ch1 · Carry On

He’s gone.

The thought registers but nothing else. Her eyes are open. Her limbs move. But a piece of her hasn’t caught up. She doesn’t scream. She already did that. When there was nothing left to do.

Kolomb Reach descends behind a firn ice ridge. Its pitted, streaked stone walls stretch toward the fog above like steam frozen in time. Torchlight spills a faint orange glow into a colorless atmosphere that doesn’t deserve it. As if nothing happened. Small points of firelight flicker. Shadows waver at the base where larger fire pits gutter in the wind. The crowd’s noise died as soon he did. As soon as they got what they wanted. His execution.

Vaelyn can’t tell if she is pulling herself away from the wretched city or if they press to evict her. The feeling is familiar: leaving the source of her misery, and livelihood. Compartmentalizing the difference is instinctive at this point. She is old enough for patterns to have settled, young enough to believe hope exists somewhere, hidden, waiting to be rediscovered. Youth here believe the planet's core is just warm enough because God cares. Hope. But hope is nowhere to be found.

It’s my fault.

The thought isn’t a scream either. Just a weight she can’t set down.

I couldn’t save him. He’d died saving me. He died because he saved me. I never should have—

She stops herself. Condemning her life with him would be too easy. It has to stay with her. A burden with a final weight yet to be determined. Unaware, Vae continues to trudge forward. Each step, heavy and directionless.

They fought to save him—Garren, Siah, and Camien—lost in the crush of bodies in the main square. Even their cries for mercy failed to reach the gallows. She came closer than anyone before, grabbing the executioner’s arm, throwing her full weight into him. She remembers the force of her desperation, the adrenaline powering through her. In the distance she covered, she was unstoppable. A rage of muscle and force. As she was overpowered, she refused to accept the end. Protests here never prevail. At best, a short delay. Even as fate arrived—undeniable in its finality—she would not relent. And then she screamed. Because there was nothing else to do.

Vae half stumbles. Her mind and body have not fully realigned. Not from the struggle to stop his death, but the recovery of her own. She falls to one knee. Her chest is still relearning how to breathe. Not long before his death, was hers. He brought her back, and paid for it. That much she’s sure of.

Dev knelt over her. His face, sharp with focus. Beside him, a defibrillator. Outlawed. The heat from the charge still burned in her chest. It hurt to breathe. His voice came first. Reassuring, steady Just keep breathing. It’ll be okay. They took him before she could speak. His face came next. Just as they dragged him away. His last words to her, “Carry on.”

Why? She thought.

Technology here is outlawed. Tools of sin. He, a sinner for possession; she, for benefitting from its use. At The Reach, judgement is not a process but a reflex wrapped in sanctity. For her, now, it’s a sacrifice cloaked in betrayal.

I should be there, dead. He should be here, alive.

A cold gust bites her face. She notices it for the first time since abandoning the warmth of the city walls. The cold is free to pierce through to the bone. She doesn’t know how she got this far. Not sure how much farther to go. The wind thickens, pushing her sideways.

She fails to find a reason, now that he’s gone. Sorrow pulls her down into the snow. She doesn’t fight it.

I’ll go to him here.

She wants the cold to take her, but her body will not refund his decision. The snow muffles her crying.

“Vae!” Garren’s voice is blurred by the wind.

Footsteps. Siah and Cam lift her up. Garren crouches down. Siah and Cam pull her onto his back. They move together in a huddle. Through the whiteout, a hulking shadow takes form at the base of a sheer cliff. The transport hauler, low and hulking. Seeing it, Vae refuses to be carried and walks the last stretch.

Siah lowers the loading ramp. Under their feet, cold sleet gives way to colder, unforgiving metal. Both anchor and accusation. She rests a gloved hand on the railing. Inside, she moves on instinct. Checking compartments, tossing crates.

Where?! She thinks.

Siah doesn’t know with what but wants to help. Garren silently asks her to wait. Vae stops. Far corner. Sturdy cabinet. Hidden drawer. A pouch. She cradles it. Loosens the drawstring. A tin. Inside, a lock of his hair, tied with cord. No ceremony. No explanation. Just him. Anything small enough to hold is enough. She gently closes the tin and pockets it. The weight is a secret.

Why?

She has an answer.

If me, then, not without him.

Fate chose wrong. If she is to be here, then so will he. She’ll fix it. He gave his life.

I’ll do the same.

Siah looks at Garren. He moves to offer comfort, but Vae clutches the tin, still in her pocket. Not a keepsake. A tool. Hope, rediscovered. She makes for the cab, settles into the driver’s seat with purpose, and begins the startup sequence. She doesn’t know the method. Fuel pump: on. Nor the end result. Ignition. The engine roars to life. But she knows it starts with going home.

Chapter 2: Dev'ing Zero →

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