I, Cassandra

56 | RYAN MADDOX

He tells me things, this dread-locked, filth-encrusted, emaciated man who calls himself Amadi. He's an interesting guy, and with each day of darkness we pass together I find myself liking him more. His backstory unfolds in fragments as if he would rather not speak of his life in Alpha VII but it trickles out, inevitable, like a dirty secret, or perhaps a confession, in between his unappetising meals of grubs harvested beneath the roots of the vines.

I don't press him for details, partly because my only desire is to find Blue, and partly because Amadi appears to carry a burden far heavier than any man should. Knowing what GC was like I can only imagine what was asked of him. He tells me who he was before: the son of a high government official elevated to Colonel for 'an act of heroism' although the way he says the words, heavy with bitterness, I know there was nothing heroic about it. We have the time to figure out he was already in deep freeze two days before the shit hit the fan. I tell him about the end, of the people who didn't get into G-II because of me and how we're now in the year twelve thousand one hundred eighty-seven. He digests this information then says he's glad he missed it all because it sounds depressing.

Which makes us laugh so hard we have to stop walking.

An engineer, he got targeted as an asset for the future, made the Prime Minister's 'insurance policy'. The pointlessness of his preservation stands out, stark as the spindly silhouettes of the thin trees against the reverse smear of the Milky Way.

Despite all the shit we face we manage to laugh, mostly at the irony of everything, but sometimes, shit's just funny because we're wandering around in a world where we don't belong and things fuck up all the time. In the tussocks of strange stiff grass beside the black waters of a vast lake, Amadi found a nest filled with eggs. He stole them all and cracked them open to eat them raw. But they weren't like the eggs we remember, they were filled with a strange slimy jelly and what looked like a cross between a brain, a fish and a goddamn alien. Amadi puked his guts out. But after, we laughed. Probably because we're fucked. But mostly because it was disgusting. And in this place of darkness, muggy warmth, and weird plants, even disgust is welcome entertainment.

The sound of my voice making fun of him is something I never thought I would hear myself do again. Not with Blue gone. I really thought I would never laugh again. But Amadi puts me at ease. He's different, genuine, honest, and filled with interesting facts about the world we lost. He's a man I can respect and I find myself grateful he's my companion. For someone who has wandered alone in an unknown world for almost two years eating nothing more than grubs, he's very together.

I still don't know if this is how he is, or this is who he has become, a dry, self-deprecating man resigned to spending half his waking life in darkness and eating grubs in a world ten thousand years removed from the one he fell asleep in.

It doesn't take long to learn we share a common ground. He too hated Global Command and the elite bastards who ran the show. I can tell he's lost something or someone important to him because of them, but he never talks about it. Neither of us says it out loud, but it's there: Our gratification that those who fucked up the world didn't make it out when we did, even if it's shit. Somehow, it's easier now there's two of us. All I know is I am glad he's someone I can easily spend time with. For once, the odds are with me.

He learns my story. And he's impressed, wants to know as much as possible about what it was like, how it feels, what's different. Anyone else asking me those questions would have gotten a punch in the mouth, but not him. He's just insatiably curious, and telling him about it helps me come to terms with who I am. I don't tell him about Blue, or anything about Miro. He still clings to the safe, like it's a lifeline, or a friend, it's hard to tell, but I can't bear to take whatever it represents away from him. At least, not yet.

It's clear he's keeping secrets from me, just like I am keeping my history with Blue—and who she really is—from him. But I get it. Why he's not telling me all, even here where it really doesn't matter anymore. It's about pride. And control. That need to feel you have some power in your life when you know you've got none—to avoid admitting you are nothing more than a speck of dust caught in the glare of a moonbeam—or you're just a piece in a vast, uncaring universe where time crushes all.

But right now, it's just us. And here we are. Still doing it. Keeping secrets. Hedging our bets under stars ten thousand years removed from our own and making our way through bizarre trees that can endure six months of dark. And it would all be bullshit if it weren't for my hope the pod belongs to Blue. I can't help myself but I know I am reading too much into this scenario, finding meaning in it where there's probably none. But I don't care. Like the way Amadi needs that safe. I need to believe the pod he found is hers. It has to be hers.

After a month of walking, Amadi stops at the edge of a ravine. It slopes away into a marsh that stretches far into the distance. He points to the northeast.

'It was there,' he says gesturing at an indistinct clump of shadows that perch on the bank of a winding stream, its fast-running water sparkling in the moonlight. 'I'm sure of it.'