Page 16 of Zinnia and the Zombie
“Were?” She caught the past tense immediately, and his throat tightened as the memory of his dream rushed over him again.
“I… do not know if others survive. My memories are incomplete.”
“Because of the stasis?”
“Perhaps. The stasis is a cellular adaptation unique to my species. We can transform our bodies into an impenetrable shell, suspending all biological processes. In this state, we can survive indefinitely without food, water, or oxygen.”
“Like a living statue,” she murmured. “Is it voluntary?”
“To a degree, although if we are gravely injured it happens automatically. But it has consequences. Extended periods in stasis can fragment memory, particularly of events immediatelypreceding the transformation. And when we emerge, we are temporarily weakened but unable to return to that state.”
“That’s why you didn’t turn back into a statue on the ship?”
“Correct.”
She studied his face thoughtfully. “How long were you in stasis before I found you?”
“I am… uncertain. Time passes differently in that state. Subjectively, it could have been days or millennia.”
“And objectively?”
“Based on the technology of the ship we escaped from, and comparing it to what I remember…” He calculated quickly. “Perhaps one hundred cycles.”
“How long is a cycle?”
“The length of one trip of my planet around our sun.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve been asleep for a hundred years?”
“In stasis,” he corrected. “Biologically I am approaching my fourth decade.”
“So much must have happened while you were in stasis.”
“Yes. I was aware of some of it, but…” The gaps in his memory were vast, disorienting chasms.
“What’s the last thing you do remember? Before waking up on that ship with me?”
The question triggered a cascade of fragmented images—a ship’s corridor bathed in emergency lighting, the faces of his crew as they fought, blood spattered across a bulkhead.
“An ambush,” he said hoarsely. “My ship was attacked without warning. We fought, but we were outnumbered. The attack was too well coordinated, too precise. They knew exactly where to strike, how to disable our defenses.”
Her hand found his in the darkness, her fingers small but strong as they twined with his own, and he gratefully let her touch anchor him to the present.
“I was the ship’s commander. I was supposed to keep them safe, but I failed. I saw them die, one by one.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“In the final moments, as the last of my crew fell, I was severely injured and my body initiated stasis. The last thing I remember is a blade slicing into my neck, and then… darkness. There were times when I was aware of my surroundings, but never enough to break free. Until your voice reached me.”
The weight of the past pressed down on him—the lives lost, the duty unfulfilled, the overwhelming reality of his survival when all others had perished. What right did he have to live when they had died?
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “You couldn’t have known about the ambush.”
“A commander is responsible for his crew. Their deaths are my burden to bear.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Listen to me, Jaxx. I don’t know anything about combat, but I do know something about surviving when others don’t.”
She shifted to look up at him, though in the darkness she probably couldn’t see his expression as clearly as he could seehers. “When my mother died, I felt guilty for being alive. Like I should have been able to save her somehow. I thought I didn’t deserve the chances I got afterward—the Jensens taking me in, the shop, everything.”
