Ruins

He took another long look at her, then shook his head. “I’ve promised to stay,” said Samm. “The other Partials haven’t.” He sighed and stood up. “I can’t expect them to make the same choice, or to stay here forever. I need to ask them what they want.”

Calix nodded. “And then?”

“Then we give it to them.”

“And then?” asked Calix. She stood carefully, favoring her bad leg. “What’s the next big crisis you can put your life on hold for?”

Samm put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re the best friend I have.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I’ve never said it to anyone.”

Samm walked through the halls to the recovery wing, which the nine healing Partials called home. The air linked a mixture of hope and restlessness; it was a typical morning. Gorman was sitting up in his bed, holding the respirator cannula in his hand.

“That works better if you actually put the air tubes in your nose,” said Samm.

“And beds work best when you lie down in them,” said Gorman. “It’s not the equipment I want to work right, it’s my body.”

“Keep practicing, then,” said Samm. “I heard you went walking last night.”

“They tell you about the dump, too? If they’re going to tell the whole Preserve what I do at night, they’d better not leave out the real excitement.”

“You can give me the details later,” said Samm, looking around the room. Only three Partials were there, Gorman in his bed and two others sitting in chairs by the open windows, soaking up the sunlight. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Dwain’s still in bed,” said Gorman. “I think he’s got the hots for the nurse, so he’s milking his convalescence for a lot more than it’s worth.”

“Calix or Tiffany?”

“Tiffany.”

“Wrong tree,” said Samm. He paused. “Not that I want him chasing after Calix, either.”

Gorman eyed him. “Are you and she . . . ?”

“No,” said Samm. “How about the others?”

Gorman ignored the deflection. “What about Heron?”

“How many girls do you think I’m hooking up with?”

“Not as many as you could, if I’m interpreting the signs right.” He took a breath of air from the cannula. “Calix follows you around like a puppy, and Heron . . . Well, I guess it sounds wrong to say she follows you around like a snake, but you get my meaning.”

“Heron is an old friend,” said Samm. “We fought together in the Isolation War.”

“And now?”

“Now we . . .” Samm didn’t know how to describe their relationship. Over the last week or so he’d barely seen Heron at all, but he knew she was nearby. Just like before, she’d been making it obvious that she was watching him. Apparently Gorman had noticed it too. “Heron’s a good friend,” he said again. “That doesn’t mean I have any idea what she wants. She’s an espionage model; she’s hardwired for secrecy and misdirection.”

“Trained in seduction, though,” said Gorman, pointing at him with the cannula. “That’s got to count for something.”

“If a woman trained in seduction were into me, I think I’d know it by now,” said Samm. He turned the conversation back to Gorman and his squad mates, gesturing at the mostly empty room. “Where are the others?”

“Outside walking,” said Gorman. “Ritter’s as healthy as you are; he has no business being in a hospital anymore. Aaron and Bradley, too.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” said Samm, pulling a chair next to the soldier’s bed. “You’re getting better now, minor setbacks notwithstanding.” He gestured at the cannula, and Gorman rolled his eyes. “It’s time to move past recovery and into real life. You can’t stay in the hospital forever.”

“Knock on wood,” said Gorman. He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “What about the Preserve?”

“You’re certainly welcome to stay,” said Samm, “but no one’s keeping you here.”

“They could get a lot more of that pheromone with all nine of us pitching in to help you. They could stock up before we expire, assuming we ever do, and last for another few years.”

Samm nodded. “They’re good people,” he said. “I don’t exactly want to leave them without a source of the cure, but they feel the same way I do: If they have to enslave you again to get it, it’s not worth getting.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a guilt trip.”

“That’s not my intention,” said Samm. “Sooner or later they’re going to run out anyway, whether it’s my death next year or your death . . . whenever. Don’t feel obligated.”

“So it’s too much of a lost cause for me to bother with,” said Gorman, “but you’re still giving your life for it.”

“I gave my word,” said Samm. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, and you’re welcome to contribute the cure pheromone if you want, but those choices are yours to make.” Samm rubbed his nose, still numb from the extraction. “As jobs go, though, an hour a week in a lab chair is a pretty lightweight one.” He smiled. “And frankly, all you might be able to handle right now.”

Gorman held the cannula to his nose, taking a deep breath, then dropped his hands heavily back to his lap. “I do want to give something back,” he said. “I was suspicious in the beginning, but they’ve been good to us. They deserve whatever we can do to help them.”