22 - VALE

Spring 18, Sector Annum 106, 19h00

Gregorian Calendar: April 6

 

 

After three days of traveling, we make camp in a dusty little ravine, overgrown with ragged, stunted trees, craggy shrubs, and a surprising abundance of wild goats. They’re strange but friendly, unafraid of either us or the horses, and adorable in a kind of old-bearded-man-animal way. They keep attempting to eat everything in sight—including Remy’s curls, the horses’ tails, and our canvas saddlebags. Remy’s taken to keeping her hood up and tied under her chin to keep them from sucking on her hair. I’m reminded of some photographs from the Old World I studied in my history classes. Some female adherents to an old religion called Islam covered their hair with headscarves. With her hood over her head so that only her face is visible, she looks like one of those women, and it makes her amber eyes stand out even more dramatically.

Our campsite is not completely inhospitable, but it’s certainly no place I’d like to call home. For our purposes that’s a good thing, since it means the Sector will have no reason to send any reconnaissance drones out this far. No reason to have drones in the region at all, since there’s nothing to watch over besides the goats.

Unpacking and setting up camp tonight was a major chore because our collective asses are chafed and sore. After our first day of riding, I wondered if I’d ever walk with my knees in close proximity to one another again. By the end of the second day, Remy started sitting sideways in the saddle every once in a while just to give her legs a break. Soren was groaning like he had both feet in the grave. Miah’s the only one who seems to be able to handle the pain. By the third day the horses finally seemed to get used to us, and we to them. We took the pace a little faster that day, often cantering and even galloping full out when we could. Whenever one of the horses gets a little stubborn, Miah takes the lead and they all fall back into line.

After we finish eating, we decide we’re far enough away from any Resistance bases that I can activate the Outsider beacon on the pendant Chan-Yu gave me. After I recounted, for the fiftieth time, my experience with the nameless Outsider who led my team to Normandy months earlier, Remy and Soren have become convinced it must be their “Osprey,” the same Outsider who left them bloodied messages and guided them to their boat after Chan-Yu helped them escape Okaria. I described the scars I glimpsed on her arms and the tattoos on her shoulder—“Like those water birds that fly over the lakes sometimes, the ones with the wide wingspan”—and now they’re hoping it’s Osprey who comes to our aid again. Everyone gathers round me, like it is some sort of ancient sacred ritual, and watches me flip the little switch with my thumb. Flick, flick. That’s it. Then, when nothing happens—as if they expected an Outsider to appear out of thin air—we all go to bed.

Since the Director had given out many of the tents on hand to surviving Farm workers, we got what was left over—one double and two singles, “one of them for Remy,” and even though I knew she meant it out of decency, it came out sounding like she was putting Remy in isolation. Remy, though, shrugged and looked pleased that she would have her own place to sleep. On the first night, I was afraid Soren would expect Remy to join him in the double, but he didn’t say a word as she began setting up her tent. I suspect something’s changed between them, but since neither one of them are in the habit of telling me their secrets or talking about feelings, I have no idea what might have happened.

“I don’t mind sleeping alone,” I offered, and we’ve been in the same arrangements since.

Soren’s on early morning watch when his voice slices through the fog of sleep, and I wake to “What the hell? Fuck!” and then a thud and a scuffling sound as if he’s fallen and is scrambling to his feet. I grab my Bolt and am up and out of my tent in a half-second, with hope as my guide, rather than fear.

And I see her. She turns toward me and her face lights up.

“Valerian. We meet again.” And once again I’m struck by her appearance. Lithe and boyishly feminine, but as tense and taut as a pulled bowstring. Since it’s not frigid and the snow’s not up to our shins, she’s dressed simply in camouflage pants and an open jacket over a skin-tight shirt. Just like when she pulled her coat up over her back to show us her tattoo, I can see she’s slender, but she carries her muscled shoulders with the same aggressive, soldier’s rigidity that I recognize from my military training. She’s got her feet planted as square and even as a drill sergeant, and yet she looks as if she’s poised, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

“Where the hell’d you come from?” Soren demands, brushing the dirt from his pants. Looks like he’d been sitting on the remains of a weather-beaten tree trunk taking the opportunity to shave and clean up a bit when the Wayfarer appeared. His shirt is off, draped over the top of his tent, and his mouth is hanging open, half of his face cleanly shaven, the other half sporting a stubbly shadow.

“Your friend Valerian called. I came.”

“You could have said something. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Skaarsgard, I presume. Some guard.” She reaches up and grasps his chin, moving it side to side. “You missed a spot.” She rubs a thumb down the side of his jawline. “A big one.”

Soren flushes, and I realize he’s completely flustered over the sudden appearance of this almost mythical Outsider. Soren flustered—now that’s something I’ve never seen before. The girl—the Outsider, the wayfarer—turns toward the third tent as Remy crawls out.

“Ah, here’s the famous Remy Alexander, evil scourge of the Sector.” Her eyes light up, in that same glowing ember-ish way I recall from the first time I saw her.

Remy clambers up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, trying to flatten her hair, which sticks up every which way. “You don’t look nearly as dangerous as the Dragon makes you out to be,” the girl says.

“Osprey?”

“Guilty as charged.” She laughs and turns back to Soren, appraising him up and down so slowly, so brazenly, I feel my face grow warm on his behalf.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help before,” Osprey says, addressing Soren and Remy, “when you needed the boat, you know. But I ran into a bit of trouble. Had a run-in with an old friend.” The way she emphasizes the word friend makes it clear that whomever she ran into was most certainly not friendly. Her brows knit together for a moment and then she smiles again.

“I always wanted to meet Soren Skaarsgard. The pianist.” She stands on tiptoe, runs her hands up Soren’s arms to his shoulders and then on up his neck to cup his face in both hands. “In the flesh.” Then she pulls him down to her and kisses him on both cheeks. When she’s done, Soren’s face is as red as Kenzie’s hair, and I can see the goosebumps on his skin from two meters away. I’d feel a moment of jealousy that she hasn’t bothered to acknowledge that I’m a pianist as well, but then, I don’t think I want the same treatment she’s just given him.

Remy looks confused as Osprey turns back to me. “So where are we going this time?”

“We’d like to meet the Outsiders.” I respond.

She laughs. “Which ones?”

“If there are any ‘leaders’ of the Outsiders, we’d like to meet them,” Soren speaks up, his voice a little hoarse—whether from early morning sleeplessness or the fact that he’s just been handled quite physically by this strange but enthralling woman, I couldn’t say.

“Ah, Mr. Skaarsgard,” Osprey says, in a quiet, contemplative way that reminds me very much of Chan-Yu. Her voice takes on a more serious inflection, as though she’s addressing an audience instead of just friends. “Now there’s a tricky thing,”

“Why?”

“Because we go to great lengths not to be ‘led’ and even greater lengths not to be met,” she says, with that same sort of inflection Chan-Yu used to have when he was explaining something he obviously thought was very simple.

“And they’re obviously very good at it,” I say. “No one in the Sector has a clue what you all do out here, or why, or how.”

She cocks her head and looks at me. Her gold-flecked eyes are dark and fierce, like the bird of prey that is her namesake. “And we’d like to keep it that way, Valerian. You all have been a bit of a nuisance to us in the past, and we have no desire to get embroiled in the affairs of the Sector—or its enemies.”

“But you’re already embroiled. Chan-Yu had infiltrated the highest reaches of power. He worked right beside me—and supposedly for my mother—for years,” I protest.

“And he had help smuggling Remy and me out,” Soren adds. “So there are others like you, like Chan-Yu, in the Sector.”

“Only out of necessity,” she says. “We cannot avoid them if we do not understand them.”

“But we need your help,” Remy says, her voice not quite pleading, but almost. “I don’t know what happened to your people after the SRI massacre was blamed on an ‘Outsider terrorist,’ but you must know as well as anyone what the Sector is doing.”

Osprey’s eyes flash as she turns towards Remy, thrusting her arms out to reveal the scars I’d only glimpsed before, jagged lines that run up and down her skin like filaments etched into her flesh. I shudder. It reminds me of the thin scars, still red and raw, on the image of Evander’s face after Remy got to him.

“Yes, Remy Alexander, I do know as well as anyone. Maybe even better than you. Which is why I stay as far away from the Sector as possible. Perhaps you ought to learn that lesson as well, especially after what happened at Round Barn—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupt, trying to calm her down. “So you won’t take us to them. Can you at least deliver a message?”

She pulls back and brightens up instantly, the smile returning to her face without missing a beat. “Sure, what message?”

Remy steps forward. “Tell them we seek their counsel on how the Outsiders have avoided conflict with the Sector all these years and how their experiences might help us avoid an all-out civil war. We want to change the Sector, but we don’t want war. We don’t want innocents dying any more than you do.”

“You sure have a strange way of doing business if you really want to avoid violence,” she says to Remy.

“I’d like to see Chan-Yu again,” Soren pipes up. “To find out what happened after he left Remy and me.”

Osprey’s face clouds over as I add, “And tell him Valerian Orleán would like to thank him for saving his friends, and for saving me. Tell him I am in his debt and at his service,” I say, surprised at my forcefulness even as the words come out, suddenly moved at the memory of what I owe my former aide.

Her eyes rest on each one of us as if she’s weighing us, considering whether or not we’re worth the effort of doing more than just guiding us from one place to the next. “That’s a message I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear,” she says finally, turning to leave as abruptly as she appeared, and it occurs to me that I have no idea how she travels so quietly and so quickly through the Wilds.

“Osprey,” I call after her.

“Yes?” She turns.

“Tell him ‘my allegiance lies outside the Sector.’”

She pauses as if considering my words. Nods once and then walks over to a pathetic excuse for a bush at the edge of our camp, grabs hold of empty air that shimmers into something that looks strangely like an Old world motorbike only without the wheels. She swings her leg over the seat, glances back at us, and then noiselessly speeds off into the distance, fading into nothingness as she goes.

We all turn around as Miah pokes his sleepy head out of the tent. He yawns, adding an exaggerated groan into it, and then looks up at all of us staring down at him.

“What? What'd I miss?”

 

 

Next morning, Osprey returns before light has even broken. We’d spent the previous day scouting around camp and then cooked several wild hares that Miah and I managed to snare using a technique Osprey showed me on our earlier trek together. After dinner, the sky was so clear that, once the fire died down, I felt as if I could reach up and pluck a star out of the sky. Since none of us could take our eyes off the Milky Way, painted bright across the inky dome above us, we dragged our sleeping bags out and slept in the open.

“Osprey’s back.” Remy shakes me awake beneath the steely sky, and I blink and look up to see her face mere centimeters above mine. Since the amazing dream I was having featured her in a prominent and very active role, my body thrums with the desire to reach up and pull her down to me. But I don’t. Besides, I need to push those thoughts from my mind before I leave my sleeping bag.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m awake.” I push myself up on my elbows.

“She says at least some of the leaders have agreed to meet with us.”

“I guess the opportunity to see the four of us traveling together—especially the now-infamous Remy Alexander—is too good to pass up.”

“It’s the chance we were hoping for,” she says. “But we need to move. Now. She seems to be in a hurry.” She steps away and starts to tear down her tent. I’m dressed and ready to go in a matter of moments, but Miah is dead to the world. I nudge him as I roll up my sleeping bag and stuff it into its sack. Everyone is up and in various states of drowsiness—everyone but Miah, that is, who is curled on his side like a little boy, a trail of drool drying on his cheek. I kick him lightly in the side.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

“Miah, we’ve gotta move. Osprey’s back.” I shake him, and he turns over in his sleeping bag.

“Last time I was up before dawn was never. Goway.”

I laugh. “Never as in four days ago.” I nudge him with my foot, and he growls and flops over, face down, ignoring me and everything going on around us. I unzip his sleeping bag and flap it open wide only to reveal his broad back and stark white ass. His eyes open wide with the rush of cold air and he starts flailing, trying to cover himself up again.

“What the fuck, Orleán!” he shouts, as everyone stops what they’re doing to watch. “It’s cold out there.”

“Get your naked ass dressed, then!” I cross my arms and look down at him.

“Why’d you take your pants off, anyway?” Soren asks, a bemused look on his face. “What if we have to move fast in the middle of the night? That ass of yours would shine like a lighthouse. Drones could home in on that thing from fifty kilometers.”

Miah mutters something about needing a little more room in the junkyard and then groans as he stands up and stretches. He rubs his eyes and looks around at everyone staring at him—including Remy and Osprey. “What? Never seen such a fine specimen before?” He looks down and laughs. “Guess I’ll go take a piss now. I’ll sign autographs after I’m dressed. And after breakfast.” He picks up the pile of clothes he’d been using as a pillow and heads off behind our tent before turning and looking at Osprey. “We are having breakfast, aren’t we?”

Osprey shakes her head sadly. “I’m not sure we have enough food to fill the needs of such a fine specimen. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

A few minutes later, after we’ve packed up to leave, Remy asks me for a hand up onto her horse. I glance around for Soren, who normally would have been at Remy’s side. But he’s already mounted and looking down at Osprey as she strokes the neck of his horse and points to something in the distance.

I hold out my cupped palms for her. She reaches for the pommel of her saddle and puts a booted foot in my hands. I lift her up onto her horse, and she settles in, grabs the reins, and then turns to look down at me. I let my hand brush her thigh and the warmth of her leg electrifies my fingertips, sending a pulse of heat all the down to my core.

Does she feel it, too?

“Thanks,” is all she says.

But her eyes meet my own for a second before she turns away, just enough time to burn hope into me like the scars on Osprey’s arms.

 

 

A few hours later, the bleak wasteland around us is shimmering in the heat. It’s mid-April now and warm spells aren’t uncommon this time of year, but we didn’t anticipate anything like this. In the Sector, we don’t have much data on what the terrain is like this far beyond Sector borders. No reason to. Nothing grows out here, so it’s useless to us. Not to mention dangerous—or so we were taught. Notwithstanding the hungry bearded goats, we haven’t seen or heard much wildlife at all. Some wild dogs or coyotes in the distance, some lizards or wild hares scuttling away from us. But that’s about it.

Osprey leads our little pack on her oiseau, the French word for bird, which is what she calls her hovering motorbike. I notice Soren keeps nudging his horse up so he can ride next to her. I notice, too, that Remy seems perfectly unconcerned that Soren’s taken an obvious interest in Osprey. In fact, she seems to be paying no attention to him at all. She rides quietly by herself, right hand on the reins, her left twisting something absentmindedly in her jacket pocket.

I tilt my head back and try to read the sky. We’re heading northeast, and I notice little flashes of Osprey’s crystalline astrolabe every now and then when it catches the sunlight. I wonder if she’s showed it to Soren already or if she’s keeping it secret for now. I remember when I first met her, how she wouldn’t let the others see it.

“So, Vale,” Miah says, riding up from behind me. “What’d you make of Osprey?” He waggles his eyebrows at me in such a way that I can’t help but look at him sideways.

“Forgotten Moriana already?” I try to keep my voice neutral—and joking—but I must not have done a very good job, because the horror that colors his face makes me instantly regret the line.

“No!” His mouth drops open in astonishment. My heart thuds at the sudden fear I’ve offended my best friend. “God, no, Vale. Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten her.”

“Bad joke, Miah. Sorry.”

But of course, he’s quick to forgive.

“I just meant, Osprey seems a little out there. Are all the Outsiders like her, do you think? With crazy scars and funky hair?”

“You’re one to talk about funky hair. That mess of yours defies description. And that beard? Wow.”

He strokes his beard fondly. “Fair point. She still seems a little off-kilter, though. I mean, obviously she’s a girl, but she doesn’t really seem … well … you know what I mean … like a girl, like Moriana or Remy or Kenzie.”

“Soren seems to like her well enough.”

“Yeah, and it looks like Remy couldn’t care less.”

I just nod, glad I’m not the only one who’s noticed, but I don’t want to act like I’ve been focused on Soren and Remy when so much is at stake. Of course, Miah probably knows what I’m thinking even before I do.

“Am I right in sensing something’s changed between the two of you? Seems like since Evander … that she’s … well, you know. That she’s softened up. And Soren doesn’t seem to be beating his chest and baring his teeth every time you go near. What happened with you guys at Round Barn?”

I’m almost afraid to put it into words. “She saved my life and then I saved hers … beyond that I don’t know. If anything has changed, I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Well, I guess I’ll hold off on the handfasting present.”

We rode in silence for a while and then Remy pulled up beside me. Miah nudged his horse forward with a little smile, ever the romantic.

“What are you going to say?” she asks.

“What?” I respond, genuinely confused.

“What are you going to say to the Outsiders. About why you’re with us. That’s what they want to know. That’s why they’re willing to meet us.”

“Is that what Osprey said?”

“No, but isn’t it obvious? The mysteriously kidnapped Valerian Orleán turning up on the Outsiders’ doorstep with his kidnapper and two Resistance traitors?”

“I guess I’ll tell them the truth. Chan-Yu knows. With luck, he will have already told them some of it.”

“You’re the make-or-break here. You need to make the case for them to stand with us.”

“What if they don’t want to join the Resistance?” Her eyes harden and flick over me and everything I thought about her softening up toward me evaporates.

“You said you owed me, Vale. You at least need to try.”

“Yes, I do and I will. But we can’t force them. And maybe there’s another way. I want to be sure that you really want me to convince others to join a fight that’s already taken the lives of so many. Your mom, maybe Jahnu. Soldiers, Farm workers….”

“I get it.” She purses her lips and stares straight ahead.

“It could become an all-out civil war,” I say, driving the point home. “You told Osprey we’re not looking for that. But we both know very well that’s what this could mean.”

“I want the Sector to pay.”

“Pay how? In more lives? Is that the currency you want to trade in?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I want to take them back, apologize for questioning her. I want to say I’ll do whatever she asks. But the truth is I don’t want any more blood on my hands.

She says nothing. Her whole body’s tense, her fingertips white as she grips the reins between them.

“Remy, listen….”

She turns to me, pain—and anger—brimming in her eyes. “Why should I listen to you? I thought—” She clamps her mouth shut abruptly and turns away.

“I’m sorry.” I want to grab her arm, make her turn back toward me, listen to me. But I don’t. “You know I’d do anything for you, anything,” I say. “On top of everything else, I owe you my life. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Still she says nothing, so I go on.

“I’ll tell them about LOTUS, about taking over the food supply chain, about Eli’s plan to print untainted seeds, but—”

“I didn’t mean for everything at Round Barn to happen like that—”

“I know that, Remy.”

“Then stop acting like it’s my fault. That I want to ‘trade’ in the currency of death. I thought you were—I thought you supported me.”

“I do—” I start again, but she kicks Lakshmi into a trot and moves up the line without so much as a backwards glance. I mouth a silent curse and regret my words, wishing she were back with me, next to me. Even silent and angry, her presence is better than none at all.

 

 

The clear skies we enjoyed the last few days have given way to looming clouds, harbingers of rain. The vegetation gradually changes as we ride northwest into higher elevation. The landscape is greener with patches here and there of stately mature trees that appear to be old growth. Up ahead I can see that the higher we climb, the taller and more abundant the trees are. We haven’t passed any ruins in days and I imagine this whole area was either never densely populated or was completely obliterated by the bombings.

My father once told me that nearly thirty percent of the population in North America was killed during the Religious Wars and many of those who survived succumbed during the Famine Years. I don’t doubt him, but now I wonder if those figures haven’t been held over our heads like a scythe, a sword of Damocles ready to fall on Okarian citizens who question our tight control of resources and food and limits on travel and exploration.

“Where the hell are we, Osprey?” Miah demands finally, after at least an hour of dead silence between us all. It’s late-afternoon, and he’s past impatient. We all are. Tired and saddle sore, our patience is wearing almost as thin. We’ve only taken a few breaks—more for the horses than for us—and we’re all ready to be there, wherever thereis. We ran our horses flat out on and off this morning, but since then we’ve been trotting at a bone-jarring pace that’s gotten everyone complaining again.

We weave our way around a stand of bedraggled trees and Osprey holds her hand up and brings her oiseau to an abrupt halt while Soren, who was riding beside her, tries to rein his horse in and almost launches himself over its head. I can’t help but laugh, but my mirth is cut short when at least fifteen hooded figures emerge from the rocks and shrubs around us, holding serious-looking composite hunting bows, nocked and drawn, each one pointed at us. I notice they’re all wearing the same kind of cloak Osprey was when I first met her. These must be the Outsiders.

“Well, hello,” Miah says. I keep my mouth shut.

“I told you I’d have them here before dusk,” Osprey says, a big smile on her face as if she’d just been offered a slice of fresh-from-the-oven pie. She turns to the nearest Outsider, a short but broad-shouldered man who lowers his bow when she approaches. I notice his arms are clear and free of scars.

“Osprey,” he says, holding out his palm to her as if in greeting.

“Squall,” She stretches hers out to meet his, a kind of vertical handshake. “Are we gonna have a feast? I’m starved.”

“We’ll worry about your stomachs soon enough. He holds up his hand and the bows come down, though I notice none of the Outsiders put them away completely. He runs a chilly stare over our little group.

“Which one of you is the Orleán?” he asks, casting around between us.

I stare at him, too astonished to respond. How does he not know me? Have they never seen Sector broadcasts before? I know we’re far outside the Sector’s boundaries, but not since I was a child have I met someone who didn’t recognize me at all.

“He is,” Soren says, pointing to me. I glare at him. Thanks for nothing. He just smirks back.

“I’m Valerian.” I sit a little straighter. Might as well own it. Squall stares at me for a few seconds, as if contemplating a response.

“And you,” he says, nodding slightly at Remy, “must be the Alexander.”

She nods by way of response.

“Did you tell them?” he asks Osprey. She hesitates.

“Not yet.”

“Tell us what?” Remy demands.

“For the final leg, we’re going to have to blindfold you,” she says apologetically. “And disarm you.”

“What the hell?” Soren interjects.

“We didn’t come all the way out here to be treated like prisoners—or enemies,” Remy says, more calmly than I’d expected. I, for one, am not surprised. I know too well what the Sector has done to put the Outsiders on edge like this, and I can’t blame them for being defensive.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come to camp with us otherwise. We can’t risk you telling anyone where we are. And I promise we have food! Lots of it. Besides,” Osprey huffs, “I wouldn’t have wasted all my time dragging you here just to murder you. I could have easily done that yesterday morning while Skaarsgard was shaving.”

Soren opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “I’ll do it. I trust you,” I say to Osprey. That’s not entirely true—I don’t trust her, at least not completely—but if this is what it takes to pay my debts to Remy, I’ll gladly take the blindfold.

“That’s the spirit,” she says as the buoyant smile returns to her face. She nods at Squall, who pulls a black cloth from a saddlebag and approaches me.

“Weapons,” he says, and I pull a knife from the sheaf in my belt and a hand-held Bolt from the holster strapped across my chest and under my jacket. Everything else is packed in the saddlebags. I close my eyes and let him slip the hood over my head. His hands are deft and gentle as blackness envelops me.

“I’m game,” I hear Miah say behind me. “As long as there’s food on the other end of this ride.”

I hear someone clapping and can only assume it’s Osprey, carried away yet again by her strange enthusiasm. “Excellent!” she exclaims. “I promise you’ll go to bed fat and happy.”

I hear the footfalls of more horses being led near and then the squeak of leather and the soft oomph of people mounting and settling into their saddles. Then someone reaches out and takes the reins from my hand. “Hold on,” Osprey calls out, and I reach for the pommel as he lurches forward.

We ride in the dark for another hour or so, and I can tell we’re going up a fairly steep incline most of the time. By the time a hand reaches up and pulls off my blindfold, the sun is on the horizon and I wince, blinking at the light. I take in the surroundings. We’re up against a cliff face in the midst of a stand of trees—oak, elm, maple and other deciduous species I don’t recognize—and around me spreads what appears to be a small village built of wooden structures that look like they could be folded up and put in a giant’s pocket at a moment’s notice.

It’s astonishing to see something built for a transient lifestyle when all I’ve ever seen is permanence. Some buildings are narrow structures that resemble overgrown PODS from the capital’s mass transit system and are grouped together with extendible hallways that connect the pods into larger units. Others are long boxes that appear to easily disassemble, with walls that open flat to the outside. Still others are little more than elaborate tents, buttressed with flexible wood struts, draped in reflective shields and topped with pine boughs. Everything is built and arranged for secrecy and mobility, and yet nothing looks crude or rudimentary. I think of Assembly Hall back in Okaria, the main governmental building where my office was located, and remember how much I loved the glass walls and floors, draped with hanging gardens, living machines that helped filter the interior water, and natural ventilation systems. These Outsiders and the Sector designers might be surprised to realize they have at least something in common—an elegant, inspired-by-nature aesthetic that makes me smile despite myself.

“No wonder no one can find them,” Remy says, blinking into the light.

“They’d be practically invisible from the air,” Miah chimes in.

“That’s the point,” Osprey says. “You’ll be sleeping in that one.” She points to a structure that looks like it’s built out of sticks and covered with hide of some kind. “Leave the horses. We’ll take care of them and unpack your gear. Tonight we eat. Tomorrow we talk.”

My stomach grumbles. I need no further urging. We follow her through the trees right up to the cliff where a wide natural cavern opens up under the rock face about five meters high and twenty-five wide. I can’t tell how deep it goes into the rock, but it provides a perfect covered dining area. Blackened, charred remains of countless fires mark the ceiling. How many eons have humans made this cave home?

Laid out on the ground is a long wooden table laden with food. Surely they can’t move that table in one piece, I think, but as I look more closely, I notice it’s not one long stretch of wood. It’s broken up into small segments that fit together like locks and keys to make one magnificent piece of furniture. At least a hundred people are milling about, sitting cross-legged or on their knees on wide carpets spread on the ground on either side of the table. They’re passing plates, drinking from water skeins and mugs, and not paying a bit of attention to us.

Osprey escorts us to one end of the table, down where Squall is talking with some other men. She slips in between Soren and Remy and, once again, I notice Remy doesn’t seem to mind. Miah jerks his head at me as if to say, you gonna sit next to her or am I? I lower myself to the ground between him and Remy and wait for her to ignore me, or worse. Miah slips in next to me and Squall and his friends round out the end of the table. Remy picks up a couple of plates off a stack in the middle of the table and hands one to me and one to Miah.

I take it with a mumbled “Thanks,” almost afraid to look at her.

Soren immediately starts piling food on his plate. Miah follows suit, though at a more tentative pace.

“I know I shouldn’t say this, but isn’t a MealPak easier?” He looks down at the food on his plate. ”How am I supposed to know what all this stuff is?”

“Not hungry?” I ask.

“Starving. I just don’t want to eat something unfamiliar that will make me sick again. These two,” he says, nodding at Remy and Soren, “can attest to the fun times we had on our way to Normandy.”

“Not fun,” Remy laughs. “But you were mostly going through withdrawals and probably got a bug from drinking unfiltered water. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about here.”

“It’s not poisonous, I promise,” Osprey says. “See, here. These are morel mushrooms with barley and leeks. And this here is beetroot with wild greens. This is roasted squirrel rubbed in turmeric and paprika—that’s why it’s such a funny color. The bread is called pain-eponge.” Sponge-bread. It does look like a sponge—porous and full of holes. “You use it to grab your food.” She tears off a piece to demonstrate then scoops up something that looks like a meatball and plops into her mouth. Soren and Remy have clearly already caught onto this, though Miah hesitates at the bread, too.

“Don’t you have forks?” he asks.

“Forks?” Osprey looks at him, confused.

Miah pantomimes sticking a piece of food with a fork.

“Oh,” Osprey laughs, unsheathing the knife strapped to her leg. “You want to stab something? Use your knife.”

Miah shakes his head. "You lot took our weapons, remember?" He tears off a piece of bread and starts nibbling at it. Remy’s already digging into the mushrooms. I follow suit, watching the Outsiders around us and picking a little of something from every platter within reach.

“What’s this?” Soren asks, half the food on his plate already gone. He’s pointing to some sausages that are a funny black-and-grey color as he stuffs one into his mouth. Osprey shoots him a devilish smile.

“Boudin,” she responds. “Blood sausage.”

For a second, he freezes, and it looks like he might spit it out. His eyes go wide and he stops chewing for the first time since we sat down. But then he shrugs, swallows, and goes on eating as if nothing had happened.

“Tastes like iron,” he says as he picks up another piece. “Pretty good.”

Miah shudders and turns a little green.

“I think I’ll stick with the vegetables for now.”

“Me, too,” I mutter.

“Chickenshits,” Remy says taking a bite of something that looks like chicken. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”