Piece Simul ✔

Chapter 13-Samuel-Forest's Edge

"Your trick didn't work. The pod crashed," Tiptree told Russ.

Russ silenced her, and Samuel was grateful he didn't have to do it. Their tromp back to the ship was loud enough. Gravel and clay shifted under their feet, making a silent trek not so silent.

He knew better than to trust a probe. "Zero surface activity" only meant the probe hadn't picked anything up. It didn't mean neutral. Even so, upon landing, Russ and Samuel had yet to encounter anything beyond the treacherous flora and fauna. Their first landing site had betrayed them, the ground sinking at an alarming rate. In seconds, Russ had lifted off and scouted for sturdier fare.

Tiptree's desolate pod had been nearby. The wings had snapped off in the crash, leaving a busted-pinata of a cockpit. Pieces of the pod were littered about the crash site. Like breadcrumbs, the strewn components led to Tiptree.

Samuel had been shocked at her appearance. Shallow cuts lined her cheeks. Her usually porcelain visage was clouded by purple soot. Her once lustrous onyx hair hung in clumps. Even still, her eyes shone.

Survival did that. It pushed.

Another reason behind her shining eyes had more to do with the hallucinogenic properties inherent in the surrounding plant life. Though her helmet was intact, gashes darkened Tiptree's arms and legs. One glance at the shimmering, viscous leaves hanging from the trees, and Samuel was sure the dander had corrupted her perception. She wouldn't stop muttering about the arena, whatever that meant.

During training, Samuel had pegged her as the first to die, with him being the second. Part of him couldn't believe either of them was still alive.

After seven hours of radio silence, the crew launched the rescue protocol for Tiptree. In between strategizing, they listened to dissenting opinions from Guin.

Rescue was a wasted effort, she claimed. Tiptree was dead (and at the time, Samuel had agreed), and rescuing her would expend resources.

Then Captain Forster replied, "This is the third and final mission. Rescue amounts to recovery of assets, which are finite."

As for most confrontations, Samuel declined to participate. Both sides had valid points, but Guin's commentary was nullified by the Institute mandates: follow rescue protocol unless the mission was jeopardized. Mission status was A-okay. So, Samuel and Russ had been cleared for departure.

"What's wrong with her?" Russ wanted to know.

Samuel thought about the Storm patients he had observed. Some had claimed visions of angels, others had lived out their wildest fantasies.

"Certain contagions encourage hallucinations," he said.

"Like the Storm?"

He tried to downplay his surprise. "Yes. But," he peered into Tiptree's feverish face, "this isn't that."

While loading Tiptree into their pod, Russ commented, "Another day, and I don't think she would've made it."

Tiptree shivered under the Institute-issued blanket. "Shoulda grabbed my sword," she said to Samuel.

He raised a brow.

"I had to kill them," Tiptree insisted, eyes darkening in her delirium.

"I think you're right," he said to Russ.

As the crazy lady got strapped in, he meandered. "Gonna collect samples."

Russ nodded. "Just be careful."

Samuel surveyed the lush tress sprawling over barren and packed ground. Something had gotten to Tiptree, something in the air or beyond.

"I'll try."

~*~

Some fifteen yards away, Samuel thought he'd been exposed.

The pod had been positioned behind him, but currently, the hull peeked out of an orange curtain of vegetation directly in front of him.

"Russ?"

He didn't yell. He wasn't stupid. He told himself as much, but didn't believe it. If he wasn't stupid, how had he backtracked so quickly?

No one responded, and he stepped forward. Maybe Russ had been effected, and had moved the pod.

He rounded the vessel, cautious not to touch the viscous vegetation adorning the hull.

The hatch was ajar, with no one inside.

"Tiptree?"

Even the mad theologian had given him the slip. Then he remembered the ansible.

"Russ? Do you copy?"

A second later, and her voice rang clear through the device: "This is Russ. What's up?"

Relieved, he sighed. So Tiptree hadn't slaughtered the girl in a mad rage.

"Where are you?"

"At the pod. Do you have the samples?"

Samuel swirled about. The purple hills rolled on into an abyss of cerulean sky. He was alone.

"I'm at the pod, and you're not here," he told her.

Prolonged silence, then: "Did you get some of that stuff on you?"

He checked his suit, saw no tears, and sighed. Absently, he scanned the inner pod again. The dials, the seats were...different. The Institute had constructed everything with a pearlescent afterthought, but there was none of that in this pod. Just messy wires and metal lines.

Things started to click for Samuel, but just to be sure, he read the name above the hatch door:

StarCore

They had funded the first research mission. None of the crew had ever been recovered.

Samuel decided it didn't look like they ever would be, either.

~*~