Page 64 of Dustwalker

The synth’s facial skin was gone, exposing dull, dented metal and shattered optics. Ronin moved the bot aside, placing the detached parts on the ground near the torso. That done, he removed the final insult from Tabitha’s mouth and gathered her in his arms.

He’d see to her first to keep the scavengers at bay.

He walked west, searching for a resting place outside of Warlord’s shadow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Only the merest hint of orange was visible on the horizon when Ronin reached the western guard post. The gearheads, like their counterparts at the east barricade, told him Warlord didn’t appreciate visitors after dark. Ronin calmly pointed out the lingering sunlight. After staring at it for some time, the gearheads exchanged a glance with one another and waved him through.

Though his pack was heavy with trade, Ronin didn’t stop in the market. He was urged on by a different sort of weight, perceived not by his sensors but by his processors. He had to tell Lara what he’d found, and he couldn’t guess how she’d react.

He knew only that it wouldn’t be good.

The guards at the interior gate gave him no trouble. As he hurried along the lonely road around the park, he briefly entertained the idea of cutting across the grass to reach his residence faster, as though surrounding himself with life would make the news easier to deliver.

His memory served up the journal entry about people being executed and burned in the park, and he decided to stick to the streets.

While Ronin walked, questions stacked in his mind, caught in a queue that would never clear. Why? Why, after all the senseless death and destruction the world had faced, did there have to be more? What could Tabitha have done to deserve such an end? Could anything warrant such brutality?

Clearly, Warlord had a history of hostility toward humans, but whyattack a synth this time? Tabitha’s companion hadn’t merely been powered down, he’d been ripped to pieces.

There’d been a message in the act, and though Ronin possessed the necessary information to decipher it, meaning would not come. His processors insisted there must’ve been some sort of logic behind the death, deactivation, desecration, and dismemberment. But even his own recent bouts of illogical behavior couldn’t help him understand this act. He couldn’t ascertain a satisfactory purpose for it.

Too soon, he arrived at his residence. The windows were dark.

Good. If Lara was asleep, he’d have more time to determine the best way to tell her what he’d found.

The mild relief brought on by that thought was immediately overpowered by shame.

Ronin removed his gloves, goggles, and mask, stuffing them away, and fished the key out of his pocket. Unlocking the door, he slipped inside.

His optics initialized night-vision automatically as he closed the door behind him, but something about using it seemed wrong. He overrode the change and switched on the overhead lights.

He set his rifle down against the wall, and he was shrugging off his rucksack when he noticed Lara at the edge of his field of view and looked up.

She sat on the third step from the bottom of the stairs. The barrel of the pistol in her hand was a gaping black maw, swaying in her trembling grasp.

“I’m so pissed at you right now, I should shoot you,” she said, voice as unsteady as her hand. “Where do you get off leaving without a word?”

There was nothing stopping her from pulling the trigger. Though improbable, at such close range there was a chance that she’d inflict considerable damage. Would that make her feel better?

“I didn’t want to say goodbye. It implies a finality that didn’t seem appropriate.”

With a heavy, shaky sigh, she lowered the gun and averted her gaze, running a hand through her hair. “What are you doing to me? I can’t even stay mad at you.”

“Is that because I’m back a day early?”

She grinned and met his optics. “Maybe. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Ronin couldn’t identify the gleam in her eyes, but it added vibrancy to her face. “Apparently not.”

The truth of it struck him hard. Hecouldn’tstay away from her. After arguing with her over the length of his trip and insisting that three days would barely be enough time to accomplish anything, he’d been the one to cut his expedition short.

He dropped his pack on the floor beside the rifle. It landed with a heavy, metallicclank, and a small cloud of dust rose from the fabric.

“You weren’t kidding when you said the Dust stays with you,” she said.

“It isn’t the only thing in the world, but it permeates everything.”