Part 34 (1/2)

Over. And. Over.

One year later. Luna. A cryo chamber. Three transparent pods.

A young woman lies in one, unconscious, blood-transfusion tubes connected to her veins.

Another pod is empty, tubes trailing onto the floor.

The third is filled with an unholy mess.

On the floor there's a b.l.o.o.d.y trail, leading to the door, which is shut.

The woman wakes, rolls into a ball like a baby. It generally takes a bit longer for women to come out of cryo-the more muscle ma.s.s you have, the faster you come to.

Her body shudders and tries to vomit, muscles scream. She can't cry; ducts are dry.

Why does it hurt so much? It isn't the warming process-by the time you're conscious, body-temperature blood has flushed out the cryoprotectant. It's not ice crystals in your tissue-they've figured out how to stop that from happening, a combo of synthetic amphibious and plant glycols, and dimethyl sulphoxide.

It's a bit of a mystery. But then, most things are.

The woman manages to sit up. Blinking, slow painful drag across eyes. Tongue like a piece of dried meat moving over teeth. She rips out her tubes. When her legs start working she'll stand up.

Smiling is supposed to bring on painkilling endorphins. The woman tries to smile. Her lips stick to her teeth.

Cautiously she straightens one leg, the other, flexing muscles. Blinks again and it happens: wetness, a blessed film, the relief of it.

She manages to stand. Totters to the messy cryopod.

”Ew,” Jewel-for it is she, of course-says.

She leans over, a bit sad. Tybs was on her team, after all. He was a nut, but she had time to create some fond feeling for him, back on Europa.

She freezes.

There, on what used to be this person's smallest finger of their left hand, is a ring.

A Cap ring, a name engraved on it. Jewel.

Her legs give out. She falls to the floor.

Obviously, something went horribly wrong and this inside-out cell-death mess is her love. It's Rudo.

Larry failed. Or lied to her. She remembers the look in Paris's eyes as she went under. A gleam.

She should have known.

Her limbs may be trembling, but it's amazing how quickly her mind works.

The empty pod: Tyb's body was in that one and they've taken it. Someone, then, will be back soon. For her.

She will not live, without Rudo. A year of deathly cryo-dreams ... what kept her going was the belief that she'd find Rudo on Luna and they'd be together, forever.

Well, that's not going to happen now.

She tears through the room and finds a blade.

A nice, long, pointy blade.

Jewel has never been so happy to see a dagger.

She thinks. Remembers her anatomy lessons. Best way to heart ... here.

”Let this be your sheath.”

Jewel stabs herself.

It's hard to stab yourself in the heart. Almost impossible. You can't slash wildly. You have to-and Jewel does-press the point precisely against yourself, then push. Hard. There's a lot of resistance; you have to get through the breastplate. Every instinct is to flinch back, away from the pain.

Most people would inflict a couple of test wounds and then give up. There are lots of less painful ways to kill oneself.

But Jewel, she's something else. She goes all the way. She even manages some pretty top-cla.s.s last words.

”Rust there,” she says to the blade, ”and let me die.”

It takes a bit of time, and about two pints of blood leak out of her twitching form, but die Jewel does.

And then, seriously, about five minutes later, Rudo comes pounding through the storeroom door.

He'd emerged from cryo quickly. And regretfully, out of necessity, killed the cryotechnician, dragged the body out of the room to hide it, and rushed back to be on hand when his love comes to consciousness.

He sees Jewel's body on the floor.

He screams.