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Saying that he had to remove the rest of his armor, Temechi passed him back to Sogetai—out of his own armor now, recognizable only by his voice; he turned out to have a pleasant enough face and an ill-healed scar on his scalp that made Anat’s old healer’s pride itch like a phantom limb—and Sogetai pulled Anat’s arm over his shoulder to help him walk.
Reluctantly, he put his arm around Sogetai’s torso. Better that close contact than fall to the ground in front of—
There were still White Scars in the boarding chamber, though not as many. At least half were out of armor now, and it seemed the unarmored ones had nothing better to stare at than him.
Anat pressed his blind socket to Sogetai’s scar, shrank and stumbled against him. (At least Temechi had made sure that his good eye would face outwards. Sogetai wouldn’t have thought of that, one way or the other.)
Sogetai led him down a long corridor—almost deserted, and that was a relief—to a door already ajar. It was only when he saw the rows of bunks within that he realized where he was being taken.
No no no—
He tried to control his breath. Of course this little ship didn’t have a brig to store him in, even if they wanted to. It was—there was nothing he could do. What would happen would happen, and then it would be over, and on the main ship he would see his brothers. He told himself that he believed Temechi and Sogetai about that.
They had been gentle with him so far. He should not squander their tolerance by resisting now.
Anat forced himself to take a step forward, before Sogetai could lose patience and begin to push or pull. The second was no easier, but he would not allow himself to stop.
It was like running a gantlet, he thought, and he clung to Sogetai, desperate to get that thought out of his mind. (Penamun had survived. He would see him again. He would.)
Sogetai slowed his pace and squeezed Anat’s shoulder—gently, not aiming to cause pain, Anat thought. He wasn’t offended, then. (He still wished it was Temechi he was leaning against, and not Sogetai who had so much more to lose by being kind to him.)
Sogetai guided him down the center of the long room, between two rows of beds. Anat’s eye darted about the half he could see, wounded men lying abed, lightly injured ones sitting up and talking—no, falling silent as Sogetai led him past them. Staring back at him.
Anat nearly tripped over a bag that someone had left in the throughway; Sogetai kicked it out of his way, to the protests of its owner.
They did not stop at the first open bed, or the next, or even the second to last, where Sogetai set down the precious bundle of jewelry which Anat had barely noticed he was carrying, but at the bed in the farthest corner from the door.
Sogetai bent to yank the covers back, and Anat had a moment to be confused—surely it would have been easier to share him stretched over the width of a bed than in one wedged against the wall?—before Sogetai set him down on the bed and pulled the blankets back up over him.
Anat sat there, clutching at the hems, his feet still on the floor, and stared up at Sogetai, whose expression remained maddeningly difficult to read.
But Sogetai was still standing. If he didn’t mean to share his prize, and wasn’t going to get in on top of him—
Anat made himself smile—he was grateful for this reprieve—pressed his wrists together, and held them out to Sogetai.
Sogetai took Anat’s hands in his and pulled them apart; guided them down to his knees and squeezed gently before letting go. “You should get some rest.”
An order. He knew what to do with those. Anat swung his legs up under the blankets—the motion hurt, but most did, and at least he hadn’t made himself too big for standard bunks. (That had been his limit, not the quartermasters’ convenience but his own comfort—the Anat of before was almost a stranger to him now.) Lying on his back put his eye pointed at the wall, so he turned on his side.
Sogetai tugged the uppermost blanket up over Anat’s shoulder, and his stanse and his shadow shifted as if he were going to leave.
No, please don’t go—
Anat knew better than to say that out loud. But he pressed his brow against Sogetai’s hand, and Sogetai stroked his head as he had—before.
Long moments passed, and Sogetai did not go. Anat had time for relief—he wasn’t being left alone in the White Scars’ dormitory after all, at least not just yet—before Sogetai folded his legs beneath him and sat on the floor by the bed, hand still on Anat’s hair.
On the ground, while his prize was in the bed, like—the others had already seen, what had Sogetai already given up with this gesture?
Or had Anat misinterpreted the signs all along? Did Sogetai even have that status to give up? No; they’d acted like he did… They hadn’t acted like Sogetai ranked much below Temechi, if at all.
“… You shouldn’t sit on the floor,” Anat finally whispered. Very boldly, he added, “I can make room.”
Sogetai got up, so Anat did as he’d offered. Instead of getting in with him Sogetai sat down next to him, on top of the blankets, and in his relief and gratitude Anat curled his body around him through the fabric. When Sogetai started petting him again he leaned into the touch, and wondered if that was all he wanted from him after all.
(No. Don’t hope for that. He’d only be disappointed.)
The other White Scars were mostly settling into bunks; some were already asleep, and others were talking in a language Anat didn’t know. He’d have to learn it now. Hearing those conversations he couldn’t understand was alarming, like knowing someone was moving in his blind spot.
When he saw a figure moving down the aisle from the corner of his eye, he thought it was Temechi coming back. But it was a stranger.
“How is our cousin doing?” the newcomer said.
“Better than yesterday.” Sogetai’s hand on Anat’s head was still gentle, and Anat all but burrowed into it.
The other Scar didn’t come any closer; he met Anat’s eye and then looked away, leaning on the bunk opposite with his eyes half-closed. In the tone of someone seeking a distraction, he said, “Dorbei says he got a lot of heads. Did he show you?”
“Not yet. We can show off to each other tomorrow.” Anat tensed, and Sogetai gently rubbed his shoulder.
“Sure. I guess we’ll be cooped up here a while…” The other Scar shook himself, as if the confinement were already wearing on him.
(How long a while until they reached the flagship, until his brothers—
If his brothers were being treated as gently as this, a long transit might be to their benefit. Anat hadn’t seen any of them uninjured since—since—well, he hadn’t seen them uninjured on the wolves’ ship. Better if they had some time to recover.)
Someone called out in the Scars’ language, and the newcomer ducked his head and gave an embarrassed laugh as if those unknown words had been addressed to him. “I shouldn’t keep you up. Let us know if you need anything, okay?” He was looking at Anat as he said that.
Sogetai didn’t say anything in response; perhaps he nodded, out of Anat’s field of vision. The other marine left.
Anat knew he should try to sleep—if things got worse when they were rested, he didn’t want to be unconscious from exhaustion then. But he had too much adrenaline in his system still. And anyway, he wasn’t yet tired enough to fall asleep with someone else touching him. So he just closed his eyes and counted breaths, trying to find a rhythm to distract himself from his lingering pain and the words he couldn’t understand.
Gradually the noise of the dormitory quieted as the Scars fell asleep. Boasts gave way to soft conversations, which ended in turn. Someone even turned the lights down, so that the few remaining waking Scars were obvious from the glow of their dataslates. Eventually, even Sogetai’s hand slowed and went still on Anat’s hair.
Anat still couldn’t sleep. But he was caught between fear, relief, and sheer exhaustion, stretched thin until he felt almost calm.
“Up,” said Temechi’s voice.
Anat jumped out of his skin; Sogetai merely jumped off the bed, then almost without a pause clambered up to the upper bunk.
“That’s not what I meant—” Temechi broke off with a sigh as Sogetai began to snore. “Not you, Anat. It’s all right. But I’d like you to sit up and drink this.”
“This” turned out to be a thick reconstituted broth, gritty with nutrient supplements. Temechi assured him that it contained only a mild painkiller; Anat drank slowly in case it was also laced with a sedative. He’d still finish it if it was, of course, but if he was going to the last bit of control he had left, he at least wanted to know what was coming.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” Temechi said. “Jurchedai lost an arm in the fighting, and then he had a bad reaction to the drugs…” He sighed, and Anat held back a question about which drug exactly. “Khabash’s going to stay up with him.”
Anat was glad it wasn’t Temechi who’d been chosen for that task. Should he say that? But his tongue still felt clumsy. Maybe it’d be in better order tomorrow.
He kept his eyes on Temechi as he finished the broth, and so he didn’t startle too badly when Temechi shook out one blanket and then another, even though the fabric snapped loudly and the displaced air pulled at his hair.
“Where do you want your things?”
Even with the accompanying gesture, it took Anat another of those long moments to realize that Temechi was talking about the jewelry.
He put down the empty container on the floor by the bed and held out his arms. The weight in them, at least, felt real.
Anat pulled it under the blankets with him—it seemed well enough bound not to fall apart in the night—and waited.
“Sogetai and I will be right here, so just tell us if you need anything.” Temechi waited for Anat’s nod before he lay down on the next bed over, the one where Sogetai had left the jewelry before, still fully clothed.
Anat couldn’t tell if Temechi was asleep yet, but he clearly didn’t expect anything to happen, and he was surely a better judge of that than Sogetai. So Anat burrowed deeper into the blankets, arms tight around the jewelry, and tried to focus on Sogetai’s snores from above and the sounds of sleeping astartes elsewhere in the room.
Reluctantly, he put his arm around Sogetai’s torso. Better that close contact than fall to the ground in front of—
There were still White Scars in the boarding chamber, though not as many. At least half were out of armor now, and it seemed the unarmored ones had nothing better to stare at than him.
Anat pressed his blind socket to Sogetai’s scar, shrank and stumbled against him. (At least Temechi had made sure that his good eye would face outwards. Sogetai wouldn’t have thought of that, one way or the other.)
Sogetai led him down a long corridor—almost deserted, and that was a relief—to a door already ajar. It was only when he saw the rows of bunks within that he realized where he was being taken.
No no no—
He tried to control his breath. Of course this little ship didn’t have a brig to store him in, even if they wanted to. It was—there was nothing he could do. What would happen would happen, and then it would be over, and on the main ship he would see his brothers. He told himself that he believed Temechi and Sogetai about that.
They had been gentle with him so far. He should not squander their tolerance by resisting now.
Anat forced himself to take a step forward, before Sogetai could lose patience and begin to push or pull. The second was no easier, but he would not allow himself to stop.
It was like running a gantlet, he thought, and he clung to Sogetai, desperate to get that thought out of his mind. (Penamun had survived. He would see him again. He would.)
Sogetai slowed his pace and squeezed Anat’s shoulder—gently, not aiming to cause pain, Anat thought. He wasn’t offended, then. (He still wished it was Temechi he was leaning against, and not Sogetai who had so much more to lose by being kind to him.)
Sogetai guided him down the center of the long room, between two rows of beds. Anat’s eye darted about the half he could see, wounded men lying abed, lightly injured ones sitting up and talking—no, falling silent as Sogetai led him past them. Staring back at him.
Anat nearly tripped over a bag that someone had left in the throughway; Sogetai kicked it out of his way, to the protests of its owner.
They did not stop at the first open bed, or the next, or even the second to last, where Sogetai set down the precious bundle of jewelry which Anat had barely noticed he was carrying, but at the bed in the farthest corner from the door.
Sogetai bent to yank the covers back, and Anat had a moment to be confused—surely it would have been easier to share him stretched over the width of a bed than in one wedged against the wall?—before Sogetai set him down on the bed and pulled the blankets back up over him.
Anat sat there, clutching at the hems, his feet still on the floor, and stared up at Sogetai, whose expression remained maddeningly difficult to read.
But Sogetai was still standing. If he didn’t mean to share his prize, and wasn’t going to get in on top of him—
Anat made himself smile—he was grateful for this reprieve—pressed his wrists together, and held them out to Sogetai.
Sogetai took Anat’s hands in his and pulled them apart; guided them down to his knees and squeezed gently before letting go. “You should get some rest.”
An order. He knew what to do with those. Anat swung his legs up under the blankets—the motion hurt, but most did, and at least he hadn’t made himself too big for standard bunks. (That had been his limit, not the quartermasters’ convenience but his own comfort—the Anat of before was almost a stranger to him now.) Lying on his back put his eye pointed at the wall, so he turned on his side.
Sogetai tugged the uppermost blanket up over Anat’s shoulder, and his stanse and his shadow shifted as if he were going to leave.
No, please don’t go—
Anat knew better than to say that out loud. But he pressed his brow against Sogetai’s hand, and Sogetai stroked his head as he had—before.
Long moments passed, and Sogetai did not go. Anat had time for relief—he wasn’t being left alone in the White Scars’ dormitory after all, at least not just yet—before Sogetai folded his legs beneath him and sat on the floor by the bed, hand still on Anat’s hair.
On the ground, while his prize was in the bed, like—the others had already seen, what had Sogetai already given up with this gesture?
Or had Anat misinterpreted the signs all along? Did Sogetai even have that status to give up? No; they’d acted like he did… They hadn’t acted like Sogetai ranked much below Temechi, if at all.
“… You shouldn’t sit on the floor,” Anat finally whispered. Very boldly, he added, “I can make room.”
Sogetai got up, so Anat did as he’d offered. Instead of getting in with him Sogetai sat down next to him, on top of the blankets, and in his relief and gratitude Anat curled his body around him through the fabric. When Sogetai started petting him again he leaned into the touch, and wondered if that was all he wanted from him after all.
(No. Don’t hope for that. He’d only be disappointed.)
The other White Scars were mostly settling into bunks; some were already asleep, and others were talking in a language Anat didn’t know. He’d have to learn it now. Hearing those conversations he couldn’t understand was alarming, like knowing someone was moving in his blind spot.
When he saw a figure moving down the aisle from the corner of his eye, he thought it was Temechi coming back. But it was a stranger.
“How is our cousin doing?” the newcomer said.
“Better than yesterday.” Sogetai’s hand on Anat’s head was still gentle, and Anat all but burrowed into it.
The other Scar didn’t come any closer; he met Anat’s eye and then looked away, leaning on the bunk opposite with his eyes half-closed. In the tone of someone seeking a distraction, he said, “Dorbei says he got a lot of heads. Did he show you?”
“Not yet. We can show off to each other tomorrow.” Anat tensed, and Sogetai gently rubbed his shoulder.
“Sure. I guess we’ll be cooped up here a while…” The other Scar shook himself, as if the confinement were already wearing on him.
(How long a while until they reached the flagship, until his brothers—
If his brothers were being treated as gently as this, a long transit might be to their benefit. Anat hadn’t seen any of them uninjured since—since—well, he hadn’t seen them uninjured on the wolves’ ship. Better if they had some time to recover.)
Someone called out in the Scars’ language, and the newcomer ducked his head and gave an embarrassed laugh as if those unknown words had been addressed to him. “I shouldn’t keep you up. Let us know if you need anything, okay?” He was looking at Anat as he said that.
Sogetai didn’t say anything in response; perhaps he nodded, out of Anat’s field of vision. The other marine left.
Anat knew he should try to sleep—if things got worse when they were rested, he didn’t want to be unconscious from exhaustion then. But he had too much adrenaline in his system still. And anyway, he wasn’t yet tired enough to fall asleep with someone else touching him. So he just closed his eyes and counted breaths, trying to find a rhythm to distract himself from his lingering pain and the words he couldn’t understand.
Gradually the noise of the dormitory quieted as the Scars fell asleep. Boasts gave way to soft conversations, which ended in turn. Someone even turned the lights down, so that the few remaining waking Scars were obvious from the glow of their dataslates. Eventually, even Sogetai’s hand slowed and went still on Anat’s hair.
Anat still couldn’t sleep. But he was caught between fear, relief, and sheer exhaustion, stretched thin until he felt almost calm.
“Up,” said Temechi’s voice.
Anat jumped out of his skin; Sogetai merely jumped off the bed, then almost without a pause clambered up to the upper bunk.
“That’s not what I meant—” Temechi broke off with a sigh as Sogetai began to snore. “Not you, Anat. It’s all right. But I’d like you to sit up and drink this.”
“This” turned out to be a thick reconstituted broth, gritty with nutrient supplements. Temechi assured him that it contained only a mild painkiller; Anat drank slowly in case it was also laced with a sedative. He’d still finish it if it was, of course, but if he was going to the last bit of control he had left, he at least wanted to know what was coming.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” Temechi said. “Jurchedai lost an arm in the fighting, and then he had a bad reaction to the drugs…” He sighed, and Anat held back a question about which drug exactly. “Khabash’s going to stay up with him.”
Anat was glad it wasn’t Temechi who’d been chosen for that task. Should he say that? But his tongue still felt clumsy. Maybe it’d be in better order tomorrow.
He kept his eyes on Temechi as he finished the broth, and so he didn’t startle too badly when Temechi shook out one blanket and then another, even though the fabric snapped loudly and the displaced air pulled at his hair.
“Where do you want your things?”
Even with the accompanying gesture, it took Anat another of those long moments to realize that Temechi was talking about the jewelry.
He put down the empty container on the floor by the bed and held out his arms. The weight in them, at least, felt real.
Anat pulled it under the blankets with him—it seemed well enough bound not to fall apart in the night—and waited.
“Sogetai and I will be right here, so just tell us if you need anything.” Temechi waited for Anat’s nod before he lay down on the next bed over, the one where Sogetai had left the jewelry before, still fully clothed.
Anat couldn’t tell if Temechi was asleep yet, but he clearly didn’t expect anything to happen, and he was surely a better judge of that than Sogetai. So Anat burrowed deeper into the blankets, arms tight around the jewelry, and tried to focus on Sogetai’s snores from above and the sounds of sleeping astartes elsewhere in the room.
