“Fine,” she shrugged. “Can I really entertain myself? Like . . . can I explore?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I said, warily. “But I won’t tell you not to. Just stay on the ship, okay?”
She hesitated, but nodded. “Okay.”
“Fine. I’m going to go enjoy my shower.”
“Where are they? I’ll want one later.”
“You’ve got a small bathroom in your room. Let me show you where it is.”
I led her back to the rooms (she seemed pleased that I’d already moved her stuff in there, or possibly that we wouldn’t be sharing), and showed her how to use all the facilities, as they were built to be compact and were more complicated than the turn of a knob. Despite her excitement at the idea of exploring the ship, I heard her puttering around in the adjacent room as I went about getting ready for sleep. I guess she was glad for the space, since she’d been living in an elevator. Not that our rooms were that much bigger, but still . . . bigger than an elevator, even a large corporate one.
All in all, the day hadn’t gone too badly. I was still sore, hungry, exhausted, and terrified that the universe might end at any moment—but I had a ship, a recruit, and a plan. It was more than I’d had yesterday.
For the next three days, Josephine and I stuck to a specific routine. We would wake up at five, go for a jog around the ship (which was torture for my injuries at first, but slowly got easier), come in and eat breakfast, then clear out and organize until lunch. Then we would go out again, to a stream about two miles away (we jogged), where I taught her to catch fish with her bare hands. I was glad once again for my InterWorld classes; though such happenings were rare, we had all gone through basic wilderness survival courses in case we ever ended up stranded on a primitive world.
As I stood knee-deep in the stream, showing her how the light bent in the water and made the fish seem slightly to the side of where they actually were, I remembered how much trouble J’r’ohoho had always had with this lesson. The centaur hadn’t been able to bend over as far as the rest of us had and couldn’t even reach the water without wading in deeper. His hooves kept slipping on the slick rocks, and he’d ended up soaking wet with only a single fish to show for it.
Josephine did well, catching her first fish on her fourth try. She lost it again as it wriggled out of her grasp, but was able to hold on to the second and third. She did better and better as the days went on, and I took to giving her a crash course in battlefield tactics while we brought the fish back to base. Learning how to anticipate the enemy was discussed while we got our catch cleaned and cooked; then, while we ate, I explained the basics of planar travel and the concept of why Walking worked.
After lunch, we’d go for another run around the base, then I’d give her combat training. She had a better chance against me than she thought she did, with all my injuries, but I still managed to teach her some basics without hurting myself further. Then it was more cleaning out and hauling (specifically the other dorm rooms) and more combat tactics, specifically in regard to what she could expect from HEX and Binary. A final jog around the base, more fish for dinner, then an hour of leisure time before bed.
The first and second day, she used that extra hour to sleep. The third day, looking no less exhausted but even more determined, she asked me for another lesson in combat.
The fourth day, I decided it was time.
“Hue will bond with us again,” I explained, “and we’ll go back to our proper timeline. Then, through Hue, I’ll search for another Walker. I’ll go with you on this first one, but eventually, you and I will be running separate extraction teams.”
“Meaning we’ll both go after different versions of us.”
“Yes.”
For the first time in three days, she looked pensive. “How am I supposed to just . . . pull another one of me out of their life? It’s not fair.”
“The same way I did it to you,” I told her.
She frowned. “You didn’t give me a choice—you showed up and things started coming after me. . . .”
“Exactly. I didn’t give you a choice.” It was harsh, but it was true. It had to be true. It was the only way we could win.
She glared down at her shoes for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” After a pause, her expression relaxed, though she still didn’t smile. “I’m sick of fish, anyway.”
“Me, too.” I put a note of sympathy in my voice, sort of as an apology for my tone a moment ago.
“Are we going now?” she asked.
“Now’s as good a time as any,” I said, but the reality was that now was when Hue happened to be here (we hadn’t seen him at all for the past three days), and I didn’t want to chance his disappearing again for longer this time. She nodded.
“Hue?” I called, and the little mudluff perked up from where he’d been doing a passable impression of a floor mat. He rose slowly, like a balloon being filled with helium, and floated over. “Hey, buddy,” I said, reaching out to touch a hand to his side. He turned a pleased powder blue, exerting slight pressure against my palm. “You ready?” He shifted color again, this time to an affirmative bronze, and I reached out for Josephine’s hand.
As before, Hue flowed over us both like weird, nonsticky honey, and I Walked.
Josephine was a bit more used to Walking now, which made the transition smoother for me; but we were stumbling along the path rather than gliding, the gait of a weary traveler who has been on their feet for far too long.
I think Hue is getting tired, Josephine thought at me. Well, it wasn’t really thinking at me, exactly; it was more that I was aware of her thoughts. Like she was saying them out loud, even though I knew she wasn’t.
Probably, I answered. I don’t know how much this takes out of him, but he’s been sleeping a lot.