Page 4 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

A protest rises, but rational thought catches it. I could knit the warmth of his acceptance into a blanket. This is typical for Syin and this isn’t the time to take issue with his demeanor so I nod agreement.

We leave through the eastern gate in a tight group. I take the lead and Syin is smart enough not to argue. I lead us down a carved path toward the ridge. Outside the walls the air is even hotter and sharper. It’s so dry it peels the inside of my nose. Dust sticks to the sweat on my neck.

The path winds through the unused ruins of the City. I avoid the weak areas that are likely to collapse, especially with so many of us. Travel outside with a group this large is a bad idea. The ground on this side of the City is less than stable at the best of times. Beneath us is a criss-cross of old tunnels, carved by the monstrous-sized zemlja, the giant sandworms that burrow their way around Tajss.

The smoke column thickens ahead, but that’s the only sign we’re getting closer. We travel in silence. Climbing dunes. Working our way around rocky outcroppings. After almost an hour, the first piece of metal breaks the horizon.

It juts out of the sand at an angle, blackened and curved. There’s a symbol along one side, barely visible through the scorching, but it’s not a language I know. I move close and crouch near it, trying to understand more about it.

“Do not touch,” Syin says.

“I wasn’t planning to lick it,” I mutter.

Syin hears me and his glare competes with the twin red suns blasting us. I flash a smile, just to piss him off if nothing else. His frown deepens and I take a little satisfaction in it before rising and continuing toward the source of the smoke.

We travel another thirty minutes or so before the path is blocked by a cliff. Either we climb it or spend the time traveling where it slopes low enough to not be a problem. I glance at Syin. He frowns, measuring me, the other humans, and then the ridge.

“I can make it,” I say.

Syin frowns. He annoys me, but I also know that he’s not a bad person. He’s calculating the risks, considering the naturally weaker bodies of the humans. The cliff is high enough that it isn’t going to be an easy climb.

“Renn, lift Kessa as high as you can,” Syin says.

“Uhm, no,” I say, shaking my head, but Syin looks at me with steel in his eyes and calm on his face.

He arches one eyebrow slowly, which is all it takes for me to realize he’s right. Arguing is stupid and only makes me look like a fool. I sigh and nod my agreement.

Renn grabs me by my waist and lifts me over his head without ceremony. I know I’m thin, starvation does that, but he lifts me as if I’m nothing. He gets me high enough that I’m able to grab onto the top of the ridge and scramble over with a minimum of new scrapes and bruises.

It doesn’t take long to get the others up too. Once we’re gathered I get my bearings and resume the lead. The ground is rough. Sand, rock, dips and rises. We have to move carefully to avoid catastrophe.

Finally we reach the edge of a basin and the ship is below us.

For a few seconds, no one speaks.

It’s definitely a ship.

It’s smaller than I expected. As if I have anything to compare it to, really. It’s a broken black wedge half-buried in red sand. The hull is split open like a seed pod gone rotten. Smoke leaks from three places. Blue-white sparks crawl over one torn stabilizer and die in little pops.

My mouth is too dry to speak. My experience with ships is limited to the generation ship, which I never really knew was a ship until we crashed, and the Invader ships. I did watch a lot of vids before we crashed. They showed ships as grand things. Generation ships. Warships. Smugglers’ ships. Pirate ships. Things with names and crews and destinations.

This looks like a weapon that lost an argument with the sky.

“Spread,” Syin orders. “No crowding. No noise.”

The warriors move at once.

I scan the basin the way I would scan a corridor. Entry points. Cover. Slopes. Loose sand. Stone shelves. Heat shimmer. Possible retreat.

“There,” I say, pointing to a narrow cut between two rock walls. “If it explodes or calls something, we move through that gap.”

Syin follows my finger. He tightens his jaw, but nods. I accept this as thunderous praise, then we descend into the hollow.

It smells of burned metal, bitter chemical smoke, and blood. Something dark and sharp, with a mineral bite under it.

Three body lengths from the ship, the hairs on my arms rise. There’s a faint vibration shivering through the sand, so soft I might have imagined it if the last few weeks hadn’t taught me exactly how much disaster can hide in almost nothing.

One beat, a gap that rolls my stomach, then another.