Outland: The Bitter Chill of Night
The nights in the Outland were brutally cold. There wasn't much to burn for a fire anyway, and lighting one out in the open like this would've been as good as advertising our position. So we found a decently sheltered dip in the ground, dug it out a bit, and settled in. We'd walked far enough that the ruins hiding the lab were out of sight, leaving us even more exhausted and hungry than before.
"……."
We ate in silence—some water and biscuits we'd packed—and the fatigue I'd been holding back crashed over me all at once. I glanced at Pria sitting beside me; she was fighting to keep her sleepy eyes open. If I left her like that, she'd probably nod off sitting bolt upright. So I pulled a sheet from our gear.
We only had one sheet, thanks to all the space taken up by water and food. And honestly, it was the only intact one worth bringing anyway. Better than nothing, though. I spread it out; if we pressed close, it could cover two.
"……."
She didn't look thrilled, but as I'd said, the Outland nights were freezing. With no choice, she scooted closer. The first thing I noticed was how surprisingly warm her body heat was. Funny thing to think about—human body temperature doesn't vary that much, but someone else's warmth hits you so vividly.
While I was lost in that pointless musing, she tucked the edge of the sheet under her, secured it firmly, and leaned back against the ditch wall. Even breathing filled the silence for a while.
You'd think we were asleep, but I could feel her tension, her vigilance scanning the dark. I spoke first to break it.
"What's the city we're heading to like?"
Left alone, she'd tough it out and crash late. A chat might loosen her up enough to give in to exhaustion.
"……."
No quick reply. The silence dragged so long I started feeling embarrassed, like I'd been shadowboxing at a sleeping person—then she answered.
"Raze City."
Her voice carried a hint of irritation and fatigue, like I'd woken her just to talk.
"Corporate city on the coast. Government sold off pieces of it a century ago, then the whole thing seventy years back. Made it the most cutting-edge hellhole on earth—huge gap between the bottom and the top."
"Sodom and Gomorrah, huh."
"…Guess you studied theology too, sailor."
"High praise, priestess."
I slid back with a smooth retort, and she snorted. She knew Sodom and Gomorrah, so this world had its religions and scriptures. But what grabbed me was the city name. Raze City.
"Feels like I've heard it somewhere…."
"What, memories coming back?"
She chuckled. I mumbled "maybe" to keep up the amnesia act and sank into thought. That name lingered in my ears, oddly familiar.
"……Kuul…."
"……?"
As silence fell again, something thumped onto my shoulder. Pria, tense just moments ago, had drifted off with a peaceful face. Moving my head might wake her, so I just shifted my eyes to take her in. Her scowling, contemptuous look wasn't bad, but this angelic sleep was nice too.
Soon, I closed my eyes and joined her. Sentry duty? A master like me senses anyone approaching. That's what makes us masters. Anyway.
///
I woke the next morning wrapped mummy-style in the sheet, cocooned on the ditch floor.
"Tsk…."
Lying on your side means drooling—unavoidable human anatomy, even for top martial artists. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and sat up. There she was, perched at the ditch's edge.
"……."
Staring at the rising sun—blinding, yet her eyes stayed wide in disbelief, gleaming sapphire blue. Sapphire crystals trailed from her eyes. I pretended not to notice and shut mine again.
No telling how long that lasted for her. But after that hellhole, without sunlight, those days weren't short or easy. I flipped the sheet over quietly, letting her savor the outside world a bit longer.
As I'd said, blue skies and sun bathed us.
An hour into our trek, the sun was blasting us.
The temperature wasn't extreme, but the dry wasteland air, relentless sunlight—no shade, no breeze, vast open terrain. We were drying out like squid in an oven.
Couldn't even chat to pass time; had to save spit and walk.
Another hour like that, and I stopped.
"This won't do."
"……."
She eyed me, saving breath too, and sipped just enough water to wet her lips.
Smart strategy, rationing in unknown territory. I was impressed by her survival skills as I continued.
"Rest days, travel nights."
"…Yeah."
She'd been thinking the same; easy agreement as she dropped her pack. I'd prepped arguments for hesitation or rushing, so her compliance left me a tad miffed. She shot back a look that said dig or something.
We rested, ate lightly at sunset, and moved. Still cold, but motion kept it bearable. We hunkered down at dawn.
Maybe from all the recent activity—or lack thereof—her body felt warmer than yesterday. Last thought before sleep.
Next day: walk, rest, eat, sleep.
Next: same.
And the next….
That's when I realized something was wrong.
Waking, her body against mine was hotter, clammily damp. I'd chalked her higher temp to normal before, but now it was obvious: trouble.
Seeing her force down biscuits, weak and listless, I spoke.
"We can rest a day."
She paused mid-sip.
"Food runs out here, we die. Gotta keep going."
"…Dying from this is the same."
"You're pushing too hard too."
I flinched. Weird—I wasn't peak condition. No morning meditation, my dantian near empty. But how'd she know from looking?
She sighed at my puzzled stare.
"No antibiotics or stabilizers post-implant? Bound to have issues. Not swapping old for new—you got fresh installs."
"……."
You reek of blood. Her words hit. I'd seen blood seep from cyberware joints, thought it normal. Turns out, black-market surgery fallout.
Suddenly queasy, I set down my biscuit and sipped water.
"Pushing's pushing either way. No pointless pity—eat up and move."
"…Suddenly feel sick. Rest a bit?"
She ignored me, packing.
"One drops, the other takes all food and goes."
She said it right before we left: remember that.
Sunset start, dawn finish—routine held, but distance grew between us. Limb aches nagged, but that wasn't it. Her steps slowed daily.
Prison weakening? Illness? Both? Neither? Didn't matter—her pace dragged on.
Her breathing grew labored behind me.
"……."
When it faded, I stopped and waited.
Thud—or was it flop? Heavy silence fell.
I turned, crouched by her collapsed form.
"…Hah, hah…."
Up close, her ragged breaths were clear. Forehead to mine: scorching fever.
Thinking her cold midway, I'd given her the sheet; now a weak hand emerged, grabbing my wrist.
"…You're, really tough."
Her fever-weak voice slurred seductively. Not welcome.
"First implants hurt like hell, they say… You seemed fine."
Her words, broken by gasps—I threw them back.
"Priestess, you're pushing too."
"…That damn priestess."
Laugh or exhale? From cracked, blood-crusted lips—pale now, pitiful. Reaching for water, her hand clamped tighter instead. Weak grip, but intent clear.
"Don't do stupid shit."
I got it.
"Food's plenty… Ration solo, lasts days. City reached… favor…."
I pulled free, offered the bottle, cutting her off. Message received—no need wasting breath.
She'd be my true benefactor. Real priestess style. I love those tales, but no tragic waste of one.
"Ugh!"
"Good, full of vim!"
She gurgled, shaking head no; I pulled the bottle.
"…Hah… almost drowned me…!"
Watery glare met my shrug as I downed the rest—sweeter than usual. Dug a pit fast—practice made perfect—laid her in, sat cross-legged beside.
"…Just go."
"Can't. Not a beast abandoning a benefactor."
"What'd I do to earn that…."
"You said give food, go alone, I'll stay. That made you my lifesaver."
"I know my body. A day or two rest…."
"Not resting. Wait. I'll show you."
"……."
"The mysteries of the East."
Too weak to retort, she shut up. Fine for meditation anyway. I closed my eyes.
Ah, that cool sensation. Time for circulating energy.