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Authors: Karen Lord
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said.
“Let’s go,” I squeaked, agitated by the atmosphere around us, and we walked away briskly,
unchallenged and unmolested in the growing maelstrom of anger that was, thankfully,
not directed at us.
It felt like a retreat. It was all done according to procedure, but it felt like a
retreat. Lian sent off a preliminary bulletin to the nearest government outpost so
that the situation could be monitored by the appropriate authorities. Dr. Daniyel
sent a more detailed report the moment we returned to the shuttle. Nasiha, Tarik,
and poor Joral were clearly relieved, their condition improving the farther we traveled
from the marshes. Fergus was pleased that the bug-out drill he had insisted on had
been used so early in the mission and had worked so well. Dllenahkh …
I didn’t dare look at Dllenahkh. When I finally, furtively glanced at him just as
the shuttle was taking off, his face was impassive, his demeanor as calm and controlled
as ever. I knew he felt my gaze, but he did not meet my eyes.
We flew for a little less than an hour before landing near our next destination, a
bit of savanna country farther south. Fergus set out perimeter alarms while we wearily
put up our shelters and sought sleep. We did everything right. It still felt like
a retreat.
———
When I woke up the next morning, emotion came before memory, so my first coherent thought was to
wonder if it was a hangover that had me feeling so miserable. Then I remembered the
previous day and felt thoroughly sick. I pulled myself together, freshened up, and
went to see if Dr. Daniyel needed me for anything, but Lian said she was still sleeping,
so I went away again with a vague idea of checking on Joral. He was sitting in a meditation
posture in the doorway of the shelter he shared with Dllenahkh. I hesitated when I
saw him, not wanting to disturb him, especially given the mental turmoil he had so
recently experienced. I must have trodden too heavily, however, for he opened his
eyes and stared at me.
“First Officer Delarua,” he said.
“Joral. Are you well?” I asked formally and in Sadiri.
“I am well,” he replied in a steady voice. Before I could exhale in relief, he continued,
“But Councillor Dllenahkh will not get up.”
“Beg pardon?” I said in Standard, genuinely confused as to his meaning.
Still speaking Sadiri, Joral tried for greater precision. “It is possible that he
is awake, but his eyes are not open, he is not moving, and his mind … his mind is
closed.”
I stood still, completely at a loss. “What do you want me to do?”
“I do not know,” he replied with simple honesty.
“Nasiha, Tarik—” I began.
“He would not wish them to see him like this.”
Something about the way he said it gave me a clue. “This has happened before,” I accused
him, a statement, not a question.
He nodded, stood up, and stepped aside, leaving the way clear for me to enter. I stared
at him then went in slowly, not knowing what to expect.
Dllenahkh lay on his side in the narrow government-issue cot, not quite fetal but
certainly curled into himself, the blanket pulled up to just below a bare shoulder.
There were signs that he was awake. The firm grip of his left hand on his right wrist,
the tension around his eyes as his eyelids pressed tightly closed, and his shallow,
uneven breathing all spoke of distress.
I knelt by his head, too astonished to feel awkward. “Dllenahkh? Will you get up?”
Feeble, I know, but amazingly it got a response. “I am tired,” he said slowly. “Leave
me alone.”
“For some reason, I don’t think I should,” I replied. To my own incredulous ears,
my voice sounded as ordinary as if discussing an inspection checklist. “I think you
should get up and come for a walk with me.”
He remained still for a while, but his eyes opened, though they kept looking carefully
past me. I glanced around for something to help restart
“Let’s go,” I squeaked, agitated by the atmosphere around us, and we walked away briskly,
unchallenged and unmolested in the growing maelstrom of anger that was, thankfully,
not directed at us.
It felt like a retreat. It was all done according to procedure, but it felt like a
retreat. Lian sent off a preliminary bulletin to the nearest government outpost so
that the situation could be monitored by the appropriate authorities. Dr. Daniyel
sent a more detailed report the moment we returned to the shuttle. Nasiha, Tarik,
and poor Joral were clearly relieved, their condition improving the farther we traveled
from the marshes. Fergus was pleased that the bug-out drill he had insisted on had
been used so early in the mission and had worked so well. Dllenahkh …
I didn’t dare look at Dllenahkh. When I finally, furtively glanced at him just as
the shuttle was taking off, his face was impassive, his demeanor as calm and controlled
as ever. I knew he felt my gaze, but he did not meet my eyes.
We flew for a little less than an hour before landing near our next destination, a
bit of savanna country farther south. Fergus set out perimeter alarms while we wearily
put up our shelters and sought sleep. We did everything right. It still felt like
a retreat.
———
When I woke up the next morning, emotion came before memory, so my first coherent thought was to
wonder if it was a hangover that had me feeling so miserable. Then I remembered the
previous day and felt thoroughly sick. I pulled myself together, freshened up, and
went to see if Dr. Daniyel needed me for anything, but Lian said she was still sleeping,
so I went away again with a vague idea of checking on Joral. He was sitting in a meditation
posture in the doorway of the shelter he shared with Dllenahkh. I hesitated when I
saw him, not wanting to disturb him, especially given the mental turmoil he had so
recently experienced. I must have trodden too heavily, however, for he opened his
eyes and stared at me.
“First Officer Delarua,” he said.
“Joral. Are you well?” I asked formally and in Sadiri.
“I am well,” he replied in a steady voice. Before I could exhale in relief, he continued,
“But Councillor Dllenahkh will not get up.”
“Beg pardon?” I said in Standard, genuinely confused as to his meaning.
Still speaking Sadiri, Joral tried for greater precision. “It is possible that he
is awake, but his eyes are not open, he is not moving, and his mind … his mind is
closed.”
I stood still, completely at a loss. “What do you want me to do?”
“I do not know,” he replied with simple honesty.
“Nasiha, Tarik—” I began.
“He would not wish them to see him like this.”
Something about the way he said it gave me a clue. “This has happened before,” I accused
him, a statement, not a question.
He nodded, stood up, and stepped aside, leaving the way clear for me to enter. I stared
at him then went in slowly, not knowing what to expect.
Dllenahkh lay on his side in the narrow government-issue cot, not quite fetal but
certainly curled into himself, the blanket pulled up to just below a bare shoulder.
There were signs that he was awake. The firm grip of his left hand on his right wrist,
the tension around his eyes as his eyelids pressed tightly closed, and his shallow,
uneven breathing all spoke of distress.
I knelt by his head, too astonished to feel awkward. “Dllenahkh? Will you get up?”
Feeble, I know, but amazingly it got a response. “I am tired,” he said slowly. “Leave
me alone.”
“For some reason, I don’t think I should,” I replied. To my own incredulous ears,
my voice sounded as ordinary as if discussing an inspection checklist. “I think you
should get up and come for a walk with me.”
He remained still for a while, but his eyes opened, though they kept looking carefully
past me. I glanced around for something to help restart
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