Madlands

18. Pre-Dawn

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Pallis had slowly migrated almost all of the way across the square of night sky that Grey could see through the window. It would soon slip out of sight, taking her a step closer to the dawn.

She didn't know how long she'd been awake, but she reasoned that she must have slept at some point—even if just for a few minutes.

When she and Mando had untangled after their unexpected—for her at least—intimacy, and she'd gotten up to leave for the other room, he'd reached for her hand and ended her retreat with a single word, "stay." He'd pulled her into him and laid them down on the daybed, wrapping around her just like a lifetime ago on Galir. Except this time it was fully intended, and he'd brought his cloak around to cover her—Grey's still in a pile on the floor.

That's where she still found herself these hours later, staring sideways out the window, paralyzed by thoughts that looped in endless circles, while Mando's sleeping chest rose and fell against her back.

No, not Mando—Din.

She could barely bring herself to think of him as his new—his true—name. She tried to reason that she, of all people—Grey, Calla, Seneca, Jules, Thorn (that one had started as a joke with her old friend Rosie), Essie, Six, EL-0228A, Drea, Fiona, and now Greta—should be able to adapt to a name update. Then she tried to justify that, no, she'd come to know him so well as Mando that it felt too strange to switch. The deeper truth was that he'd given her his name, Din, like a rare gift, and she was too afraid to accept it.

He was letting her in, and she was terrified that the door would shut behind her if she walked through.

His words spoke of an intertwined future—words she'd almost missed the gravity of in the daze of the moment—words that now rang out like warning sirens on endless replay; "...when we rejoin my Tribe." "...I can, but not until I'm claiming you." In those fragments she heard him planning, or maybe just hoping, for a stable future that she could not help build. Her adult life was about impermanence, staying nimble for the chase, never sitting still, and reinventing herself to pursue the next lead. And she certainly could not be claimed; autonomy was crucial for making the endless sacrifices required to find the truth.

She tried to think back, through the past twelve days, to what she'd done to make him think she could fulfil such a role... to what had made him think she deserved his future.

He'd saved her life on Ignitius Minor, and probably had done so again in less obviously heroic ways since. She, meanwhile, had kept him at arm's length, ultimately using his search for his lost people as a structure for her own pursuits. He didn't even know that there was a new crew waiting in the wings, hoping for her to join their ranks in just a couple of hours.

She'd also likely just stolen the first kiss of a man for whom simply taking off his helmet required immeasurable, apparently misplaced, trust.

She felt the cool, smooth weight of the pendant on her upper arm, as it hung down towards the bed. The Mudhorn. His signet. A generosity he'd bestowed so thoughtfully in the name of keeping her safe, and that was clearly coming to mean more. But she was not a part of any clan. She had lost hers. Her world had shot her out into the stars with its very last breath, alone.

The last sliver of Pallis fell from view.

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It looked like twilight. Mando didn't know what time the sun rose on Rin, but he could tell that it was slowly getting ready. He'd slept more soundly than he had in months, maybe years. But the bed, the room, was empty.

Grey must be getting ready, or wanted the bigger bed.

He pushed himself up and opened the door of his smaller room, but heard no signs of movement. The lights were all off, but pre-dawn had crept into the room, and he could tell that no one was there.

On the bed, he found a stack of Grey's datapads, the comlink he'd given her, and her cloak, neatly folded under a note written in her script:

I'm sorry. I wish I had a home for your affection.

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Kayliff was hauling the last crate onto the first skiff. Case was already cycling the engines of the second. All that remained after this was the pre-flight and a prayer to the Starmaker. He wasn't particularly pious, but he figured they might need it on this run, especially being a person-down.

He'd come on too strong; had been too convinced that her arrival was some cosmic gift. But even the invitation itself was probably too drastic for someone to accept after just one meeting, with less than a day's lead.

So when he saw Greta appear over the rise just as the sun threatened its glory, he knew he'd be adding in a prayer of thanks.

He steadied her hand as she took the large step up off the mossy plate-rock and into his crew.

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