and sorrow in her voice, and it occurred to me she may understand my own loss better than I ever had. But I thought it better to pretend I hadn’t noticed.
Long rotiks had passed but still I didn’t sleep. I listened to CeCe’s steady breathing, and gratified that her body healed and would only get stronger as time passed, I could find my own rest.
But then she thrashed. Alert, I sat up, looking for cave insects or another threat, but spied nothing.
She cried out. “I don’t know where it is!”
The thrashing stopped, but then she whimpered, and the sound was so mournful and bereft, that I could no longer withstand the urge to awaken and comfort her.
Scooping her into my arms, I sang a lullaby until her cries softened and disappeared.
“It was a terror-dream,” I whispered. “Nothing more. The promise of two suns beckons from the horizon. The light of day will burn the bad memories into ashes.”
She didn’t respond, so she must have remained sleeping through it, and I could lay her down, but I chose not to. There was a rightness about the way she fit across my lap: the way her body curled into me. The way my arms surrounded her.
Leaning against a wall, I locked my armor and fell asleep like that.
A strong but small hand rested on my cheek, and I groaned.
“We should probably get going,” CeCe said, and I started.
“You are in my lap,” I announced needlessly.
“Is your armor rusty?” she asked, a cheeky smile threatening to erupt on her face. “I can’t move.”
Embarrassed, I unlocked my armor and apologized. “You suffered from bad dreams or bad memories,” I said by way of excuse. “When you didn’t waken, I worried, but then you stilled in my arms. I apologize if I overstepped.”
Her smile brightened the cave, and my heart jolted.
“Thank you,” she said. “Were you singing to me? I didn’t want you to stop. It reminded me of ….” She paused. “It reminded me of simpler times.”
When I met her gaze, she reached toward me and petted my cheek once more.
“So, thank you.”
“Of course,” I said, feeling warmth flood my face.
We hastened to pack our belongings and join the robot that stood sentinel outside the cave’s entrance.
“We may reunite with our group today,” I said, hope staining my voice with unaccustomed cheer. “Had you considered you might communicate with them via your helmet?”
She avoided my gaze as she fussed with her rucksack, but I waited.
“Yes, yes,” she said, eyes darting about the cave as if to check for missing items. She kicked at the coals in the fire. “I should do that. Just haven’t found the right time.”
A subtle sniff of the air detected more confusion peppered with reluctance. I wouldn’t remark on it. For whatever reason, CeCe didn’t wish to call her fellows yet. Without truly knowing her, I couldn’t begin to guess her reasons, so I withheld judgment. I was but her companion traveler. Perhaps one day we could be friends. And a friend wouldn’t judge.
VELMA marked our route though I knew the way, and we hiked the downward sloping path until we reached the place where we needed to employ the ropes and anchors; several crevasses lay between our position and the entrance to the undermountain passageways.
The robot led the way, bolting anchors with ease, and we soon followed.
Climbing took our focus, and we traversed the first crevasse of many with ease.
I waited for signs of CeCe’s distress or fatigue, but she remained energetic and grew more powerful with every passing rotik. I wondered if she noticed her strength but decided not to bring it to her attention.
The benefits of her armor may serve as a double blade, piercing her with disappointment and regret even as her body healed.
We were working our way up the east face of another crevasse when CeCe screamed then cut off. Panicked, I looked up, calculating how fast I could get to her when I saw that she hung on to one handhold while flailing her right hand about with furious strokes.
“CeCe?” I asked, zooming in on her hand to focus my sight-capture. “Ah, the rock bugs,” I said, seeing the skittering fanged beetles with red eyes. “Do not fret; they are harmless.”
“They’re crawling into the joints,” she said, her voice frantic. “They’re going to get all over me!” She started bashing her arm against the rock wall.
“It is fine,” I said. “They will not penetrate the gel barrier. Your shel will devour them,” I said. “Countless bugs may enter at the joints; they are but snacks for the hungry shel. You are safe.”
CeCe smacked her hand against the rock twice more and shook it, then looked down at me in the space created between her arm and waist. Though her helmet obscured her eyes, I sensed them burning into me with fury.
“Stop. Talking.”
Shocked, I nodded until she broke contact and climbed faster than before. When we cleared the ledge, she jogged several veltiks away and threw her helmet off her head. Retching, she lost several meals’ worth before she sat back on her haunches and replaced her helmet.
When I would have offered her comfort, she made a cutting motion with her hand, and I bowed my head.
I knew how she felt about the shel. But I couldn’t grasp why the news that they would prevent the bugs from sneaking beneath her armor wasn’t met with relief. But CeCe was a human, and I must not forget that. We had generations of cultural mores and traditions that may compete with each other until we understood more about our histories and peoples.
We trekked in silence, though doubts clamored in my head louder than the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer. Would a chasm of silence and doubt always yawn between us?