Chapter 15 – baked goods

  Nowhere near the Glass Canyons – Drift 9

  ?

  The docks were in chaos. Tourists scurried about, dodging out of the way of busy personnel who barked orders over the din. UV shields unfurled with a mechanical hiss, casting quicksilver across the docks. Mid-drift rush. Always the worst.

  Serendipity held the trembling creature closer against her chest, her grip tightening as a chill of fear rippled through her. She wrapped her favorite blue scarf, soft and worn, around the Mirrora to protect it. Its skin was so new and fragile that even a little sunlight could burn it.

  Her breath caught. It hadn’t moved in a while. But she could still feel its heartbeat—weak but steady. "Which one?" she called, jogging to catch up with the man ahead.

  "Which one?" she asked again, her voice more insistent. Remulus walked quickly, taking long strides as if he owned the ground. As his back tensed, his steps faltered for a split second, almost as if he didn't want to answer.

  "The pretty one," a woman's voice crackled from his wrist comm.

  Remulus responded, “The rusted one.”

  'Pretty and rusted, sadly. Med bay prepped. Any specifications?' Dice's voice interjected, breaking through the noise.

  Remulus glanced toward her, still walking. “Where’s the blood coming from?”

  “Everywhere,” she answered. “I couldn’t check everything,” she said, adjusting her grip. “She wouldn’t let me touch her belly. I cleaned and closed the surface wounds with a small amount of cauterizing gel, but she resisted the IV.

  “She was kicked,” she added, narrowing her eyes. “It was steel plating, maybe with spikes. The blow was hard, mostly to her abdomen. I couldn’t tell how deep the injury went.”

  Remulus swore under his breath.

  Ahead, the ship came into view. It was long and narrow, looking like a log partly buried in the dunes. The dull metal shone in the sunlight, and its design was older than any models she recognized. A faded script failed to identify the model while rust clung to its edges.

  She tried to calm herself. “Is that it?” she asked. Before he could answer, she added, “Who are you people? You’re not Library delegates.”

  A loading ramp lowered ahead, and the tall blonde woman from the night before was already coming down. She wore a blue tactical suit and carried a helmet under one arm. Her face was hard to read—maybe angry, maybe upset.

  Angry, she decided.

  Over the comms, Remulus’s voice barked, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  Static hissed in answer, followed by a sharp, “Where is David?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, quickening his pace. “We’ll find him.”

  She was nearly running now, the bundle in her arms growing heavier by the second. “We have to hurry.”

  “I can’t pilot and stabilize the creature at the same time,” Remulus said. “Can you use a med bay? Ever worked one before?”

  They reached the bottom of the ramp. The woman was waiting, her shoulders tense and her posture strained. She seemed to be limping.

  “No,” she answered. “But if we sedate her, I think I can patch her up, as long as there’s no internal bleeding. Maybe your AI can help?”

  “I can help in the med bay and help pilot at the same time,” the voice replied, before Remulus could.

  Serendipity had done similar things before. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough for her to act like she wasn’t scared.

  “I can help too,” the blonde woman said, her voice calm but strained. “I don’t know the specifics, but an extra pair of hands won’t hurt.”

  “Fine,” Remulus said. “Med bay’s that way. Dice, light up the path. I’ll start the engines. Where are we going?”

  “West,” she answered, adjusting her hold on the Mirrora. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “Here.” The woman unclipped her wrist device and offered it. “So you can guide Remi.”

  Her hand lifted automatically, then stopped halfway. People didn’t usually let her that close. Let alone touch her.

  But the woman didn’t hesitate. She fastened the band around Serendipity’s wrist with steady hands, not flinching at all, even though she looked like she might faint.

  “Right. Head west,” she muttered, turning down the corridor, following the flickering floor lights Dice projected.

  “He’s probably on a runner,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t think he’s stupid enough to walk. There aren’t any domesticated mounts in the market, so… desert runner’s our best guess.”

  The corridor led to a wide, white room that was cool, clean, and filled with a quiet hum. A high platform shone under bright lights. Wall panels blinked with soft diagnostic lights, and tools hung neatly in sealed compartments.

  Most of the ship looked old and carefully patched, but this room was different. It was polished, well-maintained, and ready for use.

  She laid the Mirrora on the high med table as gently as she could. When she looked up, the woman was bracing herself on the frame, breathing hard.

  “I’m Serendipity,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “We’re gonna need sedation.”

  “Top cabinet,” Iliana said, bracing herself on the frame.

  “Light sedation,” Serendipity added, drawing up the dose. “If there’s internal bleeding, the scan will catch it.”

  Iliana crossed to the wall and hit the sterilisation light overhead, then nearly lost her balance.

  “Steady,” she said, catching Iliana with one shoulder while making sure the Mirrora didn’t roll off the table.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re Sulei,” she said quietly, eyes flicking to the gill-scar lines. “My dad told me about your people. You’re definitely not okay.”

  “I will be,” Iliana murmured. She could hear the implants humming under her skin, like trapped bees.

  Iliana waved away the helmet. "I only need it outside. Dust, UV. The implants help me breathe." Her voice was fragmented, mirroring the stagger in her step. "It's... the gravity. Adjusting to it... makes me dizzy."

  “Heading west,” Remulus’s voice crackled over the comm.

  “Right.” Serendipity slipped the needle into the Mirrora’s foreleg, gentle as breath, wincing when it twitched. “If he’s on a desert runner, he might’ve gotten farther, if it’s a newer model.”

  The last of the wrappings came away. She held out one hand without looking up. “I’ll need surgical gloves.”

  Iliana nodded toward a drawer. “Top left.”

  She opened the drawer, took out two pairs of gloves, and turned away to put them on. She folded her old, dusty gloves and set them aside before returning to her work, moving quickly and quietly.

  “There were only two runners at the market,” she added, her voice tight. “And I don’t think—shit.”

  A long gash opened across the Mirrora’s ribs. “Cauteriser?”

  Iliana, pale and swaying, blinked hard. “Same place. Higher shelf.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  She guided Iliana down gently, letting her lean against the table’s edge. “Rest here. Just for a bit.”

  “AI?” Her eyes didn’t leave the wound.

  “Dice,” came the reply.

  “Dice, can you boost oxygen in the med bay?”

  “I already have,” the AI said calmly. “Any higher risks oxygen toxicity. For both you and the furry one.”

  “What happened?” Remulus asked over comms.

  Iliana shook her head and slumped lower.

  “Nothing. I think he’s on an older model. They’re slower. A lot slower. I have one—takes me half a drift to reach the canyons, and I don’t even go straight.”

  The wound finally stopped bleeding, so she moved on to the next one. The smell of burned flesh rose in the air, making her stomach turn.

  “Where’s the scanner? And how do you work it?”

  “There’s a button under the table—drops all the gear,” Iliana said, pointing weakly at the edge.

  “You lower the scanner. I’ll run it,” Dice offered.

  “Perfect.”

  She pressed the button, and the ceiling opened with a hiss. Mechanical arms and wires unfolded, more than she had ever seen, spreading out like insect legs.

  While Dice started the scan, she kept working. She unwrapped the Mirrora, checked its vital signs, and muttered quietly, partly to herself and partly to Remulus.

  “Desert runner. Older model. Top speed maybe forty klicks per hour, flat. Thirty with wind, and this morning the wind was bad.”

  She pressed gauze gently to the edge of the ribbed wound, eyes flicking to the med bay chrono. “He’s been gone three and a half hours?”

  “He left around seven. Add an hour at the market, yeah—three and a half,” Remulus said over comms, voice tight.

  “Best case? He’s what—one-twenty, maybe one-thirty klicks out? Not near the canyons. Not yet.”

  “Confirmed,” Dice chimed in. “At 3.5 hours of travel on rough terrain, maximum unassisted distance is 126.3 klicks. No terrain obstructions factored.”

  A single nod. “Where are we now?”

  “We should be on top of him,” Remulus snapped. “But there’s nothing out there.”

  She kept her eyes on the 3D scan above the Mirrora, watching the soft layers unfold in the changing light. She didn’t look up.

  “He’s there,” she murmured.

  “Scan complete,” the AI reported. “No fractures. No internal bleeding.”

  “Food, water, and a very long rest,” Dice added. “Preferably not leaking on my floors.”

  “Your floors?”

  “I am the ship,” Dice said. “The floors are mine.”

  “Dice is the ship’s AI,” Iliana said from where she sat, a little more upright now. “Not a companion model.”

  “Right,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure what it meant. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and paused. “I think we should stop.”

  “If he’s ahead, we’ll see tracks. If he’s behind—”

  “We’re 90 clicks away from the canyons,” Remulus cut in. “I can see them on the scan.”

  “Stop,” she said, her voice louder than she meant. The ship’s thrusters roared as it turned. “He didn’t reach the canyons. Go back one klick and do a wide sweep. He’s here.”

  “I’m not registering any life signs,” Dice noted.

  “You wouldn’t,” she shot back. “Anything alive’s burrowed. Especially near Blue-sun Zenith.”

  Both palms pressed to the edge of the table. “Backtrack one klick. Wide sweep. He’s in there.”

  “Do we go on foot?” Iliana asked, voice strained.

  “We do. Not you, though.”

  She turned toward the comm. “Can you land?”

  “Landing,” Remulus confirmed.

  Helping Iliana up was harder than expected. She let Iliana lean against the edge of the table as it lowered, probably thanks to Dice. Iliana sat down with a quiet sigh.

  “There’s room for you too,” Iliana offered, patting the edge of the table. “I want to help,” she insisted.

  “You did,” she said gently. “There’s nothing more you can do in your state.”

  Serendipity pulled a small vial out of her pack, filled with red liquid. “Here. Something my dad makes when I’m drained. Electrolytes, vitamins, minerals. No animal products.”

  Iliana stared at it, then let out a breath that sounded like defeat. “It’s the damn implant. The gravity. The suns.”

  The vial cracked open with a soft pop. Iliana downed it in one gulp, wiped her mouth, and handed it back. “Thanks.”

  She put the vial back in her pack and studied Iliana, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t hostile, just curious. Something about the woman made her instincts quiet — not a warning exactly. Just a recognition that things weren't quite right. Weren't quite human.

  She pulled the scarf up around her head and shoulders, bloodied and a little torn.

  Iliana’s eyebrow lifted.

  “Hayam, my dad, made it. It’s Ilirian silk and completely UV-proof.” Then she took her sand mask from her pack and put it on. The mask was dusty with the fine red powder that covered everything on Devon, making the world look like rusted iron.

  The ship groaned under them. A jolt, then Remulus over comms: “Come on already.”

  “Right,” she muttered, tightening the scarf.

  As soon as the doors opened, a wave of heat hit her. She wished she had said something at the market, warned him, or explained—anything to stop the reckless plan she had seen in his eyes.

  The heat blurred her vision. Her eyes watered instantly.

  Bdain Araan was unforgiving on a good day. Today wasn’t good.

  Hot sand lifted in sheets, slicing at her cheeks. Microfissures cracked across her skin.

  The kid had minutes. Maybe.

  “What the hell is this?” Remulus barked.

  He wore a tactical suit, same as Iliana’s, though his didn’t cling the way hers did. Another time, she might’ve laughed. But his expression matched Hayam’s the night she came home too late—tight and scared in ways he’d never admit.

  “Let’s go,” she said, bolting down the ramp. Her feet hit scorched sand hard. Remulus followed.

  The dunes stretched in every direction, a furnace of dust and rock. There was no way to find him.

  She had to try anyway.

  Something stronger than guilt pushed her forward, something old and wild. She ran across the shifting ground, silently begging Nero to hold on a little longer. Blue-sun Zenith was coming quickly. She could already feel it burning the air in her lungs, and her mask hissed as it tried to keep up.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” Remulus panted, helmet in place.

  No.

  “Do you?” she shot back.

  He cursed and turned in place. Dust devils spun and screamed between the dunes.

  Her vision blurred. A brittle thought cracked through:

  What am I doing?

  David was in real danger. She knew how to track. Knew this land better than most. But her mind wouldn’t settle. Wouldn’t focus.

  She inhaled. Steadied. Calmed her heart and body. She inhaled again and squinted through the heat. Pulling the scarf lower over her eyes.

  Then she saw movement.

  To the west, beyond the ridge, a flicker. Dust kicked up in circular patterns.

  “Youlers!”

  They spun and cried in tight spirals. These wild scavengers were always the first to find anything dying.

  If they were circling him…

  Something was there.

  Could’ve been anything:

  A wounded crawler.

  David.

  A baby youler caught in a snare.

  David.

  Leftovers from a predator.

  DAVID.

  It had to be.

  “This way,” she said, already moving.

  Remulus startled. “What—?”

  “Come on.”

  She ran.

  Fast.

  Feet heavy.

  Tail protesting inside its binding.

  She slipped once.

  Caught herself.

  Slipped again, gloved palms taking the full bite of the burning deep sand.

  She could feel the heat through them.

  It terrified her.

  She didn’t want to think it. Zen spa u, she thought instead—Devon’s most common prayer. She whispered it again and again.

  Terrified helped. It rushed her feet.

  But if he’d been out here too long…

  If the heat had gotten in—

  The sand might’ve already cooked him.

  Killed him.

  She ran faster.

  No sign of the soldier.

  Didn’t matter.

  Up the slope.

  Up the dune.

  Up into the blinding heat.

  And there.

  Half-buried. Unmoving. David. Youlers long scared off. By her, by the Zenith.

  Ni sha sing, she whispered, dropping to her knees, digging her hands into the cursed sand. The sand was cooler under him. Too soft. Too deep. Remulus’s hands joined hers. No one asked for a pulse. No one asked if he was breathing.

  She didn’t want to know.

  Maybe the soldier didn’t either.