62The fire burned through the Rainforest in every direction as far as I can see. Blackened and burnt, the once lush and vibrant jungle has been seared away, stripped of life and charred into little more than a collage of dust and debris.

I stare numbly out at the barren landscape around me. Though the largest trees yet remain—blackened boles so charred by the fire as to be almost unrecognizable—all other plant life has been completely destroyed. Particles of ash drift on the wind, a black-and-gray medley of cinder and soot, and small filaments of smoke still curl through the air in a translucent haze. Everything is silent, from the leafless tops of the trees down to the ash-encrusted ground. Everything is still.

Utter shock keeps me frozen in place. Heart in my throat, I swallow, then swallow again, unable to comprehend the sheer devastation laid out before my eyes. I’d expected some marks of destruction—scorched trunks and burned foliage—but this? It’s not possible! I shake my head in denial, wanting more than anything to erase the ruination from my mind, but still it lingers, a sea of ash in my eyes and a puff of smoke through my lungs.

Heart ringing hollowly in my chest, I wander slowly through the remains of the forest. Though the firestorm has ended, small flames still flicker here and there across the barren landscape. I pick my way carefully through the debris and crouch down next to one of the fires. Any wood or plant debris that might have initially fed it now long gone, but still it continues to smolder. My eyes flick downward in search of an answer, and there, pooling around the base of the flame, I find it. With my index finger, I gingerly scoop up a bit of the oozing black goo.

Sap like pitch.

A vision of Iolanthe, drought-ridden and thick with sap, fills my mind. This, then, was the key to Iolanthe’s combustion—a mutation that served as both kindling and accelerant for a planet already desiccated to the core. The destruction of the dam only made things worse, spreading sap-infused water over thirsty land quick to absorb every drop of liquid, leaving only this black poison behind. Black sap over everything, and the spark that set it all off . . .

I lurch to my feet, unwilling to follow that train of thought where it ultimately must go. Shading my eyes with my hand, I twirl in a slow circle and look out over the ravaged land, searching for any sign that there’s still some green in this blackened world. When I don’t see anything, I up the magnification on my lenses to max. A glint to the north catches my attention. There, a small pocket of green. And rising above it in a curl of black—

Smoke.

The fire still burns.

Numbness spreads through my chest as I watch the continuing inferno. How long it will burn and how far it will go are questions only God can answer, and yet what exists on this misbegotten planet at the end of the universe, with its black-sapped forests ranging from pole to pole, that can stop it?

Nothing.

Not the settlements, not the river’s tributaries, not even the mighty Shoqua herself. That fire will keep on burning until there’s nothing left of Iolanthe but a ball of ash floating at the edge of the universe—a once-thriving planet now dead and reduced to dust.

For the first time since the war began, I realize I have absolutely no idea what to do. Helplessly, I stand in the middle of the devastation, hoping against hope that Iolanthe will give me some sort of direction, some sort of sign, but if Iolanthe has anything to say, it’s not to me. My head drops, slumping weakly on my shoulders. I take a deep breath, drawing the air in gently lest I irritate my inflamed lungs even more. Then, with nothing else to do, I start walking.

Ash crunches underfoot, soft like sand, as I make my way in the direction of the settlements. Jagged pieces of debris, blackened and still smoking, litter the ground in every direction, and small fires continue to crackle and burn here and there. Presently, a slow drizzle starts to fall, trickling down through the remains of the canopy in reluctant fits and starts. On instinct, I raise my face to the sky, only to recoil as the first few drops strike my burned skin, not soothing but stinging wherever they touch. A single drop slides down my upturned cheek to nestle in the corner of my mouth. I touch it lightly with the tip of my tongue.

The rain tastes like acid.

I quickly drop my head, though my throat is burning and my mouth feels like sand. I wish I’d thought to bring some water from the river with me, not that I had anything to carry it in anyway. I glance around the area, looking for anything that might slake my desperate thirst. I don’t find anything, but something else catches my eye from a few meters away. A charred pile of . . . I’m not sure what. Curious, I draw closer, squinting down at the odd shapes in the dust. My eyes widen as I suddenly realize what they are.

Bones.

My stomach lurches. Doubling over, I throw up in the ash beside me. Cinders waft up, dislodged by the spurt of sickly yellow bile hitting the ground. My stomach contracts, clamping in on itself like a fist, releases, and then contracts again. More bile comes up to join the first batch; more ash rises up into the air. Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. I heave and heave, emptying my stomach time and again until all that comes out is a clear, watery discharge. At last, even that stops. Too weak to stand, I fall to my knees in the dust. My esophagus burns, and silent sobs shake my chest. Everything hurts, inside and out, but with my head ringing and my muscles quivering and my body currently out of my control, there’s nothing I can do but slump down in the ash and endure it.

Time passes in a blur. At some point, I manage to find the strength to rise from the ground and stagger on through the forest’s remains. Though scattered clouds linger, arbiters of the rain that still drizzles down like acid over my already-burned skin, Ava and Eva are still painfully bright, shining down over the graying landscape like bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling of a charnel house. Head down, I keep walking, unable to think, unable to feel, unable to do anything more than put one foot in front of the other. A slight breeze comes rippling over the burned plain, and I reflexively lift my nose to the wind—but of the ghouls I scent no sign. Strange. With so many squatters dead, I would’ve expected them to be everywhere, but I haven’t smelled a single one since I awoke in the river. I wonder where they’ve gone.

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes into hours, and still my feet shuffle trancelike through the ashes until—

“. . . you thi . . . ver . . . the . . . ame?”

I stop, feet skidding to a halt at the distant murmur of voices wafting through the air. Hardly daring to breathe, I cock my ear toward the sound.

The voices cease.

I freeze. Heart pounding erratically, I stand stock-still and wait, barely able to believe that what I heard was not simply a hallucination brought on by heat and dehydration. Still, I can’t stop myself from straining my ears to listen. For a long time, I hear nothing, but then suddenly—

“. . . nev . . . they would . . . up and . . . apear.”

Slowly, I raise my head. Light lances down through the burned remains of the forest, bouncing off a distant expanse of metal to hit me straight in the eyes. Temporarily blinded, I stumble back, hands involuntarily moving to shield my face. Spots dance in front of my eyes, black dots that bob and weave. I blink several times, and finally the spots begin to fade. Carefully, I slide my fingers apart, allowing my eyes to adjust.

At least half a dozen people are spread out through the forest ahead of me. In the burned-out remains of the jungle, they’re easy enough to spot, most of them bearing bags of refuse, shovels, and other tools used for clearing debris. Not far behind them, the spaceport gleams silver under the bright afternoon suns.

The spaceport.

A rush of fear clamps down over me at the sight. My breath catches, heart skipping in my chest as I imagine what battle remains might lurk there, until I suddenly realize this isn’t the main spaceport. The platform is too clean, too small. Green plants still wend their way through the cracks in the landing pad, and there’s barely a puddle of black sap in sight. The enviro-shield surrounding the platform must have protected the pad, at least, from the fire, if not the surrounding forest.

I release a sigh, and the hammering of my heart eases just the smallest bit. Screwing up my courage, I start walking toward the auxiliary ’port. My gaze drifts over each of the others in turn, seemingly unaware of my presence as they go about their work. No one seems to take any notice of me until—

“Look! Over there!”

Though I knew they’d eventually see me, I still miss a step at the sudden cry. Shouts ring out as more soldiers catch wind of my presence, and I stop, suddenly hesitant to walk any farther. One of the men snaps an order. With a few lingering looks, the others quickly retreat, melting back into the seared trees until only the officer and one other—a corpsman of some sort, judging by the kit slung over his shoulder—remain. They approach me slowly, weapons holstered though both seem ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

I frown faintly at their defensive body language. It’s almost as though they’re scared of me, though what threat they might find in a lone teenage girl as bruised, burnt, and battered as I, I can hardly fathom.

I take a step back, only belatedly realizing that while I may not be a threat to them, they may be a threat to me. My eyes narrow as I scan the two men, trying to place them. Not locals, at least not anyone I recognize, and certainly not academy. Not security either, though their uniforms are black from head to toe. Crisp and black and, like their faces, clean. Way too clean for anyone who went through the inferno that swept through here only hours—days?—ago, which means they must be from off-world.

Rubbing my eyes to get the ash out of them, I squint at their collars once more, staring at the insignia until the gold blurs suddenly clarify into familiar pairs of stylized gold wings. My jaw drops.

They’re Navy.

All the air leaves my lungs in a single whoosh. I told everyone I would make them come back. I told them I’d do something so big, so significant that the military would have to return . . . and now they finally have. After nearly seven months of starving and fleeing and fighting and dying, I’ve made them come back to the planet they abandoned to the enemy. They’ve returned to the people they left for dead.

And now we are.

My eyes slide over the two soldiers once again. With their pale faces and wide eyes, they look like men who have seen a ghost. Worse, like men who are still seeing that ghost—in me.

My breath catches, and like a stun bolt sliding seamlessly through my heart, the truth that’s been staring me in the face ever since I linked eighteen people in a row with no response hits me squarely between the eyes.

Everyone is dead.

I suspected it when I tried to contact the others only to be told they couldn’t be found. I feared it when I emerged from the river to find Iolanthe in ashes. I sensed it when I walked for klicks through the ruined forest without seeing signs of a single living thing. And now I see it in the stunned expressions of the soldiers, who after stars know how many days here have yet to find a single survivor.

Until me.

A hysterical giggle trills from my mouth. They’re all gone. Enemy and friend alike, they’ve all suffered the same fate, and only now that they’ve all perished, burned alive within an inferno that brokered no escape, has the Navy come to clean up the remains.

Remains. As though there’s anything left to find in this ash heap.

Something about that thought strikes me as funny. Another giggle bubbles out, and then another, and suddenly I’m doubled over, arms around my waist, laughing and laughing like there’s no tomorrow. At some point, the coughing starts again, razing my throat with a pain so sharp it brings tears to my eyes, and yet still I can’t seem to stop; I just keep on laughing and coughing and crying while the ashes of Iolanthe swirl around at my feet.

“Hey, now.”

Hands catch me from either side, looping around my waist and holding me fast as coughs continue to rack my lungs. I struggle mindlessly against them, thrashing weakly within their grasp, but I can’t fight the spasms and the soldiers. All I can do is ride out the storm in their arms. When the coughing fit finally subsides, they walk me over to the landing platform. I ease myself gingerly down onto the edge.

The officer hands me the canteen from his belt. “Drink.”

Cool water flows down my throat, dislodging the soot and easing the worst of the irritation. I drink and drink, downing half the canteen in one gulp until finally I choke, spilling water over my chin as I accidentally regurgitate a bit. Embarrassed, I clutch the canteen to my chest with one hand while swiping the other over my mouth. Slowly, I lift my eyes to the soldiers.

“Are you okay?” The officer’s voice is deep and rich. Not entirely trusting my own, I merely nod. At my assent, he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Teal.” The voice that comes out of my throat is a stranger’s, raspy and hoarse. I cough a few times in a futile attempt to clear my throat and try again. “W-who are you?”

“I’m Ensign Gao of the CES Starstruck, and this is Chief Riegert,” the officer says with a nod to the other man. “He’s our best corpsman, Teal, and it looks like you could use some medical attention. Do you mind if he takes a quick look at you?”

At my assent, Riegert pulls out a medical scanner and begins doing a cursory exam.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

“On Iolanthe?” Gao clarifies. “We dropped into orbit approximately seventy-two hours ago, spent several hours doing some preliminary scans, and have been planetside ever since.”

Three days!

The shock must show on my face, for Gao raises one eyebrow. After a moment, he adds, “We’ve done several scans of the planet now, both when we arrived and later, but we didn’t spot you in any of them. Do you know why that might be?”

“I was hidden. In the river.”

“Ah, that would explain it. There’s a band of sholanite in the riverbed; it has a tendency to mess with our instruments.” He pauses. “I don’t suppose there was anyone else with you?”

“No. I mean, yes, but not in the river. There were others, but we got separated. In the fire.”

“I see.”

Silence descends. Riegert finishes checking my eyes and moves on to my ears, gently tilting my head with one hand while directing the scanner with the other. It’s painless, or rather, it causes no more pain than I’m already in. I endure the examination quietly, taking slow breaths as he moves from one ear to the other, and then—

“They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

Gao starts a little, clearly shocked by my sudden question. He opens his mouth, and I can almost see the lie forming in his eyes . . . and then he stops. Looks me straight in the eye and answers, “Yes, most likely. The fire burned through everything, and the canopy acted like a blanket, trapping the smoke in. The ones who managed to avoid the flames were overcome by smoke inhalation. Until you wandered by, we didn’t think anyone had survived.”

I stare dumbly out over the ashes, the response expected but impossible to answer all the same. From the corner of my eye, Gao watches me apprehensively, clearly waiting for me to vac out again, but all I can do is sit silently. After a minute, he asks, “Do you know how the fire started?”

I take a sudden breath. Though I knew the question would eventually come, I’m still completely unprepared to answer it. My heart ticks up a beat, pattering like hummingbird in my chest, but before I can speak, something sharp pricks my upper arm.

“Ow! What was that?” I ask, jumping to my feet and rubbing the tender spot on my bicep as the needle withdraws from my arm.

“Just a routine test,” the corpsman quickly explains. “Standard on terraformed planets like this. Nothing to worry about.”

My indignation softens. Considering Iolanthe’s history as a plague world, I can hardly blame them for wanting to make sure I’m not carrying anything nasty. With a nod, I settle back onto the edge of the platform. Gao is still watching me, waiting for an answer about the fire, and to buy time, I take another swig from the canteen. Behind me, I can hear a random assortment of sounds as Riegert messes around with his kit, along with an odd sloshing noise. A minute passes, and then—

“Ensign?”

At the corpsman’s quiet summons, Gao glances at me. “One moment.”

Striding away, he joins Riegert a few meters away. A thread of apprehension winds through my gut as they quietly confer. Ignoring the pain in my hands, I silently scoot down the platform toward them to listen.

“. . . but is she . . .” the officer murmurs sotto voce.

The chief flashes Gao a peek at something hidden in his hand and minutely nods. “But not . . .” he adds, with a slight shake of his head.

At that cryptic reply, the officer lets out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to me with an unreadable look. An uneasy feeling creeps into the pit of my stomach. Something about their reaction bothers me. They seem both more scared of me and less at the same time, as though one fear about me was allayed while another was confirmed.

Carefully getting up from the platform, I glance between the two of them, face screwed up in consternation as I try to determine just what’s going on. “What?” I demand. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Gao walks over and takes my shoulder. “Why don’t we go to our shuttle? I’m sure you haven’t eaten for a while. We can get you some food and additional medical atten—”

At the obvious dodge, alarm bells go ringing through my head. I jerk my shoulder from his grasp and stumble back a few steps. “No! I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Now, calm down—”

“It’s okay, Teal, no one’s going to hurt you—”

The two men speak at once, their voices low and soothing as they step toward me. I take another step back, and they stop, exchanging a quick look before turning back to me, though neither tries to approach me again. Riegert holds up his hands in a gesture of placation. “Now Teal, it’s natural to be afraid after what you’ve been through—”

He tilts his left hand, and a burst of color glints from his fingers as the sun catches the object he’s holding. Déjà vu slams me over the head like a hammer. Without thinking, I leap forward and rip the item from his hand.

Not expecting the attack, he lets it go, and clutching my prize to my chest, I back away once again. Riegert tenses, clearly planning to take it back, but Gao stops him at the last second with a hand on his shoulder. He minutely shakes his head. The corpsman opens his mouth as if to argue, but whatever he sees in his superior’s eyes puts paid to any dissent. With a sigh, he steps back. Gao’s hand drops.

I eye them for a long moment, wondering if this is some sort of trap, but neither makes a move toward me. Instead, they simply wait, staring patiently at me through resigned eyes as if to say, It’s your move.

Feeling temporarily safe, I dare to unclench my hand and look at the object I managed to snag.

It’s a vial.

A very familiar-looking vial—the sort used to test blood for the presence of a squatter. I’ve used vials like this multiple times during my stint on Iolanthe. Sometimes we were lucky, and they came up clear. Most of the time, we were lucky, and they came up clear.

A few times, they came up a deep royal purple.

The same shade of purple that’s in the vial now clutched in my hand.