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For most of the day, at least.
Fixation with everything around him kept Sazahk focused. Life in the Dead Zone. The ecosystem was fed through the energy and unique chemistry of the thermal pools, and it seemed to have never been exposed to the defoliants that had ravaged the rest of the area, but it was life nonetheless, and it was fascinating.
And was its fecundity really only due to the defoliants never having been massively deployed against this area? Or was it that somehow, in some way, the persistent organic pollutants had been broken down? And if they had been, could whatever have broken down the pollutants here be scaled up to clean the rest of the Dead Zone?
For hours, these questions occupied Sazahk’s mind, with only the briefest of incursions by other rogue queries. Such as: how had Garin gotten the particularly vicious scar that cut across his left ribs? And were all his freckles from time spent in the military, or had he spent hours in the sun as a child as well? Did he enjoy poring over the maps he sat studying so closely? Had he been trained to sew holes in packs or had he learned to sew growing up? Did he find it uncomfortable to shave with a dry razor, or was he accustomed to it?
And then the recurring question: how would Sazahk resist the urge to cling to him again that night?
Chapter Five
The answer, it turned out, was that he wouldn’t.
The next morning, Sazahk found himself in the same position as the morning before: arm slung over Garin’s waist, leg slipped in between Garin’s thighs, and his nose nuzzling the nape of Garin’s neck. At least this time, Garin’s clothes kept Sazahk’s fingers from tracing the musculature of his abdominals.
Again, Sazahk scrambled back with too much shock and clumsiness and again Garin woke with a start.
Twenty-three more nights they would squeeze into that sleeping bag together. Sazahk was either going to have to figure out how to keep his limbs to himself, or he was going to have to come clean to Garin about how badly he craved his warmth. Because that’s all it was. A warm-blooded animal’s instinctual heat-seeking.
“Everything alright?”
Sazahk stopped fiddling with his microscope and stuffed it in his bag. “With me? Yes. I’m pleased with the samples I’ve collected, though preliminary tests indicate that the cyanobacteria here and the viruses in some of the pools are unlikely to be helpful in our tasks of rendering the Dead Zone hospitable for carbon-based multicellular organisms which I believe includes the uncatalogued sentient species.”
“And by uncatalogued sentient species, you mean the Insects.” Garin seemed to accept that Sazahk’s preoccupation had been with his disappointing test results instead of his concern with their sleeping arrangements, and Sazahk didn’t correct him.
He sighed. “Yes, the Insects.” The more Sazahk learned about the alien species from the far reaches of the galaxy that had shown up on the sector’s doorstep heavily armed and in search of a new home, the more he had to concede that insects were an apt comparison.
There was still much he didn’t know: their reproductive mechanisms and their communication technology, to name his most pressing concerns. But they had a caste-like social structure, winged alates in positions of royalty, and antennae. Insect was rather too generic a label. They had more in common, specifically, with the ants or termites of Earth.
But both those species were considered destructive pests, so Sazahk wasn’t about to bring that up with anyone who might be in favor of shooting down the Insect Colony Ship floating along the sector’s border.
“Well, maybe your caves will hold something more promising.” Garin lead the way west, farther into the Dead Zone, leaving the remains of their little camp behind and charting a course through the hot springs and geysers.
They made good time that day. They kept a hard, steady pace, and Sazahk stopped only once an hour or so to take samples or measurements. He’d had a full day to study hot springs and while there were always going to be interesting variations, he was eager to arrive at his subterranean destination.
By evening, they were both too exhausted for small talk or arguments, though they hadn’t argued since Sazahk had ordered Garin to share his sleeping bag. Part of Sazahk regretted that decision when his anxiety kicked up a notch as they huddled together to sleep, already anticipating waking up with the man in his arms, but most of him knew the discomfort was a trivial price to pay to save Garin from freezing nights.
He hoped Garin would see it that way too when he eventually woke up before Sazahk and found Sazahk clinging to him like a barnacle.
Midway through the next day, with the blistering sun high in the sky, they came to a hilly area and Garin stopped them.
“We’re here.” He pulled out his tablet and rotated slowly. “There should be an entrance to the cave system somewhere nearby.”
“Natural or constructed?” Sazahk looked around, noting the ridges, valleys, and ravines.
“Natural, I think. The maps don’t show any signs of tunnels.”
Sazahk turned away from studying the lip of a particularly precipitous gully to study Garin’s face instead. “Have you identified tunnels from aerial maps before?”
“I have,” Garin nodded without looking at him, his brow furrowing as he stopped his rotation and held up his tablet.
“To bomb them?”
“To infiltrate them.” Garin lowered his tablet. “This way.”
Sazahk watched Garin pick his way through the rocky terrain toward the edge of a gorge and imagined him in a dark access tunnel, clad in black body armor, and locked in vicious close-quarters combat. He didn’t doubt Garin had the ability. His record proved he did and the scars Sazahk had begun cataloging across his body added weight to the evidence. But the image still didn’t sit right. A man who pestered others to eat and reminded them not to get too close to hot water shouldn’t also stab knives into people’s jugulars.
“Did you like it?”
