Page 44 of Dustwalker
This one had been written by hand. Somehow, that made it more special. She’d never met anyone who could read, much less write, so it seemed an impossible skill. Though she couldn’t understand the words, for a moment she felt closer to the past than ever before.
In the middle of the book, she found a few loose photos. The same people were present in all of them—a man, a woman, and two children.
Had they lived in this house, stayed in this room?
She glanced at the clothing, which all seemed to be sized for a man, at the blankets, the jars on the shelf, the single chair. It had likely only been one person here.
Replacing the pictures, she went to the table and gently laid the leatherbound book atop it. Her eyes fell on the stacked bins. What other little treasures were hidden here?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ronin entered his dwelling, closing and locking the door behind him. His fingertips lingered on the knob. It was cold and smooth. The accurate temperature readings and texture mapping enabled by his freshly replaced synthetic skin added dimensions to his sense of touch that he’d forgotten about during his months in the Dust.
The sun sank toward the western horizon, its orange light streaming through the front windows to cast long shadows over his worktable. He’d hoped to find Lara in the main room upon his return, sitting at the table or perched on one of the wide windowsills, but he doubted she was capable of sitting still for long.
After closing the blinds, he placed his pack and rifle on the table and pulled off his coat, running his fingers over its rough fabric before tossing it over the back of the chair. The needle and thread he’d used to repair Lara’s boot were still out; he’d put them away later.
Ronin stepped into the kitchen. Lara wasn’t there, either.
Why would she be? There isn’t any food here yet.
He grasped the refrigerator by the sides, pulled it away from the wall, and slipped behind it to plug the cord into the electrical outlet.
Something inside the fridge rattled before the sound evened to a soft, steady hum. He was, for once, grateful for the maintenance bots keeping the home appliances in Cheyenne in working order. Lara’s food would last longer in the refrigerator, which would mean fewer trips to the vendor for Ronin.
He pressed his hand to the refrigerator’s flat face, and the sensors in his skin detected the fine, linear grooves in the brushed metal as he pushed the appliance back into place. He’d fill it with the food he’d brought home soon enough. Lara was likely hungry after his five-hour absence, and she’d appreciate choosing what to eat first.
Ronin strode to the foot of the stairs. “Lara?”
Ten seconds ticked by with no response.
She’s likely resting.
After a minute had passed, he went upstairs. Though Ronin knew sleep was a necessary biological function for organic creatures, much like her having togo, he could never experience it himself and therefore could not truly comprehend it. But he would still accommodate her needs.
All the upstairs doors were open. The corner of his mouth quirked. She must’ve been familiarizing herself with her surroundings, not that there was much to see. Many of the furnishings had been removed before Ronin took up residence here, and even the few remaining pieces were more than he required.
He walked to her room, where he found her bed inexpertly made, her trinkets spread atop the dresser, which had been pulled away from the wall, and the closet open. But there was no Lara.
His brow plates lowered.
The front door had been locked when he’d returned, and he detected no errant air currents to indicate an open window within the house. Could she have been taken? Or had she found a way out on her own?
He focused his optics on her collection, and, after moving further into the room, discovered her boots and bag on the floor beside the dresser in the corner. No, she hadn’t left on her own. She never would’ve left those things behind.
Ronin moved the dresser back into place, stepped out of her room, and continued his search.
She wasn’t in the other bedrooms, and his gear, including the pistol, was where he’d left it atop the chest at the foot of his bed. More evidence that she hadn’t departed on her own. All these items would’ve aided her survival. To leave behind both her own belongings andhis openly displayed tools and weapon would’ve been madness.
His processors whirred as he returned to the hallway and paced from one end to the other, running hundreds, thousands of simulationsat once. None of them could fully account for the single greatest variable—human unpredictability.
Taken, then? He was certain Warlord kept keys to every residence in the bot district, and it would’ve only required a single gearhead to subdue Lara. What history did she have with Cheyenne’s ruler?
A potent buzz surged through his circuits, rage and fear intertwined into the same wavelength. What if Warlord had taken her? What if the gate guards had informed their leader that Ronin had taken not just a human, but Lara, into his residence, and Warlord had come to collect her?
Ronin halted abruptly, tilting his head down. Thick clumps of dust lay on the floor, some having already been trampled into the carpet fibers by his boots. His optics swept up to the attic hatch.
Though he’d noticed the hatch when he’d first taken residence, he’d never opened it and looked inside. Given the state of the rest of the building, logic had dictated that there was nothing of value to find up there. Why would she go up there now?
