These Broken Stars (25 page)

It tastes delicious. God, I really must be dying.

Dying. Alec. The faces of my parents, a girl I dated on Avon. I remember … what do I remember?

I push that thought aside, and as she reaches for the canteen so I can take the aspirin, we’re staring at each other again. I’m moving before I recognize the impulse. I ease my good arm away from my body, holding it out in a silent invitation, and after a moment she settles against my side and buries her face against my shoulder. A shudder runs through her, but she doesn’t break down.

“You saved my life,” I murmur. “Again.”

“I had to. I wouldn’t last a day around here without you.” Her whisper’s almost inaudible. Her arm snakes across my chest to rest over my heart.

“You lasted at least three, by the sound of it.” While she’s not looking I lift up my bandaged hand. My fingers aren’t as puffy, and I find that when I wriggle them a little, there’s no pain. The bandages look clean. “Did you wrap my hand up?”

“Mmm. You didn’t like it much. You have the foulest mouth I’ve ever encountered, Major. I didn’t even recognize half the languages you can swear in. I’m glad I’m not one of your soldiers. Still, it was rather educational.”

“Been posted to too many places. You pick stuff up from the locals, wherever the old cultures have survived.” I reach up to trace her hairline with my uninjured hand. “But if you’re telling me you understood any of it, Miss LaRoux, I’m going to reevaluate my opinion of you.”

“Well, the context helped.”

We’re quiet for a little, and I smooth down her hair with my good hand. She turns her head a little in response, and I see that bruise standing out on her cheek again, livid against her fair skin. I can actually see the faint imprint of knuckles there against her skin.

I’m the only one around here who could have done it. I swallow down the sick guilt that comes with that knowledge, and concentrate on something else. “Have the whispers shown up? I remember a lot of things that don’t seem right, unless we did visit a restaurant, and you’re holding out on me. I can’t tell whether it was a fever, or visions.”

“The fever, I think.” She hesitates, eyes flicking from me to the fire, as though seeing something I can’t. I want to press her, ask her what she’s seen, but then she shakes her head. “I haven’t seen anything since the valley, and your parents’ house. You did, though. You called me all sorts of different people. I never realized how nice it was when you just called me Lilac.”

“Lilac?” I smooth down her hair again as she settles closer. I don’t want her to move. “I’d never be so familiar, Miss LaRoux. It would be highly inappropriate. I know my place, and apparently it’s swearing up a storm at you, hallucinating wildly. My mother would be so proud.”

“Inappropriate,” she murmurs, that raw edge to her voice finally softening. She sounds amused, leaning into my hand where it rests against her hair. “When the cavalry comes, I hope it’s not at night. Imagine what they’d think of this.”

Yes, imagine. What a silly thought, that a girl like you would look at a guy like me.
I’m a fool, lying here and holding her. This girl who, under any other circumstances, never would’ve given a guy like me a second glance.

“I have to move, tomorrow.” My body resists the very thought, limbs turning to lead.

“Like hell you’re moving,” she replies, quick and sharp. There’s a steel there I haven’t heard since the early days of our stay here. “We’re staying put. I’ll go back into the ship and see what I can find.”

There’s something in her voice as she says it, a high note, full of tension. It makes me look at her again.

“We can both go in together tomorrow, or the next day at worst.”

She shifts and sits up, shaking her head, chewing on her lip again. 
I want a little to reach after her, and pull her back down next to me. “It’s—not good in there. A few more days and I don’t think you’d be able to spend much time inside without getting ill.”

“What’s in there, Lilac?” But the answer’s settling in the pit of my stomach even as I’m asking the question.

“It’s—you know, there’s no power or anything. Everything’s gone bad, rotting.” She barely gets that word out before she cuts herself off, jaw clenching as she shuts her eyes. Her freckles stand out against the whiteness of her skin.

That knot in my stomach was right. Not everyone made it off the ship. “You can’t go back in there, Lilac. Whatever you brought out, we have enough.”

“Stop it.” It’s a strained whisper. “I’d have been eaten our second day here if it wasn’t for you. Time for me to even the scales. I won’t be long.”

“You’ve already done that.” I reach for her hand to wrap mine around 
it. “You saved us both, hot-wiring the escape pod. Let’s just stop trying to keep track of who’s saved who.”

“Tarver, you’re making it harder.” Her eyes are squeezed shut now. “It’s dark in there, and cold, and it’s more silent than space itself, and being here with you is none of those things. But there are things we need in there. If I were the one who was sick—” I can see the wetness along her lashes, but she refuses to blink and let the tears roll down her cheeks.
What happened to her in that ship?

I breathe out slowly and try to inject some calm into my voice, even though all I want to do is hold on to her so tightly she has to give up the idea of going back in there alone. “I wouldn’t go in there. It’s a pretty simple risk–reward analysis. Sure, there are things in there it would be good to have. What’s better is to have two people functioning. What’s worst of all is to have both of us down for the count. We need to be well more than we need more clothes or food.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she begins to ease down beside me again, then stops. She draws the Gleidel out from the back of her waistband, offering the gun to me grip first. “I suppose I ought to give this back now. You should teach me how to use it, though. I wouldn’t have known what to do with it.”

It’s a jolt to realize I was so sick I didn’t even miss it. “You want to 
learn to use the gun?” I ask, setting it down beside me within reach and easing my arm around her once more. “Maybe when I’m a little better, and I can run to a safe distance.”

“Come on, now.” She pokes me in the ribs. “You know I run faster than you. So you’ll do it?”

“After you’ve pointed out you’re fast enough to hunt me down and shoot me when I upset you?” I tighten my arm around her and turn my head to tuck her under my chin.

“I’m stubborn,” she warns as she closes her eyes. “Don’t think you can just wait until morning and hope I’ll forget.”

“Of course not, Miss LaRoux. You’d shoot me if I tried.”

I continue to lie there after her breathing has evened out. Alec wells up in my mind again, and I can hear our conversation.
I hope I die first.

Has she been thinking about that too? About what would become of her? My throat closes as I realize that she’s not talking about learning to defend herself if something happens to me.

I should give her a lesson. If I at least show her how to operate the settings, she’ll have options. I can’t think about it any further than that.

I turn my head to take a better look at her now she’s asleep.

There’s a rip in the leg of her jeans, running down by her knee and exposing skin that’s turned grubby with dirt. Her blue shirt’s untucked, marked with black grime.

Her hair’s escaping the piece of string tying it back, framing her face in a halo of wispy curls that remind me of how it floated around her in zero gravity during the pod’s descent.

There are dirty smudges mingling with the freckles all over her face, and that bruise on her cheek. Even in sleep, her mouth is pulled into a straight, determined line.

There are purple half circles underneath her eyes, and she’s sweaty, 
beat up, and utterly exhausted.

She’s never looked so beautiful.

“You didn’t stay at the wreck.”

“You already know that. We saw no option but to leave.”

“Your reasoning?”

“There were no rescue craft in sight. There was a disease risk 
with so many bodies around. We needed another option.”

By the afternoon of the second day, I have to threaten to sit on Tarver’s chest to keep him from getting out of bed. More than anything, the speculative look—and thoughtful silence—that follow that threat convince me he’s feeling better. I don’t mind. After hearing him call out for his ex-girlfriend in his delirium, there’s not much that’ll make me blush. I let him sit up and shave, as a compromise—it’s nice to see him looking a little more like himself.

On the morning of the third day we agree that our best move is to get 
to a higher vantage point and scout the area. For the first time since we crashed we’re talking about the long term. If they knew where we were, someone would be here, at the wreck, to rescue us. The
Icarus
must not have transmitted her location before she was destroyed. Not even the all-powerful Monsieur LaRoux could find us now—though I have no doubt he’ll take the galaxy apart trying, even if it’s only to mark my grave.

We need a place near the
Icarus
, in case anyone does show up and land to inspect the wreck in the future, but we can’t stay this close. Not to all those bodies, not with the air full of burned chemicals and the ground littered with shrapnel.

We scale the outside of the wreck, aiming for the highest point. The wind has picked up, making the ship sigh and moan in protest. Tarver says that the
Icarus
will have done most of her settling already, and that it’s safe enough. The way the hull has splintered, the path is relatively 
easy, with plenty of handholds and places to rest. Still, Tarver is pale and sweating by the time we near the top.

It isn’t until I’m standing on the sloping surface of the top of the ship, steadying myself with one hand on the mangled communications array, that it hits me.

We’re looking for a place to
live
.

And the thought doesn’t hurt.

I could never admit it to him, but here in the sun, warm from the climb, waiting for Tarver to catch up, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. After all, what waits for me on the other side of rescue? My friends would scarcely recognize me now, and the thought of filling my days with gossip and parties leaves me cold. The best six-course meal never tasted half so good as a shared ration bar after a long hike, washed down with mountain-fresh water. And while I wouldn’t say no to a hot bath, I’m warm enough at night, with Tarver there at my side.

It’s only the thought of my father, grief-stricken, that causes me any pain at all.

I set down the pack and rummage around for the canteen. When Tarver joins me, I offer it to him. It lets him hide the way he’s breathing heavily, gives him something to hold so that I can’t see the shaking of his hands.

To the east are the mountains we crossed, whitecapped and foreboding, and I wonder how Tarver ever convinced me to go into them. Maybe it was just that I was too naive to realize how hard the passage would be.

The camp below looks like a doll’s play set. I can’t see the dirty bandages, the ration bar wrappers. The river and its ribbon of trees lead away from the mountains and into the distance. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I can almost make out what seems to be an ocean, or some kind of salt flat, just visible at the horizon. In the other direction, the hills roll on like waves, growing smaller and gentler until they level out at the edge of a vast forest. It’s like a painting, something out of a dusty museum. I’ve never seen so much open space in my life—for a moment I’m dizzy, lost in the tableau, struggling for breath in air that’s suddenly too rich. A hand at the small of my back summons me back and I grip the metal of the useless communications array more tightly. I turn and see Tarver, 
pale but smiling.

“The breeze is stiffer up here, are you cold?”

“What would you do if I said yes?” I grin back at him. “Offer me some of your fever?”

“Sharing is caring.” He steps in close, and my chest tightens convulsively. But he’s just reaching to grab on to the metal as well, steadying himself in the wind.

He doesn’t look good. Despite his smile, his nonchalance, he’s gripping the beam too tightly, leaning into it.

I kneel by the pack, pulling out his notebook. “Do you know how to draw maps?”

“Of course I do,” Tarver replies. He’s watching me, and then after a moment he moves to join me. I try not to show my relief when he sits down, some of the lines of pain around his eyes easing. I wish he’d let me climb by myself. But since he woke up, he’s been reluctant for me to stray too far from him. Perhaps he’s afraid I’ll go back into the tomb of a ship despite my promise not to.

Maybe he just likes my company.
I give myself a shake, trying to dismiss the thought before I can start blushing again.

He takes the notebook from me, flipping through. Belatedly I remember that I pressed the replicated flower between two of its pages to preserve it and keep it safe; I still haven’t told him about it. But he flips right past it, unseeing, until he pauses on the pages I used while he was sick.

“Did you draw these?” His voice is unreadable as he looks over the maps I made of the twisted and broken decks.

“After the first day I started forgetting where I’d already been.” I keep my eyes on the horizon, easing down onto my heels. “In the dark it all blurs together.”

I realize he’s turned back to the last page he wrote on before my maps begin—a page containing only fragments of a poem in progress. Scattered words and phrases describing one of the purple flowers we found together, something beautiful in a sea of loneliness.

When he was ill I tried to imagine he was writing about me. Now, by the light of day, it seems ludicrous. But he’s staring at it. He knows I saw it. Reading everything would’ve felt too much like accepting he was about to die, going through his things, but I can feel him wanting to ask 
me if I did. If I violated that privacy while he couldn’t stop me.