In the main room, he switched settings on the weapon and swept the invisible beam over the floor. Red and gray matter disappeared. The dirty footprints remained, but he remembered how she’d cleaned the cave floor after he’d knocked over the urine bucket. After a quick search, he located a broom, dustpan, and paper towels, which he dampened, and erased the footprints. He emptied the dustpan outside, locking the door again.
His comm device showed no new messages from the GM—not that he’d expected any. It had been months since the last one. It was looking more and more like the GM had decided sacrificing those marooned would best serve the needs of the empire. Or perhaps the entire General Ministry had succumbed to the plague. Perhaps there was no one alive to remember anybody had been left behind. He had no way to know how widespread the devastation had been.
I’m not getting off Earth any time soon. Maybe never.
He sniffed his pack then dropped it, rubbing his nose to wipe away the stench. No way could he carry an object smelling so foul. Not that he needed a sack. He only had his weapon and his comm device, which he carried on his person, anyway. However, he rued the loss of his clothes, especially his extra shirt. It was cold outside. The one he wore hung in shreds since Laurel had cut through it to examine the gunshot wound.
That seemed like a long time ago. He smiled as he recalled how she’d splashed a liquid on the wound—and how it burned. She’d relished his discomfort. Their relationship had changed a lot since then.
He believed her when she said she’d been intending to release him.
Zok, I’m going to miss her.
The bathroom doorclickedopen, and within seconds, his nose detected familiar, pleasant fragrances.
“Grav?”
“Yes?”
“Uh, could you get my suitcase from the laundry room? My clothes are in it.”
“Okay…uh…what’s a laundry room?”
She chuckled. “It’s the room off the hall by the garage.”
“The one with the spinning machine?”
“Spinning machine—oh, yeah, that’s the clothes dryer.”
“I’ll get the bag.” He trotted to thelaundry roomand collected the gray suitcase. In the hall on the other side of the house, she poked her head out from behind a door. Anger tightened his muscles at the purpling knot on her forehead. He wished he could kill the man again—this time with his bare hands.
“Here you go.” He rolled the bag to her.
Steam and pleasant fragrances wafted out of the bathing room and around her. She widened the door enough to take the bag. A large fuzzy cloth was wrapped around her middle. He spotted deepening bruises on her bare arms and legs. She dropped the robe splattered with the man’s organic matter onto the hall floor. “I need to get rid of this. I won’t ever want to wear it again.” She ducked inside.
She emerged in fresh, clean faded-blue pants, a nubby long-sleeved shirt, and lace-up shoes. Her weapon was holstered to her hip. Gleaming wet hair hung down her neck. She pushed her suitcase into the hall. “I’ll dry my hair and then you can shower.”
She dropped her gaze to the robe. “Let me get rid of this first.”
“It stinks,” he said. He smelled, too, and looked forward to getting clean.
“I’d ask you to get a bag from the pantry, but you’d never find one.”
He followed her to the food prep area, relieved to see her moving with confidence.
“You did a good job cleaning up,” she noted. “Thank you.”
In a walk-in closet, she rooted around until she found a box, out of which she pulled a large black bag. She was right. He never would have found it, wouldn’t have known what to look for.
Outside the bath, she made a moue of distaste, picking up the robe with two fingers and trying to get it into the bag. He leaped forward to help her, holding the bag open. “What will you do with it?” he asked.
“Toss it in a dumpster, I guess. That’s all I can do.”
“Let me put my pack in there.” He retrieved the contaminated bag, glad to be rid of it. He could have cleansed the items with the vaporizer, but he had no way to recharge the weapon, so he didn’t want to use it unless it was absolutely necessary.
He leaned on the doorjamb, fascinated as she dried her hair with a handheld gun blowing hot air. The Progg had all-in-one sanitizing units. You stepped in. Minutes later, you stepped out clean and dry. It did everything but dress you.
Finally, she finished. “Your turn.” She scrutinized him. “You don’t have a change of clothes, do you?”
