4. Counting
COUNTING
ELENA – XYTHEOS
Sophia and I stand watch near the wreckage, in the scar our crash-landing made in the jungle. "My head feels weird," I tell Sophia. Static presses in from the jungle around our clearing, like standing too close to an ungrounded transformer.
Sophia scans overhead. “Mine does, too. It almost feels like pressure changes in an artificial atmospheric bubble, but that’s impossible. We would have torn right through anything they had. Unless they opened it for us.”
I nod. “Could they have something portable? Ground level?”
Sophia’s hand brushes the wreckage as if she’s marking a line only she can see. “You tell me. Maybe some kind of shield? Is that possible?” Sophia waves her hand. “Never mind. Of course it is. Look, Elena, we’ve got nothing to defend ourselves with. Our best chance is to look weak.”
My head snaps to her. I look her right in the eyes for a good minute. There’s no fear there. “Weak,” I repeat slowly. “You’re not going to fight.”
“I didn’t say that. I said, look weak. Let them think we’re no threat. Study them. Find their weakness.”
"Looking weak might buy time. It also gives them the idea that we'll put up with anything they do." I turn, studying the jungle. There could be a million tiny eyes just beyond the tree line, waiting. “I thought you would die rather than submit to some alien male. What about the human race?”
Sophia’s face clouds. “Do you want children?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised. Of course I do. We all do, don’t we? It’s our duty. “Human children.”
Sophia turns away, turns back again, and rubs her arms. “Stay alive. Don’t start a fight you can’t win. For now, stick with the present problems.” She motions subtly with her hand.
I follow the gesture. Dana and Quinn are behind me, arguing over the small bit of inventory we have.
Dana’s lining up water canisters in a perfect grid. Quinn records it all in a notebook.
“We have twenty-four hours of water, tops,” Dana says.
“Unless someone drinks like a camel,” Quinn mutters.
“You mean you?”
Tessa groans and presses her fingers to her temples. “Are you two done?”
“Not a chance,” Quinn fires back. Her tone’s sharp, but her eyes soften. Like she needs Dana’s resistance to stay grounded.
I check the others. They’re clustered near the last bulkhead that’s not caved in.
Dr. Patel’s uniform is now streaked with grime, but her hair is still in a perfect braid.
She's tending to the injured. Guilt pricks at me for not helping her enough with the medical issues.
For getting pulled into everything else that needs doing at this crash site.
Dr. Patel tucks a thermal wrap tighter around one woman’s shoulders, then looks up and catches my eye. “You holding up?”
I nod once. I have to hold up. We all do. It’s not optional.
I walk the small perimeter, staying within sight of the other women. Counting steps. Scanning movement. The jungle’s still noisy. Everything here sounds alive. Bigger than we are.
And I hate how much it scares me.
Because it really, really does. I launched myself into the universe during the worst of an attack on my planet, but I can’t bring myself to step out of our clearing and into that jungle.
At the far edge of the wreckage, Dana catches up with me. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks beside me while the insects whine and the wet grass sloshes under our boots.
Finally, she breaks the silence.
“You ever wish you’d flunked out?” she asks. “Never gotten picked for this?”
“All the time,” I say. “But then I remember I’d be dead either way.”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “That’s optimism, I guess.”
We make the short loop back to the triage zone, stepping over wreckage that’s beginning to sink into the green.
The women rest in silence. One by one, water bottles are tilted, sipped, capped, and rotated down the line. No one complains. Not about the taste. Not about the portions.
In the lull, Sloane speaks. Her voice is thin but steady. “You think anyone’s coming?”
Eyes closed, Tessa murmurs, “It’s an inhabited planet full of males. We’re females. You don’t crash-land on that kind of planet and stay single.”
Her voice is the softest thing in the world.
I lock eyes with Sophia. Her mouth opens, closes. Whatever she was about to say, she swallows it.
My chest tightens. It’s only been a few hours, but I thought we’d be met by transport ships almost immediately.
I let the others sleep, if they can. I stay awake watching. Knees to chest. Back against a panel of the shuttle hull.
I count the blinks of the beacon.
One. Two. Three.
Trying not to wonder what else might be counting us back.