To See the Sun

by Kelly Jensen

  Gael flinched, his fingers curling into the scratched surface of the table. He didn’t want to imagine his own death. His nightmares were bad enough. His return to Zhemosen would be worse. Death by lethal injection, or more likely, death by Trass. No doubt about it. His debt could never be repaid, so why not use him as an example?

  A deep moan worked up from the center of his being. The echo of a whisper seemed to bite at his ears. He remembered the curl of Julius’s fingers around his arms, restraining him. His own shouts and babbled yells. The harsh rasp of Julius’s voice as he called every strike against Loic.

  Who would be held in his place and tortured with cruel words as Rufus took him apart, piece by slow, laborious piece?

  Surely not Aavi?

  Gael managed to get to the sink before throwing up. As he heaved over the deep basin, it felt as though every meal he’d consumed during his time on Alkirak was now forcing its way back through his intestines and past his throat. Pain wracked his body, and when he was done, he fell to the floor in front of the sink, no longer numb, but somehow less substantial.

  How could he ever have thought he might escape?

  Sniffing back tears that would not help, Gael pushed to his feet and stumbled toward his room. He nearly sobbed aloud at the sight of the half-finished quilt spread across the bed. Moving past, he caught himself against the edge of the closet alcove. He should pack, for himself and Aavi. He picked up the duffel bag that he imagined still smelled of gun oil and then dropped it to grab a handful of clothes.

  Where was Aavi?

  “Aavi?” His throat burned. Gael ducked into the bathroom and scooped some water into his mouth. Swallowed without choking. “Aavi!”

  She wasn’t in the kitchen or the pantry. She wasn’t in the HV room, either. Gael stuck his head through the doorway of Bram’s room. The world shifted as he noted the disarray—blankets thrown back and his own pajamas lying in a wrinkled heap on the floor. Bram had done that. Pulled the covers away, undressed him, complaining about the fact he wore clothes to bed, and then rolled Gael onto his back and . . .

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Gael backed away from the bedroom and called for Aavi again. No answer.

  He ran back through the curving tunnel and began searching the storerooms and workshops. There was no sight of Bram and Orfeo. They must already be crossing the ledge toward the lower crevasse. Gael checked the animal pens and the feed shed. The processing plant. The garage. He stood just outside, facing the rows of soybeans, cupped the sides of his mouth, and called, “Aavi!”

  He even checked both rovers, Bram’s and Orfeo’s, guessing feebly that Aavi had yet to lose her penchant for stowing away. Nothing.

  Gael looked up, back along the road toward the top of the crevasse. Would she have started out toward the cloud farm alone? Another quick search of the living quarters turned up no holo camera, and the sandwiches he’d packed for their lunch were missing.

  “Scorching sun.”

  Aavi was independent. She took good care of herself. But she was still a kid and the cloud garden was dangerous. Bram had stressed over and over how easy it was to climb too high, how they might not understand they were choking on the lack of atmosphere until it was too late. Gael paused in the garage for long enough to grab a couple of rebreather masks before taking off up the road after her.

  Bram didn’t ask Orfeo where he’d managed to find a TriSpec. He was too busy supporting his end of the crate as they moved down the narrowing terrace that would lead to the top of the mineral deposit. Besides, the Abjadi M printed on the side of the case spelled out the origins well enough, and Orfeo was still technically employed by the Muedini Corporation.

  Thoughts stretching across the gap between Orfeo’s ambitions and his supposed loyalty to the company, Bram sidestepped along the ledge until it was no longer feasible to walk with only one hand free.

  He checked his HUD—atmosphere readout and oxygen levels. He was only connected to Orfeo’s suit through an audible channel, but tried to imagine he wouldn’t check Orfeo’s levels as well. Wouldn’t care about them.

  He would have. That had always been his job.

  “We’re going to have to lower the crate to the next ledge, then follow it down.”

  “You never mentioned how far down the crevasse this shit was,” Orfeo complained.

  Inside his suit, Bram shrugged. “You never asked.”

  “At least this explains why Muedini never found it. They never prospected this far up Henderson.”

  “Or they know it’s here and don’t consider it worth digging out.”

  “Don’t piss on my lunch, Abraham.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Briefly, Bram’s thoughts darted to the surface. What was Gael doing? Packing, probably. When he got back up there, Bram would apologize. He’d acted like an ass. But as for the rest of it? He hadn’t decided. Couldn’t decide—not with so many factors jostling for his attention. His livelihood hung between two cliffs. Everything he’d worked for: his farm, his home.

  Bram unspooled the carbon fiber line from his shoulder and snapped it to the tethers built into every corner of the crate. Together, he and Orfeo lowered the TriSpec toward the next ledge, both of them breathing out audibly as it settled down and rocked back slightly, the level indicator at Orfeo’s wrist glowing green.

  “We’re good,” Orfeo said.

  “I’ve got a set of anchors over here.” Bram waved toward the rock face beside him. “Want to go first?”

  Orfeo glanced into the abyss behind them. “And have you accidentally kick me into the mist? I don’t think so.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to kick me off the wall?”

  “Because, unlike your lover, I’m not a killer. I don’t want to see you dead, Bram.”

  “Then why are you doing this? Why do you want my claim?”

  “Because you’re more valuable to me on a rig.”

  “You have other foremen.”

  “You made me the most money.”

  “This can’t be about money. You’re still getting paid.”

  “I didn’t follow you down into this fucking crack for a conversation about my motivation.”

  “I just want to know why you’re set on ruining my life.”

  “Climb down to the next ledge and secure the damn equipment before I decide knocking you into the mist is easier than sending you back to work.”

  Bram climbed down and secured the crate. Between them, they hauled the TriSpec along the ledge to the next drop-off and repeated the exercise of lowering, securing, and climbing. Bram’s HUD lit up as he approached the top of the seam that might prove his complete undoing. A part of him wanted to ignore the marker and keep climbing down the side of the crevasse until he reached the bottom. He would have enough air to climb back up, but maybe dying down there, cloaked in mist lit red and purple by the ethereal beauty of Alkirak’s underworld, would be—

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Blinking, Bram glanced up, away from a stupid fantasy of a stupid death. He didn’t want to die. “The seam starts here.” He bit off each word and spat it out.

  Orfeo fiddled with his suit controls and pulled an ultrasonic device from a thigh pocket. Bram could tell him what he’d find, but allowed his former colleague to go through the motions they both knew so well. Test, test, test.

  Then test again.

  “It’s pretty thin,” Orfeo said, his tone disappointed.

  “The seam widens farther down. On the lower ledge, it extends back into the rock. I don’t know how far. I could only measure the first meter or so with my pick.”

  Making an affirmative sound, Orfeo bent to grab his side of the crate. “Down we go.”

  They reached the lower ledge without mishap, both panting into the mic pickups—Orfeo insisted on keeping the audible channel open. Bram leaned against the wall and looked into the mist. Off to the left and down, back beneath his farm, was the sidewise fissure he’d shown Gael.
/>   He remembered Gael’s wonder at the subterranean moss. The questions he’d asked all the way back up to the terraces. His interest in Alkirak and his keenness to understand this world. He appreciated the fact that this wasn’t simply a cracked planet, mined into usefulness. There was beauty here. Possibility.

  That also had been the night Gael had come to him, and Bram couldn’t help but connect the two incidents. Imagine that Gael had come to terms with Alkirak that day and decided to be here. Be with Bram. And that had been the night Bram had decided he could love Gael. Continue to foster his outward expression and watch him shed the darkness he’d dragged here from Zhemosen. Be the one to watch Gael grow into his own person, his own man.

  Now he stood halfway down the crevasse, caught between that and handing over everything he owned. Heck, this wasn’t just about Gael. Aavi was an integral part of it all. Could he hand over a child? Even if he did decide that his feelings for Gael weren’t relevant and genuine, and that bringing him out here was the stupidest thing he’d ever done, what about Aavi? Could he really give up the girl he already thought of as a daughter?

  “Help me get this out of the crate.”

  Bram glanced over at Orfeo and ran through the possibilities again. Pushing him off the ledge. Diving off the ledge himself. Giving away his farm. Giving up Gael and Aavi.

  Then he bent to help Orfeo pull the TriSpec out of the crate.

  Despite the thick layer of atmosphere protecting the green zone, the sun was hot. Gael combed his fingers through his hair, pulling the damp curls from his eyes, and squinted up into the sky. The path to the cloud garden switched back above him. He could just see the outthrust rock of the small terrace, but not over the lip yet.

  Shading his eyes, Gael glanced back down at the road, several ledges below him, and then toward the farm. He and Aavi had spied on Bram from up here. Watching his indistinct shape move among the crops. From this distance, the farm looked peaceful, the regular lines of the crops soothing. Gael swallowed against the lump rising in his throat. His spit still tasted bitter; the emptiness gnawing at his insides not all due to having vomited up his breakfast.

  He checked the edge of the main terrace, but couldn’t see into the crevasse. The mist thickened about half a kilometer below the farm. After another glance up at the shrouded sun, Gael sent a quick prayer downward. He didn’t specify terms, or dare to hope he could influence Bram’s thoughts. He simply prayed for Bram’s safety.

  As he dropped his hand, a flash far to the north, in the opposite direction from the cloud garden, caught his attention. He waved his hand in front of his face a couple of times, wondering if sunlight had caught the plastic of his Band. Nothing. Gael turned and trudged up the path, calling out for Aavi when he got to the switchback.

  After the final turn, he had to shade his eyes again as the clouds reached out to swallow him. Unlike the mist swathing the lower reaches of the crevasse, the clouds were not poisonous. The air always tasted different up here, though, and the pounding in his temples was a fair indication of the thinning atmosphere.

  Gael pushed on until he got to the terrace they called the cloud garden. Aavi was there, sitting on one of the rocks that resembled a bush—it might even be some sort of weird Alkirak foliage. She resembled a ghost more than a real child, and Gael didn’t trust his vision until he touched her shoulder.

  “Aavi.”

  She didn’t look up.

  Gael crouched beside her, the rebreather masks looped about his shoulder smacking into his arm and hip. “Did you hear me calling you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Here.” He pulled one of the masks down his arm and handed it to her. “You should always carry one of these when you come up here.”

  A short gust of wind moved over them, picking up individual strands of Aavi’s white-blond hair and ruffling Gael’s curls.

  Aavi didn’t take the mask, so Gael hooked the strap over her wrist. “If the wind picks up or if you climbed too high . . .” He gripped her hand and squeezed. “Aavi?”

  She turned her head, the movement slow and pensive. Her eyes locked with his, and he didn’t know what to say. He had no promises to offer—none he could reasonably make good on, because if Bram sent them away, Gael couldn’t guarantee they’d stay together.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Her tears were just as slow. Surrounding her eyes before spilling over to roll down her cheeks. Heart breaking, Gael embraced her, pulling her stiff form into his arms. Pain shot down his left shoulder, but thankfully Aavi didn’t fight him. She simply leaned, the masks now squashed between them. He patted her hair, but refrained from stroking down. Up and down. That had been what Loic had always liked, and she wasn’t Loic.

  As pain continued to clamp down across his heart, constricting his lungs and closing his throat, Gael realized he’d never stop mourning his brother. Even if he successfully shook the nightmare of Loic’s death from the corners of his subconscious, he’d never forget. Because for as much as Loic had needed him, Gael had needed Loic. Caring for Loic had kept him moving, engaging, and striving for a lot longer than he might have done on his own.

  Now he had Aavi. He didn’t know if he needed her in the same way she needed him, but having her here, curled despondently against his chest was enough. Something fierce took hold of his will.

  He lifted his chin and stopped patting her hair. Gripped her narrow shoulders. “I won’t abandon you, Aavi. Whoever they are, wherever we go, I’ll fight to keep you. Do you understand?”

  Her fingers might have dug into his sides just a little more firmly.

  “That’s right, sweetheart. Hold on, because I am not letting you go. Not giving you away, not selling you, not going to watch someone else determine the rest of your life. Whatever happens, we stay together.”

  She cried harder and Gael let his own tears flow.

  The spectrometer Orfeo had insisted on hauling down the crevasse wasn’t as bulky as the crate suggested. In fact, once it was assembled, the remaining parts would form a neat backpack frame that any sane person would use to carry the damn thing anywhere but in and out of a rover storage compartment. Bram seethed as he snapped the frame together, already determined to leave the case to rot in the crevasse.

  “What are you muttering about over there?” Orfeo asked.

  “Is this thing ready to go?” Bram’s patience was wearing thin, his acquiescence along with it. Not that he’d decided to give Orfeo anything, yet. He didn’t have to make a decision until they got back to the farm, even if his heart had already made the choice for him. By then, maybe a meteor would be hurtling along the crevasse, pushing civilization-ending catastrophe before it.

  “It’s calibrating.” Orfeo fiddled with a few knobs, his fingers clumsy inside the bulky gloves, and then tapped the panel mounted to the forearm of his suit. “Okay, we’re synced. You got a full spectrum hookup on your shitty old suit for something like this?”

  “I can free up a channel.”

  Bram did so, but his suit array wasn’t compatible with the TriSpec’s software. He’d be able to chart the coordinates of the scan so that a pinpoint map would display inside his helmet, but it would be a representation only. His helmet wasn’t equipped with sensors for data outside the visual spectrum of light. In this instance, rough enough would have to be good enough.

  “Showtime.” Orfeo activated the infrared scan.

  The process shouldn’t take long. While a handheld device could detect the presence of a mineral deposit and return a sketchy diagram of the shape, by which Bram had estimated the size of the deposit, he hadn’t been able to measure the density, nor the actual depth beyond a meter. For common minerals and ores, that wouldn’t have mattered. The very nature of the structure would have at least suggested the size and value of a deposit. For something unknown, he could dig around, but that was time consuming and dangerous, so he’d taken samples instead. This was the next step. The IR scan should be programmed to resonate with the
samples Bram had taken. Now they would determine whether his find was worth the expense of extraction.

  As he watched, the almost familiar outline of the initial deposit took shape across his HUD. The small dots of light measuring the uneven corners wavered. Orfeo was quiet, except for the sound of his breathing. Bram leaned over once to shine his helmet light on the meter’s display, but the beam washed out the resolution, causing Orfeo to swear. “Stand back.”

  “Then clue me in. We’re still on my property.”

  “You’ve got the outline in front of your eyes.”

  “What does the density look like?”

  “It’s variable. You should have taken samples from the top and bottom.”

  “I did, so far as I could tell the top and bottom.”

  “Your samples indicated a fairly uniform concentration. This—” Orfeo waved a gloved hand around in front of them “—is a fucking mess.”

  “Maybe it’s not worth your time.”

  Orfeo didn’t answer him.

  The dots on Bram’s HUD began clustering at the bottom edge of the “map.” He held his breath. He hadn’t been able to measure any deeper than this. As the dots began to solidify, showing a definite edge, Bram’s thoughts flew around his head. The deposit was larger than he’d first suspected, but not by much. Not by Muedini standards. A deposit this size was worth a lot to him, no matter what the material. It wouldn’t be worth his farm, though.

  “That can’t be all of it,” Orfeo said.

  “It’s bigger than what I measured.”

  “With an ultrasonic device. There’s got to be more.”

  “You’re welcome to wrangle the scope down another ledge or two and keep searching.”

  “You made this out to be much bigger, Abraham.”

  “I gave you exactly the facts.”

  Orfeo tugged at one of the mounts holding the TriSpec in place against the rock. “I’m going down another ten meters. How far down does your line go?”

  “To here. This is the deepest I’ve gone.”

  “You’re going to have to help me, then.”