Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“Just a little cut,” she said, holding the linen against the wound to soak up fresh bleeding. “You’ll have a scar.”

“It won’t be the first.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes ran across his torso, which was a patchwork of evidence of other minor altercations. Marcus, suddenly uncomfortable again, shifted himself away from her and nodded toward the trunk.

“There should be some fresh bandages in there,” he said.

Jen got up and fetched them. When she sat down again, she was right beside him, her knee nearly touching his. She knotted the bandage around his injury with the air of an expert, tested the knot, and let his arm fall. It brushed her thigh on the way down, and the tips of his fingers seemed to tingle.

“You were lucky,” she said. “You might have broken your neck.”

“I know.” Marcus sighed. “Fitz has already lectured me. But I couldn’t just let things get out of hand. .”

There was a long silence, or as close to silence as there ever was in an army camp. Outside, there was the usual buzz of men putting up tents, cooking dinner, and dealing with the thousand other mundane tasks that made up the life of a soldier. But they all slowly seemed to fade away, until Marcus was intensely aware of Jen’s breathing. He found himself watching the way her chest moved under the flaps of her coat. When he realized what he was doing, he looked hastily away, blushing again, then caught her gazing at him steadily. He swallowed, hesitated, and opened his mouth, though to say what he had no idea.

“Yes,” Jen said.

Marcus blinked. “What?”

“I know what you’re going to say. Or what you want to say, anyway. And the answer is yes.”

“Yes? I mean-I don’t know what you mean. I wasn’t-”

“You’re very gallant,” Jen said. “But if you keep stuttering, I may have to hit you.”

He kissed her instead. It wasn’t a very good kiss. Marcus was out of practice, and the edge of Jen’s spectacles dug into the side of his face so hard they left a mark. But she was smiling when he pulled away, and her cheeks were as flushed as his. She took the glasses off with one hand, snapped them closed, and set them carefully by the side of the bed.

“I didn’t mean to be. . forward,” Marcus said. “You don’t have to-you know-”

“Please,” she said. “ Please stop talking.”

He did. After a while, she snuffed the lamp, leaving them in the warm, dry semidarkness.

It had been a long time for Marcus, and even longer since he hadn’t had to hire his company. Adrecht might have been able to get Khandarai women to fawn over him, but Marcus had never had the knack, so his romantic life had been confined to a few of the cleaner establishments in the lower city. Compared to the practiced embraces of those seasoned professionals, Jen was hesitant and awkward, but he found he didn’t mind.

Afterward, she lay close beside him, her breast pressed against his shoulder. The camp bed wasn’t really big enough for both of them, and Marcus’ injured arm dangled over the edge. His other arm was trapped underneath her, but he felt no desire to move. Jen’s breathing was so soft he thought she was asleep, but when he turned his head he found her eyes open and watching him.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Just thinking.” She pursed her lips. “Remember the bottle we opened?”

“Of course.”

Jen smiled. “I just thought that if we all die in the desert, at least I won’t have to regret not doing this.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Marcus said.

“You didn’t sound so confident earlier.”

“I was angry.” Marcus let out a long breath. “Janus will come through, somehow. He won’t say where we’re going and he won’t explain, but in the end he’ll come through, and drag the rest of us with him.”

“You sound like you have a lot of faith in him.”

For a moment, Marcus was back at Weltae. He saw Adrecht urging him to escape while he had the chance. He struggled to recall the certainty that had blazed in his mind, that Janus would be there. And he was. Another, treacherous voice added, Too late for Adrecht, though. And how many others?

Marcus shifted, bringing his free hand up to run lightly along Jen’s flank. He gave her nipple an idle tweak, and felt it harden under his fingers. A little shiver ran through her body, and she wriggled tighter against him and pressed her lips to his bearded cheek.

• • •

She didn’t spend the night, of course. Sex on the camp bed was uncomfortable enough. Actually sleeping side by side would have been impossible. He must have dozed off at some point, though, because when he woke in the morning, still naked, Jen and her clothes had gone.

There was no question of keeping the liaison a secret-the walls of the tent were just canvas, after all, and there was nothing an army camp liked better than to gossip about its officers. But if the rumors reached Fitz or Janus, neither mentioned them, and the feeling that he was doing something monstrously wrong slowly started to fade from Marcus’ mind. Jen shared his bed the next night, when he’d traded the camp bed for a pair of bedrolls, and the night after that as well. The day after that, the Colonials marched into the Great Desol.

They’d been making steady progress through the Khandarai farmland beyond Nahiseh, in spite of the lack of good roads. As Give-Em-Hell had promised, past the town the land flattened out and the fields were marked by rough dirt tracks instead of stone walls, making for a much more comfortable march and easier going for the vehicles. Marcus’ spirits had revived somewhat, due both to Jen’s ministrations and to the fact that no Desoltai ambushes had materialized.

The second day, the cultivated fields started to give way to patches of rough scrub grass, and the grass in turn to open, sandy wastes strewn with rock. The streams that wound through the low valleys became narrower and farther apart, until they were dust-dry beds more often than not. Huge outcrops of rock, like jagged whales breaching through an ocean of sand and dust, took the place of the gentle hills they had found thus far. There was no definite boundary, but by the morning of the third day Marcus could look back and ahead and see not a hint of green from horizon to horizon.

• • •

On the morning of the fourth day out from Nahiseh, Marcus was roused from an uneasy sleep by Fitz, who knocked discreetly but firmly at the tent pole. Marcus had in fact gone to bed alone that night. The camp was abuzz with expectation, of an attack or some other sign of resistance from the Desoltai, and he’d been up half the night waiting for the alarm to sound. Whether she’d sensed this or had just been preoccupied herself, Jen had stayed away, and Marcus had eventually lapsed into a fitful slumber. He woke up, still fully clothed, and struggled groggily to his knees.

“Fitz?” he said. “Is something wrong?” The light outside didn’t seem bright enough for it to be much past dawn.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” said the lieutenant. “You’d better come and see.”

WINTER

“They found them on the rocks?” Winter said.

“Strapped to them, hands and feet,” Graff said. He looked a little gray. “Like they were still alive when they put them up there. And that’s not the half of it, sir.”

“Oh?”

Graff’s eyes darted to Bobby. “Not sure the boy should hear, sir.”

Winter winced. They were in front of her tent, in the midst of the Seventh Company camp. No one was obviously listening, but she had no doubt a dozen ears were pricked up nearby.

“Corporal Forester is a soldier like the rest of us,” Winter said, a bit too loudly. “In spite of his age .”