World’s End by Joan D. Vinge

alone on the mountainside. I stared at the
scars on my wrists, at the shriveled foot of a trapped beast that I held
clenched in my fist.
    I put the
picture of Song, the trefoil, and the desiccated stump into my belt pouch, and
got to my feet.
    When I
returned to the campsite, Ang and Spadrin were arguing over whose turn it was to clean the dishes. Spadrin glowered and swore, but Ang’s face was livid; his own
anger seemed to have him by the throat. I stood silently watching them, waiting
for them to come to blows over meaningless inconsequence. But Spadrin glanced up suddenly and saw me. His
face spasmed as though he’d seen a ghost. And
then he sent the pile of dishes clanging into the cook unit with a kick, and
said, “Your turn, Gedda .”
    I folded my
arms. “I keep the rover running. I don’t do dishes.”
    Spadrin grunted. “You eat, don’t you? If you want to go on eating, you’ll do what I
want.”
    I looked at Ang , waiting for his support. Ang wiped his arm across his mouth. He looked back at me, flexing his hands. “Who
asked you to go off like that, anyway? You damn fool, I told you before we
started that it was dangerous! You want to kill yourself? Don’t get out of
sight of the rover again, unless you don’t care if you ever come back.” He
turned and followed Spadrin into the darkness.
    I cleaned
the dishes. And now I’ll try to sleep—inside the rover, with the others, even
though when I got here I found Spadrin sleeping in my
bunk. What choice do I have ... ?

day 42.
    Gods, the
dreams I’ve had .... If only I could remember them
when I wake up; maybe they’d stop. I woke Spadrin by
crying out in my sleep, before dawn; he hasn’t let me forget it all day. He
baits me at every turn: bumping into me when I try to meditate, spilling my tea
when we eat, fouling up my equipment when I work on the rover
.... The rough terrain we’ve been through has nearly torn its ancient
guts out more than once. I’ve done all the plate-cleaning and most of the
cooking, too, the past few days. It’s easier than arguing about it, when Ang won’t ever back me up. He never says anything to either
of us that he doesn’t have to, anymore. Is he more afraid of Spadrin , or his own temper?
    The hell with it. I have nothing I want to say about this.

day 43.
    Ang finally told us his plans today ... for what it’s worth. Late this afternoon
the mountains spat us out at last, and we saw the desert for the first time.
The house-sized boulders sank into a pavement of perfectly hexagonal slabs of
rock, blown clear of any softening dust or sand; the plain stretched away
toward a distant line of powder-white hills. The sky was a cloudless indigo,
and Number Four’s diamond-chip sun flooded the plain with light. The silence of
the day made my ears sing. The dry heat sucked the sweat from my skin as I made
final repairs under the rover. It was deceptively comfortable, after the
sweltering humidity we’d left behind with the jungles—but just as treacherous.
    Lying on my
back under the rover’s jacked-up body, I heard Spadrin begin to question Ang about where we were headed
next. Ang answered him in monosyllabic generalities
and evasions, as usual—he hadn’t given either of us any more details about his
secret. But that wasn’t enough for Spadrin , with the
naked heart of World’s End waiting for him. “Don’t give me that shit,” he said.
“If you’ve got a plan, I want to know! Nobody’s going to overhear us now. I
want to know what we’re going to find, and where it is, and how we’re getting
there. We’re not going anyplace until I know.” Ang muttered something unintelligible; then I heard a thump as someone came up hard
against the side of the vehicle, making it shudder off-balance above me.
    I swore and
scrambled out from underneath it. As I got to my feet, I saw Ang straightening his coveralls, looking shaken. Spadrin stood watching us with a feral grin of
satisfaction.
    “All
right,” Ang said.