green? The green everything?”
“The more green, the more south. Like I said, my guess would be Eastasia, maybe the SEA Colonies. From the South East Asian land reclamation project.”
On the other side of the sea. Farther away than anything I’ve ever imagined.
The Bishop picks up the jade monkey, turning it over and over in his hands. Then he frowns.
“In fact, did Fortis ever tell you he used to work over in the SEA Colonies, Doloria?”
“He did?”
The Bishop nods. “There’s a lot you don’t know about the Merk, I’m guessing.” He frowns. “Didn’t. As I said, I’m sorry for your loss. All of them.”
I nod, swallowing.
“Do you think you can help me?” I look to the Bishop.
He nods, slowly. “We might be able to determine the number of gold temples built on mountaintops in view of rice fields. We could at least try.”
For the first time, it actually sounds logical. Possible. Terrifyingly so.
I swallow. He pulls out a map, tracing routes between us and the Californias—between the Californias and Eastasia.
“It’s pretty hot out there right about now. Sympa activity is off the charts. And not just on our mountain; from here to the Hole, it’s swarming.”
“I don’t have a choice, Bishop.”
He nods, tapping the map. “Well, then. If you’re looking at anywhere in Eastasia, I know a ship headed there out of the Porthole, not three days from now. There’s a routine passage. We’ve got a line into one, a good group of bribable Brass. Could probably get you on, if you were sure about this.”
Three days.
I can almost feel the little bird fluttering its wings as I hear the words.
“But, Dol. Even if you make it across the New Pacific—it’s a different game over there. You might be in trouble, from the first moment you set foot on land. And where you’re going, there wouldn’t be anyone to help you. No one you can trust.”
I stand. “Nothing new about that. I’ll talk to the others.”
That’s what I say, but I know the answer already. There’s no one left to help us, anywhere. Not anymore. No matter how much they want to.
We’ll take our chances.
We don’t have many of those left, either.
I lie in the darkness listening to the sounds of Tima breathing. For a few moments, it is comforting to watch another person’s oblivion.
Until it isn’t.
It’s a strange feeling for a Grassgirl to have a rare, comfortable bed and still not be able to find anything close to comfort.
Tonight my bed feels like a grave.
I toss and turn and torment myself with thinking. It’s like picking at a scab, only worse, because the scab never comes off. I just keep picking.
Three days.
A ship is leaving in just three days.
Am I really this brave?
Can I really do what Fortis wanted and leave him behind—face Eastasia or the Wash or the SEA Colonies without him? Even the memory of him?
All because of my dreams?
I roll over, trying another position, burying my face in the pillow.
It’s too much. I don’t know the answers. The questions are getting too big.
Maybe I want to be small.
Maybe I want to be small and shallow and superficial. Maybe I want my life to be made up of small problems and smaller decisions.
What to eat for breakfast. Where to go, or not. What to do, or not. What to like, or not.
Who to love.
Could that be small as well? Would it matter?
If my life really were that little, would it be different? Would I know?
Small feelings? What would that feel like?
I would wake up without my heart pounding.
I would see a face lined with birthdays and not see my own death.
I would be calm in the sunshine, not waiting for the clouds to roll in.
I’d be gentle with myself. Measured.
Would I be happy? Is happy a small feeling too? Can it be?
I close my eyes and wonder but sleep does not come back for me.
So I do what I always do. I stop trying to be comfortable. Instead, I get up and keep going.
I have to. It’s all I know how to do.
So I pull on my clothes
“The more green, the more south. Like I said, my guess would be Eastasia, maybe the SEA Colonies. From the South East Asian land reclamation project.”
On the other side of the sea. Farther away than anything I’ve ever imagined.
The Bishop picks up the jade monkey, turning it over and over in his hands. Then he frowns.
“In fact, did Fortis ever tell you he used to work over in the SEA Colonies, Doloria?”
“He did?”
The Bishop nods. “There’s a lot you don’t know about the Merk, I’m guessing.” He frowns. “Didn’t. As I said, I’m sorry for your loss. All of them.”
I nod, swallowing.
“Do you think you can help me?” I look to the Bishop.
He nods, slowly. “We might be able to determine the number of gold temples built on mountaintops in view of rice fields. We could at least try.”
For the first time, it actually sounds logical. Possible. Terrifyingly so.
I swallow. He pulls out a map, tracing routes between us and the Californias—between the Californias and Eastasia.
“It’s pretty hot out there right about now. Sympa activity is off the charts. And not just on our mountain; from here to the Hole, it’s swarming.”
“I don’t have a choice, Bishop.”
He nods, tapping the map. “Well, then. If you’re looking at anywhere in Eastasia, I know a ship headed there out of the Porthole, not three days from now. There’s a routine passage. We’ve got a line into one, a good group of bribable Brass. Could probably get you on, if you were sure about this.”
Three days.
I can almost feel the little bird fluttering its wings as I hear the words.
“But, Dol. Even if you make it across the New Pacific—it’s a different game over there. You might be in trouble, from the first moment you set foot on land. And where you’re going, there wouldn’t be anyone to help you. No one you can trust.”
I stand. “Nothing new about that. I’ll talk to the others.”
That’s what I say, but I know the answer already. There’s no one left to help us, anywhere. Not anymore. No matter how much they want to.
We’ll take our chances.
We don’t have many of those left, either.
I lie in the darkness listening to the sounds of Tima breathing. For a few moments, it is comforting to watch another person’s oblivion.
Until it isn’t.
It’s a strange feeling for a Grassgirl to have a rare, comfortable bed and still not be able to find anything close to comfort.
Tonight my bed feels like a grave.
I toss and turn and torment myself with thinking. It’s like picking at a scab, only worse, because the scab never comes off. I just keep picking.
Three days.
A ship is leaving in just three days.
Am I really this brave?
Can I really do what Fortis wanted and leave him behind—face Eastasia or the Wash or the SEA Colonies without him? Even the memory of him?
All because of my dreams?
I roll over, trying another position, burying my face in the pillow.
It’s too much. I don’t know the answers. The questions are getting too big.
Maybe I want to be small.
Maybe I want to be small and shallow and superficial. Maybe I want my life to be made up of small problems and smaller decisions.
What to eat for breakfast. Where to go, or not. What to do, or not. What to like, or not.
Who to love.
Could that be small as well? Would it matter?
If my life really were that little, would it be different? Would I know?
Small feelings? What would that feel like?
I would wake up without my heart pounding.
I would see a face lined with birthdays and not see my own death.
I would be calm in the sunshine, not waiting for the clouds to roll in.
I’d be gentle with myself. Measured.
Would I be happy? Is happy a small feeling too? Can it be?
I close my eyes and wonder but sleep does not come back for me.
So I do what I always do. I stop trying to be comfortable. Instead, I get up and keep going.
I have to. It’s all I know how to do.
So I pull on my clothes
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