Chapter 19 – Running Numbers

  The outskirts of the Bdain Araan Desert – Drift 11

  The map hissed when she unrolled it, dust flaking like old ash.

  David tensed, staring at the black lines, seeming unsure of their direction or meaning. She watched him and tapped a narrow path that passed the Glass Canyons and went around the Rainbow Fault. “You wouldn’t have made it alone,” she said.

  He said nothing. He pressed his unbandaged hand flat on Hayam’s old workbench, which was rough and marked with stains, almost as if he was holding himself steady. The Mirrora moved from his hair to his lap and quickly fell asleep, both tails curled over his legs like pink question marks. Her breathing matched David’s.

  She knew imprinting was normal, but imprinting on someone who was unconscious was new. David said he’d seen the creature in chrysalis, which was strange. The fact that the creature might have recognized his face after her transition was even stranger.

  Behind them, Remulus grunted, sounding both annoyed and resigned. He kept sorting Hayam’s gear, packing and repacking while muttering under his breath. The captain always said no but usually did the opposite, and he couldn’t hide the truth. She was starting to like him. A lot.

  “No, you’re not going on a twenty-drift trek,” he’d say. “Here’s the luggage.”

  “No, you’re not taking anyone else. Except me, the siren, and whoever volunteers.”

  “No, you can’t keep the pet. Here’s food, minerals, and a full Mirrora care file.”

  “And no, I’m not hauling you around for free. Right after this last detour. And the one after that.”

  They were all crowded around the worktable inside the house she and Hayam had kept as a sanctuary for the better part of her childhood and even into her teens. No stranger was allowed inside. Ever. Now it housed three.

  The air inside always stayed cool, no matter how many people were there. Thick walls and forcefield shutters kept out the worst heat. The floor, made of packed clay over stone, let cold rise through her thin shoes. She used to hate how cold the house stayed, especially at night when she tried to warm up. Now, after being in the desert, she saw it as a blessing.

  Outside, the drift had thinned into a hushed pre-dawn, that hour when Devon Five held its breath before the suns ignited the horizon. Any other day, she’d be running.

  Cold air slipped in around the doorframe in gentle drafts, a final kindness before the day’s heat began. Soon, the heat would come back, harsh and unrelenting, and they would have to move with it.

  Sometime between David regaining his strength and Remulus calming himself enough to let anyone else get a sentence in, it had been decided that the three strangers would venture into the Bdain Araan Desert to procure the variant for David’s cure. And she would be their guide.

  Why? Hayam had asked. Because they needed her. And because she needed the journey as much as David needed the cure. Maybe that was a little selfish. A lot selfish, perhaps. One of her loved ones was not in danger. It was just her pride. But she wanted to think of herself and her hubris as someone entirely different. And that was in danger. If she didn’t do this, answer when called: by David, by the desert, by her wild side. Then what was she here for? What was her purpose? If Hayam’s goddess had any role in her upbringing or her future, she wanted to believe that it was for this moment. A call to the wild. And a call for help.

  Of course, she was going.

  How could she not?

  Hayam had arrived with a tray of steaming clay cups, a neat tower of salted?ginger biscuits, and their fragrant scent, bright, warm, sharp. Her favorites.

  David took one, chewed, blinked like it rewired his nerves. “These taste like happiness,” he muttered.

  True.

  She watched him chew. He looked even younger this way, more relaxed.

  She didn’t smile, but she poured his tea. Her decision cementing itself with every little microexpression that bloomed on the young boy’s face. He looked like he was just now discovering the world, and she wanted to show it to him. Desert and all.

  Outside, Hayam was showing Iliana a new sunscreen blend he’d made. It wasn’t nearly strong enough for a Sulei, but in the shade, if she removed her helmet, it helped. A lot.

  The siren didn’t look impressed.

  Still, Iliana’s coloring had improved. David pointed it out, and Dice confirmed her oxygen saturation was finally climbing back into normal range.

  Serendipity smoothed the map with one palm and tapped a narrow hash along the ridge. “Dice drops us just short of the EM shelf—close as she can without cooking her nav. From there, we ride runners to the Glass Canyons’ west mouth.”

  Her finger slid along a hair-thin crack. “The canyon is too tight for runners. We go on foot, which is slower but safer. We can sleep in the canyons if the weather holds. The runners switch to crawler mode along the ridge and meet us at the east exit with the heavy kit.”

  She marked a small circle at the canyon lip. “We cache water and a spare battery here under a beacon stone. For insurance.”

  “Out of the canyon,” she traced two broken lines across the flats, “we ride the open sand to the Rainbow Foothills. Travel at low light, throw shade at Blue-sun Zenith. We’ll use Ilirian silk tarps for most of it and save generator burn for spikes.”

  At the mountain icon, she drew two stacked dots. “Ascent is on foot. Runners go unmanned, ferrying crates up the switchbacks. We stage one generator and a water cache on the lower shelf of the climb. We carry the lighter generator and two tarps to the saddle and into Dead Monk Valley.”

  She tapped the summit valley: an X. “Up here, there’s no shade. We keep a generator with us the whole time, set a base ring with the generator and silk, and send one runner shuttling between the cache and camp if we need to top up. But it might not be able to navigate. We’ll adjust.” She leaned back. “On the way out, we pick our caches clean and let the runners lead us home. Dice stays outside the interference till we’re under her shadow again.”

  “If we make it back,” Remulus grumbled.

  “Optimism noted,” Iliana said. “Useless, but noted.”

  “We will,” Serendipity said. “We have breadcrumbs.”

  “We leave at first glow,” Serendipity continued. “Pack what you need, think positively, and nobody dies. That’s the plan.”

  Behind her, Hayam was stuffing a crate of weapons into her pack.

  The map kept making a hissing sound, as if it knew time was running out. She left it on the table and went to her father.

  “Can’t you come with us?” she asked him again, quieter this time.

  Hayam paused and waited for her to catch up. “I’d like nothing more,” he said. He held a rope in one hand, a handful of Ilirian silk scarves in the other.

  “Then why?”

  “I wish you could see it,” he said, glancing at her. “You can read me if you want.” His voice stayed low, only for her ears. “You move with them. Like I’ve never seen you do before. It’s like they’ve known you as long as I have.”

  He paused. “And I—” his voice cracked. “I’ve always wanted that for you.”

  Truth.

  He stuffed the scarves into the overstuffed pack and laid the rope across the top. His arms hung limp, like they didn’t know what else to do. “I can’t explain it. I just… think this is meant for you.”

  “You can’t mean that,” she whispered. “You’ve always taught me to be careful. Guarded. And now you’re letting me go alone? With three strangers?”

  “Are they strangers?” he asked, giving her that soft, rare smile she’d only seen a few times. “That Sulei woman orbits you, like she needs you to stay steady. And the boy, David, is different. I’ve never met a Mnemonic Heir before. I didn’t think they could talk to outsiders. But he’s full of determination and hope, just like you were when you were young and dangerous.”

  “You mean less dangerous,” she grinned and kicked him in the shin.

  He chuckled softly and stumbled back a step. “Maybe he has a secret, too. One he can’t tell anyone. I bet his sister’s really proud of him, too. Just like I am of you.”

  She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, inhaling his familiar scent. He smelled like heat and gust and all the spice in the market and dad.

  He rested his chin gently on her head. “I hope I’m not wrong,” he said. Then, softer, “But even if I am… I think you’ll be alright.”

  He kissed her hair. And she pulled him even closer, as if she could somehow burn this moment into her mind forever. She’d see him in two weeks, and he’d been gone longer than that. But she knew she’d miss him more than ever before.

  “You know the desert better than I do,” he said. “My knee would just slow you down.”

  He released her, then looked down at her overstuffed pack. “You’ll probably have to rearrange a few things. And here.” He handed her two Faraday sleeves. “For the generators’ control blocks. EM out there is said to be more powerful than anywhere else.”

  She laughed and tugged him toward the dining table. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s figure out the route together.”

  “You mean you didn’t already?” he let her pull him.

  “I did. But I want your opinion too.”

  “That I can do,” he said, sitting down next to David, but not too close. She noticed this, knowing the pink rage-bag would start hissing if he got any nearer.

  “Is this it?” Hayam asked, pointing at the thick black line David had drawn across the map.

  “David…” she groaned, mortified. “You don’t draw on preserved maps.”

  David blinked up at her, surprised. “You don’t? I thought this was the route. I wanted to have a visual.”

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  “It probably is. But still.” She sighed and gently stretched open a corner that had rolled back on itself.

  “Well, here’s the route,” she added, glancing toward Hayam with a smirk.

  “How long to get there and back?” David asked. He didn’t take his eyes off the map.

  “You don’t always know when you’ll come back,” Hayam said. “You just know when you’re leaving.”

  “Seriously?” Iliana said from behind David. She wore fingerless gloves, and through them, Serendipity noticed a faint shimmer of webs between her fingers. They were barely visible and looked fragile, almost like gossamer. It was surprising, given how strong Iliana seemed. She had even traded her teal suit for one of the dresses Hayam kept from his late wife, made from real wool.

  “If I understood correctly, we’ve got what—forty drifts to find this compound and get it to Omma? We can’t rely on guesses.” The siren said.

  “Emma’s Rite already started,” Remulus said, startling them. “Dice got a Library broadcast earlier. Logged it in the ship’s archive.”

  “Eight drifts ago, probably,” David added. “The Rite begins the morning after a Mnemonic Heir reaches the monastery. No time wasted with those guys.”

  He was still petting the Mirrora absentmindedly. It twitched its spine every time his hand crossed a certain spot, like she’d tuned her nerves to his rhythm.

  So that was the plan. Get to the compound. Make the cure. Reach Omma. Save the old Librarian. And hope Emma, David’s sister, wasn’t losing her mind in the meantime. If they moved fast enough, if the stars aligned and no one died, maybe, just maybe, the Rite would be called off. Like it had never been necessary to begin with. Or so David explained it to her. Not that she cared much for the whole plan. She only needed to get them to Dead Monk Valley, gather the variant, and distill the compound. What they did after was out of her hands. What did Hayam use to say? Another problem for another day?

  She snorted, muttering “Bliss-logic,” a word her father used for schemes that sounded more optimistic than realistic.

  Silence settled over the small group she somehow belonged to now. Faces tense, shoulders tight. Even the Mirrora had gone still, curled like punctuation in David’s lap.

  He looked a little lost. Hope and hopelessness seemed to compete in his eyes, with neither side winning. He was twirling her old cup, with her name scribbled on it, in both hands, absentmindedly.

  She wanted to say something, maybe a joke or offer a bit of comfort. But the truth was harsh, and her tail itched painfully under its wrap. She had never kept it bound this long before, only a few hours at most, never a full drift. It throbbed under the fabric, tight and hot, matching the restless feeling in her chest. Now that it had been free, it didn’t want to be trapped again. She understood because neither did she.

  Dice’s voice chimed from her wrist, calm and borderline cheerful, “All systems green. Departure in one hour. Last chance to regret everything.”

  Glancing down, she noticed Iliana’s comm still on her wrist. She started to unclasp it, but the siren gently stopped her, one hand pressing over her own. A smile on her ashen lips. “Keep it,” she said. “You’ll need it more than I do. Besides, I’m sure I’ll find another lying around somewhere.”

  “Alright then,” Remulus grunted, dragging a crate past them, “I triple-checked everything. Which means we’re definitely missing something.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Iliana murmured behind him.

  “Take Eat-Sand, will you?” Hayam called, tossing her a second battery.

  “I’m not using him much these days.”

  Iliana raised an eyebrow. “Eat-Sand?”

  Serendipity smirked. “Hayam’s old desert runner. Stubborn. Topples over for no reason. Slower now, but he’ll outlive us all if he doesn’t rust first.”

  She turned to David. “Are you coming barefoot?”

  He froze, hand mid-brush, and looked down at his feet. Bare toes pressed against the floor. He wiggled them and gave a sheepish smile. “I bought some boots… but I don’t know where they are. I was like this when I woke up.”

  “You mean those patched-up scraps of synthetic leather you had on when we found you?” Remulus muttered. “Those things probably cooked your feet faster than the sand. I’ve got another pair, but…” he glanced under the table at David’s feet, “they’re a few sizes too big.”

  Then Hayam dropped a large box onto the table. A puff of red dust rose as he flipped it open, satisfaction plain on his face. “Always thought I’d find another use for these.” He lifted out a pair of dusty leather gloves and boots.

  “You kept those?” Serendipity hurried to the box and picked up one boot. She brushed off a spiderweb and put her hand inside, lifting it upside down. Rusty sand spilled onto the table and covered the map and David’s line. It was as light and soft as she remembered it, the leather worn but comforting and familiar. They were her favorite boots, now too small and worn out, but they looked like they would fit David. The gloves did too. She loosened the laces and, after flipping the other one to shake off the sand, placed them at his feet. “Try them on!”

  David picked one up tentatively. “You sure? You seem attached.”

  She laughed and gave him a light kick on the shin. “I am. So hurry up before I change my mind.”

  A pair of wool socks landed at David’s feet. They looked up to see Hayam grinning. “Can’t wear boots with no socks.”

  “Yeah, try telling him that,” Remulus said. “He wore slippers down in the gutters of Aurelion.”

  Silence. No one answered. Serendipity didn't know what a gutter was or what Aurelion might look like. She’d looked through the wave, but she mostly got images of imposing silvery towers and cloud-covered cityscapes. But most images showed the moon-sized library when searching Aurelion.

  Remulus cleared his throat.

  David was already lacing the boots. Stuffing his pale gray pants into them. They fit. He stood, bounced a little, grinning. “I can barely feel them. They’re so light.”

  “Sturdy too,” Hayam said. “Got them off a merchant who traded with the Solar Accord. Leftover leather.”

  As he jumped up and down in his new boots, David’s hand brushed the cup he’d left too close to the table’s edge. It tumbled to the ground, and when his boots came down on it, it flattened like paper.

  “Must have been older than I remember,” Hayam joked, picking it up. He flipped it between his fingers like a game card and stuffed it in his front pocket.

  Serendipity laughed as David’s face turned from red to something closer to the purple sand in the evening. “Don’t worry about it. It’s older than both of us.”

  “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t,” David muttered, the glee he’d felt at the boots gone now. Serendipity brushed a hand through his unruly curls. She regretted the change in his demeanor more than the loss of the old cup.

  When the others returned to packing the gifts Hayam had prepared, she pulled him aside for a private goodbye. One they both needed.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, avoiding her eyes.

  “I still don’t know why they chose me,” he murmured. “All those sols ago. You were so small, all bone and fight. They told me you were not meant for silence or the cold of the tall walls, that the monastery would break you. That I should let the desert be your teacher.”

  He swallowed, his voice thickening. “And you turned out… magnificent. Braver than I ever was. I’m not always as grateful as I should be for having you in my life.”

  “Hayam,” she whispered.

  “There was no way to refuse the monks, even though I wanted to.” He gave a dry laugh and shook his head. “And I really did want to. I was barely an adult and didn’t want that kind of responsibility. But they told me, ‘This falls to you.’ They were stern and brief. So here we are: me, an unwilling father, and you, an unruly daughter.”

  He looked up, searching her face. His eyes were tired but soft. Tears brimmed at the edges. “We make quite the pair.”

  He exhaled, the sound catching in his chest. “So I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. “For raising you to feel responsible for everyone. For sending you into the desert when I should have gone myself. I’ll try to do better.”

  She crossed the space between them and tapped his shoulder lightly.

  “Oh, now I know you were telling the truth when you said you never wanted a daughter. But what would you do without me?”

  She leaned down to meet his eyes, and now he was smiling, despite everything.

  He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, swaying from side to side, pulling her with him. It was a little awkward, like being held as a child, but she let him. It was Hayam, after all. The man who’d raised her and loved her better than any mother or father she could have dreamed of.

  He released her and took her hands. Glancing around, he gently peeled off her gloves. Her fingers wrapped around his, dark violet at the tips, her nails a shade darker than her skin. Sharper than human, but still graceful.

  For the first time since that night in the market, she was entirely alien. And entirely home. No longer hiding. No longer pretending. She took a slow breath and pressed her forehead to her father’s. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  For letting her go.

  For trusting her.

  For helping her new… friends?

  For everything.

  He pulled her into one more hug, tight, fast, then let go and wiped away the tears neither of them could hide.

  She did the same.

  “There’s an extra Ilirian scarf for each of them,” he said, voice still rough. “If you want to share.”

  Then, glancing back at the house, “Especially the… mermaid.”

  “Siren,” she corrected, laughing.

  “Siren. Right.” He blushed and looked away.

  “Five minutes to take off,” Dice chimed.

  “Here. This is your bunk. Hope you don’t mind sharing. This ain’t a damn hotel.” Remulus pointed at a narrow rectangular door, then stalked off, dragging David’s luggage toward the far end of the corridor.

  “Not at all,” Iliana said brightly, ducking inside.

  Serendipity hesitated. She’d hoped for a dark room. Alone. Somewhere to finally undress, to breathe, to let her body decompress after all the chatter and relentless company.

  She would find a dark space along the way, or her tail would fall off. Maybe she’d regrow it.

  “Not at all,” she echoed with a polite smile.

  “Are you sure? You can say no if you’re not comfortable,” Iliana added from inside the room, a zing in her voice, like a thread that tugged at her skin. Not a lie. But not the clean truth, either. It wrapped around her like smoke.

  She blinked rapidly. Her tail pulsed under the fabric, tight and hot, raw as a new cut.

  Interesting. The Sulei could command humans. Their voices compelled. Hayam had probably asked Iliana already.

  The corners of her mouth lifted. One question answered. It worked on humans. Not on whatever she was.

  “Of course,” she answered the siren.

  Inside the narrow bunk, the hum of Eurydice’s engines deepened, power shifting from hover to launch. The deck vibrated through the soles of her boots and up her spine, a reminder that hesitation was now officially behind them.

  Iliana climbed to the upper rack, gave her a quick, rue-heavy salute, and rolled onto her side. No more persuasion. Just a tired sigh and the soft hiss of extra oxygen being poured in through the vents.

  David drifted past the door, Mirrora coiled around his shoulders like a living scarf. He flashed a fragile thumbs-up and vanished down the corridor toward the cockpit, Remulus stalking behind him with a duffel that clanked every step.

  She shut the bunk door and leaned against it, breathing in the sharp, herbal scent Hayam’s scarves had left in her pack. She flicked the switch by the door and killed the light, then slid off her gloves.

  A little light came through the small window—just enough.

  Her violet nails worried the cloth wrap. She loosened it one turn, just enough for blood to flow.

  The sting was honest. Her shoulders dropped; her breath steadied; the noise in her head thinned to almost nothing.

  Overhead, Dice’s voice dropped an octave, shipwide broadcast:

  “Ramp sealed. Primary thrusters hot. Liftoff in sixty, fifty-nine… Try not to break anything irreplaceable. Or cut off something that doesn’t grow back.”

  A faint smile appeared on her face. She walked to the porthole. Devon Five’s twin suns moved toward the horizon, turning the desert gold. Somewhere out there, Emma Iso counted drifts in silence, and farther away, a compound waited for them.

  Twenty-four drifts. That’s all we need.

  Twenty-four drifts to get this cure, or risk being exposed and killed, or something worse.

  She pushed the thought away. She had never been this close to humans before, and it made her nervous. It wasn’t enough to make her regret coming, but it kept her alert. Old fear, unwelcome.

  Dice hit the ten-second mark, engines howling like distant thunder.

  She pressed two fingers to the glass, whispered a promise only the desert would keep, then turned, squared her shoulders, and braced as Eurydice leapt skyward.

  “Departure achieved,” Dice announced, almost smug.

  “Course set for the Glass Canyons. Odds of success: pleasantly non-zero.”

  A pause. Low, thoughtful static, like Dice had more to say.

  “Four passengers, one map, one emotional support animal, and one half-buried death wish.”

  “Estimated survival rate: classified.”

  “Estimated emotional damage: already underway.”

  She blinked up at the speaker.

  “…Did she just…?”

  “Yeah,” Iliana mumbled from the upper bunk. “She does that.”