippled by the movements of the earth, unstirred for many years. The peridotite, Augustus had explained, would be found crystallizing within the igneous formation. He reassured the suddenly nauseated Legacy that this particular stone comprised a high percentage of the earth’s crust, and was plentiful. She had no reason to be concerned. Everything would be fine.

Then Dax ascended the companionway between the common room and the deck, fully dressed with his utility belt loaded in tools and small weapons. His eyes were bright with optimism, but they weren’t quite right. As if he were giddy.

“No!” Legacy demanded immediately. “No, Dax!”

Dax scoffed, which developed into a hoarse cough. “What?” he said.

She whirled to Vector to make her case. “Vector! We can’t let Dax come with us!”

“You have to!” Dax insisted behind her back.

Legacy turned back to him and strode purposefully the space between them, placing her hand over his chest. It still rumbled softly with every breath he took. “I know you don’t want to be sick, Dax, okay? I get it!” She spoke softly yet sharply, her eyes boring into him with every ounce of persuasion she possessed. “But you are sick, and you need to make careful decisions sometimes and stop pretending, insisting you’re – that you–”

“It’s not about that,” he said, quieting with her. Both were aware of the deck’s eyes and ears on them. “If I don’t come with you . . . I’m afraid I won’t be here when you get back.” He extended a trembling hand, palm down, fingers spread for her to examine. The nails were a faint blue.

Legacy lowered her voice further still. “How could you not show me this?”

Dax peered at her with limpid blue eyes. “I didn’t want to ruin our last day.”

She winced. She wanted to kiss him, but . . . she didn’t want him without the rebreather, however ineffective its scrubber had become.

So she took his shaking hand – so cold – and pushed a kiss hard against the knuckle, turning both the skin of her lips and his fingers white by its pressure.

They stared into each other’s eyes, silently expressing the I-love-you’s that had so seldom been verbalized, as the
Albatropus
suddenly lurched and sent its passengers spilling several feet to the side.

Legacy climbed to her feet; even in or perhaps especially because of his condition, Dax fumbled to help her before attempting to get his own legs beneath him, as if his mind wanted to do something but his body could not. The airship seemed to be halted mid-air, though when Legacy cast her eyes about, she could not find the problem. Going to the rail after helping Dax to his feet, she saw through the haze of fog that they were suspended a mere two dozen or perhaps fifty feet above the ground itself.

“Shit! Shit!” Vector cried pitchily, gesticulating toward the hindrance. She followed his gesture.

The patched balloon was rammed directly into the limbs of a large tree sprouting from within the thick mists.

“I’m sorry!” Rain said, thundering down the deck from the helm. “I didn’t – I couldn’t see it!”

“Oh, it’s not your fault, my dear,” Augustus commented, packing his pipe with total disregard for the tenor of the moment. “Cloud forests are a marked danger for their low visibility. Why, it was Cornelius Brigham, the lost cartographer himself, who signed my globe less than
ninety days–
”

“Not now, Summat!” Vector barked. “Okay. Okay. So. I’ll stay and help patch the balloon. It’s losing gas very slowly, which is good! Those branches – they look stuck in deep. That’s actually good. I mean, it’s not great, but . . . We can do this. It’s fine!” he insisted, yelling at everyone though no one had spoken.

“I believe I can see the site from here,” Augustus noted, ignoring the command from his temporary captain.

“Then we’ll go,” Legacy said. “Let’s drop the ladder. It can almost reach the ground from here, can’t it? We’ll just jump.”

Izzy and Ray went to the rail expectantly, but Legacy shook her head and said, “We should take as few as possible. Stay and help Vector and Gustav; it’s going to be dangerous in the forest.” And this was true. But she willed herself to avoid Dax’s gaze, for the core of the matter was that, the fewer people who participated, the less likely it was that Dax would insist on accompanying them, and the more people would be here to tend him if anything went wrong in her absence.

Vector and Gustav had both already disappeared into the berth, fetching patching supplies, but Rain lowered the ladder.

She lunged forward and hugged Legacy as the girl straddled the rail and swung her other leg over. Stunned into submission, Legacy accepted the hug, even though she was generally not comfortable with physical contact. “Uh, thanks,” she said. She stepped down onto the ladder, comprised of chain and metallic slats. “And thanks for the fresh clothes and–”
And the two times now that you’ve saved Dax’s life, when I was the one who risked it.
“–and everything,” she finished.

Rain smiled, but all she said was, “Be careful, and hurry back.”

“Take care of him for me, okay?” Legacy whispered. “Make sure he stays safe – he’s always been like this. He gets . . . proud, and indignant, and just ignores that he’s any different from a healthy man. Look out for that.”

“Wait, let me go get him,” Rain said, glancing over her shoulder. “Say goodbye.”

“No,” Legacy replied firmly. “I’m – I’m going to see him when I get back.” With that, she began her descent, leaping to the soft, mossy jungle floor below. Somewhere in the distance, an insect chirped and hummed.

Augustus landed beside her, seeming confident with his compass and his map, and gestured into the shifting mists beyond.

“I just wish we could’ve gotten a closer look at that precious stone collection,” Cookie sulked. She and Surly, otherwise known as Dot, were playing cards on a sand-clotted tree stump. Yes, on a tree stump. Exiled from their township long ago and part of
The Stray Bitches,
a much larger crew which had dwindled over the past fifteen years – excepting Cookie, who had been taken hostage at the age of thirteen and simply kept like a pet – the three remaining pirate women had chosen to remain living outside of the domes that drifted, tethered to the surface of the earth. It was a dangerous move, but it was the only life the aging three knew anymore. They stayed sharp when on the ground, and weren’t often at this cove unless it was to recharge or refuel.

They’d built the driftwood fortress at their backs themselves, between a calm sea and the wild jungle, and the spiders never came onto this strip of sand. There was no food for them here, or so they thought, if spiders did think in any way a human could recognize as thinking.

Beyond the four women lay an open ocean, dazzling in bold morning sun, its shallows cluttered in stolen or salvaged ships which had since fallen into disrepair or been stripped for parts here and there, now and then, otherwise succumbing to rot. It was a surprisingly difficult and constant task, piracy. If there was no theft, there was no money, no food, no nothing. With only the three of them now left – no one ever counted Cookie – a life of even comfortable moderation, much less the decadence they had once enjoyed, was hard to come by. In fact, the
Chrysalis
had been the third ship to slip through their fingers in the month.

“Shut up about it, will ya?” Dot commanded. Her pale blue eyes flashed a glance at Tilde, who was engrossed in a pamphlet about unlocking personal success, and another glance at their captain, Seraphim, who appeared to be drowsing in a hammock strung between two palm trees. “It’s no big deal. The creepy old man barge wasn’t even the mark. Just some land-lover treading choppy water. The city of Icarus, now.” Dot tapped her forehead twice and winked. “That’s our big break.”

Salvagers were bound to show sooner or later. They’d been on their way toward its coordinates when passing
Chrysalis,
so big and fancy, in the night, and their curiosities had gotten the better of them. But! They were on their way to Icarus. They were supposed to be on their way to Icarus. Someone needed to strip its carcass of all that metallic meat. Might as well have been these shrewd sisters.

“I don’t know,” Cookie whined, fanning her cards downward and crossing her legs. “We never even got to the mermaid tank he was supposed to have.”

“Cookie, Cookie, Cookie,” Seraphim muttered from under her slung arm, voice foggy and ragged with half-sleep. “You’re an idiot.”

“You know what?” Cookie shrilled. “What if he never could get it started and it’s still up there, hanging wide–”

“Shut up, Cookie!” Tilde screeched, vaulting forward in a flash and swatting the young blond repeatedly with the pamphlet. Now that the pages had been withdrawn from her face, it was obvious that the corrosive sap of the Venus flytrap had deeply disfigured the skin in a zagging splash. One cheek was warped and mottled, as well as her chin and neck. “Shut up, shut up, shut–”

The raging woman froze in mid-pummel, Cookie frozen beneath her, balled with hands fanned to protect her head.

“What. The. Hell. Is that?” she wondered aloud.

If she could believe her eyes – and she really couldn’t, that stupid plant sap seemed to be getting into her literal nerves – then there was a floating castle approaching overhead, too high to see them but certainly big enough to be seen itself.

“Hey, Sera,” she murmured, eyes panned upward and frozen. “Do you believe in God?”

Seraphim cracked an eye and observed the island in the sky with a smirk and a dark glow to her ebon eyes. “No,” she finally replied. Her voice was measured and thoughtful as a music piece. “But I do believe in opportunity and predation.”

“You know, this particular volcano, known to the natives as Montrojo, was used for their small daily sacrifices, and annually, for the sacrifice of an elected virgin. It went on for literally hundreds of years,” Augustus informed Legacy as they walked. “Or so the literature goes, anyhow. Who really knows?” Soft needles and leaves crushed beneath their feet, and sprawling plant life unlike any Legacy had ever seen disappeared into the fog in which the forest was perpetually mired. “That’s one thing I’ve learned in my years of exploration and academia alike,” Augustus went on. And on. And on. “I’ve seen my fair share of egg replicas, let’s just say that. But! They say that the villagers walked through this forest so often that a path is forever cut in the earth . . . if you don’t get lost in the mists.”

Legacy tore her eyes from the enthralling and terrifying landscape.

“Bound to work in our favor, don’t you think?” he queried pleasantly.

Just then, a strand of silk wafted past the duo, and Augustus went immediately rigid. He threw out his arm to still Legacy’s pace and hissed out a breath of warning.