“I’m sorry I said those things to you on the observation deck because Anna was there, because of who I am. It was mean and petty and I only said it because I couldn’t afford to let myself say anything else.”
I can’t find the words for what I want to say next—that I’m not what he thinks, that I wish I had a picture that could make him understand, the way he showed me his life in one snapshot. I gasp for breath and fall silent.
He doesn’t answer me right away, and for a few insane moments I think maybe his ability to sleep anywhere extends to dozing while faced with semi-hysterical girls blurting out apologies.
Then his arm tightens around me, his breath warm against the back of my neck. The tangled words choking my throat ease, and let me take in a long, shaking breath.
“I appreciate the apology.”
From anyone else I’d know it was a platitude. But there’s a sincerity to his voice when he says it that tells me he means it.
I shift, trying to get comfortable, and my eyes fall on one of the moons, which has cleared the plains. It’s the first time we’ve been able to see this one clearly, unobstructed by the forest canopy.
“Tarver.”
“Hmm?”
“Look.”
He lifts his head, and I feel the moment he sees it; his arms tense around me, his breath stops.
What I’d always thought was a smaller, second moon is actually a grouping of cold blue lights, too steady to be any kind of aircraft, too regular to be any kind of asteroid cluster. Seven in all, arranged evenly in a circle, one in the middle.
“What is it?” My voice is shaking, but this time it’s not because of the voices.
Tarver props himself up on one arm, staring over me at the phenomenon. He says nothing, and after a moment I turn to look at him. His face is set, jaw clenched—but he doesn’t look surprised. He looks thoughtful.
“When the pod was going down,” he says slowly, “I saw something in orbit. Something other than the Icarus. Went by too fast for me to get a good look, but I could see enough to know it was man-made. How big would something like that have to be, to be visible like this?”
I draw in a slow breath, mind running through the calculations. “Each of those objects would have to be dozens of kilometers across at least, to reflect that much sunlight.”
Tarver lowers himself down again, arm circling my waist. His voice is soft and warm by my ear. “What is this place?”
I have no answer for him, and we watch the false moon in silence. For a dizzying moment I see us as if from above, a tiny lump in the blue-black sea of grass, nearly swallowed by the vastness of the plains.
At some point while we talked, the voice out in the night fell silent, and the tremors racking my body have calmed. And so I listen to Tarver’s breathing as it slows, and his heartbeat, and the breeze slipping through the long grass all around us, and eventually I sleep too.
“Every planet has its eccentricities.”
“That’s true.”
“What did you notice about this one?”
“The lack of company.”
“Major, that’s unhelpful.”
“I’m not trying to be unhelpful. I noticed it was a terraformed planet with no sign of a local population. I’ve been involved in six campaigns in two years, I never saw a planet without people before.”
“What did you think of your prospects?”
“I was realistic about them. I’m realistic about them right now too.”
SEVENTEEN
TARVER
I WAKE UP BECAUSE IT’S RAINING. A fat raindrop lands right behind my ear, running down to somehow find a way inside my collar, freezing cold. I shiver and roll onto my back, and another smacks me right between the eyes.
Lilac’s moving, stirring as I shift away from her, and she rolls over with a little protesting noise, reaching sleepily after me. Then she begins to register the raindrops as they connect with her skin, and she sits up straight with a gasp. I’m busy sitting up too, because when you go to sleep wrapped around a pretty girl, there are some things going on first thing in the morning that you don’t exactly want making headline news.
So I’m shuffling into a slightly more diplomatic position and trying to look casual, and she’s staring across at me, all confusion and dawning alarm. I realize in my surprise I’ve grabbed for the Gleidel, and she thinks there’s some threat around.
“Tarver?” She looks up, eyes huge. One of them is still a little puffy, the skin bruised and dark where her face hit the side of the escape pod. Then a raindrop splats against her upturned face, and she jerks back. As I watch her flinch, lifting her fingers to her face and staring astonished at her wet fingertips, it hits me: she’s never seen it before. In her world even the climate is controlled.
“It’s raining,” I say, voice hoarse from sleep. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s fine. Straight from the clouds to you.”
She frowns, still huddling over and trying to shelter from it. “Straight from the clouds? Is that hygienic?”
I can’t help it. It starts out as a snicker, but I’m grinning, and there’s a tension inside me that snaps and releases, and a moment later I’m laughing so hard I can’t stop.
She stares across at me, wondering if I’ve finally cracked. I reach for her hand and wind my fingers through hers, turning them so the rain patters down onto her palm. I trace a circle there with my thumb, smoothing the water into her skin. I want to show her there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Then her lips are curving slowly, and she’s flopping back to lie down and let the rain hit her upturned face. I look across, drinking in her smile, some part of me noticing I’m still holding her hand, fingers tangled through hers. I notice she’s shaking, and for an instant I think she’s crying.
Then I realize she’s laughing too.
I get exactly ten heartbeats to live in this perfect moment, before she blinks and lifts her head sharply, looking off across the plains, a heavier shudder running through her body. She catches herself a moment later and turns back toward me, trying to recover her smile, but I know what that was. I can see how large her pupils are, the trembling of her lips.
She heard another voice.
“I thought you said the rain was on the third day.”
“No, that was the first time it rained.”
“You’re contradicting yourself, Major.”
“No, you’re trying to trip me up. I know how this works. The military invented these techniques. What’s your next question?”
“What did you make of your relationship with Miss LaRoux at that stage?”
“What does that mean?”
“How did you see it unfolding?”
“I didn’t. I’m a soldier. I’m from the wrong sort of family. I think it’s more comfortable for everyone when guys like me are out of the way.”
“Do you believe that? That you’re from the wrong sort of family?”
“My family wasn’t on the planet with me. I don’t see a need to discuss them.”
“There’s no need to raise your voice, Major.”