Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

27 | The Blood of Uncertainty

Archer was thinking. Thinking, not planning. There were so many possibilities for things to go wrong in the Kingsland, and he'd rather not figure out exactly how they'd play out.

He started with Denver, since he'd been Archer's first friend on the Avourienne—the first one to offer him kindness right from the beginning. He found him in his room right before lunchtime, so his roommate, the cook, would be out. Archer had only heard the man occasionally screaming at something in the kitchen; it was hard to find him without a scowl.

"Hi, Kingsley," Denver said, glancing over as he folded some of his clothes, "how's planning going?"

"It's...going," Archer said. He tapped the bedframe, trying out different approaches to this conversation in his mind. "Can I talk to you about something? It's serious."

Denver turned a little to face him. "Serious?"

"Look, I doubt this is something I should be telling you," he began, "but I feel like I should, still." He opened his mouth to continue, but he'd lost his nerve.

"What is it?" Denver crossed his arms.

"It's about the Kingsland," he said. "They've selected you to go inland."

"Really?" Denver asked, his blue eyes sparkling. "That's incredible!"

"Well, sure, except that it's not," Archer corrected quickly. "They're sending you because you're expendable. They can afford to lose you."

It's not that he wanted to inflict that look of hurt on Denver's face, but someone had to tell him. If they were going to put Denver through hell to join this crew, then he should know when he was being used.

"Oh," came Denver's realization. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He was silent for a moment, debating what this meant. His face creased into worry, then stilled again.

"Well...I suppose that's the way things are." He laughed, but it was uncomfortable. "I mean, let's be honest, I'm not really all that good. Haven't really been makin' a rep for myself, I guess."

"Denver—"

"Nah, Kingsley, it's not so bad. I mean, it's like an opportunity. If I can prove myself in the Kingsland, then they'll respect me for it. Then I'll be somebody to them."

But Denver wouldn't prove himself—he'd die. Silta implied even someone like Farley shouldn't have been able to wander the hallways of that place and live to tell the tale, and Farley had been specialized in combat. If Denver was the one who'd have to lose Archer, he'd be working his way back to the group on his own, far from Silta, Bardarian or any other form of protection.

"Can I ask you something, Denver?"

"Yeah, Kingsley. 'Course."

Archer watched him carefully. "This whole ship, the crew. Can you stand this life?"

"Whatcha mean, stand it?"

"The killing," Archer offered.

Denver, to his credit, took a moment to think. "Well, I mean, it ain't fun, I guess. But it's the way it goes."

"It's not the way it goes—or at least it doesn't have to be. You could do something else, somewhere else."

"Archer," he said, his voice accompanied by an edge of warning. "What're you saying?"

He backed down a little. Maybe Denver wasn't quite the man he'd painted him as in his mind. "Bardarian," Archer pressed. "You'd give your life for him?"