Earlier

Hanging over the valley were sprays of pearlescent mist that the happy couple dove through. Zhâng flew abreast of CJ, and Z team laughed with joy, racing one another in a game with no goal save, having fun. She flicked her head, welcoming the tickling wind pouring into her ears, when a hand flitted across her mohawk. "C'mon, Z-Dog. You're forgetting we have a mission."

"Your instruments haven't gone off," she playfully argued.

"You must still keep your eyes on the forest. If we miss a field cabin, the colonel won't be happy."

"Spoilsport."

They weaved over and under one another as they investigated the jungle. It was tedious and uneventful but still pleasant. To be cooled by the dense condensation and warmed up again by the sun's beaming rays, all the while breathing in the intoxicating rushing air, was almost a profound experience. They had both been killed by Pandora but could not deny she was something to admire.

Zhâng used his comm mic. "Z-Dog, let's stop for a moment. My dragon needs a drink."

Following the scent of water, they glided into a clearing shrouded by overhanging trees. It was a narrow landing for their banshees, but they managed, and the soldiers let themselves and their animals enjoy a short rest. Zhâng savoured the aroma of the tranquil setting, witnessing that its calming properties extended to even charming their beasts. The paradise boasted a small pond decorated with clusters of rainbow lily pads, and sunbathing on these buoyant stages were blue hexapodous amphibians. The bizarre creatures seemed to have no heads yet sang like opera singers, swelling the meadow with their forlorn mating calls.

CJ doused her head in the sweet water while Zhâng remained at the shore, his eyes lingering on the contentment of his best friend.

"I live upstream and you downstream.
From night to night, of you I dream."

"You do like your poems," CJ commented. "What's the story behind this one?"

"It's a love poem using the Yangtze River to describe longing."

CJ sat down on the lush grass. "That photographic memory of yours really makes things easy to remember—what a benefit that must be."

"Not really." Zhâng shrugged. "You remember everything too clearly. Good memories and bad."

"You never mentioned that before."

He sat down next to her. "Maybe I didn't want to bum you out."

"Too late." She smiled back and nudged her shoulder against his. "It must be harder then, for you—you know…"

Zhâng sighed. "Somehow, I don't think it is. All brains have the potential to be photographic. When someone goes through a traumatic situation, it records every detail."

"I suppose you're right."

"You okay?"

CJ exhaled. "Yeah…"

"You never mentioned how you died," he murmured.

Her ears twitched, and her full eyes met his. "I was shot with an arrow… Those things are the size of javelins… I distinctly remember this sudden pain and the helplessness of not being able to move my own body. Then, my whole world went dark. I'm told we weren't awake during those years, that our minds were floating in a jar, but I remember being surrounded by darkness—this feeling of complete loneliness. I haven't heard anyone else describe the void years yet. Maybe something went wrong with my transfer, and I was awake the whole time." She tried to grin, but her heart was heavy recounting the hard testimony. Zhâng rubbed her shoulder, and she put on a face. "If those bastards ever try preserving my mind again, do me a favour and pull the plug."

"I don't think I could bring myself to."

"Hey, would you want to be trapped in the void again?"

Zhâng looked away. "That depends."

"On what?"

Their eyes met once more, but a different energy radiated from his golden irises; they practically sparkled as he whispered, "If you're there when I wake up."

When CJ read the declaration of love in his gaze, she was at a loss for how to reply. She stared back at the man she had only viewed as a friend—a comrade, a best mate. Herself, now possessing a flowing heart she didn't want to be responsible for, came to her feet and stared blankly at the pond. Fearing he had ruined everything, Zhâng stood up as well.

"I'm sorry, Casey. My intention wasn't to embarrass you."

"Qiáo, you shouldn't let yourself get distracted with feelings. We're soldiers," she stuttered.

"I-I know, I…" The man couldn't finish; he didn't see the point.

"I can't—I don't… I don't have time for relationships. You're my friend. Let's keep it that way."

His gaze shifted to the water. "You're right… You're right…" he acknowledged with tight nods, stoicism quickly replacing sensitivity.

She ran her hand over her head, trying to calm herself, but ended up pulling her hair instead. She had not prepared herself for this turn. Her young heart was still pining for another, and though she knew the infatuation would amount to nothing, she denied herself other relationships so as to keep the secret flame burning. She kept Zhâng in another area of her heart that was safe, though he had the capacity with his charm and constancy to spill into every recess, making all of it his home. For a spark that would die out, she denied herself a bonfire.

She heard Zhâng return to his ikran, Phoenix Fire and, with a lowered head, she mounted Baby's Back. Silently and methodically, they carried on with their mission. The ikran's soared, but their riders directed them from the mind and not the heart. There was no more jovialness; the vibrant scene had become dreary, and not even the skies felt alive.

Zhâng's expression was as blank as his thoughts; he didn't waste his time with reflections, and in the first stages of mourning the relationship he had just lost, he was able to conduct himself with a relatively clear head. The numbers on his instruments began to climb; and, after a beep, it drew him to notice. With no emotion, he informed, "We got something. Let's move in."

Fènghuáng huǒ spread its arms of fire and swooped past the tightly packed trees with his partner in sequence. Once they drew near, their banshees landed on umberwood trunks, and the riders dismounted to disappear into the understorey. To maintain absolute silence, the hunters endured biting pestilence and clinging sweat while drifting through the muggy jungle, following the readings of their detection instrument that eventually led them to a link shack.

"Think Sully's in there?" she whispered.

"Don't know. It could be any one of the avatars. Keep at high ready. I'm moving in."

Max swivelled in his rolling chair as he prepared a label for Kiri's vial. To his right was the screen he was supposed to be watching; Max often multitasked during his turn as it was a very boring affair. Present in the room was an Asian man with long hair trussed up in the back by a cord of beads. He drank a dark malt from a low-rimmed bowl.

"Here you go, Hideaki. Work your magic." Max handed him the vial and, upon noticing he was drinking, was concerned for its safety.

"I do not do magic," the man corrected, bringing up his other hand to take the vial. "I do science."

"Finally, someone who still speaks sense."

On his way out, Nagata casually glanced at the unattended monitors over the rim of his bowl. "You got someone."

The watchman did a double take and nearly fell out of his seat as he scrambled across the room to see what was on screen. Sure enough, after he squinted, there was a discernible figure. He panicked, having never thought someone would actually show up during his watch and frantically rifled through papers, trying to find the trigger.

"Hideaki, wait!" he called out, but the man had already left.

Zhâng stooped inside the field cabin and shut the vaulted door, resealing the compartment in case there were human occupants within the beds. Not taking any heavy breaths, the HAF soldier crouched towards the first link bed and found it empty. He moved to the other and saw it was the same. Upon assessing the vacant scene, he unsealed the doors and took in the air. "They're both empty," he relayed, then returned to observing the cabin. His hand drifted over the bed's rim; they were patched with duct tape and scorched where wiring had caught fire.

"So, what's it like in there?"

"The beds are in bad shape. I can't believe anyone would try and use these."

"That's suspicious. Maybe it's abandoned?"

Zhâng ran a finger down a window sill. "There's no dust either."

"Now, that is definitely suspicious."

"You're right. Keep on alert and watch the trees."

Casey was close enough to the vestibule that she ducked into it for shelter so she could scan the outside.

The recombinant looked at his detection instrument and then set it down, opting to investigate using something more reliable. Scrunching up his face, he took in the scents and found there was something piquant in the area—not metallic, but definitely not organic.

Max was beside himself with his lab in the same state as his hair. It wasn't until after he turned the place upside down that he noticed the black handle right where it always was: in front of him and under the monitor. With an eye roll, he plucked it up and stood before the screen when it dawned on him what he was about to do. He rapidly patted his chest and blew a controlled breath. Unlike Jake, he was not mentally equipped to carry out morbid tasks, but he was equipped with knowledge of Norse history, so rallying his spirit like the warriors of yore, Max the Unassuming screamed like a berserker.

"Z-boy, what are you smelling?" she called out, eyes still on the trees.

When the identity of the scent was finally clear to him, Zhâng blanched. "Explosives."

CJ was still processing what she heard when Zhâng swung his arm, screaming, "Go!" Without wasting time, she sprinted for the jungle as Zhâng scrambled for the door. Then everything went white.

Casey was thrown full against an umberwood. Her face burned from the heat of the blast as she stared at the crater where the link shack used to be. Her ears could hear nothing—not the sound of flames burning around her or herself screaming Zhâng's name; only an oppressive, dull ringing prevailed. With great exertion, she propped herself up to a sitting position and endured the terrible pain of lifting her arm to activate the throat mic. She had to warn her commander in time before it was too late. Over the ringing, she heard hints of his voice, wrought with concern. Unable to lift her arm a second time, she passed out to the sounds of her colonel crying her name.

Walker and Mansk bolted up from their mat when they heard a faint rumbling in the distance.

"Did you hear that, Sasha?"

"Sounds like we got insurgents," Mansk grunted as he hustled to his feet.

"Contact the team parties."

Mansk ran past the soldiers and headed for the overhang where they kept the radio. Fike and Warren were the first ones to respond, but they testified to hearing nothing. Rather than feeling relieved, Walker looked to her companion with dread.

"Z team…"

Mansk changed frequencies and tried contacting CJ and Zhâng, but they were met with silence—that's when they knew.

"Her tracker!" Walker reminded.

The recombinant grabbed his gear and headed off to find the fort commander; however, after informing him about the situation, he was met with stubbornness.

"It's hostile territory. We need to get clearance before we can issue any search party—if they are in danger," the grizzly man dismissed.

"But we heard an explosion."

"We didn't."

"Then check your seismographs!"

"Listen, recom. I'm not risking my men. You're able to search the region more easily than us. You deal with it."

Irritating as the response was for Mansk, he knew the commander was right—it was up to him to help his team. He called for Payload and hoisted himself onto the saddle when Walker suddenly jumped on too.

"Bridgie?"

"We're wasting time!" she cried through clenched teeth.

"Petunia, I love you."

"Go!" With that, the ikran reared and set off.

CJ's tracker led the rescue team to a location that marked itself by a black tower of smoke. After circling the area, Mansk brought them down to the ghastly clearing where ash and flame still reigned. Bridgette discovered CJ sloped against a tree and ran for her; checking her vitals, she declared to Sasha that she was alive. While Walker tended to one, Mansk continued searching for the other. The stench of burning organic matter was overpowering his senses when he identified a lone arm poking out from under the rubble. He hoisted the heavy slabs and, with a loud grunt, managed to push them away. The soldier had seen enough combat to prepare himself for the grisly sight.

She dreamt of her childhood marina, of the sound of her Velcro sneakers hitting boards as she ran down a dock to chase seagulls. The girl of five would make her own fun in an overcrowded port filled with waste and surly mariners. On an ugly world succumbing to its wounds, the innocence of youth always prevailed—a bright little star still visible even as the other was being blotted out by smog.

The toddler stopped to realize she was in danger. She twirled about the dock, searching for someone who wasn't there, crying out a name that would not reply. Her tiny hands reached for the dozens of strangers that only pushed her away, and the girl became seized with the greatest of human fears: loneliness. Clasping desperately, her agitation ebbed away when an offered hand nestled into her palm.

Casey woke up—she was in the recombinant ward, and there, beside her bed, was Parker Selfridge.

"Oh my god, you woke up." He looked at the door, thinking to call for the nurse.

Casey sat upright and scanned the room anxiously. Her body, draped in a hospital gown, was aching terribly, but she forced herself to stand. "Where's Qiáo?" she demanded.

The overseer went white, his acrylic mask not capable of hiding anything. "Y-You sure you should be standing? They said the blast—"

"Where is he?!"

Realizing it was going to be him to break the news, Parker swallowed. "He's…in the other room. I don't—"

Casey ran out to where he pointed before he could finish. She rushed down the hall to a locked door with a screen stating, "Surgery in Progress." A wide window afforded a view, and her denied palms pressed against it as she beheld her friend. His face, covered by an oxygen mask, was barely recognizable from the third-degree burns, and when a figure in scrubs pulled away, so did she from shock upon witnessing the left arm had been amputated. The new reality was catching up with Casey, and she needed to sit down. She slumped against the wall opposite the window and draped her arms over her knees.

"Why are you here?" she asked through her hands.

Selfridge rubbed his shoulder. "I came the moment they told me what happened."

The head lifted. "You care about him too?"

"Well, I, uh, can't say I know him that well."

"His name's Zhâng Qiáo. He's the quiet one you liked. He's from Sichuan. He likes Chinese poetry and speaks Mandarin. He has an excellent memory and could probably recite a conversation you had three years ago as if it were—" She broke off.

Parker felt his person searching for something, then left for the hospital room they were just in. He returned with some tissues, and she thanked him for the gesture while crushing the little sheets to dab her eyes.

"He sounds really nice."

"He is."

"He a close friend?"

"My best—what did the doctors say?"

"That…he would live."

Casey disliked the hesitancy in his voice. "What else did they say?"

"Well, he…" the man sighed, put away the hesitation and spoke. "He's comatose."

"In a coma?" she gasped. "No… Oh, god. No. No…" The woman buried her head into her knees, repeating the words, "I'm sorry," and Parker didn't know what she meant.

He offered the only words of comfort that came to him. "He's still alive—there's that. I mean, look at me. I would never survive a blast like that."

"You know the last thing I did was throw his feelings in his face? That's his last memory of me—of how stupid I was." She threw her head back, smacking it against the wall.

Parker internally winced at the harsh self-punishment, but outwardly, all he did was swing a foot back and forth, trying to figure out what to offer next. "If it makes you feel any better, Quaritch is alright."

"What?"

"Oh, crap, you don't know." He rubbed his neck before CJ seized him by the shirt. "No-no-no! He's alright. He's alright. He just received some minor burns." The grip slowly released. "Yeah, he insisted on being sustained at the fort so efforts could focus on you two. He's being flown in now. This is the third time he needs medical attention too. Christ."

"What happened to him?"

"Apparently, another link shack exploded while he was running from it."

"Running?" she breathed, and Casey realized she had saved a life.