The next day's travel had a satisfying lack of heart-stopping moments. Snillek still found the landscape monotonous, but she was willing to deal with that if it meant an absence of large hordes of arachnids who wanted to use them as baby food. Twice she had to discourage predatory avians from getting too close, but she warned them off with roars and wide shots.
Gruyère said they were at risk species, and could Snillek try not to kill them, please. Not a hardship, of course. She'd much rather avoid killing anything not directly, immediately engaged in trying to murder her.
About an hour after midday, Gruyère slowed the platform and came around in a wide circle. She circled the same terraced formation twice before she pointed and whispered, "There."
Snillek followed that pointing finger and for a few heartbeats saw nothing. She was about to say so when a piece of rock moved. Once spotted, she realized many parts of the rock shifted and subtly changed pattern—a wing, a graceful neck, a tail. Slowly, she began to piece them together despite their camouflage.
"Ah. Dragon moths."
"Yes. Can we set down and get a closer look? Just for a few minutes?"
Gruyère's dark eyes held worlds of hope and eager excitement. How in all shards was Snillek supposed to say no to that? It would be like kicking a tizka pup.
"Of course. It's your hover platform."
"Don't you have a deadline or something?"
Snillek shrugged. "I have to get me back by Winterfest. Plenty of time."
"Yes." Gruyère did a hip-shifting little dance behind her control stick and eased the platform down to a flat surface on the formation nearest the dragon moths' rock. "I don't know how close they'll let me get before they spook, so no loud noises, okay?"
"I promise not to roar at the tiny, dangerous dragons."
Gruyère gave her a side-eye. "You know it's hard to tell if you're joking sometimes, right? Especially with that helmet on."
Obligingly, Snillek removed her helmet and hooked it to her belt, making certain her expression was as flat and bland as possible. "Better?"
"Not… really." Gruyère shook her head as she opened the platform and retrieved a smaller bag from her pack, grumbling about paladins who thought they were funny.
While she hooked various instruments to her belt, Snillek started the slow descent from their rock formation, determined to make sure Gruyère had a safe path down. How embarrassing would that be, to bring her safe through hordes of hungry giant arachnids, only to have her die in a fall? However it happened, she's under my protection. The Guild would revoke my license.
Even though it was difficult with her shorter legs, Gruyère ignored—or pretended not to see— Snillek's offered hand on her way down. Stubborn. Independent. Hanging onto bits of pride tooth and claw—er, nail. All things Snillek understood on a bone-deep level. Not that they were anything alike, First Egg forbid, but little bits of common ground often helped a working relationship.
Slowly, though she practically vibrated with excited energy, Gruyère approached the dragon moths' rock. She set up vid recorders in four spots around the rock and a couple of instruments Snillek couldn't immediately identify. Finally, she crept closer.
The dragon moths spotted her, rising in a susurration of wings, a brief exclamation point rising toward the sky before they settled back down on their rock. Surprised, then, but not frightened. Encouraged, Snillek followed behind, one slow step at a time, stopping when Gruyère stopped. In full researcher mode, Gruyère consulted instruments as she went and spoke in a constant stream of soft words into a recording device—measurements, observations, descriptions.
"There are size differences, too many to assign as gender-specific characteristics. Head proportions to body size are considerably larger in the smaller dragons, pointing to immature individuals," Gruyère said into her recorder as a dragon moth helpfully spread its wings for a measurement.
Then she tipped her head back to take in the dragons near the top of the formation, and Snillek's heart gave an odd thud. Gruyère's ordinary human face was suddenly beautiful, with her smile so excited, her dark eyes so full of wonder. No. Don't be stupid. Feelings are stupid. It's just nice to see her happy and being herself.
"Up there, Snillek. Do you see them?" Gruyère pointed to a group of dragon moths clinging to the anvil-shaped top of the formation. "The four there—their heads are flatter. Bellies rounder."
"I see them. The one in the middle's bigger? Different kind of dragon moth?"
"No, I don't think so. The marking patterns are the same." Gruyère had reached the foot of the rock where some of the dragon moths had come closer to examine her, tugging at her hair and clothes with their tiny feet. "I think we're looking at a hive-like social structure. Look! The smaller ones are bringing things to the big one. Queen, maybe? With her drones?"
"I guess—" Snillek took a hasty step forward in alarm, startling the flock, as Gruyère climbed onto the first terrace of rock. "I don't think you should get that close."
"They're not being aggressive at all," Gruyère objected and climbed to the next level.
"What if they're venomous?"
Gruyère shot her an indulgent look. "They don't even have teeth. Just proboscises."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Just a quick bit of data gathering. I'll just be a couple minutes."
Snillek tried her best to keep the concern from her expression by trying to say proboscises under her breath over and over. Mostly it sounded like she couldn't figure out where the word ended. The rock wasn't that high. Maybe five meters. Despite her short legs, Gruyère climbed fearlessly, as fast as the shifting dragon moths allowed.
When she reached the cluster of larger dragon moths, she kicked her toes into the rock for stability and pulled out her instruments again. Using both hands. Therefore, no hands on the rock. Snillek hissed through her teeth in distress but reasoned that shouting up Be careful would only cause a distraction and increase the chances of a fall.
"The smaller dragons bring food for this single larger one, leaving the grubs and small insects by its head." Gruyère was speaking to her recording equipment again. "We'll call them workers for now. It's an enormous temptation to identify this largest member of the social group as the queen. The distended belly could be due to egg or live-young gestation. The flatheaded companions could be drones or midwives, but most likely not protective soldiers, since they don't exhibit any defensive behavior, even when I reach over for measurements of the queen."
The zoology chatter went on as Gruyère talked about markings, coloration, neck length, and wingspan. None of the beasties attacked, Gruyère didn't make any overtly reckless moves, and Snillek relaxed from active alarm to watchful vigilance.
Alarm returned when Gruyère pulled something that looked like a small concussion grenade.
"What is that?"
Gruyère didn't turn her head when she answered, "Camera microbot. If I can get it placed on this possibly royal mom, it'll be able to go with her and record what she does. Up to and including, I hope, laying her clutch or giving birth. They don't seem to mind the small instruments, so it's probably just the size of the drones that's been scaring them."
One of the queen's companions—Snillek couldn't help thinking of them as her courtiers—nose-bumped Gruyère's hand. She extended a single finger for a gentle boop and then, apparently, nothing would do but for all the courtiers to receive nose boops, as if they couldn't bear to have Gruyère playing favorites.
Typical.
After her successful visit with queen and court, Gruyère started back down, but now the rank-and-file dragon moths found her more interesting. This made the descent far more challenging as she tried not to tread on delicate wings and tiny feet.
Instinctively, Snillek edged closer.
Everything went well until the second terrace down, where a grouping of five dragon moths startled at the appearance of Gruyère's boot in their midst. They rose up, flapping around her head, and as she tried her best to keep her hands from bumping any of them, she lost her grip.
For one terrible stretched-out moment, Gruyère was falling, feet kicking empty air, arms windmilling while the universe stood still. Snillek recognized the high, thin hum in her head as adrenaline rush, and suddenly the world slammed back into motion as she leaped onto the terrace directly in front of her, launched off the rock, and caught Gruyère against her chest.
It was a hard landing, taking Snillek down to one knee, but otherwise not a bad one. She knelt there on the rocky ground, breath whistling through her teeth, and did not—at all—think about all the soft places pressing up against her.
"Um." Gruyère cleared her throat. "Hey, there."
Snillek made the mistake of glancing down into dark eyes, still huge from shock. Falling into those eyes would be a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. Still, she couldn't tear her gaze away as she replied—stupidly, "Hello."
"I, ah, I think I can stand okay. I'm fine."
"Good."
"I'm trying to say you can put me down?"
"Oh. Yes." Grateful that she had lots of practice with bland expressions, Snillek set Gruyère on her feet. "I told you that was a bad idea."
"It was a great idea. I collected more in that few minutes than I have in two years at the university." Gruyère poked at her armor with one finger. "And I would've been okay. Wasn't that far up." Her excited smile slid sideways as her gaze dropped to their feet, the pairs only a few inches apart. "But thank you for the catch."
You're very welcome. All part of the job ma'am. You make a habit of falling into people's arms? Did you have to prove, again, that scientists can't help doing dumb things? Any of those, polite or snarky, said out loud would've been fine. Instead, Snillek only managed a terse, "Sure."
At least she'd also kept the hard face-palm internal as well.
Reluctantly, with many glances back at the dragon-moth flock, Gruyère packed her gear away inside the hover platform and clambered back to her driver's spot. The longing looks made Snillek want to say, It’s all right. We can come back another time. But this freedom was temporary, and she had duties waiting for her as a planetary ruler. This was probably the last adventure she'd get to go on for a long time.
"Ready?" Gruyère asked when Snillek joined her on the platform.
I should be asking you that. Snillek tipped her head toward their previous flight path. "Onward."
"You say the best paladin things."
It sounded like genuine teasing, and despite a little growl, Snillek smiled behind her faceplate.
The platform rose smoothly, startling pockets of dragon moths, but only briefly. Beautiful creatures, their ever-changing wings sparking hints of gold in the sun. A wave of gratitude enveloped Snillek for being given the chance to see them, to be among them. Fine. Maybe scientists aren't stupid all the time.
They stopped that evening on a wider plateau as the land began to shift from continuous waves of jutting rock to more predictable formations. The stream canyons they passed were tempting, offering quicker passage than rock hopping, but Gruyère avoided them. One harrowing scorparach gauntlet was enough for this trip. Honestly, she was fine with no scorparach encounters for the rest of her life.
The space between them felt different this time, though. More comfortable, maybe. At least Snillek didn't ignore her.
"So what's next, Science Human?" Snillek asked as she unpacked her tent. "We reached the tiny dragons, so are we getting close to larger dragon country?"
"Getting there." Gruyère ignored the epithet that didn't sound entirely flattering as she sorted through her food choices and picked out a cream of something. They always tasted the same, so cream of what didn't really matter. "This terrain has a couple of recorded intermediate species. Solitaries. Small family units. Nothing much bigger than a housecat."
Snillek found a convenient rock seat and took off her helmet. The little thud of Gruyère's heart on seeing her face again? No. That hadn't happened.
Those Dzedek eye ridges rose a couple centimeters. "So, there's a dragon-size grade along with the elevation until we hit the mountains?"
"It's a hypothesis." Gruyère shrugged. "The species seem to increase in size at higher elevations, but no one's seen the big dragons since the initial settlement days."
"So they're probably extinct," Snillek muttered, leaning sideways to rummage in her pack for dinner.
"We just don't know. The drones don't have enough range to go that far and, well, Tarribotians just don't go out to the hinterlands."
"That's all right. Maybe we'll find a huge scale or a dragon bone to satisfy the court."
"That would work?" Gruyère couldn't help a puzzled frown. "Here, lords and ladies, I killed the dragon that kidnapped the princess. I brought you a… scale?"
"Probably not. Especially if they're extinct and it's an old, dried-out scale." Snillek heaved a put-upon sigh. "They're silly and self-absorbed, the courtiers. My courtiers. But they're not stupid."
She sounded so discouraged Gruyère felt like she had to say something. "We'll figure something out."
A fleeting smile skittered over Snillek's face before she nodded and dug into her grubs du jour.
"Something that doesn't result in dragon death," Gruyère went on quickly, though Snillek only huffed at that. Right. Too much repetition equaled annoying. "What deity do you serve?"
"Hmm?"
"Don't paladins usually swear to a deity?"
"Oh. That." Snillek tipped her head from side to side. "Kind of old-fashioned idea these days. Sure. Some paladins are religious. I'm not a fan of most of the ones I've met. Rigid farking superior… Though I did meet a Dionysian paladin once." She stopped to tap her spoon on her chin. "Interesting person. But no, most of us swear to the ideals of the guild—defend the helpless, answer when called upon, protect those under our guardianship, and on like that."
Gruyère wasn't much for religion, either. Her father had been a Lavathian with the end of the universe around every corner. Still… "You don't believe in anything, then?"
"Ha. I believe the universe thinks it's funny and laughs at us whenever it can."
"A little cynical for a paladin, don't you think?"
Snillek pointed with her spoon. "You're not cynical enough for a scientist." Then under her breath, though Gruyère still heard, "They'll eat you alive."
"Not the first time I've heard it," Gruyère muttered back and turned her attention to her dinner.
Of course she knew idealists got chewed up and spit out in the sciences. The galaxy, at least the human part, thought science had to be for something, that it had to have a direct benefit to business, health, or agriculture. Science wasn't supposed to be for science's sake, and science that didn't serve a purpose defined by businessmen and politicians didn't get much funding.
She must have let it show on her face, since Snillek shook her head and said softly… gently, "I didn't say I agree with what I've seen of human science. Just that it's a career that could break your heart."
"I know. But it's what I've wanted since I was little." Gruyère cleared the squeak from her voice and managed to ask, "So why did you want to be a paladin?"
Without missing a beat, with a completely straight face, Snillek answered. "Idealism."
Gruyère gave her a too-serious nod in return. "So we're both idiots."
"Apparently."
They each laughed in their own way—Snillek chuckling into her can of grubs, Gruyère hard enough that her front-most braids swung in tandem with her rocking back and forth—and it felt right. Comfortable. If someone had told her the year before that she would be sitting in warm companionship with a ferocious Dzedek warrior, she would've laughed just as hard.
That was what the warmth was, of course. Companionship out in the field—and it was great to have someone with her who was both competent and not condescending. Yep. Nothing more than that.
A stiff breeze wandered over their plateau, and Gruyère fought a shiver. They were climbing as they headed toward the Black-Pine mountain range, which didn't have any pines at all but had been named for the planetary explorers Tek Black and Geranium Pine. The night temps would continue to drop.
The thermal blanket would be enough, wouldn't it? She eyed it skeptically as they cleaned up and stowed gear after dinner. Still, it's what I brought, so it needs to be enough.
The sun set, and while the temperature didn't plummet, it dropped steadily. Gruyère wrapped herself up tight in her blanket roll, tucking her chin to get her nose inside her blanket nest. The breeze still tugged at the top of her head, and even with her coat on, she kept shivering. She'd warm up eventually, right? Just like stuffing my feet under the blankets on a cold night at home. It just takes time.
Except her little apartment didn't have wind blowing through it, nor was her mattress made of chilled stone.
She'd resigned herself to not sleeping that night, since she couldn't get warm, when a hesitant throat clearing pulled her head partially out of her cocoon. Snillek was watching her from the entrance to her shelter with a deep frown.
"The tent. It reconfigures to accommodate two."
"Does it?"
Snillek emerged from her tent, pushed a few supports, and suddenly the circumference had increased by half. "It does. We're climbing, so it'll just get colder. Makes sense for us to share space. My shelter. Your blanket. So we don't freeze in our sleep."
"That's a smart idea."
Gruyère knew perfectly well that a fancy tent like that was going to keep Snillek warm all by itself, but she wasn't going to say that and ruin the offer. She fought her way free of her blanket roll and scurried on hands and knees over to Snillek's tent. With some careful maneuvering and some stray elbows and knees causing grunts and apologies, they managed to curl up together in the little tent with Snillek as the big spoon—of course—and the blanket spread over them.
For a few minutes, Gruyère still shivered, but Snillek was a furnace at her back, and the tent kept out the wind. Soon her muscles relaxed, and she drifted off, warm and secure.