"Patience."
The landscape of Ceraste spreads out beneath us. The beauty of Ceraste never fails to undo me. During my captivity, I had lost faith that I would ever see my homeworld again. And yet here it is, rolling beneath me, golden and enduring.
As we gain altitude, the terrain begins to change. The rolling sand dunes give way to rocky outcroppings, their surfaces carved by millennia of wind into strange and beautiful shapes. Stone columns and spires rise from the desert floor. Natural arches span between rock pillars, some delicate and narrow, others wide enough to fly the shuttle through.
"Wow." Cody leans toward the viewport. "It looks like Arches."
"Arches?"
"A national park back on Earth. In Utah." He shakes his head slowly. "This is incredible."
"This is the Wind Gardens," I say, pointing to a particularly striking cluster of formations. "The stone here is softer than elsewhere, and the constant winds have sculpted it over thousands of years."
"It looks like art."
"My grandmother used to say that the wind was Ceraste's first artist." The memory rises unbidden and bittersweet. "She would bring me here when I was young. We would watch the sunset paint shadows across the stones, and she would tell me stories of the old times."
Cody's hand finds mine. He does not say anything, just holds my hand and lets me remember.
Ahead of us, Spire Mountain dominates the horizon. It is even more magnificent up close. The mountain thrusts upward from the desert floor like a great stone blade, its peaks jagged and imposing, the larger sun setting directly behind it in a crown of fire.
"Mind if I take us around it?" Cody asks. "Get a better look?"
"Please."
He adjusts our course, and we swing wide around the mountain's base. From this angle, I can see the ancient cave systems that honeycomb its lower slopes. Dark openings in the rock face that lead to burial caverns. My grandparents rest somewhere in those depths. My great-grandparents. Generations of my ancestors.
Cody takes us in a slow circle, giving me time to look my fill.
"It's beautiful," he says. "I can see why your people chose it."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He banks the shuttle eastward again, leaving Spire Mountain behind, and we fly on. The dramatic formations of the WindGardens give way to flatter terrain, to the great sand plains that dominate so much of my world. The sand ripples in patterns created by the constant winds, and occasionally we pass over the dark shapes of rocky plateaus that rise like islands from an ocean of gold.
Then, gradually, the terrain begins to change again.
The sand becomes coarser and darker, mixed with volcanic rock. Sparse vegetation appears. The tough, hardy plants that survive in Ceraste's harshest conditions.
My heart begins to pound.
I know this landscape. I know the shape of that volcanic ridge on the horizon. The silhouette of the dead volcano rising in the distance is achingly familiar.
"Cody." My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Are we going to Brishar?"
He glances at me, and the grin on his face tells me everything.
"I talked to D'Rett last night," he says. "After I walked you back to your quarters. I may have jogged to his room and begged." The grin turns sheepish. "Chelsea and L'Tarne were there to witness my pleading. It was not a dignified display."
I cannot speak. My throat has closed around something too large for words.
"I wanted to take you to see your community center," he continues, his voice softer now. "And I thought we could have a proper picnic there. You and me. No research team, no comm chatter, no schedule." He nods toward the bag stowed behind his seat. "I packed food. I had the synthesizer make chariom noodles for you, mild ones for me. Some of that verak nectar you like. A few other things."
He planned this.
"You have been thinking about this all day," I say. "That is why you were so distracted."
"Guilty." He has the grace to look slightly abashed. "Keeping a secret from you is basically impossible. You read people like books."
