“Because?”
He lifts his hand and pushes his brown hair over his shoulder. “It is less lonely.”
Less lonely… “Good,” I respond, pitying him. “I will let you live, then.” He is not after an unwilling female, and will pose no risk to Julia.
Nepsh laughs softly. “Or perhaps it is I who will let you live.”
He makes a joke to ease the tension—something I, myself, am only getting used to doing—because all nagas know that mixed-breeds are often weaker. While that does not mean Nepshisno match for me, it is safe to assume so. But perhaps he can be useful…
“The female I just brought, she is important to me. If you are already here watching, then watch for her too.”
Nepsh stops smiling, eyeing me with a serious glint in his eyes instead. “The dark one? And if I see her? What would you have me do?”
“If she is ever outside the gate, keep her safe. Make sure nothing happens to her, and you will be rewarded. Otherwise stay away from her, because if you try anything, I will know, and I will find you and kill you.”
Having another naga keep an eye on her when I cannot seems like a good idea. Though I do not know if Nepsh can be trusted, I also do not think Julia has anything to fear from him.
“What do I get out of it?” Nepsh unwinds his tail and begins to climb back up into the tree he’s under. Looking down at me while holding onto the branches above his head, he waits for me to answer, flexing his biceps—a show of strength. Something white whizzes toward his head and he lets go to catch the orb in one hand, curling his fingers around it and bringing it to his side.
My gaze darts from the white ball and back to him. “Information. Whatever you want to know that I have information about, it is yourssss.”
One thing I have learned from experiencing a nomadic lifestyle myself, as many of the mixed-breeds live: the more one travels, the more one learns, and the more one learns, the more one wants to know.
Nepsh’s smile slowly returns. “Deal.”
THIRTY-THREE
INFIRMARY
Julia
The robot-craftedwooden stool I’m seated on wobbles from the uneven, packed dirt ground. Crossing my arms, I kick my foot out to stabilize it and lean my back against the wall of the old, cleaned-out but partially crumbling cement building. Peering through the cracks of the drapes just beyond Olivia’s cot, I listen to the never-ending chorus of coughing and groans.
We’re dead-center of the cots in the encampment’s second makeshift infirmary, an additional one that’s been set up for refugees because of how many have arrived. The first one, which is in a large tent beside the half-collapsed building Olivia and I occupy now, is to our right. Looking up at the tarp ceiling clinging to the jagged wall above me, the sun shining through the material casts a bluish light on everything. What would normally be white drapes appear cerulean.
Bored, I keep an ear out for any conversation that might be interesting while trying to be as quiet as possible next to Olivia’s slumbering form. Unfortunately, everyone is either tooquiet or not talking amongst themselves. There’s been a lull in conversation since the midday heat hit.
Stuck in the tedium, my thoughts drift to the events of the last couple of days.
Ever since arriving, I’ve mostly been around the infirmary tents, free to roam as I please as long as I don’t leave the vicinity or cause trouble. It took me all of two minutes upon entering to demand to see Olivia and get a cot next to hers. It wasn't hard—the poor girl is mostly alone here and without visitors. The male nurse stationed in the infirmary was quick to lead me to where she was resting. I was told by the same nurse that her lung had partially collapsed and she had to undergo surgery to repair the damage. We’re lucky we got her here in time.
Since then, she’s been in a temporary induced coma to improve her lung’s healing, receiving boosters and stimulants to quicken her recovery. So while my own minor wounds heal, I’ve mostly been here too, watching over her and fighting the boredom. I’ve been desperate for any news happening around the rest of the camp, getting snippets here and there.
From what I’ve seen and heard, the encampment is not big enough to house the many refugees that have arrived and is running out of shelter and many basic supplies. The soldiers have gone so far as to seize some of the ships that have landed outside and strip them clean. The battalion is in chaos with the destruction ofThe Dreadnaut. No one fully agrees on who to look to for orders. With no direct chain of command established yet withThe Sovereign, the main colony ship thatThe Dreadnautand all lesser colony ships report to, no one is really sure what to do.
The Commander here is Lieutenant Colonial Graft, a man I have seen many times during training but have never worked directly under. Supreme Commander Volp established three original base camps on Earth—and mine was obliterated by thenagas, so that leaves only two. Which, I have heard from soldiers outside the tent, are both now overrun with refugees.
The remaining army is in a bad way…
With no more resource deliveries coming from the mother ship, and with no ability yet to reach another colony ship for backup, the morale is incredibly low. The goal has become only one thing: survive.
The reason I’m not allowed to leave the infirmary is the same reason no one’s allowed to leave their designated areas—Graft is afraid of an uprising. Not so much from the refugees, but from his overwhelmed soldiers.
I can feel the tension and despair in the air.
But who can blame Graft trying to segregate? I’ve learned that everything Benjamin and Krellix told me was correct. The dreg’s rebels shut down a reactor after Supreme Commander Volp closed the ports. Anarchy ensued from every side, with ire and panic even amongst the highest caste citizens when their power shut off and… remained shut off. Many soldiers died. Many more defected.
Like me. Kind of.
