Deathwatch (The Faded Earth Book 1)(5)

Beck sat back in her chair, closing her eyes for a few seconds before looking at him with far less irritation than before. “Did you happen to look at how I got myself raised to supervisor at my age? I’ve only been in the mine since I was fifteen. Didn’t that seem odd to you?”

“No,” Eshton said, thinking back over the file. “Why?”

Beck grimaced. “I was a team lead, mostly because I know how to troubleshoot the mining drones. We had a minor cave-in. One of my people was trapped on the other side. Then our sensors went off. Methane pocket, you see. Not just for coal mines. So there I was with four people in front of me and a fifth no more than a few yards away, trapped. You know what I did?”

Eshton didn’t have to make much of a leap. “You left him.”

“I left him,” she said with a slight nod. “Tore me up to do it, but I knew it was the right call. Turns out the guy, Alonzo, lived. The rockfall didn’t block off one of the side tunnels and he got into the emergency isolation tank in that section. But I didn’t know that for hours. I thought I’d left him to die. He didn’t thank me. Didn’t give me any shit about it, but he knew what I’d done. It’s a hell of a thing, having to make that kind of call at just shy of seventeen.”

Eshton considered the young woman. It was strange to think of her that way. He was only a few years older himself. The difference between them, however, was less about years than experience. Joining the Deathwatch at fourteen grew you up quickly. But the gap seemed smaller, now. “It’s not the same thing,” he said. “Not really.”

Beck surprised him with a smile. “You’re right. It isn’t. I had to sacrifice one to save five. Your job made you choose between three or, what, thousands of citizens? Not to mention the other members of the Watch.”

Eshton didn’t point out that in the event of a bloom, the armor would prevent infection. Rare was the suit that failed at this, its most basic function. “You’re not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I’ll sleep well tonight. If I sleep at all.”

“Good,” Beck said. “You shouldn’t. No one should be able to cope well with that. I know I didn’t when I left Alonzo behind. I beat myself up for weeks.” She spaced out for a second, eyes going slightly unfocused, then shook her head. “I think these damn drugs are making me numb.”

“Halcyon doesn’t do that,” Eshton said. “It calms you, keeps your heart rate and nervous system even, but that’s about it. You’re sitting there thinking you should be wailing and beating your chest in grief. Maybe you feel bad that you aren’t showing it more.”

Beck blinked. “You don’t know me.”

Eshton shook his head. “I don’t pretend to. Everyone processes loss differently. Read the histories closely and you’ll find accounts of people never shedding a tear for their lost family and friends during the Collapse. Some of them never showed a sign of trouble the rest of their lives. Others went weeks or months or years, then suddenly snapped. Others never could get over their grief and took their own lives—”

“First, survive,” Beck said automatically. The words of the First Tenet. Suicide had taken so many during the first months of the Collapse that whole populations of survivors died out from lack of bodies to perform basic tasks like guarding and hunting. The taboo against it within the Protectorate was strong enough to evoke the First Tenet by reflex, like a prayer. Or possibly a curse.

“The point,” Eshton said, “is that while everyone processes their grief differently, one factor is universal. You can’t maintain that level of emotional energy for long. It exhausts you. Leaves you drained. Your mind forces itself to switch tracks and aim toward normalcy. You don’t have to feel guilty about not putting on a show, Ms. Park. There is no wrong way to grieve, and no one to prove yourself to.”

She studied his face for a long, long time. Her eyes gleamed with intelligence, but also a quality far rarer in his experience: objectivity. She struck him very much as someone who could reel herself back from any situation and truly bend her mind to the task of understanding it from several angles.

“You sound like you know firsthand,” Beck said.

Eshton raised his hands as if to say, yes, you caught me. “I do. I lost my family to Fade B when I was a few years younger than you are now. The Guard who killed them did for me what I’m trying to do for you. We stay anonymous because it’s on us to make those impossible decisions, the ones that fall under our personal Tenet.” He waved a hand at the words inscribed on the wall. “We guard the many even if it means sacrificing the few. I hated her for it at the time. I even attacked her.”

Beck gasped. The Protectorate had few laws as only a recovering society can, but one of the most sacred was that no member of the Deathwatch could be assaulted or prevented in any way from the performance of their duty. “What did she do to you?”

The corner of Eshton’s mouth quirked up, but his eyes were serious. “She offered me a place in the guard. I’d like to do the same for you, if you’re interested.”





3


“I’m not going to punch you,” Beck said.

5110 raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks?”

Beck maintained an iron grip on her self-control, afraid that even a moment of weakness would end in tragedy. Instead of lashing out, she slowly pushed the chair back and stood. “I’m going to leave. I’m too angry right now to feel safe staying here.” She said it with utter calm, though a slight fluctuation in the last word gave a hint of how difficult it was to maintain.