He felt surprised, even though he didn’t know what else she might have said. He shifted on the rock, his suit tugging against his skin. “So, what? We’re going to die here?”
“Well,” said Jackson. “Not today.”
“Shit,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Shit.”
Jackson wriggled, trying to get comfortable. “You know what I’ve been thinking? How they kept at us until they got us. They shouldn’t have been able to take us down, but they found a way. Maybe we can do that.”
He thought about this. “Yeah, but millions of them died.”
Jackson was silent. Then she snickered. “True.”
“I mean, we really annihilated them.” His suit was sticking to his arm, and he plucked at it with plastic fingers. He thought he knew what Jackson meant, though. Even when it seemed hopeless, there could be a way out. If you kept fighting, sooner or later you could break open the lock. He said, “I’m sorry about Gilly.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “Me too.”
They watched Beanfield awhile.
“Can you carry her?” Jackson asked.
“I think so.”
“Then let’s move,” she said, “and see what we’ve got here.”
* * *
—
Orange rock extended to a hazy horizon, flat and featureless but cracked with fissures, gullies through which they could pick their way to avoid detection. Anders carried Beanfield on his shoulders; she felt as if she were made of stone, so that every step in the high gravity wanted to break his ankle. He had to move slowly and stop often, and when he did, Jackson climbed the side of the gully and eased her head over the lip, slowly, as if a salamander might be crouching there. He watched this with sweat trickling down into places he couldn’t reach. He wondered how much power he was burning through, working so hard physically; how many hours he was shaving off his life expectancy.
Jackson slid down the rock on her ass, using her feet to brake, exhibiting what Anders felt was a pretty impressive mastery of the conditions. “Anything?”
“Rock,” she said. “Lots of rock.”
They moved on. The next time Jackson climbed the rock, she stayed there for a long time. Eventually, he called, “What are you looking at?”
“Salamanders. Far off. Half a dozen.”
“Do we need to move?”
“Not yet.” There was silence. “They’re all heading in the same direction.”
“So we go the other way?”
Jackson came sliding down, boots first. “Or we head them off.”
“Why would we do that?”
“There’s nothing out here that’s rich enough for the matter converter,” she said, “except them.”
“Oh, damn,” he said. “Yes. Yes.”
“We have one shot. If we make it count, we can feed the converter. Recharge the suits, charge the gun.”
“It’s more like half a shot.” He pulled the gun around in front of him and peered at its display. He shook it until the gauge flipped to one.
“I’ll keep my eyes open for an alternative,” Jackson said, “but let’s angle in their direction. Work for you?”
It did. It did work for him. It was amazing how much better he felt now that he might get to shoot something. He crouched and scooped up Beanfield and she seemed lighter than before. “I sure don’t want to die with a charge left on the gun.”
“Me neither,” said Jackson.
* * *
—
They pushed on beneath a bubbling stew of purple and orange cloud. The storm still hadn’t broken and he was beginning to think it never would. What a piece of crap world, he thought. Orange rock and ugly cloud and water that had hairs.
They spied a small hill that was utterly featureless but still the most interesting thing he’d seen that day. Jackson studied it with intensity. Reaching it would have meant crossing a lot of open ground, so they decided to move on. They couldn’t keep pace with the salamanders Jackson had spotted, they discovered, so they began