CHAPTER FIVE NO PITY BOND
ROWAN
Shaarr looked like he'd spent five days losing an argument with his own body.
His pale armor had dulled around the chest. The tissue beneath his damaged lateral eye was swollen.
He stood on the western arrival platform with two guardians behind him and irritation rolling off him strongly enough that I didn't need alien scent glands to interpret it.
I stepped out of the transport. The thing beneath my ribs woke.
Not pain. Recognition. Shaarr's chest answered with a violet-white glow. My neural interface chimed.
AUTONOMIC VARIATION DETECTED
I silenced it. Shaarr watched the movement.
"What did it measure?"
"Hello to you too."
"Rowan."
"Heart rate. Temperature. Possibly the beginning of me regretting this assignment."
His jaw plates shifted. Barely. Good. The ability to annoy him survived biological destiny. I shouldered my pack.
"Rules."
"I know this territory."
"Wonderful. Rules."
One guardian took two steps backward. Coward.
"First," I said, "if I tell you I'm hurt, you don't translate that into 'human still ambulatory.'"
Shaarr folded his arms.
"Second?"
"If your old neural injury gets worse, you tell me."
"No."
"Then find another medic."
His expression hardened. I waited. He disliked being cornered by logic. That made two of us.
"Third," I continued, "compatibility does not vote."
"Meaning?"
"If we disagree about the expedition, nobody gets to say your receptor knows better."
"Agreed."
Easy. That mattered.
"Fourth: don't pick me up unless I'm unconscious, falling, or explicitly ask."
"What if something is eating you?"
I considered.
"That counts as an emergency."
"Your rules are imprecise."
"My rules assume common sense."
"Then they are endangered."
One guardian made a choking sound. I stared at Shaarr.
"Was that humor?"
"No."
"Shame."
I adjusted the strap across my chest. Then looked directly at the light beneath his armor.
"One more."
His posture changed. He knew.
"I know about the pain."
"Juno."
"Yes."
"He will eventually be banned from western territory."
"He'll probably document the ban."
Shaarr looked toward the forest.
"Your point."
"I am not bonding with you because distance hurts."
His head snapped toward me. Anger came fast. Clean. Good.
"I did not ask."
"I know."
"Then do not insult me."
"I'm not."
"You think I would accept pity?"
"No."
The answer stopped him. I took one step closer. Not enough to touch. Enough that both of our bodies noticed.
"I think you'd hate it."
He said nothing.
"I think you'd hate me afterward. Yourself too."
The forest wind moved between us. His receptor glowed brighter. Mine—whatever human adaptation had started building under my ribs—answered with heat. I kept my eyes on his.
"If you don't want me, don't choose me."
His nostrils widened.
"Simple."
"Most useful things are."
"Wrong."
"Frequently."
That almost got him. Then his gaze dropped to the scar beneath my neck. Military interface. The humor disappeared.
"You were controlled during Preybridge."
"Yes."
"Your armor fired on Hunt-Born."
My stomach tightened.
"Yes."
His damaged eye faced me. The old burn looked exactly like the pattern I remembered through smoke. My pulse betrayed me. Shaarr heard it.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That was not nothing."
"Bad memory."
"Which one?"
"Not relevant to today."
His primary eyes narrowed. He could have pushed. He didn't.
"Then keep it."
The permission cut deeper than interrogation would have. Because I was keeping something he might deserve. I told myself suspicion wasn't enough. I told myself the mission mattered. I told myself I'd confirm the evidence first. All technically true.
None clean. Shaarr turned toward the western path.
"We move."
He walked too fast. Of course. I kept my own pace. Twenty minutes later he looked back.
"You are behind."
"You're eight feet tall."
"Eight point two."
I stopped.
"You know that in human units."
"Juno measured everyone."
"That man is a menace."
"Yes."
Shaarr slowed. He didn't announce it. Good. We traveled until the road disappeared. Then the repeaters.
Then every human structure. The western forest grew older around us. Roots arched above the ground like black ribs. Shaarr touched bark as he passed. Not sentimentally.
Reading. I watched him do it.
"How much information do you get from that?"
"Enough."
"Specific."
"Moisture. recent movement. pressure change. claw marks."
"Rootmaws?"
"If close."
My interface buzzed again. I connected the field probe. A low frequency rolled across the display. Familiar.
Preybridge family. Shaarr crouched at the edge of a collapsed corridor.
"Anything?"
"Something."
"Useful."
"Possibly."
He glanced over.
"You sound like Juno."
"Take that back."
The ground moved. Not shook. Moved. A ridge passed beneath us.
Fast. Shaarr grabbed my vest. I started to object. Then the earth opened.
A Rootmaw erupted from below. Its jaws split vertically. Shaarr shoved me behind a trunk and met it head-on. That was the exact moment I decided Hunt-Born guardians had an unhealthy relationship with the concept of tools. The creature struck.
Shaarr caught its upper jaw with both hands. Claws dug into black plate. The Rootmaw screamed through the soil. My implant flashed.
Thirty-two hertz. Lower band. The frequency that had disrupted the earlier corpse's neural residue.
"Shaarr!"
One of his primary eyes found me.
"Lower band! Thirty-two!"
He understood none of that. Right. Alien. I ripped the sonic beacon from my pack, changed the output, and transmitted. The Rootmaw convulsed.
Its head turned. Shaarr lost one grip. A hooked limb slammed into his side. Armor split.
Violet blood. I increased the output. The creature twisted toward the signal. Toward me.
Useful information for later. Terrible information now. Shaarr moved faster than anything his size had a right to. One claw entered the softer seam beneath the creature's jaw. The Rootmaw collapsed.
Silence returned in pieces. My own breathing. Shaarr's. The faint crackle of the beacon. He looked down at the blood running between his plates as though it belonged to someone else.
"You are injured."
He glanced at my scraped forearm.
"So are you."
"Mine is a scratch."
"Blood."
"Sit."
"I can stand."
"Congratulations."
His jaw plates opened slightly.
"Rowan."
I pointed at the root beside him. He stared. I stared back. Then the enormous senior guardian of the western territory sat down. I dropped to my knees beside him. The armor at his side had separated. No deep penetration.
Good. I cleaned the wound. His body went rigid when my fingers reached the edge of a plate.
"Pain?"
"No."
"Liar."
"Manageable."
"Better."
The thing between us warmed with proximity. I ignored it. He watched my hands.
"Your frequency changed the creature's path."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Same signal family as Preybridge."
His entire body stilled. I hated saying it. I hated more what it meant.
"Human weapons caused this."
"Maybe."
His good eye sharpened.
"Do not protect your people from the conclusion."
"I'm not."
"Then say what you believe."
I looked at the dead Rootmaw. Animal. Not enemy. Driven up through territory it had probably avoided for generations.
"I think Preybridge contamination may have broken their migration sense."
Shaarr looked toward the deep western roots.
"How many?"
"Unknown."
"Can you locate the strongest contamination?"
"My implant may be able to."
"Where?"
I pointed toward the open trench.
"Below."
He looked at me.
"No."
I laughed.
"We just established your receptor doesn't vote."
"This is not receptor judgment."
"Then why can't I go?"
"You are physically less durable."
"Call me fragile again."
"You are fragile."
"Try harder."
"Humans break easily."
"So do you. You're bleeding on my boots."
His jaw plates moved. This time I was certain. Amusement. Small.
Dangerous. Real. I finished sealing the wound.
"There."
Shaarr looked at the bandage. Then at me. For one moment the space between us went quiet. No mission.
No treaty. No dead animal. Just his body recognizing mine and mine beginning to answer. He looked at my mouth.
Only once. Then away. I sat back.
"Remember the rule."
"Which?"
"No pity bond."
His primary eyes returned to me. The heat under my ribs sharpened.
"If I ever ask you to run for me," he said, "pity will have nothing to do with it."
My mouth went dry. That was the first time I considered the possibility that Shaarr rejecting me might not remain our biggest problem. He might eventually stop.