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They hiked through the woods, carrying the suitcases, being unable to roll them over wet, mushy ground. Grav had offered to take both of them, but Laurel had insisted on lugging her own.

Although he had surprisingly fond memories of the cave, he thought the house would have been a better choice—for the reasons she had outlined—doors that locked, multiple exit points, and amenities like hot water and light. However, he’d only stay one more night, anyway; he’d be leaving in the morning. If part of him wished she’d ask him to stay, he understood why she didn’t. They’d reached a truce, but he was still a Progg.

He sensed she didn’t feel safe in the house anymore after what had happened.

He shuddered at how close he’d come to losing her. Her death would have haunted him for the rest of his life—and he’d continue to worry about her after he went on his way. He cared about this woman. When she’d taken him hostage, his goal had been to get her to empathize with him—instead, he’d come to empathize with her. He felt her pain at the loss of her family, her people, her way of life. He hadn’t had a direct hand in the global massacre, but he’d facilitated it by supporting those who had. He felt like a monster.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she said.

“What’s a penny?”

She chuckled. “It was a one-cent unit of currency. Our government stopped minting the coins because they cost four times more to make than they were worth. Most people didn’t use cash anyway, but the saying lives on.”

The cost of sharing his thoughts would be greater than the ideations themselves, but fortunately she chose not to pursue the conversation.

Surreptitiously, he studied her. The purple knot stood out on her forehead, stark evidence of how close she’d come to dying. Outcomes often hinged on the tiniest detail. Change a single factor, change the end result.

What if he hadn’t been able to reach the ladder rung that had slipped off the bed slats? What if it had taken him longer to free himself? What if he hadn’t followed her to her parents’ house? What if he’d arrived much earlier or much later?

In preparing for the invasion, they had learned of the planet’s violent history, how the Earthers had fought among themselves, the powerful, advanced factions conquering the vulnerable, less developed ones. Grav recognized parallels between humans and Progg, the only difference being the Progg targeted other worlds, not their own.

Besides fearing she might run into his people, he worried about her encounters with her own.

They slipped behind the camouflage brush and entered the cave. Warmer than the outside, it was nowhere near as comfortable as the house. Light filtered through the bushes into the entry passage and the main chamber, enabling them to see, but Laurel lit an oil lamp. “Don’t knock this over, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, chagrined. He remembered his panic at thinking she had the plague.

She removed her coat and slung it over a chair. “Come with me.” She beckoned.

Carrying the oil lamp, she led him into the supply chamber where he’d found the gun and a knife to cut the leg chains. Shelves filled the room with only enough space between them to squeeze through. Much of the stuff remained a mystery to him.

She found a backpack. “Will this work?”

“Work for what?”

“For you to carry stuff.”

He remembered she’d offered to give him a knapsack. She hadn’t wasted time finding one. She is eager to see me leave. “It’s fine,” he replied glumly.

“I’ll pick out the meatless meals. Power bars would be the easiest to pack, but I know you don’t like them.” She sorted through tubs, selecting a half dozen pouches. “You add water to these. If you can heat it up, it will be better, but I’m guessing you can eat it cold.” She deposited the pouches in the pack and then tossed in a half dozen power bars. “Better than nothing.” She handed him the pack.

In the main chamber, she put the jars into his pack and draped his laundered, wet pants over a rack. “These should be dry by morning.” Before stuffing them in a suitcase, she’d placed them in a plastic bag.

“You’re set to go!” she said brightly.

“Great.” I don’t want to leave. She didn’t feel the same, hastening his departure. He half wished he hadn’t freed himself, but if he hadn’t, she would be dead. “What will you do after I’m gone?” he asked. “Will you stay here?”

She shook her head. “I can’t live like a hermit for the rest of my life. I have to find other people—but cautiously. More cautiously than I would have before.”

“Caution is good,” he agreed. “Being armed is better.”

“Caution and I will be inseparable.” She patted the weapon on her hip.

That reassured him a little, but their parting still made him sad. Once she left, he would not know where to find her. He would never see her again.

He sent up a silent prayer to the Powerful One. Please, Zok, send me a reason to stay longer.

* * * *

He spent the night in his “own” bed like old times, except he was unrestrained and had his vaporizer under his headrest.

Laurel slept soundly across the room, her pistol under her pillow. He suspected hypervigilance would become the new normal. But she’d fallen asleep right away, and he liked to think her easy slumber was due, at least in part, to his presence.

If her heightened caution had been enforced by the violent assault by one of her own, other survivors all over Earth lived in unnecessary fear of the next attack. Until now, he’d never considered the toll on the survivors—the Progg ensured there were none. Rarely did they lose a battle. This was the first time in a hundred years.

The omnipotent force had met an invincible foe—a common virus. So steadfast their confidence in their military superiority, they’d failed to take precautions.

Nothing had gone the way it should. The only bright spot had been meeting Laurel. He wished he could undo the devastation to her world and bring back her family, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t see her in the dark, but he heard her gentle breathing and smelled her enticing fragrance. Sleep well, Laurel.

At long last, he drifted off.

* * * *

He smelled the rain even before they pushed aside the heavy brush and peered outside. Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed across the dark morning sky.

“It’s raining buckets!” Laurel exclaimed.

Indeed. If not for the protective overhang of rock, they would have gotten drenched in seconds.

“You’re going to have to spend another day,” she said. “You can’t go out in this.”

Thank you, Zok. Hiding his smile, he sent a silent prayer of gratitude to the Powerful One. He didn’t know if his god had sway over Earth, but it never hurt to credit him with any blessings received, whether he was responsible or not.

They returned inside for breakfast. They both ate a granular substance called oatmeal. He’d had it once before, but this time it contained sweet bits called raisins , which he rather enjoyed.

“How about we play a game?” she suggested afterward.

“What kind of game?” The only games his people played were war games. He did not wish to play those with her.

“Card games, checkers, Monopoly .” She shrugged. “If you can’t read, Scrabble is out, and there isn’t enough time for you to learn chess well enough to have fun at it.”

They played all three of the ones she suggested. After a few losses in poker, he had the cards memorized and won every hand.

“I’d take you to Vegas—if it still existed,” she said. “We’d clean up.”

Remembering what had been played and discarded, and what remained was easy.

He won most of the checker games, too.

Laurel read off what was printed on the Monopoly board and its game cards, but even though he’d memorized everything, he still lost, since much of the outcome relied on chance. By a roll of the dotted cubes, Laurel snapped up BOARDWALK, PARK PLACE, and PENNSYLVANIA, NORTH CAROLINA, and PACIFIC avenues. Then she filled her squares with little green houses and red hotels and bankrupted him.

“I don’t like this game,” he said petulantly when she scooped up all his play money and the deeds to his properties. He lost his hotels, his houses, and the MEDITERRANEAN and BALTIC avenue properties themselves.

“You don’t like losing.” She laughed.

“Winning is better,” he agreed.

Monopoly reminded him of the galactic campaigns. Winner took all. Except in the Earth version, the Progg had owned hotels on Broadway, and Earth had the low-rent Baltic Avenue, and Earth still won. Because of a random roll of the dice had produced a virus. Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

“What kind of games do children from your world play?” she asked.

He cleared his throat and then took a sip of water. “Children do not play.” Sometimes children would be caught playing, but adults would quickly punish the behavior.

“What do children do?”

“They attend school to learn how to be adults and serve the empire.”

“That’s…sad.”

“Why is it sad?”

“Because it sounds like children don’t get to be children.”

“Why would anyone want to be a child?”

“Because it’s a time of wonder and freedom!”

“Wonder and freedom—” don’t secure victories or build empires . He hated to spoil the convivial mood with the brutal truth. “Wonder and freedom…are insignificant in the grand plan,” he said.

“Only because you haven’t experienced them.”

“I can’t deny that.” But he failed to see how wonder and freedom would have improved his life.

As the day marched on, and the inevitable separation drew closer, his ebullient mood took a dive. The thunder and lightning had ceased, and the rain had slowed to a light mist. There would be no more reprieves. I should have been more specific in my request to Zok.

For dinner, she opened a couple of pouches. He ate vegetarian vegetable soup ; she had macaroni and cheese .

They played a few more games, but he couldn’t concentrate, obsessing over his impending departure. Then came the moment he’d been dreading—she announced she was tired and was going to bed.

He was tired, too. A heavy weariness enveloped his entire body, yet he hated to sleep because the time would woosh away, and then he would wake to morning and be forced to leave.

“Good night, Grav,” she said as she climbed into bed. It wasn’t goodbye, not yet, but it sounded like it.

“Good night, Laurel,” he replied dejectedly.

He tried to stay awake to remain aware of her presence, but weariness took hold, and he fell asleep.

He awoke once with an oddly scratchy throat. He drank some water, but it didn’t help. He rolled over and went to sleep.

The next time he awakened, Laurel stood beside the bed. “Hey, sleepyhead! It’s almost 10 a.m.”

“It is?” Exhausted as if he hadn’t slept at all, he forced himself to a seated position. His throat felt raw.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”

He felt like he’d been run over and trampled, but a frisson of pleasure raced through him when she pressed her hand to his forehead. “Tired. Throat hurts.”

Then Grav sneezed.