Robinson Crusoe 2245: (Book 2) (36 page)

“Here lies Jaras Saah, son of Vardan Saah, Tier of Ministry of Defense, and Janal Saah, Tier of Medicine. He died today of a broken heart. He was not made for this land, but may he, at last, find peace.”

Outside the terminal, Boss waited. An Aserra healer had wrapped her shoulder in a sling. She groused about it not being white.

“I knew you’d come back,” Robinson said when he and Friday found her.

“Like hell you did,” she said. “I would have stayed course except I realized I was short of coal. Thought that Flayer king fella might lend me some when he was done with you.”

“I guess I owe you one,” Robinson said.

Boss laughed and pulled out her ledger.

“Kid, you owe me a hell of a lot more than that.”

Robinson laughed too.

After attending to their wounded, the Aserra gathered outside. Robinson and Friday were told Chimosh wanted to see them.

He waited behind the terminal. His amputated wrist was wrapped, but he was gaunt from blood loss. They saw he had dozens more wounds.

“The day is won, as you promised,” Chimosh said. “I am grateful.”

“So am I,” Robinson replied. “Without the Aserra, I wouldn’t have her.”

Robinson pulled Friday tight. Chimosh smiled faintly.

“The Goddess has blessed us this day with the death of our enemies, and yet the princess’s beauty makes the price of that victory much harder to bear.”

Friday looked away.

“Trust me, Chimosh,” Robinson said, “this beauty comes with hardships you can’t imagine.”

Friday hit Robinson softly, but Chimosh chuckled. And then he winced from the pain.

“I gave my word. Should we win the day, I would strip you of our mark and let you go free. I am sorry to say I cannot honor that agreement.”

Robinson held his breath until Chimosh continued.

“For no man or woman who follows the path of the mountain may be stripped of their honor. I, Chimosh, last of my line, welcome you among us. Should you travel in this land or the next, know that in the eyes of the Goddess, you walk as one of the Aserra.”

Friday looked down, if only to hold back her tears.

“Princess of the people of the mountain, the fate of our clans now falls to you. They will be in need of leadership. Will you return them to our home?”

Friday raised her chin high. “I will do what is best for our people.”

Chimosh nodded. “Now, help me to my feet.”

Many around him voiced their disapproval, but Chimosh refused to listen.

“I will not die with my back to the battlefield. I am Aserra. I will leave the world as I came into it, facing the sun.”

Robinson and Friday helped Chimosh to his feet, and he turned toward the grove of trees that lay on the edge of the field. He walked until he was little more than a shadow. Then he collapsed and moved no more.

After reuniting with the rest of the tribe, Friday’s father sat at her side, doting on her endlessly. Although Robinson had been accepted among the Aserra, he couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. When the time came for the tribe to discuss their future, he took a walk to enjoy the cool night air.

Some time later, he heard footsteps approach.

“Have they decided?” he asked.

“Half voted to return to the old lands,” Friday said. “The mountain is marked. It is their right.”

“But?”

“My father and others believe the time has come to move on from some of the old ways. There is no longer any reason to … suffer proudly. There is good farmland all around us. They have decided to try their fate here.”

Robinson was surprised, but happy. It was the next question he dreaded asking. “Have they decided on a leader?”

Friday heard the tremor in his throat when he asked this. She answered quickly.

“Yes,” she said. “My father will lead them. In time, he will train another.”

“And you and me? Will we stay?”

This time, it was Friday who looked away.

“All my life I have wanted nothing more than this. To know an end to our enemies. To find a future I could see and touch. But, no. We cannot stay.”

Robinson felt an unexpected hope flowering inside him.

“Then you’ll come back with me to my home across the sea?”

When Friday looked at him, she had tears running down her face. Robinson was confused and scared.

“That I cannot do either. You deserve to see your people, to help build their future. But mine lies down a different path. One I must take alone.”

“What?” he said, incredulously. “You can’t be serious? You have to know I wouldn’t agree to that, not in a million years. Not unless … you no longer love me?”

She thought she might break then, but she was still Aserra.

“I will always love you,” she said.

“Then what is this?” he asked.

Friday took a heavy breath and looked up at the stars. They had never seemed so lovely, or so far away.

“In Atlanta, the man Saah retrieved something he called the protovirus. He
injected
me with it on the battlefield.”

“No!” Robinson cried out. He moved to grab her, but her arms held him back.

“I have not felt its effect, but it’s only a matter of time. Before I harm any who I love, including you, I must go.”

“No,” he said. “I won’t allow it. Do you hear me? I tromped across half this bloody country to find you. I’m not about to let you go now.”

“You know how the sickness works,” she said.

“But not the virus! After two hundred years, it could be inert. Or it could mutate into nothing.”

“Or it could kill everything, as it did before. So many questions and nowhere to find the answers.”

All of a sudden, something struck Robinson.

“What if there was?” he asked. “Somewhere to find the answers? A man I met—whom I traveled with—told me about a place where time marched on while the world crumbled around them. He said there were marvels there of science and medicine that went far beyond anything we’ve ever known. If there’s a cure anywhere in this world, maybe they have it.”

“You believe this place exists?” she asked. “This …”

“City of Glass,” Robinson said. “The man said it wasn’t real, but Boss said she knew someone who had seen it. If it exists, we could find it, Friday. We could leave tomorrow and search for it together. As long as takes. Even if it takes forever.”

“We don’t have forever,” she said.

“Why? Did Saah tell you…?”

She shook her head.

“If we find this city, it must be done by the end of next spring. Should I live that long.”

“Why? What happens next spring?”

Friday faced him, as vulnerable as he’d ever seen her.

“That is when I will bear your child.”

Vardan Saah watched as the party of Aserra finished off the rogue Flayers. After they were dead, they rode back in the direction of their camp. Only then did he believe he was safe.

Everything that could have gone wrong, had. He had lost Jaras. Lost his closest ally. Lost his flier. And now he was on his own in a land with no resources. He might have killed himself if not for the virus. Everything he’d read about the Great Rendering told him the first strain had mutated many times in the days after its release. And now he held a vial of the second strain. He hoped it might do worse.

“I’m cold,” the man next to him said.

“Then you should have worn a coat,” Saah told him.

The man looked at the bloodstained blade in Saah’s hands.

“Are you going to kill me?” the man asked.

“Depends if you have any skills I can use,” he answered.

Mr. Dandy shrugged. “I might have one or two.”

No man is an island. Although some men are atolls. And some men are bigger atolls than others. But I digress.

No author works in a vacuum. Writing is a solitary art, but novels are an inherently collaborate effort and many people are responsible for helping bring RC 2245 to life.

First and foremost, I’d like to thank my wife for allowing me to sneak away for hours at a time to the neglect of all my other duties. It’s hard to hear your children ask, “Daddy is WER-TING again?,” but Mom always finds a way to keep the world moving and I’m profoundly grateful for it.

Thanks also to Ric Morelli for being the sounding board for all good and bad ideas. It’s nice to see the Roc ‘n’ Rib show still churning after two decades.

Thanks to John L. Monk for his wisdom and experience, and putting up with my endless publishing questions. If you haven’t checked out his writing, you should. He’s very good.

Thanks to Will Marck, Lynn Jorgenson, Gianna Morelli, Dan Meyerov, the Ball bros., D.K. Smoove,
et al
for their endless support.

And thanks to the readers that waited patiently for 2245. RC 2246 is already in the works and you won’t have to wait nearly as long for it.