The next morning, they spent an hour repacking their survival equipment and fighting the shelter back into its compact, portable form, while the morning sun shone weakly through dun-colored clouds.
The tension had returned along with Keyla's sense of self-loathing. She regretted crying in front of Burnham, no matter how richly the woman deserved to see the pain that she caused. Burnham wasn't entitled to see her grief.
They trudged down to the river, before stopping at the bank and eating the remainder of their rations and the last trickles of water. "This should have lasted us longer," Burnham said.
"Well, it didn't," Keyla responded, angrily. "This wasn't supposed to be survival trek, remember?"
"If we move quickly we can make it to the edge of the mining camp by evening."
"And then what?" Keyla asked sharply. "We can't very well blend into the population, since if we get caught we'll be turned over the Klingons, and the best plan you have is to meet some guy and hope he has a way to contact another guy who can call the Discovery. That's not a plan, that's a statement of belief."
"It's what we have right now," Burnham said with her Vulcan-lite dispassion. "It's what we hold on to until we find a new option. But we keep going. We have to keep going."
In Keyla's ears the attempt at rousing her spirits was as plastic as the shelter. Disgustedly, she pulled her canteen out of her ruck, half-considered throwing it at Burnham. "Well, I'm not going anywhere choking out from thirst." She dipped the canteen in the rushing putty-colored water, then pulled it out and shook it vigorously until the filtration microbes in the lining kicked in.
"Keyla, you can't drink that," Burnham said concernedly. "This river isn't clean."
"No kidding, you mean water isn't supposed to be earth-toned? I know it's not clean, but the filters will sift all that out."
"The waste matter and organic contaminants, yes," Burnham said, "but it can't filter out the chemicals toxins and radiation. If you drink that it will make you sick."
Keyla slumped and almost threw the canteen in frustration, then straightened up. "Screw it. I'll take my chances."
"It'll increase your blood toxicity, causing your kidneys to shut down!" Burnham placed her hand on Keyla's wrist. "After that you only have days before you're dead."
Keyla recoiled as if burnt. "I don't care! At this point I just want not to be thirsty and dehydrated. Then, when we get to the camp—if we get to the camp—and I kack, you can dump me in a waste-fill someplace."
Burnham's features flexed, then hardened, and Keyla instinctively understood that she'd revealed too much, and what was coming wouldn't be stopped. "You don't mean that."
Keyla laughed bitterly. "I think it's a fairly likely scenario, given who I'm with."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Isn't that how it always works with you? The Universe decides to punish you and everyone else pays the price. You get walk around with your perpetually-wounded attitude, but it's always other people who die."
Burnham's eyes flashed, and Keyla felt a moment of panic as her reptile brain recognizing the micro-expressions presaging an attack. Her hands twitched upward, but she pushed down the urge.
"If you think for a moment that I wouldn't trade places with them—that I wouldn't give anything to have Captain Georgiou or the people we lost on the Shenzhou or...or my parents for god's sake—don't you think I would do anything to fix this? All of this? Keyla, there's nothing I wouldn't do to put the things back the way they were. Anything to make the pain go away." Burnham's eyes glistened even in the dull light of the pollution-filtered sun, and her expression was the most openly, nakedly vulnerable Keyla had ever seen. She could see Commander Burnham in that face—the ramrod-straight, frighteningly competent first officer--but only flashes.
"But if blaming me, if hating me, if that helps you grieve, then I guess that's what you have to do. But two of us double the chances of getting off this rock alive, so you need to be alive and functional. Do you understand?"
Keyla pursed her lips, tried to find some new vein of anger or pain to tap into and vent at Burnham, but she was increasingly aware of the moral high ground disappearing from beneath her feet like sand pulled out by the tide.
"Just don't ever forget how easily you got off, Michael. I had to learn how to read again." She stuffed her canteen in her ruck.
Burnham composed herself and looked liked she was about say something, when her communicator chirped.
"Is it the Discovery?"
Burnham pulled out the communicator and flipped it open. "No. It's a signal from nearby."