Across Enemy Space

by L. J. Simpson

  “So, what was I doing when you came back home?” Redmayne asked.

  “You were just sitting in your chair,” said his wife. “Screaming something about your engines being offline. You were… I don’t know… flying a plane, or something. I couldn’t get you to snap out of it. I called Dad and he came straight round but we couldn’t anything. You just sat there, eyes wide open, shouting like…”

  “Like…?”

  “Like a man possessed. In the end we called the paramedics and they brought you here.”

  Redmayne shook his head. “I honestly don’t remember a thing.”

  “Which is a good sign,” said Dr. Sanders. “For the past few days, we’ve been treating you with a combination of drugs and impulse therapy. I’m pleased to say you’ve already shown remarkable improvement and I’m very hopeful that you will make a full recovery.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “We’ll keep you in overnight to be on the safe side. After that, I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be discharged. You’ll need to take a few weeks off work while we continue with the medication, during which time there will be no driving, no alcohol, and absolutely no gaming. I can’t stress that last part strongly enough,” he said sternly.

  “Understood,” said Redmayne.

  “There is one more thing,” said the doctor, “From time to time you will probably experience flashbacks, some of which may be extremely vivid. Don’t let them worry you – they are part of the healing process and it’s much better to talk about them than to bottle them up. Do you have any questions?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Ellen?”

  “Will there be any… you know… permanent damage?”

  “We don’t believe so,” said Sanders. “It may take some time for your husband to regain all his memories – especially some of the more recent ones – and then it might take a while to readapt to his ‘old’ surroundings once again but as I said, there is no reason to expect anything other than a complete recovery.”

  “That’s good news, but there is one thing, doctor,” said Redmayne. “I’m absolutely famished. Exactly how long has it been since I ate?”

  “Real food? A few days, I guess. If you feel ready to eat, I can have something sent up. Something light, though.”

  “No chance of a steak?”

  “You see, Mrs. Redmayne,” said Sanders with a laugh. “He’s well on the way to a full recovery. Well, I’ll see if I can get someone to rustle you up some lunch and in the meantime, I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about. Good day to you.”

  Ellen waited until the doctor had closed the door behind him before she leaned over and kissed her husband on the lips. “Good to have you back,” she said.

  “It’s good to be back… though I don’t really remember being away. I don’t even remember what game I was playing. You say I was flying a plane?”

  “Let’s see if I can jog your memory,” she said, taking a box from her bag and holding it up for him to see. “The Combine Wars: Gold Edition... Well at least it wasn’t one of those erotic adventures I’ve been hearing about.”

  She turned the box over and began reading the blurb on the back. “Serving under the legendary war hero Admiral ‘Jolly Jack’ Tarr, you must take command of the World Alliance air and ground units as you battle for your very survival against the despotic Combine Empire.

  Establish bases, gather resources and build up your fleet as you prepare to meet the onslaught of a ferocious and cunning enemy.

  Experience the intensity of space combat as you take command of a flotilla of Z-class destroyers and go head to head with enemy formations.

  Use you intelligence agents to search out enemy spies and travel across occupied space in search of allies. Only you can prevent the total annihilation of your race.

  Immerse yourself in hyper-realistic 4D battlegrounds as you fight your way through 30 intense single player missions, or go on-line for breathtaking multiplayer action… Does it ring any bells?”

  “Yes,” said Redmayne, nodding his head. He closed his eyes as the memories came cascading back, filling his head with a raft of powerful images and sounds. “Wow... it’s so intense. Just listening to you read that out…” He shook his head in surprise.

  “The doctor said this might happen. You want to talk about it?”

  “It was just a crazy jumble of images and sounds,” he said. “Space battles, mostly.”

  “That figures,” said Ellen, holding up the box to show a picture of two fleets of space ships squaring off in the shadow of a great nebula.”

  There was a soft knock at the door and an orderly entered bearing a tray. “Here you are, Mr. Redmayne,” he said. “Got a nice salad for you.”

  “Thanks,” he said as the orderly placed the tray on his lap. He waited for the man to leave before he looked up at his wife. “Nothing to eat for days on end and all I get is a tuna salad?”

  “It’s called doctor’s orders,” she said sympathetically.

  Redmayne grunted. He speared a piece of tomato with a plastic fork and was half-way to his mouth when there was a loud knock on the door. He looked up to see a familiar face peering inside the room.

  “Hi,” said the face. “How’s the invalid?”

  “Out of the woods, apparently,” Redmayne said with a chuckle. Honey, you remember Barney from the office?”

  “Course I do,” she said. “How’s it going, Barney?”

  “Could be worse… I might be in hospital like you for a start. Jeez, is that all they give you?” he said, looking at the salad with disdain.

  “The doctor said he should stick to something light.”

  “Oh, right,” said Barney. “Then I suppose I can’t interest you in these.” Looking around furtively, he opened his briefcase and withdrew a bag of hamburger and fries. “I got them across the street. They’re still hot… well, warm, anyway.”

  Redmayne looked at his wife who shrugged. “It’s up to you,” she said. “But don’t blame me if they make you sick.”

  “How did you get past the nurse station?” said Ellen as Redmayne stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth. “It’s not visiting hours yet.”

  “Easy,” said Barney, tapping his name tag. ‘Barney Childs: Cannon Pharmaceuticals’, it read. “I’m in a hospital. No-one ever questions a rep from a drug company. I could wander around here all day and no-one would stop me.”

  “Barney, you’re a bean counter,” said Redmayne. “You don’t know the first thing about drugs.”

  “I know how much they cost. That’s a start. And talking about counting beans, any idea when you’ll be back at work?”

  “The doc said a couple of weeks,” said Ellen.

  “Do the folks at the office know why I’m in here?” said Redmayne.

  ‘Of course they do,” said Barney. “It’s all over the news. Well, not you personally, but all the furor about the Dreamstation 7. You’re going to sue, right?”

  “Sue?”

  “Yeah, take my advice and get yourself a good lawyer. Surprised there haven’t been a few sniffing around already, to tell the truth. There’s money to be made, Bill, money to be made. Being an accountant, I’d have thought you of all people would have figured that one out. How about if the medics hadn’t been able to bring the real Bill Redmayne back to life? Ask yourself that. Well, I might have got your job, which would have been no bad thing,” he joked. “But there’s Ellen to think of too. All the heartache she’s had to endure, all the worry she’s been put through… Think on it, buddy.”

  “Well, I guess there’ll be time enough for that,” said Redmayne, swallowing the last of the hamburger.

  “Hey, is that what you were playing?” said Barney, reaching over and picking up the Combine Wars: Gold Edition box. Cracking good game. How far did you get with it?”

  “It’s still a bit hazy to be honest.”

  “Did you catch the spy?”

&n
bsp; Redmayne thought for a moment. “Absolutely no idea.”

  “The doctor said it might take a while for everything to come back, honey,” said Ellen. Redmayne took the box and looked over the description.

  “No, don’t remember anything about spies… or a flotilla of Z class destroyers…”

  “But that was the best part!” said Barney. “Damned good shoot ‘em up – right up my street.”

  “Now, this bit I remember,” said Redmayne. “Travel across occupied space in search of allies. Something about Checkpoint Charlie?”

  “Nah,” said Barney. “It was Checkpoint Alpha, then Beta, Gamma and so on… all Latin names.”

  “Barney, they’re Greek.”

  “Whichever. Wasn’t my favorite part of the game, tell the truth. All that stealth nonsense, skulking around evading enemy ships, mines and warp de-emulsifiers, or whatever they were called. Never had the patience for it. I’d tip-toe around a couple of checkpoints, get fed up and then charge off – usually blundering straight into an ambush. Don’t think I ever made it past Checkpoint Kappa – got blown to hell every time. Give me a stand up fight any day.”

  “That’s not why they gave you the Raven. They gave you a stealth ship so you could be stealthy. Hey, I remember the name of the ship – the Raven.”

  “Good for you,” said Barney. “So how far did you get before they rumbled you?”

  “I got clear across – at least, I think I did… Yeah, I did,” said Redmayne, the memories once again flooding back. “Had a brush with a pair of Copperheads at checkpoint… Tau, I think it was, and then I jumped right into a fleet exercise later on. Got out of that, too.”

  “How the hell did you manage that? Do you know a cheat?”

  “No! It’s not so difficult. Just keep a reasonable distance from the enemy and they can’t detect you. Like I said, it’s a stealth ship. Then if you get tumbled, just use your speed. Nothing to it – I’ll show you how it’s done when I get out of here.”

  “You most certainly will not,” said Ellen. “Absolutely no gaming, the doctor said.”

  “Oh…yes,” said Redmayne sheepishly. “Sorry Barney, maybe in a few weeks.”

  “Good. Well, I think I’ll leave you boys to it,” said Ellen. “There are a few errands I need to run – have to bring you a change of clothes for the morning then call in on Mom and Dad and let them know you’re on the mend. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, OK?”

  “No problem,” said Barney. “I’ll keep him on the straight and narrow until then.”

  “Is that with or without the junk food?”

  “Actually, I reckon he looks the better for it – bit more color in his cheeks, don’t you think?”

  Ellen suppressed a smile and leaned over to give Redmayne a kiss on the cheek. “Love you,” she said.

  “Can I have one?” said Barney.

  “Certainly, if you can find an alternate universe where we happen to be married.”

  “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

  “Wise,” said Ellen as she checked her make-up in the mirror hanging on the wall. “See you later, guys.”

  * * *

  On the other side of the mirror two men stood watching. One was dressed in a physician’s gown, the other in military uniform; four silver stars adorned his epaulettes.

  “You’ve had him for two days.” said the general.

  “I realize that,” said Dr. Sanders. “He’s been in an induced coma for most of it. We have to dig pretty deep into a subject’s neural pathways to suppress his real memories and after that it takes time for the new memory engrams to embed. Bringing a subject out of the coma too quickly can have serious adverse effects.”

  “How serious?”

  “Permanent damage to the subject’s neuro-anatomical structures.”

  “In plain English, if you please, doctor.”

  “Simply out, the subject’s ability to store and recall memories would be severely impeded. He could be reduced to little more than a gibbering idiot.”

  “Doctor, I cannot stress the importance of gaining access to whatever information this man holds in his head. I won’t bother you with the operational details but it is imperative that have the information within the next seventy two hours. After that, both the subject and his information will be worthless,” said the general bluntly.

  “I understand, of course, General. The procedure has been designed to preserve the subject’s memories while altering his perception of reality. Everything that he has done, everything that he was, will appear nothing more than a computer generated simulation – vivid, dynamic, compelling even, but at the same time it will seem illusory and not quite real. Meanwhile, the memory engrams we have implanted will create a convincing, alternate reality in which he will exist quite comfortably. The information you require is still there. All we have to do is apply the correct stimulus and coax out the memories that we want. That’s where Lt. Donavon comes in. She has been thoroughly trained on the most reliable techniques. As far as the subject is concerned, she is not just his wife, she is also his friend, confidant and soul mate. She is backed up by Lt. Childs, who the subject believes to be his colleague and close personal friend. I’m confident that Donavon and Childs will extract the information you need. The only drawback is that the implanted memories will begin to decay in forty eight hours. Perhaps a little longer if we’re lucky. Then his real memories will begin to surface again.”

  “Is that enough time?”

  “I believe so. Donavon is our best operative.”

  “And we can we trust the data that we get out of him?”

  “More than we can by using conventional means. Agents can be conditioned to resist both torture and drugs – for a while, anyway. This procedure relies on the subject giving up his information voluntarily. And of course, the procedure leaves no physical marks, as you specified.”

  “And he goes ‘home’ tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” said Sanders.

  “Very well. Keep me informed.”

  Chapter 26: The Imposter

  Statham Park was one of the oldest estates on Tycho. Lying just outside the city limits, it had been built as the country retreat of one of the colony’s founding fathers, the closest thing Tycho had to an aristocracy. For generations, the splendid manor house and idyllic gardens catered for the whims of the Tycho elite, providing a secluded hideaway that was the setting for an endless round of garden parties, hunting expeditions and horseback adventures.

  As the colony flourished, so Tycho City prospered along with it, expanding rapidly into the surrounding countryside. Woodlands gave way to housing developments, green fields to manufacturing plants and clear blue skies to a suffocating blanket of industrial haze. Eventually, the tide of urban chaos advanced far enough to encroach upon Statham Park’s peace and tranquility. Even before the myriad ranks of industrial chimney stacks became visible from the manor house’s upper balconies, Statham Park had lost its allure to the point that the house, along with its spacious grounds, was donated to a grateful city by the heir to the Statham fortune.

  Over the following decades, the manor house was refurbished and enlarged to the point that the original owner might scarcely have recognized it. It had first served as a conference centre, then as a university annex and latterly as a mental hospital before assuming its present guise as a rehabilitation and convalescent home for injured servicemen. It was now a sanctuary for those ravaged by war; men and women whose bodily injuries had been healed as much as they could be by medical science, but those who perhaps had yet to be healed in mind. A hideaway, a halfway house for those still to adapt to whatever new life that awaited them.

  The man now known as Sergeant Dan Powers had considered himself one of the luckier ones to pass through Statham Park. Having lost his left arm below the elbow, he was officially classified as having received a life changing injury. It was true that a period of adjustment had been necessary, both physically and mentally, but compared to the wounds that some
of his comrades had endured, he considered the ordeal little more than a minor inconvenience.

  Leaving his car on the visitor’s parking lot, Jacob walked between two freshly mowed lawns, the smell of cut grass tinged with the scent of honeysuckle. Up ahead, the path curved around a great oval shaped flowerbed awash with the colors of high summer. The idyllic scene was made perfect by a brilliant azure sky and a gentle breeze that brushed his cheek as he strolled along. It was almost possible to forget that there was a war on. Almost.

  Making his way towards the manor’s main entrance, he nodded a greeting to a pair of inmates seated on a bench. One seemed not to notice; the other attempted a cheery wave, his arm jerking mechanically back and forth. “Sorry about that,” he said. “The servos still need a bit of adjustment.”

  “Not to worry,” said Jacob politely. “I’m sure they’ll get you sorted out.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they keep telling me. If you think this is bad, you should see me trying to shave. As you might imagine, they don’t let me loose with a straight razor. I can’t say that I blame them, either. Lord knows how many throats I might inadvertently cut.” He waved the arm in front of his face a few times and shook his head in resignation. “I wonder what the record is for throats cut in the shortest possible time. Any ideas?”

  “None at all, I’m afraid,” said Jacob.

  “Me neither, though with things as they are, I don’t think I could guarantee to sever an artery at the first attempt. Would a small nick count, do you think?”

  “I suppose it might.”

  “Well you’d be wrong. But like you say, not to worry.” Then the man turned to his friend. “Come on, Howie, time for some chow.” Looking up with sightless eyes, Howie placed a hand on his compatriot’s mechanical arm and together the pair meandered off along one of the paths.