Not an option. And it seems like there’s something in the bones of this planet that’s messing with our signals. If we get up there in the mountains, maybe they’ll go on messing with the signals. Samara is shaking her head, like we’re going to argue. I take a gamble. “How are you getting up there, Samara?”
She blinks. She hadn’t thought of that yet. She needs me, and I need her. Which is a real irony when you get down to it, because at this point I’m thinking there’s a good chance we’re both a danger to each other.
We head out, moving fast, Jill on my back, Samara with all three of the packs. Jill really is weak. It’s hard work for her to hang on, and for weighing next to nothing, she’s actually pretty heavy. When Samara gets a little way ahead, Jill whispers near my ear, “What are our orders?”
I hesitate, then say, “Maintain contact and cut off communications for the present.”
It’s a good thing Jill can’t see my face, because I’m pretty sure it’s smeared with guilt. But Jill will not understand Dad telling me to go against the Commander, or the fact that I’m putting family over the hierarchy of the ship.
“Beck,” she whispers again, “do you think you’re getting orders from … who you think you are? Because I don’t think Commander Faye would’ve … told you to cut off … communications.”
“What am I supposed to do, Jill? I just have to follow them when they come.” This might not exactly ring true coming from me, and I think Jill agrees.
“You know you can’t … trust her now? That … she’s been lying … the whole time?”
I know it. But I don’t want to say it.
“Listen, let’s get the coordinates, and then … go. You can tell the Commander … she broke contact with us, that you couldn’t stop her. I’ll … back you up … Mom will … back us up … ”
Jill’s voice is fading a little, her grip loosening. I think she’s falling asleep. I hike her up, and put on some speed. Her plan is so reasonable. I wish there was one thing about my life that was reasonable right now.
I’ve got an alarm set for additional humans, and one for power sources, in case a skimmer gets near. But the glass in front of my eyes is clear and quiet. Jill has gone quiet, too, her head bobbing against my back, Samara moving fast and smooth, like hiking is some kind of a dance. I wish she’d said something when I told her I was sorry back in the cave. I wish she’d said Don’t be sorry, and I know that makes me an idiot. She’s a liar. And from now on I’m going to be objective if it kills me.
It might.
We have to cross a river. I swim Jill across, and both she and Samara make it relatively dry in the suits. I’m soaked, and now I’m freezing again, and tired to the core. The cliffs are tall. I’ll only have just enough rope. I lean Jill against the rocks.
“You okay?” I ask. She’s pale, but when she opens her eyes, for a second she’s the Jill I knew on the ship.
“Oh, I’m great,” she says. “You?”
I smile. Whatever else she is, I really am glad she’s not dead. Her eyes close again, and I find Samara about three meters away, hair everywhere in the breeze, staring down at something white among the blue-gray rocks. I stand next to her, then squat down to get a better look at the ground.
It’s a body. Bones mostly, though scraps of dried skin and fabric still cling here and there, and some long, straggling hair. The lower leg bones are shattered, plus one femur, and I think the spine might have broken, too, unless the body has been disturbed. I don’t think it has. I glance at the clifftop, high above us, and then at the pelvis and the shape of the broken skull. Female. And this would have been instant. I wish I knew more about this planet’s weather, seasons, insects, so I could guess how long it’s been here.
Samara bends down, barely touching a bit of blowing fabric between two fingers. I think it might have been yellow. “It’s Aunt Letitia,” she whispers.
I blow out a breath. I’ve been considering the timeline of decay, and Samara is staring at her own dead family. “How did she fall?”
“She jumped. Like I did.”
“What do you mean, like you did?”
She looks to our left, down the line of the cliffs. “It’s not as high that way, and the river is there.”
“Have you jumped those cliffs before?”
“Of course not. It’s out of bounds.”
“Then how did you Know the river was deep enough?”
“I didn’t.”
I blow out another breath. This time it’s frustration. “And why would you do that?”
“To escape. Only Aunt Letitia was escaping a different way.”
Samara walks away from the body. Last time it was poison. That’s what she said in the cavern. I think of being scared enough, or determined enough, to jump when I wasn’t sure I’d live. Of being determined enough to jump when I knew I was going to die. I can still hear Samara’s scream, see that story she told with her face. Is that what this woman was trying to do? Escape her memories? Use death to Forget? Samara said she was looking for a way to Forget. How close has she come to making the same choice as her aunt?
I run a hand through my wet hair. What is going on with this planet? What could have made them this way? I can’t trust Samara, and I’m angry about it. Hurt, if I’m being honest. She could be playing me again right now for all I know. But my gut says she isn’t. Then again, two hours ago I found out that my gut was as off-kilter as the Centauri’s scans. Either way, I wish she hadn’t seen this. So she wouldn’t have to remember.
Jill dozes against the cliff while Samara gathers stones, and by the time I shoot the grip to the top of a cliff, she has a circle of them around her aunt.
I hate climbing rope. But since we couldn’t bring the real gear, thanks to protocol, I guess I’m glad the trainer made me do it so often. But I’m going up clipped into the harness this time. I’ll never get all the way up without a rest, and it’s when I’m taking the second of these, about three-quarters of the distance to the top, that the power source alarm blinks in the lenses.
I turn, dangling in the harness. And here comes the skimmer, barely a glint in the red air, and I am caught, more neatly than any commander could have planned. The skimmer flies straight toward me, flat, bird-shaped, getting bigger and bigger, a wingspan of about three and a half meters, and it is silent, almost clear, except when it catches a beam of red. I glance down, see Jill lying still at the base of the cliff, arms over her head, Samara on her knees, arranging stones over the body of her aunt. And when I look up again, the skimmer is hovering at the level of my nose, about four meters away, like it’s looking at me. Deciding what I am.