Her instructions were to fly to Novador and hand in the fugitives, then herself. It seemed a reasonable option prior to his departure, but now not knowing if Mason was dead or alive, it was impossible to comply with the command.
Obedience was fine when things were calm and running to plan, but if he believed she could sit idly by and forget him, then he was mistaken. In the heat of the moment she wasn’t worrying about obedience, only that she loved Mason too much to simply abandon him to his fate.
How to help him? Find him?
She sent one more message—I’m coming to find you—then made a decision. She needed a shuttle and there were two docked: Stealth, which was too badly damaged to use, and Callo’s little speeder, which had been battered during her attempted escape. She went to inspect the damage.
It didn’t take long to determine the hull was intact, if a little dented, and the controls for flying the ship were functioning. However, she had to spend time running checks, recalibrating systems, and ensuring it was capable of landing and taking off again. She plotted a route to the last known position of Mason, the location of his communicator, which was transmitting a beacon.
The planet’s surface was covered in jungle and she needed a landing platform for the craft, somewhere flat and clear. The recon system identified an appropriate location—a clearing, possibly some kind of cultivation. It meant there were natives nearby, but she had to chance that they were friendly.
She went to the Titan’s armory, selected an arsenal of weaponry, and stuffed the guns in a bag, along with food, water bottles, and a medical kit. Heaving the bag onto her shoulder, she returned to the docking bay and released the locks securing the shuttle. With one last look around the bay, she entered the airlock and closed the door behind her.
A day had passed since she’d last heard from Mason and what kept her going was the belief that he was still alive. She felt the ache in her soul, the core of her being, and until she was convinced otherwise, she wasn’t going to doubt that ache meant something.
Relying on another burst of adrenaline, which had kept her going with little sleep and food, she dismissed the nagging headache and rumbling stomach, fired up the rockets, and released the docking clamps.
Jade had a little time to familiarize herself with the controls; however, the autopilot did the hard work for her as it flew the vessel through the planet’s atmosphere and cloud cover. Emerging into the skies about the jungle, the little shuttle swerved between the peaks of the trees until it came to the clearing. It was a field and next to it a village.
The villagers ran away as the shuttle bumped onto the ground. The landing gear held out, as had the damaged hull. She’d made it down. Whether it would take off again was a different matter. For now, she had other things to worry about—the natives.
She climbed out of the shuttle and felt the heat of the day. The sticky air immediately glued itself to her bare arms.
The women hid in the shadows of the huts, while the men lurked by the stilts clutching their spears. Dragging the bag over her shoulders, the weight of it causing her to hunch, she cautiously walked toward the nearest building.
She needed their help. They might have seen Mason, possibly the other men, too, but she only cared about Mason. She dropped the bag on the dirt and crouched down, making herself small, as little threat as possible.
Picking up a stick, she began to draw a picture in the dirt. Three of the men were curious, including one with vines around his forehead, and they edged forward, close enough to see what she drew. They pointed and chatted in their own tongue, waving in the direction of the trees.
“Him? You saw him?” she asked slowly. She tapped the ground where she’d drawn a rudimentary Mason complete with tattoos on his arms.
Again they pointed to one side of the field, to a path disappearing into the jungle.
She guessed he’d come this way and gone on.
Alongside the figure of Mason, Jade outlined another. She had only seen images in databases and libraries, having never met one in real life, but she gave it her best shot—a lizard man with sharp teeth and claws.
The men gasped, then growled, waving the spears around their heads. They pointed back to where Mason had gone.
Jade made a point of stabbing the image of Krul with her stick and grimacing, as if to indicate she hated him. It worked; the natives grinned, crept forward and joined in, until the outline had been obliterated.
With Mason she had to show them something different. She put down her stick, kissed the palm of her hand and placed it on the crude sketch of his face.
The men lowered the spears and muttered to each other. Then they seemed to call to Jade, gesticulating with the arms for her to follow them. She picked up the bag and walked in their direction, keeping a safe distance. The lead man with the vines coiled around his head took her to where the trees gathered and the start of a track.
The guttural noises they made deep in their throats didn’t seem threatening; neither did their facial expressions, which had lost their fear.
“You want me to go this way?” she asked, knowing they wouldn’t understand a word, but it was important for them to hear her voice, especially the encouraging tone.
She followed them for an hour, weighed down by the backpack and the heat. However, she couldn’t give up now. They’d seen Mason and it meant he had been alive when he’d left their village.
Something glinted on the ground, a metallic reflection. She bent over and picked up the device—his communicator. He’d dropped it. The lead man stopped. Right by his feet was a hole.
Jade crept toward the edge and peered down. Curled up at the bottom was Mason. He wasn’t moving.
Chapter Twelve
“Mason?” she called out cautiously.