Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) by J. Barton Mitchell Page A

sanded, knotted pine and a little, antique, stained-glass window that cast strange shapes along the floor. It wasn’t the mess she expected. No broken mirrors or shattered furniture. In fact, it was all neat and tidy. The bed was freshly made, nothing out of place. Holt’s gear was stacked near a chair by the door, ready to go. His main pack sat on the edge of the bed, the flap open. Holt stood at the front, collecting some things from a tiny nightstand.
    He didn’t look up as she entered.
    “Packing?” Ravan asked.
    “Almost there, aren’t we?”
    Ravan studied him curiously. She hadn’t expected Holt to be catatonic, but every time she imagined coming down here, it involved kicking his ass and getting him back on his feet. Apparently … that wasn’t necessary.
    “How long until we’re there?” Holt asked.
    “Three, four hours, I guess.” Ravan studied Holt’s things. His guns were there, all of them: the Ithaca, the Beretta, the Sig rifle, even the backup .38 he carried in his boot and his knives.
    “Figured you’d want those,” Holt said as he started closing his pack. He still hadn’t looked at her. “Ammo’s in the side pouch.”
    In all the time she’d known him, Ravan had never seen Holt voluntarily give up his guns. She knew how much he’d put into them, both finding and restoring them. They had always been lifelines, necessities.
    “You can’t take the others, but the backup you could probably get in,” she said. Holt likely wouldn’t be searched, not if she handed over his main weapons. Her word was golden in Faust, especially now. “I was gonna suggest it.”
    “Why?” His voice was near monotone.
    She looked back at him. “It’s Faust, Holt. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re not particularly popular there. I’d feel better if you weren’t walking around defenseless.”
    “I meant, why do you care ?”
    The question was like a slap. Not because it was delivered with malice, but because there was no emotion discernible in it at all. She had been with Holt during the dark times, the times after Emily, the times he had done things he regretted, times he had almost died even, but there had never been this lack of life in his voice. Ravan felt a chill.
    “Because … I want to help you, Holt,” she said. “I know you’re hurting, and I know—”
    “I don’t want your help.” He cut her off with the same emotionless tone. “I just want to get this over with.”
    “And after that?” Ravan asked.
    “There isn’t going to be any after that.”
    There was a knock on the door. One of Olive’s crew opened it, stood there studying them both warily.
    “ What? ” Ravan demanded.
    “Captain wants you on deck,” the kid said. “Something’s coming.” Then he was gone.
    Ravan frowned. “Thanks for the amazingly cryptic update.”
    Holt shouldered his pack and moved for the door. He still hadn’t glanced at her. “I’ll leave the guns, take ’em or don’t, it’s up to you. I assume this whole ship is gonna be stripped down to the nails anyway.” He stepped out the door and was gone, without so much as a look back.
    The exchange was so abrupt and the opposite of anything Ravan anticipated, she just stared after him, stunned. Above, she heard shouts, could hear the sounds of feet running along the deck to their positions.
    Something was happening.
    When Ravan made it back up, she saw what it was. It looked like a sandstorm at first, a huge churning cloud of dust bearing down on them from the south. There was a strange rumbling in the air, almost like a growl, and it was getting louder the closer they got.
    Ravan smiled. She looked toward the front of the ship where Olive stood next to the helm. The tiny, pink-haired girl’s eyes were already on her. She knew it was no sandstorm.
    “What do we do?” Olive asked.
    They only had a few seconds. Ravan looked to her men, standing near the edge of the deck. “Get the flag down, switch it with ours,” she ordered.
    Her