Chapter Forty-Three

WE GOT THE full tale from the rest of the crew as the commotion died down. All through the forest, they’d felt the explosion. We’d witnessed the collapse of the second peak, but that was only the beginning of the devastation we’d wrought. Ton upon ton of stone crashed into the habitations below. A flood of lava, now free of its mountain channels, rushed after the stone.

It had taken the Lava Dwellers entirely by surprise, so the ensuing destruction had been nearly complete. Those who were not crushed under solid rock faced a worse death in molten rock. A handful escaped—some hunters who had been out of the camp at the time, and those who managed to outrun their compatriots.

But in one incredible, unwitting move, the professor had reduced the long-term nemesis of the Genesis mission to a handful of stragglers, bereft of their homes and community.

No army could have hoped to achieve so much wanton destruction and death by design as the professor had managed through sheer incompetence.

And for this, they heralded him as a hero. I could understand why the Nation saw it this way. We hadn’t told them what a miserable mess we’d made of everything, for starters. So they didn’t know that they celebrated a panicked, trigger-happy dumbass who almost got us all killed. We didn’t volunteer that information, and neither did Bak. I couldn’t say why the Keplerite kept our secret, but it probably didn’t hurt that he had suddenly become a national hero too.

That didn’t bother me. There was good, sound strategic thinking behind the decision. A revelation of “oh, by the way, we’re actually a bunch of dumbasses who almost brought a mountain down on ourselves and, in the process, killed a bunch of people” would surely hurt us more than help us. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life having my work second- and third-guessed for fear I’d destroy the forest or trigger some other calamity.

So that didn’t bother me. What bothered me was the fact that everywhere I went, people had turned out to celebrate mass destruction and death. I couldn’t shake the feeling that among all of those people we’d killed, surely there must have been some civilians and some innocents. They hadn’t all been warriors and cannibals, had they?

But to the Nation, there were no innocents among the cannibals, except the captured members of their own people; and death would be a better fate than what the Lava Dwellers had in store for a captive.

On some level, I got it. These people had spent thousands of years being hunted as prey. They’d seen their loved ones dragged off to be butchered. They’d watched cannibals feast on the flesh of fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters. So, I understood their perspective. The death of the cannibals meant no more midnight raids, no more kidnappings, no more screams in the middle of the night.

I understood, but still I grieved that humankind had come to this. I grieved that here, on our new world, where the follies of humanity’s time on Earth were supposed to be nothing more than memories—even here, the answer was always death. Ours or theirs, us versus them. Not even thousands of years and a new planet could rid us of that brutal binary.

I sat for a long time at the feast in melancholic and fatalistic thought. And so I might have remained, except that Gat brought out the spirits. This was another, and better, constant of humanity: we’d never found a crop we wouldn’t try fermenting and distilling.

I found I didn’t like most of what I’d tried, but I didn’t drink for flavor. Anyway, our discriminating tastes had gone out the window when we had to rely on MREs. It didn’t really matter that it felt like drinking liquid fire and tasted worse. If it did its job, the taste wouldn’t be noticed after a few rounds.

And the Keplerite brews and spirits did the job.

Pretty soon, I forgot my moral qualms. I set to eating. The promised feast was not the stuff of Earth lore, where kings gathered around tables overflowing with the bounty of field and forest. We had no roasted fowl or freshly hunted game here. We had a hundred types of food set before us, and more than we could ever eat in a sitting—but all of them were meatless.

I wasn’t sure if I was happy or not about that. Though everything served tasted excellent, I missed meat. Part of me would give my right arm for a good steak at the moment. But then my mind would wander back to the cannibals, for whom that right arm would be a good meal. And then I thought I could never eat another bite of meat as long as I lived.

In the end, I drank more than I should have, and ate enough. Perversely, though, my mood only deteriorated as the night wore on. My initial melancholy had made way for excitement and that, in turn, brought me only emptiness—and melancholy all over again.

It seemed to me I was once again useless. The cannibals had been defeated—this time, permanently. So what use was I to the group? I wouldn’t even have to go along for those herb runs Kayleigh made.

And, inexorably, my thoughts would linger on Kayleigh. They often did these days; it had been she who filled the lion’s share of my pleasant thoughts these past months, she alone who I eagerly waited to see day after day. But now, the sensation was one of sadness, as if someone had punched a deep, empty hole through me.

Kayleigh sat at a table across from me with Marge and Gat and a host of others, drinking far less than I and seeming to enjoy herself far more. God, she’s beautiful. I started as the thought crossed my mind. She was, of course, but somehow, I’d never really considered it before.

She seemed at ease, there among the Keplerites. They loved her and respected her. She had a future here; I had no doubt.

Again, that empty feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, just as it had when she’d been recognized as an herbalist. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, but the deeper a part of the Nation she became, the further away from our shared experiences she seemed to get. And that hurt with a physical pain not even the Keplerite drink could alleviate, although I did my best to prove otherwise.

I’d gotten through either my fifth or sixth serving of a particularly noxious grain-based brew when I had an epiphany. I was in love with Kayleigh.

I turned that thought around in my head and couldn’t deny it. The feeling had been growing on me for some time. And now, I couldn’t escape it. I didn’t think it improved my situation. On the contrary, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to have the opposite effect—turning a vague wound into a pronounced one.

She had purpose and meaning here. She had a calling. She could do great things and help many. And me? I was a washed-up soldier with nothing to offer anyone, a washed-up soldier in love with her.

It didn’t help matters that people would randomly drop by to offer their congratulations and thanks. As one of the triumphant band of imbeciles, I had to accept these well-wishes with good grace. But in the moment, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want congratulations for a job well done. I was an imposter, enjoying stolen glory, a fool, nursing a wounded heart. I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never leave.

Not even the parting conversation of Dr. Kimutai, for whom the party had become too much, did much to boost my mood. My thoughts were at once muddled with drink and far, far away. I barely heard half of what he said. In the end, he turned to his own quarters to retire, but not without leaving me with a bemused pat on the shoulder and a warning to watch how much I drank lest I find myself saddled with the mother of all hangovers the next morning.

I took no heed. Indeed, with each new dose of liquid courage, I began to formulate something like a plan. I would tell her, Kayleigh, how I felt. No more of this waiting around, my mind kicked in. It’s time for action. Take the bull by the horns. Haste makes waste. I frowned. No, that wasn’t right. Who dares, wins. That was better.

Having settled on the right catchphrase for my new mission, I decided to bide my time. Kayleigh had been eying the exit. It wouldn’t be long now before she followed Kimutai. I’d time my own retreat to coincide.

So a little while later, I was smiling—simpering, probably—into my mug at what a bold, brilliant plan I’d concocted when a voice sounded behind me. The voice. I nearly choked on my brew but managed to pull myself together without looking like too much of an idiot. “Kay-Kayleigh.” How she’d crept up on me, I had no clue, One minute, she’d been at the table over, and suddenly, here she was. Maybe I was drunker than I realized.

“Well,” she said, regarding me with a measure of amusement. “No need to ask if you’ve been enjoying the party, Nikkole.”

For a moment, I didn’t understand, but then I followed the direction of her gaze toward the line of emptied glasses and mugs before me. “Oh. That.”

She smiled. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“You’re leaving?” The words I’d planned evaporated in a kind of haze.

“Yes. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh. Me too.”

“Well, then, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Then I remembered my purpose and something about haste and waste. I knew that wasn’t right. But it didn’t matter. “Kayleigh, wait.” She turned midstep. “Kayleigh, there’s…” I tried to control the uncertainty in my tone. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“Um. Not here.” I stood far too quickly and was glad of her hand to steady me. In a minute, my senses stopped swimming, and I led her a little ways away from the main throng. “Kayleigh, the thing is. That is.” I was drunker than hell and somehow still tongue-tied as I stared into her eyes.

“Nikkole, are you okay?”

I waved away her concern, willing myself to do it. Grab the horns by the bull. No, that’s not it. I couldn’t remember my catchphrase. But I didn’t need it. So, impulsively, I blurted out, “I love you.”

Briefly, she stood completely still. Then, she nodded and took my hand. “I know you do, Nikkole.” She smiled up at me, and I felt the blood pulsing through my head. She leaned in toward me, standing on tiptoes to bring her face to mine. Stunned by my success, I moved to kiss her.

But she circumvented my lips, planting her kiss on my cheek instead. Then she stood back and squeezed my hand. “But you need to tell me when you’re sober. Good night, Nik.”

And with that, she left, leaving me to watch her in stunned silence and ponder how she could possibly have known when I myself had only figured it out that evening.

*

I WOKE THE next morning to a marching band playing inside my head. I had no idea how I’d gotten back to my bed, and the air smelled vaguely like vomit. Light streamed in from outside, which only made matters worse.

I was mid-groan when I heard the rustling of footsteps on the floor. Starting upward, I immediately regretted my haste. My head swam and pain stabbed through my brain. I pressed my eyes shut against the blinding light.

“Take it easy; it’s just me.” Kayleigh’s voice. I opened my eyes, pain or no pain. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m bringing this.” She set a mug of something by my bed.

Images of the night before, or as much as I could remember anyway, were coming back to me. “What is it?”

“It’ll help with the hangover.” She grinned. “Don’t worry; you’re not the only one. We’ve been getting requests for a lot of these today.”

With that, she headed for the door in a swish of purple and white.

“Kayleigh, wait.” I had the feeling there was more to be said, but I couldn’t remember why, exactly. Every time I almost captured the thought, it flitted away. But I had a vague sense we had discussed something—something important. “Did we…did I say anything to you last night?”

She hesitated and shuffled in place, which meant that I had. “I don’t know, Nik…we all had a lot to drink. You were pretty hammered. I don’t remember half of what we said…”

Even as she stalled, it came back to me. All of it. “Shit.”

We stood in awkward silence for a full half a minute or better.

Then she said, “You should probably drink that.”

My head felt like it might split in two at any second, as much from the hangover as from the recollection of making an ass of myself. I figured she was probably right. I reached for the mug, and she turned again to leave. “No, wait. Don’t go. Let me drink this. But don’t go.”

“All right.” What followed were some of the most awkward moments of my life as I fought to regain both a modicum of clarity as well as dignity.

The substance—I refused to dignify it with the term medicine—she’d provided was absolutely appalling. If she’d mixed up a concoction of the devil’s bowels, ground and powdered, with the runoff from a leech field, it couldn’t have had a worse taste or texture. I would have preferred chewing a mouthful of coffee grounds. All of which I told her, and she laughed.

Still, it seemed to work in inverse proportions to its palatability. My head cleared—too soon, as it meant I had to address the looming elephant in the room. I wondered now if I, too, should have feigned drunken amnesia.

Who dares, wins, indeed, my mind taunted. Well, to hell with it then. I’d left myself with little choice, so I might as well get on with it. But first, I drew myself out of bed and got to my feet. A disheveled mess I might have been, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to have this conversation while lying back, nursing a hangover. “Kayleigh, what I was saying last night?”

She shifted again. I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Was she nervous or uncomfortable talking about it? And was it a good nervous or bad nervous? A let’s get the awkwardness over because I feel the same, or a God, I hope she doesn’t go there nervous?

“Nikkole, you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to. You were drinking; it’s not a big deal.”

“No,” I protested. “It wasn’t just that. I mean, I was drinking. But I meant it, Kayleigh. I’m in love with you.” Just as I said it, the smell of vomit hit my nose again, and I glanced down at my shirt. Sure enough, I was wearing remnants of last night’s good time.

Kayleigh, meanwhile, followed my gaze and tried, a second too late, to catch the laugh that burst forth. She pressed her hands to her mouth, and I probably cycled through every shade of red and crimson known to man. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Nik. I care for you too. It’s just…” She paused to catch her breath and stifle the last of her laughter. Still, she’d moved toward me, and now she wrapped her arms around my neck—steering clear of the streak running down my uniform. She might have been laughing at me, but all things considered, I remained hopeful. “I think you may be the least romantic woman I know, that’s all. And I love you anyway.”

I felt a wave of relief, and I laughed, too, conceding, “Well, my timing kind of sucks.” I was pretty sure there was no scenario in which waiting until you were drunk, or hungover and covered in puke, qualified as romantic.

She nodded. “It is the first time I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone who smells like you do.”