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sinks into my bones, making me feel as though I’ll never remember what it’s like to be comfortable again. Still we keep moving, and at daybreak, the rain stops.
    Hit shoots a furred thing with too many eyes and teeth as it leaps toward us from the branches above. The animal falls with a thud, revealing green-spotted fur. I’ve never seen anything like it, but she kneels, slices it open, and checks the meat.
    “We can eat it,” she says. “If we must.”
    Dear Mary. I’ve never eaten fresh flesh.
    “Wouldn’t we need to cook it? That would slow us down.”
    She nods. “Point.”
    I’m just as glad it worked out this way. I don’t want to see how things get turned into food, even if this beast tried to eat us first. We walk on and leave it behind for some other creature to feast on.
    Eventually, we come to a point where we can’t continue, and we rest, rolled up in giant leaves. Insects bite me as I try to sleep, tortured by images of Doc and Evelyn. Worry over March haunts me, but I force myself to relax, one muscle at a time. Hit takes the first watch.
    Creatures prowl around our campsite, some smaller than the one we killed. Others sound bigger, but they won’t close as long as we can find dry wood for a fire. I don’t rest well, even when I’m not on guard duty. The need to locate freshwater and forage slows our travel; but as we can, Hit and I keep moving toward Castello, the capital of Venice Minor.
    She falls sick on the third day. I don’t even know she’s feeling poorly until her knees buckle. Whether it’s something she ate, or a tropical fever, the outcome remains the same. I have to take care of her. Her skin is hot, her eyes sunken in her head. I set up camp near the river, which we’ve followed as much as we can.
    The night is endless as I bathe her forehead and try to get her to take some water. There might be medicinal plants nearby, but I can’t identify them. If I could use my handheld to bounce a connection to a satellite, I could scan and identify them, but I’m completely cut off from the amenities of the modern world, and my ignorance has never been more terrifying.
    Helpless, I care for Hit as best I can, but the hours drag interminably. More than once, she reaches for me, whispering, “Dina,” through cracked lips, and I let her put my palms to her cheeks as if I am the woman she loves above all others. My heart breaks a hundred times before her fever does.
    Day three of her illness. Sometime in the night, she sweated out the bug. I’ve been making a broth out of grass I know is harmless, but we’re both suffering from malnutrition. We should have reached Castello by now. The fact that we haven’t doesn’t bode well for rescue attempts—or the overall welfare of the Conglomerate. Surely, if they could, they would have sent a ground team by now.
    A little voice whispers, Maybe we lost. Maybe you did this for nothing.
    I can’t let despair take root. I can’t.
    “What happened?” Hit asks groggily, her hand on mine as I hold the collapsible flask for her to drink.
    “You’ve been sick.”
    “Feel like hell.”
    “I’m not surprised. But you’re on the mend now.”
    I hope.
    On the fourth day after Hit fell ill, I forget my scruples. I can’t choose to starve down here any more than I could stay in grimspace. I have work to do yet. So I build a fire and go hunting. I provide Hit with a laser pistol, but it hasn’t been charged in days, and she won’t have many shots before the gun dies.
    Leaving us defenseless.
    The weapon in my hand doesn’t have much juice either. I find a likely blind and hunker down, listening to the jungle around me. I’ve grown accustomed to the insect noises over the past few days, so I tune them out. Other sounds capture my attention, and I lie in wait until something gets my scent. From the sound of it creeping toward me, it’s the same type of creature that tried to eat us once before. It thinks I’m dinner. They’re not picky about