The Martians(33)

Desmond turned into a different version of himself, ferociously focused on rescuing Sax; this was the kind of friend he was, and he loved Sax as much as any of them. Maya watched him with something like fear. Then Michel and Nirgal joined them on their way to Kasei, and without a glance at her Desmond assigned her to Michel's car, in the western arm of their attack on the security compound. And she saw that she had been right; it was Michel whom Desmond had meant for her.

Which made her think. Indeed Michel was very close to her heart—her closest friend in some ways, from the days in Antarctica on. Someday she would have to forgive him for leaving Underhill without telling her. He was the man she trusted, after all. And loved—so much that Desmond had seen it. Of course what Michel thought was beyond her telling.

But she could find out. And did; and there in that boulder car, waiting for Desmond's windstorm, she held Michel in her arms and squeezed him so hard she worried for his ribs. “My friend.”

“Yes.”

“The one who understands me.”

“Yes?”


Then the wind came down. They staggered into Kasei on their Ariadne thread, forced their way into the depths of the stronghold, and at every step of the way Maya became more frightened and angry—frightened for her life—angry that there was such a place on Mars, and such people to make it, disgusting despicable cowards and tyrants, who had killed John, killed Frank, killed Sasha in Cairo, in desperate circumstances very like these—she could be dead on the ground bleeding at the ears like Sasha at any moment, among these bastards who had killed all those innocents in '61, the forces of repression there and now here in the concrete walls, all in an ear-shattering boom and shriek that added to her fury—so that when she saw Sax wired onto the rack she tore him loose with a scream, and when she saw that Phyllis Boyle was there, as one of the torturers, she snapped and threw one of the explosive charges into the chamber; a murderous impulse, but never had she been so angry, it was like being outside oneself entirely. She wanted to kill somebody and Phyllis was the one.

Then afterward when they regained the cars, and met with the others south of Kasei, Spencer defended Phyllis and shouted at Maya, accused her of cold-blooded murder, and shocked by his assertion of Phyllis's innocence, she only had the instinct to shout back at him, to hide her shock and defend herself—but feeling like a murderer there in front of them all. “I killed Phyllis,” she said to Desmond when he joined them, and they had all stared at her, all those men, as if she were a Medean horror—all but Desmond, who stepped to her side and kissed her cheek, something he had never before done in front of other people. “You did good,” he declared, with a hand's electric touch to the arm. “You saved Sax.”

Only Desmond. Though to be fair Michel had been stunned by a blow to the head, and was not himself. Later he too defended her action against Spencer's remonstrations. She nodded and huddled in his arms, frightened for him, vastly relieved when he returned to normal; holding him as he held her, with the clutch of people who had looked over the edge together. Her Michel.


So she and Michel became partners, their love, begun in the dark of Antarctica, forged in the crucible of that storm, in the rescue of Sax and her murder of Phyllis. They hid back in Zygote, now a terrible confinement to Maya. Michel helped Sax regain his speech, and Maya did what she could too. She worked on the idea of the revolution, with Nadia and Nirgal, Michel and even Hiroko. She lived her life; and from time to time they saw Desmond on one of his pass-throughs. But of course it was not quite the same, even though she loved seeing him as much as ever. He watched her with Michel very fondly; a friendly look, exactly, like one who enjoyed seeing her happy at last. There was something in that she did not like; some smugness; the friend who knew better, perhaps.


In any case, things changed. They drifted apart. They were still friends, but it was a more distant thing. It was inevitable. So much of her life was caught up in Michel, and in the revolution.

Still, when the Coyote appeared out of nowhere, it made her smile. And when they heard of the attack on Sabishii, and the disappearance of the whole lost colony's membership, it had been a different kind of pleasure to see Desmond again, coming through and telling them what he had seen—relief; a negative pleasure; the removal of great fear. She had thought he too had been killed in the attack.

He was shaken, and needed her comfort—took it—was comforted—unlike Michel, who remained remote from her throughout this disaster, withdrawn into his own world of grief. Desmond was not like that; she could comfort him, wipe the tears from his narrow stubbly cheeks. Thus, by being comforted, by making it seem possible, he comforted her too. Looking at the two bereaved lovers of Hiroko, so different, she thought to herself, True friends can help each other when the time comes. And take help too. It's what friends are for.