The climb back up to the lifter was arduous, but Althea was strongly motivated to keep moving – leave Panak behind. The pass where they’d hid the lifter possessed a wide view of the valley, as well as the whole settlement. The white and gray bumps in the snow appeared sleepy and non–threatening in the pale blue light of dawn.
Happily, the greggas with their gear were easy to spot as they climbed up the snowfields, a collection in browns and grays on white. She didn’t ask them about the Ginga’s men, and they didn’t offer any news.
As the lifter lurched its day’s travel through the mountains, she reflected on her failure the night before. To her relief, neither Traejan nor Kyso questioned her much on what exactly she’d left behind, nor the actual reasons the Ginga hadn’t sent anymore men after them.
Althea hid the mounting unease with her choices from Traejan and Kyso, who were thankfully more intent on keeping an eye on the greggas. For themselves, the scavengers seemed mostly intent on settling their pecking order; boasts and put downs keeping their conversations lively, if crude. When they reached the Ice Line at the end of the day, she took the opportunity to escape the raucous group for some solitude and a look over the glacier’s cliff edge, south – to the tundra, and envision her distant goal.
The drop off was steep, almost ninety degrees and the tundra and rocks at its base was a long way down, a nine at least. Beyond, stretched flat plains to the south, punctuated by a lumps in the distance – maybe ruins, maybe not.
Glancing back at the encampment, she could see the strings of lights already dancing in the deepening gloom, pushed around in the wind, carrying snippets of laughter and shouts from the circle of tents around the crouching bulk of the parked lifter. She couldn’t feel a part of it, did not dare.
She’d identified Kyso’s approach, by the reds and browns of his own bulky coat, but chose to ignore the man’s friendly wave. But eventually, the crunches in the snow were impossible to dismiss. She turned again to see his face, lit by the garish colors of the setting sun, framed by the tight protection of his heavily insulated cowl.
He greeted her. She replied with a brief smile, turned back to look to the south, closed her eyes, feeling the call of it. Out there, in code and motive, the Macro waited. She could sense more than just the wind blowing down from the glacier, the mountains. It was anticipation, the shiver of desire, again, the need.
Kyso stamped up to her, pulled his cowl back to expose his head to the wind, letting long white strands of his hair blow about.
“Here we are,” he announced, spreading his arms wide, grinning at her, the Ice Line.”
She turned back to him, cracked a smile.
“The edge of our world, my dear,” he told her, then his tone darkened, turned dramatic, pointed. “Out there, be monsters.”
“Does anyone why the constructs don’t come north of the glacier, take over everything?” she asked, having to raise her voice above the wind.
He shook his head.
“No…” he replied, tone bitter. “I suppose they felt they had no need for dominion over the whole planet.”
“Leaving you the bleakest part – generous of them,” she echoed his sentiment. “But you survived.”
His laugh was forced, dismissing her attempt at warmth. “So you keep telling me,” he said with humor.
She returned her gaze to the south.
“So I do.”
