Ilia doesn't see the Guide until she's too close. She shifts, sinking lower into the cracked glass, color shifting to blend in, enough to be invisible in the darkness.
The Guide sees her anyway and stands upright to approach.
"The colors match, but the reflections are wrong," she says, by way of explanation. She doesn't introduce herself. "Why did you come through Ground Zero?"
"I could ask you the same," Ilia says. The Guides have some loyalty to each other, but this is still the desert. Information isn't free.
"Cinder is here," the Guide says simply.
Cinder. Not a Guide's name. The Guides have no loyalty to anyone, but many will stay with groups, using their expertise to help a team survive in exchange for luxuries or protection from rival groups. Ilia herself stayed with the White Fang for years, for Blake. She got too attached.
"Why is this Cinder at Ground Zero?" Ilia asks.
"People don't disturb her here," the Guide says. "It isn't my place to tell her to leave." She waits, no doubt expecting information from Ilia in exchange.
"I'm passing through, looking for someone," Ilia says slowly. "Blake Belladonna. Have you seen her?"
The Guide slowly shakes her head, blinking her scarlet eyes.
"Your Blake would never come through a Ground Zero site."
Ilia can't tell if the woman is lying, but she doubts that a Guide has anything to gain from concealing the truth. She forces a smile and a thanks, offers the Guide an ounce of water for her aid, and when the offer is refused, continues onward.
Unless Blake has found another team, she may be dead, but Ilia does not give up hope. Returning to the White Fang is no longer an option, as they do not take desertion lightly, so Blake is her last hope.
The sun rises over the rim of the crater as Ilia continues East.
…
Several members of Winter's team have returned to the Cities to continue their research in better-equipped labs, and the rest have two days off that they're opting to spend off-planet. Winter wants to keep observing the specimens, so she stays. She has no reason to leave.
The specimens are exceptionally curious, even for creatures trying to escape. Winter casually dropped a cigarette lighter in their cell at one point, making it seem like an accident that would go unnoticed, and watched the creatures toy with it for hours, taking it to pieces and reassembling it more than once. They show none of the technophobia expected from a race decimated by technology.
A small alert flashes in the corner of Winter's screen as she finishes her next report. It's a video call from Weiss. Winter accepts.
"Hello!" Weiss says cheerfully. Her face is grainy, but the quality is better than Winter had expected. It's a military ship, so the satellite links are, of course, excellent, capable of transmitting data with mere milliseconds of delay. Weiss's appearance makes her seem oddly close to Winter, despite the fact that the research vessel is the only settlement for thousands of miles. "The first releases of information from your expedition are out. Are they really human?"
Of course Weiss would be curious about such a subject. Winter smiles fondly at her sister, who is taking after her own interests.
"Yes, the specimens do appear to be human. They're remarkably intelligent, and capable of communication with us."
Weiss gasps.
"Really? You can understand them?"
"There are anthropologists being sent down shortly, to better document what culture has remained," Winter says. "We're hoping to find more specimens by venturing farther afield."
Weiss's smile fades quickly, replaced by a worried frown that Winter is used to seeing on her. It doesn't quite fit her young face.
"Robyn is saying –" she begins, voice strained.
"Robyn?"
"Yes, Robyn, your friend," Weiss repeats.
"Robyn Hill is not my friend," Winter snaps. "She is a disgraced former colleague, at most."
"She's saying that once the Cities know that humans survived, and that we're treating them like animals, keeping them as specimens, people are going to realize what they did in the war," Weiss says in a hushed voice.
"Weiss, I don't want you listening to radicals," Winter interrupts. "You shouldn't be worried about politics at your age."
"I'm sixteen. I'm not that young," Weiss says, pouting. "And it's not just Robyn. Even Father is worried about what might happen. He says that there might be another war, if enough people survived."
Winter ends the call and stares at her blank screen, before hastily searching for news. Predictably, the discovery of living humans on a planet long devastated is the top headline of every site. Even in the most simple discussions of the facts involved, there's a fear bleeding through the words. Editorials have no qualms about fearmongering, many advocating further nuclear action to ensure that no retaliation can take place.
Retaliation. That single word is sparsely used, authors preferring "pre-emptive strike" or "decisive action", but it continues to pop up in Winter's field of vision, making her wince.
It's true. After the weapons inflicted on the planet, anything the survivors do, including complete genocide, would be a reasonable act of retaliation under many war crimes statutes.
My God, we killed them. We took to the skies and left them behind on a dying world. We pitted them against each other in wars for our entertainment. When they united and fought back, attempted to take over the cities for themselves, we killed them. We killed them all.
There were billions of them, people just like us, people with families they loved, and we killed them for fighting back. We killed them.
We called it a xenocide. The eradication of an alien species. We didn't think they were human, or we did and were taught not to because that made it easier to forget what we'd done.
My research, my findings, and my data will be used to justify more total war. We'll kill more of them because of what I've done. The three specimens – the three people, three people with families and lives and souls, will die. Their blood is on my hands.
Winter pulls up the camera feed from the cell. The two men – boys, really – are seated in one corner, both looking defeated. The girl, younger than Weiss, is crouched in front of them, telling them something that sounds like "we can't give up now."
They have names and loved ones and so much that Winter can never take away.
I can't let this happen.