together in a pile of furs.
But you really, really weren’t expecting Ykka to walk in, with an air of something like her old brashness and with her eye makeup perfectly applied, once again. She looks around the lobby, taking you in along with the rest, and puts her hands on her hips. “Catch you rusters at a bad time?”
“You can’t,” you blurt. It’s hard to talk. Knot in your throat. Ykka especially; you stare at her. Evil Earth, she’s wearing her fur vest again. You thought she’d left that behind in Castrima-under. “You can’t come. The comm.”
Ykka rolls her dramatically decorated eyes. “Well, fuck you, too. But you’re right, I’m not coming. Just here to see you off, along with whoever goes with you. I really should be having you killed, since you’re effectively ashing yourselves out, but I suppose we can overlook that little technicality for now.”
“What, we can’t come back?” Tonkee blurts. She’s sitting up finally, though at a distinct lean, and with her hair badly askew. Hjarka, muttering imprecations at being awake, has gotten up and handed her a plate of potato hash from the pile Maxixe has already cooked.
Ykka eyes her. “You? You’re traveling to an enormous, perfectly preserved obelisk-builder ruin. I’ll never see you again. But sure, I suppose you could come back, if Hjarka manages to drag you to your senses. I need her, at least.”
Maxixe yawns loudly enough to draw everyone’s attention. He’s naked, which lets you see that he’s looking better at last—still nearly skeletal, but that’s half the comm these days. He’s coughing less, though, and his hair’s starting to grow fuller, although so far it’s only at that hilarious bottlebrush stage before ashblow hair develops enough weight to flop decently. It’s the first time you’ve seen his leg-stumps unclothed, and you belatedly realize the scars are far too neat to have been done by some commless raider with a hacksaw. Well, that’s his story to tell. You say to him, “Don’t be stupid.”
Maxixe looks mildly annoyed. “I’m not going, no. But I could be.”
“No, you rusting couldn’t,” Ykka snaps. “I already told you, we need a Fulcrum rogga here.”
He sighs. “Fine. But no reason I can’t at least see you off. Now stop asking questions and come get some food.” He reaches for his clothes and starts to pull them on. You obediently go over to the fire to eat something. No morning sickness yet; that’s a bit of luck.
As you eat, you watch everyone and find yourself overwhelmed, and also a little frustrated. Of course it’s touching that they’ve come like this to say goodbye. You’re glad of it; you can’t even pretend otherwise. When have you ever left a place this way—openly, nonviolently, amid laughter? It feels … you don’t know how it feels. Good? You don’t know what to do with that.
You hope more of them decide to stay behind, though. As it is, Hoa’s going to be hauling a rusting caravan through the earth.
But when you eye Danel, you blink in surprise. She’s cut her hair again; really doesn’t seem to like it long. Fresh shaving on the sides, and … black tint, on her lips. Earth knows where she found it, or maybe she made it herself out of charcoal and fat. But it’s suddenly hard to see her as the Strongback general she was. Wasn’t. It changes things, somehow, to understand that you go to face a fate that an Equatorial lorist wants to record for posterity. Now it’s not just a caravan. It’s a rusting quest.
The thought pulls a snort-laugh out of you, and everyone pauses in what they’re doing to stare. “Nothing,” you say, waving a hand and setting the empty plate aside. “Just … shit. Come on, then, whoever’s coming.”
Someone’s brought Lerna his pack, which he dons quietly, watching you. Tonkee curses and starts rushing to get herself together, while Hjarka patiently helps. Danel uses a rag to mop sweat from her face.
You go over to Hoa, who has shaped his expression into one of wry amusement, and stand beside him to sigh at the mess. “Can you bring this many?”
“As long as they remain in contact with me or someone who’s touching me, yes.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Weren’t you?”
You look at him, but then Tonkee—still chewing something and shouldering her pack with her good arm—grabs his upraised hand, though she pauses to blatantly stare at it in fascination. The moment passes.
“So how’s this supposed to work?” Ykka paces the room,