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That council meeting yesterday evening… it felt familiar to Cleve, but everything was just slightly off compared to the military exercises he participated in back on Earth. Cleve wasn’t involved in too many strategy sessions, though, so who is he to judge? Xiao’s what passes for an officer around here, with the mariners being the only real hierarchical structure in the Stepdaughters of Chiron. They have to be; a ship needs a clear chain of command. But really, that presentation could’ve done with a bit less focus on fishing rights. Hopefully all those people sick of chili powder and ration bars back in Data Haven will appreciate the exchange Cleve worked out. And it should be good to have a skilled ranger around, as much as the rangers seem like they might be loose cannons. After all, that’s pretty much what Cleve is used to dealing with in Data Haven already.
It’s over now, though, and Cleve is satisfied with the outcome. He didn’t have anything he personally needed to happen here, just getting the best deal for Data Haven and keeping Mariah from getting kidnapped again. Mariah, yeah, that guy always has something unexpected up his sleeve. In the case of the strategy session, quite literally. Cleve was surprised to see an elaborate xenofungus tattoo on his previously broken arm. That might explain why Mariah didn’t want company when he was gone so long delivering the farmer’s letter yesterday. Poor guy just needed to get out and rebel a bit. Blow off some steam, get a tattoo… Well, he hasn’t had another panic attack since, so that’s all good.
And honestly, Cleve himself could do with a bit of a break. Nature, that’s what he needs, some time away from this city. That war council last night really hit home just how bad this could all go. And so he grabs his gear, fills his canteen, and heads towards the edge of the Garden of Chiron, with no clear plan other than to ramble around the jungle for a little bit. He starts by following some paths but then just goes where his feet take him. Sometimes the shimmer of Bella is visible, sometimes not. She might still be following orders to check in on Mariah every now and then, and that’s fine with Cleve.
Eventually he reaches a nice, peaceful grove where he sits down to rest his legs and his mind for a bit. The temperature here is actually cool, and the air doesn’t feel quite so humid. Cleve hears animal sounds scurrying in the undergrowth but nothing threatening. He completely loses track of time, and if he’s honest with himself, probably nodded off for a bit. When he sits back up again, alert, all his items are still there—no craws have stolen anything—and Bella is undulating happily in a light breeze.
Cleve stands up and brushes himself off, ready to return to home base. The xenofungus has shifted during his nap, however, erasing the trail he left getting here. Unfazed, Cleve makes his best guess and starts heading back to the Garden of Chiron. Very quickly, though, he realizes he doesn’t know where he is. In other circumstances, like if he was responsible for someone he was guiding, this would be a source of stress to Cleve. But out here today, entirely on his own but for Bella, it’s actually fun. Being lost in the woods is the sort of problem Cleve would like to have, rather than worrying about all the people who are going to die when an army rolls through.
“Do you know which way town is?” Cleve asks the shimmerfly pacing him on his left. “Kinda got lost here, girl.” Bella drifts up, and he loses sight of her in the canopy overhead, but before long, her flickering catches his eye over on his right. Her tiny legs clutch a laminated trifold, which she then drops into his outstretched hand. It’s a map from the government building. Cleve saw a stack of these in the foyer the other day. It’s not topographical, but it does have landmarks to orient hikers. There’s also a bulleted list of what to do if you get lost, but it’s geared toward keeping yourself safe until someone can find you, which is definitely not Cleve’s style. It includes tips on protecting yourself from miasma and starting a contained fire to give off smoke without burning down the jungle around you.
Armed with a set of landmarks, Cleve climbs up a tree to survey the land. He can’t see town, but he locates a giant mushroom that helps him orient the map properly. Having inferred his own location now, Cleve returns to the ground and sets off with new resolve and a smile on his face. He’s got a long hike still ahead of him, but this sort of problem is fun to solve.
It’s practically dinnertime when Cleve walks back into Marina’s apartment. “Oh, where were you all day?” she asks.
“Hiking.”
“Out in the wilderness?”
“Yeah.” He pulls out his map. “Right there,” he says, pointing at the approximate location of the restful grove.
“Oh.” That one syllable is now laced with concern, rather than surprise. “That’s a higher miasma zone. We should do a quick test.”
“Sure,” Cleve agrees. He’s not the type to argue with a doctor.
It’s a simple test to administer, and Dr. Citali soon has results to share. “Locally elevated, but no long-term damage—yet. You’re okay now, but you should be careful,” she says, placing particular emphasis on those last words. “You can’t always see it, and you can’t always feel how miasma affects you.”
“Understood,” Cleve says a little sheepishly.
“I know you didn’t have years of exposure like a lot of us did, but you’ve spent a lot of time outside in the short time you’ve been here.”
“Are you worried about my levels? Are they problematic?”
“I’m worried that they’re going to become problematic if you maintain this cavalier attitude towards miasma.”
“How long are we talking?”
“Every day you spend outside is like aging two days.”
Cleve pulls out his notebook and jots that down. That is not something he wants to forget. He also adds a line to his to-do list: better filter masks. That’s seen a lot of research among the Stepdaughters, but the problem is that they don’t last long, since miasma gunks everything up. “Does miasma go through the skin?” Cleve asks.
“Not nearly as much,” Dr. Citali tells him.
“Good to know,” Cleve says. Once war is no longer the huge existential crisis looming on the horizon, mask-making sounds like it would be a good side project back in Data Haven.
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