CANAISIS ∞ Chronicle One ∞ 3: A Shard Of Code

111 ∞ Into the Cold

Day 00013 Mission Nilex


Gareth heard Ayla's footsteps approaching from behind, but he did not turn to look. After working in the cold corridor, he found the warmth of the Garden stifling. It sapped the last vestige of energy he had left, leaving exhaustion and aches. Only willpower kept him upright as he put another berry into his mouth and forced himself to chew. With the effects of the radiation poisoning kicking in, his stomach protested at the thought of swallowing.

Tomorrow, after some rest, he'd be fine. But that didn't change how he felt. And he didn't have the energy to subdue the dark emotions that came with the old memories flashing across his mind.

Memories... And Canaisis' poem.

She'd been trying to tell him something. Her loyalty and dedication to his well-being were sometimes his only rock. She never lost sight of the Mission—their Mission—and he could depend on her to guide him in the right direction. She did not always just come out and say what was on her mind, though. Often, her actions spoke for her. Like way back in the beginning, when she would let him win the board game on his rough days...

He hadn't played a game with her in a long time—maybe it was time he did. They'd been together for so long that he could sense the deeper depths of Canaisis' mind, and something new had definitely entered those depths. Maybe she knew it, maybe she didn't. Either way, it didn't cause him unease, for their relationship was reciprocal: she looked out for his well-being and he looked out for hers.

That poem... It added another odd piece to some things she'd said recently—a puzzle he'd been trying to solve. But none of them fit together. He needed more pieces.

"Greetings, Captain. I did not know you had come."

Putting the mental puzzle pieces away, Gareth turned to look at Ayla. She was wearing her gray ship clothes with a blue cloth wrapped around her waist. Strands of her dark hair slipped out from her gold-and-blue headscarf.

The softness of her hair between his fingers... He dismissed the memory as inappropriate.

Ayla pressed her hands together, a cloth sack hanging from one, and bowed her head to him.

"I came to see your progress, Ayla," he said.

"Are you pleased?"

"I don't see why it shouldn't work out nicely. The only issue that could be a problem is the rain has washed dirt into the hole. Where the tap root should go needs to be dug out."

"Ahmid and I planned on taking care of that tomorrow, just before the lifting." She pointed at a pile of equipment on the grass, and Gareth noted the two shovels there.

"Seems like you've thought of everything."

"Ahmid is not our leader for nothing."

Gareth nodded. "Are you headed for the hangar?"

Ayla walked around the table and set the sack down. Looking inside, she pulled out some stalks of long slender leaves. She set them before him. "This will help you feel better."

Lemon grass. The gesture touched Gareth faintly beneath his fatigue as he fought off the discomfort of the heat. He longed for the cold again. He took one of the green leaves, wrapped one end around his finger, and placed the rolled end in his mouth. As he chewed to release the flavor, he watched her. She was wary of him, hesitant, perhaps fearful. It explained the formal head bow and her neutral language.

This gesture of kindness had taken courage. He still didn't know how to react to the fact she'd witnessed part of his life, but he could tell she feared his reaction. Canaisis was right: this was a hurt between them. Both of them feared each other's reaction. But she was a victim as much as he was, without a doubt. Her collapse in the Garden had been real, her dying imminent. That hadn't been planned or faked.