The Archivist by Tom D Wright Read Free Book Online Page A

on one side over there. Don’t worry about anything too big for you to carry, because it’ll be too big for me to break up. Do you think you can do that?”
    Danae slightly nods her head and struggles to rise. Her joints are sore from staying in one position for too long, so I help her to her feet. The activity will be good for her. While she picks up some dead branches at the edge of the clearing, I use my boot to scoop dirt over the remaining traces of blood. Then I head back into the cave.
    The generator is sitting right where I left it, atop the spacecraft. Horizontal shafts of sunlight from the late afternoon sun illuminate a cloud of dust particles so bright and thick I almost duck under the solid-seeming beam. I flick on my light and follow the passage through the cool but stuffy air another fifteen feet past the ship. The cave ends abruptly where a shale outcropping has splintered into a sloping wall of rubble that looks like a stone waterfall.
    This will work nicely. I stack a sizable pile of large rocks to one side as I think about Doc. I did not know the man, but he seemed like a decent human being, and I suspect that under different circumstances we could have been good friends. As I move the rocks to one side, I clear out a space for his body so the continuing natural rock fall will keep him entombed.
    We have maybe an hour of daylight left when I am satisfied with the space I have cleared out, and I emerge from the cave. Underneath the overhang is a waist-high pile of deadwood. Danae is sitting on a rock, washing her face and arms with some water from a goon canteen. She seems to be recovering, as she looks up at me and gives a thin smile.
    I walk over to Doc’s body and kneel down. Dead people are often described as looking as if they are asleep, but Doc has a sunken appearance, as if his life has been drained out of him. Danae kneels next to me, her hands in her lap and looking as drained as Doc.
    “I prepared a place in the back of the cave,” I say, resting my hand on her shoulder. “Are there any personal items you want to keep before we bury him?”
    She sniffles, and nods. Opening his shirt, Danae unties a small seven-point star-shaped medallion from Doc’s neck. After tying it around her own neck, she tucks it under her shirt and fixes Doc’s. Carefully smoothing his hair as if preparing him for church, she stands up, takes a deep breath and nods again.
    She takes his legs while I lift the rest of his body, and I lead the way as we carry him into the growing darkness at the back of the cave. I settle him in place, turning him onto his side so I can tuck his legs into a fetal position and fit him into the cavity I hollowed out. He seems so small, lying there. Silently, we work together in the deepening gloom and quickly stack rocks over him.
    The poetic justice is not lost on me; in building this cairn I am doing for Doc what he did for Wally. After I place the last large slab of shale in place, we both stand in the silent shadows for a few awkward moments.
    Neither of us has any last words. We just turn and walk back out.
    At least the thugs were thoughtful enough to leave their packs under a nearby tree at the edge of the small clearing before ambushing us. I rummage through them until I find a pair of blankets for Danae. I shake them out and see that they look fairly clean. Still, I am glad I have my duster.
    We are not in the kind of territory where I fear drawing human attention. I am far more interested in discouraging four-legged attention, so before daylight fades I have a fire going. An occasional sob still escapes from Danae, but she is bouncing back. She is more resilient than I expected from a barmaid.
    I dig into my pack for some sort of jerky that I bought in Port Sadelow—I suspect it’s mutton, but cannot say for sure. Danae does not even look at it when I hand her a piece, just stares at the fire as she chews, both on her meat and her thoughts.
    My eyes keep drifting back to