We’re alone in our house. Apart from the too-silent floofs, that is. There’s no one here to witness Danek’s performance. No one here he needs to impress.
Maybe he isn’t pretending. Maybe—just maybe—he really does care.
18
Danek
When she’d asked me what Sixth had said, my initial instinct had been to hide the seriousness of my reaction.
But when I’d opened my mouth to lie, guilt had sloshed through my insides. I just slept with Naomi. I didn’t want to lie to her, especially not now. Not when my body was still sated from our lovemaking.
I’ve kept so much from her already. When she touches me, the rathr goes away. From the first moment I gathered her into my arms, I knew what that meant.
Naomi is my mate.
But I haven’t told her that. I haven’t told her about the impact she has on me. I haven’t even allowed myself to acknowledge it.
Maybe now you can.
What was inconceivable a month ago suddenly looks within the realms of possibility. Naomi is getting better, much better. She’s been thrown in one new environment after another, and she’s handling it with aplomb. She faced her fears and allowed Bash, the Cindifin scientist to screen her for heliviruses, and when we landed here, when I’d lost consciousness, she dealt with Kenia without fear.
I told her that if she weren’t here, I might have continued with the mission. That wasn’t a lie. If she didn’t exist, I would have thrown myself into one dangerous mission after the other, in a desperate bid to outrun the sins of my past. But she’s here, and things have changed. If I’m unconscious, I can’t protect Naomi. I won’t take any chances with my mate’s safety.
When I told her that if she weren’t here, I’d push on, she’d bluntly responded that was both reckless and dumb. And then she told me she would be devastated if something were to happen to me.
Hope—long dormant hope—stirs cautiously to life. For the first time in sixty days, I don’t stomp it out. For the first time in sixty days, I let it take root.
The next morning, I meet with the on-site administrator, a man named Rannzar.
Of course, because of Noturn’s effects, Rannzar is new too; he landed here on the same shuttle as us. But he must have been prepared for this job via virtual simulation, because he seems to know his way around. “There are four domes,” he says, as we walk down a maintenance tunnel. “All are occupied.”
“Why? Each dome is more than big enough to accommodate five hundred people.”
“Why not?” he counters. “We need to keep their habitats running, whether they are occupied or not. Might as well space people out. They seem to appreciate the extra room. Ah, here we are.”
We round the corner. Five bubble-shaped skimmers are parked along the wall, all painted bright green. Cindifin colors. “This is how you get around,” Rannzar says, waving at them. “You have enough air in each one to last two hours. Each dome is thirty minutes apart at top speed. The skimmer’s display will tell you how much air you have left.”
“Perfect.”
“Can you start in two days?” he asks.
“Sooner, if you need,” I tell him in complete sincerity. The sooner I get going, the faster I find what I need, and we get out of here.
He looks surprised by my words. “No, no,” he says hastily. “There’s no hurry. We build quite a bit of slack into the maintenance schedule. Besides, Director Lashi’vi mentioned that you are newly bonded, and that your bondmate is on Noturn with you. The day after tomorrow is more than enough.”
Each dome has multiple points of failure. The safety glass panes can crack. The welds holding the panes together can weaken and give way. The atmospheric regulators that calibrate the air inside the dome can stop working, leading to a dangerous build-up of toxic gasses. The airlocks at the entrance of the tunnels to the mines can fail.
Every one of these points of failure is monitored by dozens of automated sensors, of course. If something goes wrong, klaxons will blare, and everyone is immediately supposed to connect to a portable oxygen supply. Every house has them. Our tanks are located just inside the front door. They’re painted a bright shade of blue, the color of blood, and emit a soft beep every hour, as if to remind us of their presence. The first time Plague had heard the beep, she’d been so startled she’d almost fallen off the back of the couch.
Sensors aren’t enough. Safety protocol dictates that each dome be inspected manually four times a year, which is why I’m here. My job is to suit up and crawl all over the outside surface of the dome, making sure that the welds are intact and that there are no cracks or weak spots in the glass.
Two days after we arrive on Noturn, I get to work, starting with the dome we’re living in.
Naomi’s still in bed when I leave, and I don’t wake her. All morning, I inspect domes while trying to figure out why I’m feeling off-balance, and it’s only after four hours of clambering over slippery glass that I figure it out.
I miss her.
Over the last four days, I’ve spent all my time with Naomi. Usually, by this time, I’d be ready to claim exhaustion and seek refuge in solitude. Too much social interaction makes me grumpy, and that’s part of the reason I avoid most people.
But time with Naomi doesn’t make me unhappy. It does exactly the opposite.
She’s easy to get along with. She’s cheerful, but not irrationally so. She doesn’t sulk, she doesn’t pout, and she doesn’t whine. When the floofs make a mess—and by Caeron, those three create more chaos than should be possible—she just laughs and cleans it up.
Pumpkin, Plague,
