He stared, rebellion seething within. With those uncompromising words she would bind him with chains stronger than any substance. A donai’s honor was as much a part of him as his nanites. It had been engineered into them.
If he gave his word, he couldn’t break it.
“My word of honor, Tante,” he said, lowering his chin.
“Don’t let me linger. Make it quick. And when the time comes, remember that not all humans are like the ones that bred you to be used and discarded.”
Andret raised his gaze to hers. She was in pain. He could smell it, see it.
“Do it,” she said, her voice determined.
He put his arms around her carefully, holding her so that his razor-sharp fingernails wouldn’t cut her. The wetness of a human tear touched his cheek. It was followed by a kiss, her last breath fluttering against his skin before she went limp in his grasp.
Her heart’s requiem played its final note, sparing him from having to snap her neck.
* * *
—
Andret rejected the idea of stripping the ship for its memetic metals to make a blade. It might be traced and he could not risk it. He did strip it of the emergency stores, setting them aside, along with the precious cargo that Tante had given her life for.
The trail their entry had burned could not be masked, so he wasn’t going to waste time and energy hiding the wreckage.
He built a funeral pyre, placed Tante atop it, and set it ablaze. The flames turned her body to ash. They turned his heart to ash as well, and a chill formed deep within him. He welcomed that cold, giving himself to it. He’d built the pyre large, large enough to burn throughout the night, the need to honor her stronger than the need for flight. His gaze followed the ashes floating upward.
Andret knew what to do whether friend or foe came for him. The one thing that haunted him was the possibility that no one would come. The nanites in his body would repair him as long as he kept himself fed. Or didn’t bash in his own brains. Theoretically, a donai’s life span could be measured in centuries. But most donai died in battle while still in their prime. It was their purpose, the reason they had been created.
The council would not destroy humanity’s defenders unless they no longer had a need for them. Or perhaps something had happened to make humans fear their own creations.
He bared his teeth again as he looked up at the cloudless ink of night, sending up one lone wish: that he would get the chance to save his own kind from extermination.
* * *
—
For ten days Andret ran, carrying the precious cargo strapped to his back. The forest blurred past him. By the eleventh day, he’d depleted his food stores. By the thirteenth, he was too tired to continue.
His nanites consumed energy like anything else. He needed to eat.
After sunset, he dug a deep tunnel into the side of a hill with his bare hands. Gusting air pulled angrily at the grass, scattered the soil he’d loosened, and sent it swirling. He buried his backpack and the containers, memorized their position, and set out to hunt.
The surrounding forest was full of prey, but he was weak. He needed to be efficient.
Howls drifted through the forest. They sounded like this world’s equivalent of wolves. He raced toward them.
A pack of wolves had spread through the trees, driving their prey, a stag-like animal with broken antlers, along a well-worn path. The wolves must have separated it from its herd and were running it to ground, wearing it out. Wind carried the stag’s fear-scent. It was like a drug, enhancing Andret’s senses, spiking his adrenaline.
He pushed forward, passing the wolf pack upwind, and scrambled up a tree growing at the edge of a clearing. Andret landed in the stag’s path, took hold of the antlers as they came at him, and twisted, breaking the animal’s neck. Momentum carried them both forward.
They skidded to a stop, the stag’s weight pinning Andret against a