the sides of her mouth. A word comes to her:
schadenfreude
, and her mind fills in the blank:
feeling joy at someone else’s suffering
. That’s not exactly what this is, but knowing that her new companion is just as broken as she ismakes the uncertainty and emptiness of their situation somehow easier to bear.
The path is little more than a faint trail in the rocky soil, with sparse, coarse vegetation that looks nothing like Earth grass. It’s wild and untamed, but just the fact that it’s bona fide plant life, here on this alien planet, is pretty amazing. As they walk, the worm’s grinding and pounding grows fainter until eventually it fades altogether. Then it’s just silence and rough terrain and a bright pink sky overhead. Just a boy and a girl out for a casual afternoon stroll.
Or so Ana tries to tell herself.
“I’m sorry for taking off on you back at the rocket,” Todd says after a few minutes.
“Don’t be,” Ana says. “How could you even know I was there? I wasn’t expecting you, either.”
He tilts his head and studies her, seeming to come to a decision. “Still. It’s a rough world out here. We’ll be better off sticking together.”
Together
. Now there’s an interesting word. She’d resigned herself to being fully alone for this journey, and while she’s thrilled to be proven wrong, that core of self-reliance remains. Another behavioral muscle memory, perhaps? Still, if they’re going to be companions, they should try to find some way to connect. But can two people really get to know each other when neither of them properly know themselves? “Tell me everything you remember,” she says. “Whatever’s there, start to finish.”
The story Todd tells is nearly identical to her own: circlet,letter, mission, map-with-dotted-direction-line, and all. The only difference in their stories lies in her early introduction to the worm. Ana grimaces. They can’t build a shared past, that’s clear. But maybe, going forward
together
, they can jointly make some sense of right now. “So here we are,” she says. “Twin amnesiacs off exploring an alien world.”
Todd grins and it’s like a sunrise breaking over his pale face, triggering again that indefinable quickening inside her chest, that reaching for …
something
. Ana finds herself suddenly needing to look away. “So back to the memory-loss thing,” she says.
“What about it?”
“Don’t you wonder what the deal is?” she asks. “Why would whoever’s in charge of this expedition send us to an alien planet with no memories? What possible advantage could there be?”
Todd’s eyebrows come together as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll have to figure it out as we go along.” He clears his throat.
Ana keeps her expression steady, but inwardly she wishes she had half the chilled-out temperament Todd seems to possess. He looks so much more comfortable with his condition than she is.
On the other hand, why
should
she be comfortable with this? Having a blank, empty mind is not natural, it’s not right, and—sure, for now all she can do is take things as they are. But one thing’s certain: If there are any answers to be had anywhere on this planet, she’s going to find them.
Whatever it takes.
The scenery stays stubbornly the same as the trail winds on—an endless display of flat, barren earth with scattered and struggling vegetation. It’s like a world that used to have life and is clinging desperately to what little is left. Overhead and to their rear, the twin suns smolder in the bright sky.
As they walk, Ana catches herself more than once following the curve of Todd’s shoulder, her gaze lingering at the hollow of his throat before she jerks her attention away. What is going on with her? She wishes she could blame this on muscle memory, like her eyes are used to lingering on Todd. But she’s pretty sure it doesn’t work that way. Still …
“I think we knew each other before,” she says
Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton