Wings

by Fearadhach MecRaudri

  “I’m not a big fan of implanting those things in outsiders. I worry that CentGov’s interrogators may find a way around them if they get too many samples. Also, if we put them on everyone who goes Outside, they might get some funny ideas about how well we are segregating data and start stepping up their attempts to capture people…”

  A feeling of defensiveness compelled Lucas to press the point. “We figured out how to make the kill-switches thought activated, and the new pill-forms are easy enough to get lodged somewhere inoperable. I also take a different view on the likelihood of them stepping up capture attempts. If everyone they try to interrogate dies the first time they ask a question, they might figure out that anyone who knows anything is rigged, and quit torturing people.” Torfan grunted and shook his head. “Yes, unlikely, I know… But we can hope.”

  This time Torfan shrugged, dismissing the disagreement with a wave of his hand, “Well, it isn’t our decision to make, anyway. That pilot will have to decide for himself. You still haven’t finished answering my question from back in the elevator, Lucas. Don’t think I didn’t notice. There is no way you would have sent anyone to meet with this friend of Dan’s if whoever it was wasn’t offering something rather compelling.”

  A rueful chuckle escaped Lucas’s lips before it could be stopped, and his head shook, “I should have known better than to try to get that one past you, old friend. I just knew you wouldn’t like the answer. The man claimed to have the seeds for a meat-production vat with him. Claimed a desire to trade that for sanctuary with The Column. Yes, I know you disagree with me about the whole food situation we face, but I don’t like the idea of continuing to buy food from Outside. I like the fact that we are becoming more dependant on Outside food everyday even less.

  “You know how precarious a position we are in right now. We do not have anywhere near the level of military we need to be able to move against CentGov, but we are large enough that we could build one, given enough time. If they had any idea of our numbers, they’d come down on us like a ton of rock, and we’d be up to our eyeballs in Legion troops before we knew what hit us. Furthermore, if anything happens to the food supply Outside, keeping the shell game going that we use to buy food will become untenable. The…”

  His friend’s eyes rolled as the old argument began to resurface, and Torfan irritably waved a hand to cut him off. “Yes, yes. The small shippers we depend on to smuggle our food will no longer be able to operate, or will be unable to fudge their books for us, or it will be easier to trace our transactions as supply is restricted. We’ve had this argument enough times, old friend. You are the Commander, I’m not, and I’ve given up trying to convince you anyway.

  “Bah! Enough talk of the war. Things are going well enough here at this Sanctuary, and I can make a more complete report to you later if you wish. For now, you are a guest in my home, and I have not seen you in far too long. Not to mention that you are near covered in blood and probably dead on your feet. Get yourself cleaned up and Martha will put some food on. I bet it’s been an age since you’ve had a good home cooked meal!”

  Lucas felt his stomach growl, audibly, in response. Only his late wife’s cooking beat Martha’s, and being able to stop for it had become far too rare a treat. Martha’s gentle laugh came from the doorway as she spoke. “Go on, ya big lug! Get yourself cleaned up before you get blood on my furniture. Torfan will have some clothes brought up for you, and I will see about whipping up something to quiet that creature you are hiding under your shirt.” She smiled at him again, and pushed him toward the bathroom.

  Dinner turned out to be all Torfan promised and more. They shared wonderful food and light conversation. His dear comrades played the part of host well, as always. The day-to-day affairs of running a Sanctuary were given a compelling humor, without mocking anyone. Lucas, as the leader of the resistance, knew the location and approximate size of all installations of the Fifth Column. He always liked to hear the small news from Farung, where his own base of operations lay, though. The children arrived as the eating started, providing a great deal of entertainment and a much-needed sense of normalcy.

  Lucas leaned back, sighing contentedly as the dishes were cleared. These moments of peace and happiness were all too rare, something he cherished as a rare gem. Being the leader of The Column generally meant that time had to be divided between dodging enemy fire, settling disputes between squabbling subordinates, and stressing over the innumerable little details of keeping the movement alive. Moments like this reminded him what they fought for.

  As his full stomach threatened to burst the buttons of his borrowed shirt, he caught Torfan’s sympathetic grin. “Sometimes I don’t know how you handle it all, old friend.” More words seemed about to come, but his friend apparently decided that speaking more would risk spoiling the moment. Instead, Torfan opted for pouring them both a glass of good whiskey. “Well, here is to friendship, then, and you knowing that there are places to unwind.”

  The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence, sipping at their whisky and allowing their minds to wander. Lucas closed his eyes, letting himself relax, and soon his mind began to drift. He let the cares of the shadow war drift away.

  Then he felt it coming, and put down the urge to fight. That only made it worse. His instincts fought, tried to keep away from the pain at the end of the memories, but to no avail. It had been over a year since the last time, and he thought maybe he'd learned to cope. The fear gas, that was probably what did it. Too much, too fast, and now that he could finally relax... He knew the choices: either ride the wave through so that it finished quickly, taking what enjoyment could be found, or fight against it wake up screaming for the next several weeks.

  With a barely-audible groan Lucas allowed Delores’s long-lost face to fill the space behind his eyelids. Memory came like a torrent, beauty and pain locked tightly together. Neither he nor his late wife could remember the day they met. She had been a professor’s assistant, he a student totally focused on gaining his wings.

  That focus had been his way since that first glimpse of a flying man. His parents had been delighted and concerned. They were glad to see that he planned to make something of himself in the world, but concerned by his lack of interest in peers, women, or any of the things they felt made life worthwhile. His school mates had resented the over-achiever who always blew the curve, and always told him the son of a miner would never be allowed to earn wings. Such words and concerns slid past him like the wind across a flyer’s feathers.

  There had been girls before Delores who had tried to interest him, of course. His driven, focused mind had divided girls who were interested in him into two categories: those who wanted to distract some of his focus from his wings to themselves, and those who saw him as an easy ticket off the backwater mining island where they were growing up. When he got to the Academy his thoughts about women didn’t change, not even after their first meeting. She had been the third type of girl-the one who wanted to neither take his focus for herself nor ride it to another place, so not something to worry about.

  In the years of their marriage the un-winnable argument of how they first met had been one of their favorite games, both of them making up new stories as the years went by. They knew, however, that they had both categorized the other much the same way, and they had always laughed at the irony after coming together. For her the eggs –potential flyers- were divided mostly into two groups: those who thought her another wing-chaser and those who thought that her common upbringing would cause her to drop to her knees if they flashed some money around her. He had been neither, and so not a concern.

  Once she finally came to his attention, however, it almost cost him his wings. A slight smile played across his face as the wonders of that unexpected day played out. He had been taking one of his rare breaks. He'd learned the hard way that if he didn’t take at least one day off on occasion he’d suffer burn out. She had been on the shuttle headed into town, doing the same thing.

  They talk
ed, casually, simply enjoying a non-threatening conversation. Neither had a real plan for the day, so the conversation continued when they stepped off the shuttle. They followed one another around town, talking, shopping, taking in street shows, allowing their cares to fade for a moment. Only late that night, after they had casually bade each other farewell, did he realized she had truly enchanted him.

  The memory of those next several weeks felt so bittersweet now, looking back, though they were probably the hardest of his life. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t study, even felt weak in his workouts. Every attempt to approach her met with an expression he could not read, but sent him running.

  What troubled him, kept him up at night, kept him distracted from his books, and tormented his very soul wasn’t that expression. For the first time since boyhood he did not know what to do, nor how to achieve a goal. The fear of rejection didn’t help matters, either.

  His whole life every path had been clear, the next move –easy or difficult- had been obvious, but here, now, he didn’t know how to proceed. The isolation caused by his drive also, finally, managed to work against him; He had no one to go to for advice, no one to pour an aching heart out to, no idea how to proceed. The confusion of heart and mind had paralyzed him into inaction.

  Lucas felt his smile broaden as the fateful day finally came up in his mind’s eye. There had been comments behind his back by professors and fellow students that the ‘golden boy’ had finally burned out. The looks of pity finally stirred action. Not out of reaction to their pity directly, that he couldn’t have cared less about. He knew what those looks meant, that they all expected him to wash out and be gone.

  The fear of failing in that one, overriding goal sent him racing down the corridors to confront this mystical being who haunted his dreams once and for all. She could accept or reject him, and at least then he would know and be able to focus. He felt himself chuckle a little at that resolve: even the boy he’d been knew that rejection from her would have cost him focus for many more weeks.

  Fortunately, the cards did not hold rejection that day. He found her in a crowded hall and forced fleeing feet to stay put at that unreadable look while asking to speak privately with her. Another wave of fear had to be quelled as that frightening look deepened and her head bowed in consent. They moved into an unoccupied classroom, shutting out the world with the closed door. She turned that inscrutable gaze upon him again, and he could no longer form a coherent sentence.

  A few scarcely related words tumbled from him. The strange look on her face deepened, then came a look he did recognize: irritation. With that his body control began to go. Nervous feet and arms began to twitch for the door despite all efforts of control. Those beautiful eyes finally saw his distress, and the mysteries on her face were replaced by easily-read delight. He felt a moment of outrage, thinking her amused by his discomfort, but the delight gave way to that strange look again and –this time- she began to stammer as badly as he.

  Lucas felt warmth grow in his breast as one of the greatest moments in his life played out before his eyes. She had stood there for only a moment, stammering for words, then her hand shot out to roughly grab his shirt. She stepped forward, pulling him forcefully toward her, pressing her lips firmly upon his. They stood there for some time, allowing their lips and bodies to tell each other what their minds feared to say.

  He could feel the laughter and rush of the moments following that kiss, of learning that the look on her face had been the same confusion he had felt, and for much the same reasons. She had been driven to change her station, and do it on her own, by earning a Masters in Ancient Earth Literature in order to become a professor.

  The years that followed were nothing short of meteoric, and passed by the screen of his eyes in a blur. He felt fear rise in his gut at what would be at the end of the play, felt himself try to pull out of the memories before it got there, but this had to be seen through. He watched as Delores nursed him through the difficult and painful wing-growth, as he helped her prepare her thesis, then came his first day of flight.

  She had been there, fretting over him, fussing over every feather and making sure he knew what to do. The Academy had a special pool for men to take their first flights: twelve yards wide by three hundred yards long. He’d stood on the platform above the pool, feeling none of the nervousness his instructors had insisted would be there. There was only joy, only excitement, that all of his hard work was about to pay off, that he was finally going to fly.

  Delores wasn’t supposed to be on that platform with him, but that didn’t keep her away. He had kissed her, turned, spread his wings, and jumped.

  It turned out to be all he hoped it would be and more.

  The pain existed only in his memory of the event, at the time the glory of the wind rustling his feathers and the air teasing his hair kept him too busy to even notice it. He’d been so caught up that he nearly forgot to spread the feathers out from his calves, and spent the first several moments of flight with his legs hanging comically down. No comparison of that experience to any other could be made, and the shouts of joy from his beloved only made it all the sweeter. His instructions had been to do a straight glide that first flight, no beating of wings, and to let himself land in the water, but he became far too caught up in the moment. Against all orders and regulations, he pumped his wings, adrenalin and endorphins keeping the pain at bay as his speed increased slightly.

  A shout of joy finally escaped his lips as he saw himself-and his wonderful, hard won wings- reflected in the pool below. The pool which rushed by at such speed: The pool so many feet below him. The down and up movement of those wings caused him to bank slightly, and he instinctively used those tail-feathers to come back in line. He felt a moment of fear upon realizing he would pass the end of the pool, but confidence replaced the fear.

  It felt so easy, so natural. Curl the outside tail feathers slightly, let it pull the others with it, and the body turned in that direction. Every night of his life he had done this. They were shouting at him to fold wings and drop to the water, but he had no intention of letting his first flight end that way. Instead he cupped his wings, formed a pocket which increased his lift while slowing him down.

  Muscles in his back bunched in response to the commands sent to the new muscles, but his wings did as they were told. His speed slowed enough that tail feathers were no longer holding up his calves, so he let them drop. The water had grown closer and slower, but still rushed by. The lip of the pool went by just below his feet, then came contact with the mat. His feet nearly came out from under him, and he had to run hard to keep from falling. Those beautiful wings, which a moment ago seemed graceful and under exquisite control, began to flail wildly in the attempt to stay balanced.

  He found himself bent over double, legs running for all they were worth. He stood, and spread wings caught air with muscles straining in protest, then found himself standing on the mat with wings spread and several pairs of feet running towards him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his wings and shoulders trembled from the strain. Both hearts were pounding a rhythm so fast he couldn’t keep up. That felt stranger to him than the wings, at the time. The wings felt like a natural part of his body, in his heart they had always been there. The second heart felt strange, and having a heart which beat in between the beats of his old heart took some getting used to.

  The instructors were harsh with their criticism, of course, but an unmistakable light of respect shone in their eyes. In the weeks that followed Delores claimed they were being so hard because they were jealous. Everyone knew that first time flyers never made it to the mats, and no one had ever heard of a first timer managing to stand up a landing.

  The joy of their days together filled his heart and mind, let him ignore, for a moment, the pain of where the memories were headed. He relived days spent in work and laughter, nights of falling asleep in her arms, a wing tucked over them both.

  She had been unhappy about his first posting, a back-woods colony with
a small garrison. He’d mentioned her finding a professorship and living somewhere without him, but she would hear none of it. They both puzzled over him being told how he needed to learn ‘how the world worked’, but paid it little mind. Looking back, though, the memory of those words felt like a stab wound.

  It didn’t take long to understand that he’d been shunted off out of the way; Listening to the other Legionnaires and their wives told the tale. Neither could understand, then, why such a thing would be done, and their lack of understanding met amused cynicism from their peers. If only he had known.

  His determination to show his worth to his superiors brought him to investigate some accounting anomalies, and he soon uncovered a high-cash scam being run by the base commander. The discovery brought the first of many promotions, then an opportunity to join the Organized Crime Investigations (OCI) Bureau as an undercover agent.

  His heart began to beat faster as the memory-play continued; here began the end. His arms twitched, trying to force him from the chair, but this had to be done. The night when they decided he’d take the position shone as a bright light to his heart. She had grown furious at him upon finding out he wanted it mostly because it meant permanent station at Landing –Kethelmar’s capital-, which would allow her to easily gain a major professorship.

  Delores had been glorious in her anger, insisting that she would not let him go through the agony of wing treatments again just so she could pursue her career. It had been a strange argument, both arguing on the course of action less beneficial to themselves. In the end she became convinced that this would be best for them both, and worth the pain.