The Last Hero

by Nathaniel Danes

  Today, Washington, DC was just another city. The person who occupied the White House was nothing more than a first among equals, a single voice in a cosmic chorus of humanity.

  Trent didn’t need the books to tell him that. He could feel the difference, standing there looking at a house that happened to be white. The geo-political shift in political arrangement stung him, as an American from another time.

  As he mourned the relative fall of American power, a sweet mirage out of the corner of his eye grasped his full attention. There under the street lamps on this warm spring evening, Amanda strolled toward him.

  Her wavy golden hair bounced each time her high heels slapped against the sidewalk. The hem of her yellow dress fluttered in the soft breeze. Her radiant smile, surrounded by sexy red lipstick, projected pure beauty. The living vision came right up to Trent.

  “Why hello, officer,” she said in an extra feminine voice with hand on her hip. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to escort a lady to dinner?”

  Having never seen her dressed in such a manner, his foggy mind struggled to conjure up something to say, “Oh my God...you’re a…a woman.” The lameness of the words caused him to punch himself mentally.

  Amanda giggled. “I’d think of anyone, you’d already know that much.”

  “I’m sorry. You just look so gorgeous. I’m not used...I mean you don’t.” Taking a breath, he, retreated and regrouped, like any good officer faced with a totally fucked up operation. “You look beautiful.”

  “That’s better. Thank you.” She pecked his cheek.

  “About dinner?”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “Anywhere they have real food.”

  “I think we can arrange that.”

  ***

  Dinner treated the two happy warriors to a feast of Earth delicacies. Wine, grilled rib eye, lobster, fresh vegetables, and decadent desserts landed on their table and were promptly devoured. The two homesick adventurers savored every bite as their taste buds quickly remembered what non-reconstituted freeze-dried food tasted like.

  The meal was surprisingly affordable, not that it mattered to them. A stable birth rate combined with an exodus of people to the colonies allowed the highly evolved agricultural sector to produce an abundance of quality food. The experience reminded Trent that he should swing by the old family farm to see how things were being run.

  Full and satisfied, they made their way back to the hotel room Amanda had rented for the night, the penthouse suite. The expansive space was three rooms with attached bathrooms, a full bar and large living room complete with a baby grand piano.

  “Bit much for just the two of us don’t you think?”

  “Oh maybe,” she said. “I figured what the hell. Told them that I was tired of being cramped and wanted as much space as possible. They gave me a good rate once they learned who I was.”

  “It does feel good to have some breathing room.”

  “Why don’t you go into that bedroom? I did some quick shopping so we didn’t have to wear our Legion uniforms. I want to blend in.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice. I can’t wait to feel something else against my skin.”

  “You don’t have to worry about them fitting. They’re self-fitting clothes. They’ll adjust to whatever your size is.”

  Walking into the master bedroom, he found a pair of tan slacks, polo shirt, and brown leather shoes. Slipping them on, he couldn’t believe how soft and light the fabric felt. It was almost as comfortable as being naked.

  Reentering the living room area, a loud pop greeted him. Amanda had opened a bottle of champagne. The fizzing sound tickled his ears as she poured the wine into a pair of tall glasses.

  Trent said, “You read my mind.”

  “It’s a gift of mine.”

  “One of many.”

  They picked up the glasses by the stems, clanking the tops, feeling no need to verbalize the toast.

  “You nervous about tomorrow?” she asked after a sip.

  “Terrified. I’m trying really hard not to think about it.”

  “How’s that going for you?”

  “Pretty shitty.” He laid his hand over hers. “I’m not as scared with you around.”

  She smiled.

  Trent continued, “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re coming with me, but I can manage. Are you sure you don’t have anyone you want to see?”

  “There really isn’t anyone left.” Sad eyes lowered to the bar. “A couple of nephews are alive. Thanks to our first mission, I never got a chance to know them. You’re the closest thing to family that I have left. I want to be there for you tomorrow.”

  Trent put an index finger under her chin to lift her eyes to his.

  “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to try to reconnect. It’s not fair, not fair at all.”

  Amanda wiped away a few quiet tears.

  “No it’s not. The universe can go fuck itself for all I care. I’m done with this war. I want to have a life and...and I want to have it with you.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  The two lovers, friends, and comrades in arms leaned across the wooden bar to embrace one another in a deeply emotional kiss.

  Chapter 33: Forgiveness

  Shuttle ports no longer existed. At least not in the sense Trent knew eighty plus years ago. The skylanes eliminated the need for large facilities to concentrate travelers. Ironically, the model for the current system resembled the busing operations during much of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

  No longer did people board large aircraft with hundreds of others to leap from point A to point B. Instead, they traveled out of terminals located in the heart of population centers with a few dozen others in smaller craft that would make several stops, at which point new passengers would board while others disembarked. Because of the designated skylanes for these “buses,” they could fly fast on efficient courses.

  Trent and Amanda caught their bus at Union Station in downtown Washington at eight in the morning. After stops in Cincinnati, Moline, and Davenport, they touched down in Des Moines just a mile from Anna’s home at eleven-thirty.

  Trent didn’t talk much during the flight. He passed the time by looking out the window. Since they flew below the cloud layer, he could take in the changed world beneath them. He was surprised to find numerous rural communities of all sizes dotting the countryside while the footprint of the cities appeared smaller than what he remembered.

  He assumed the virtual reality tech responsible for taking traffic off the road might have something to do with it. In his day, many people wanted to live in small towns. They had just needed the economic opportunity to do it.

  Finding no manual to provide advice on reuniting with an one-hundred and four year-old daughter when you were effectively in your thirties to consult, Amanda thought it best to follow Trent’s lead and give him space on this oddest of days.

  Each carried a small black bag containing all of their worldly possessions. An easy audit would reveal a pair of Legion Blacks and an extra set of civilian clothing purchased by Amanda the day before, along with assorted toiletries.

  The walk didn’t take long enough for Trent. He stood outside Anna’s building, St. Mary’s Senior Assisted Living Center, not ready to enter.

  He had traveled across incredible kilometers. He’d fought furious, desperate battles against a terrible enemy to get this far. Now, these last few steps of this remarkable journey seemed the hardest.

  Seeing that Anna lived in an assisted living complex with his own eyes hit Trent with a bitter dose of reality. Unfortunately, access to advanced nano tech remained restricted to military use, condemning the general population to suffer from the most common of diseases, old age. The strong desire to populate the colonies as fast as possible caused the UES’ Council to rethink this policy. For Anna’s generation, the debate was moot

  Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, Amanda took
hold of his hand. Squeezing tight, her strength and love filled him, reinforcing his will. He returned the squeeze and stepped forward.

  ***

  Corporal Lucas McNair was a screw up. Whatever plum assignment his uncle on the Legion General Staff managed to get him, he always found a way to mess it up. His last posting in the Office of the Legion Attaché to Fleet Intelligence blew up after he took a dataslip loaded with classified information out of the Pentagon and lost it. Since joining the newly created Sensitive Prisoner Bureau, formed in Hido’s honor, he didn’t seem focused on changing his luck.

  McNair didn’t take this posting seriously. Unable to imagine an avenue for Hido’s escape, he adopted a laissez-faire attitude. His first uneventful shift guarding the Bearcat prisoner the day before cemented this dangerous perception.

  Lazily walking down the long dark corridor deep below the Pentagon, he casually read the morning news on a sheet of e-paper. Scrolling through headlines as the flimsy page bounced with each stride, he tapped on one about the Kitright Ambassador meeting with the US President. Lowering the page to enter his security code, the article loaded, featuring a prominent picture of the two politicians.

  “You’re late,” the shift commander snapped.

  “I overslept.” He held the page loosely, displaying the photo for all to see. “It won’t happen again, Lieutenant.”

  “It better not.”

  The lieutenant turned his back. McNair rolled his eyes in disgust. His annoyed state distracted him from noticing that he had wandered close to the old cell serving as Hido’s temporary home until permanent quarters were completed.

  The sulking prisoner barely noticed the arrival of the tardy guard. Aimlessly drifting his zombie stare through the bars, he at first passed over the picture on the e-paper. Then, at the speed of thought, his eyes darted back to the photo.

  As he focused, his heart rate spiked. Leaping forward, he closed the distance to the bars in half the time it took a blink to close. Stretching an arm through the narrow gaps, he grabbed ahold of the page, ripping it from McNair’s casual grip.

  McNair screamed and jumped back.

  The lieutenant scrambled for the tranq gun and rushed to take aim.

  Hido paid no attention to either of them. He simply held the backlit page with both hands. His laser gaze burned a hole in it. A rage grew within, a great and terrible rage.

  The lieutenant raised the rifle and began to pull back on the trigger when the curious sight of Hido holding the e-paper in his hand with a frightful stare caused him to pause.

  Hido’s grip hardened. His extended claws tore into the page. Throwing his head back, he unleashed a blood-curdling roar so furious the lieutenant fired the tranq gun on instinct. The dart buried itself into the beast’s hairy leg, but the mighty creature didn’t notice or react. He returned his fiery eyes to the picture where he held them until he lost consciousness.

  ***

  St. Mary’s sterile, cold lobby greeted Trent and Amanda with a lingering scent of dust and medicine. They advanced slowly on the receptionist desk. The young woman behind the counter flashed a welcoming smile.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Anna Maxwell.”

  She briefly consulted a screen, squinted, and said, “I’m sorry. We don’t have a resident here by that name.”

  “What?” he said concerned before realizing his own mistake. “Sorry. I meant Anna Ross.”

  “Oh! Anna is one of my favorites. She’s so sweet. She is getting a lot of visitors today. Can you please tell me your relationship to Mrs. Ross? It’s for our records.”

  The receptionist patiently waited while displaying a “What’s your problem? This isn’t a hard question.” grin.

  “I’m her father.”

  The words sounded weird to him. From the look on the receptionist’s face, he witnessed the personification of confused bewilderment.

  “Ummm, what do you mean, her father?”

  “I mean I’m her father. I’m a colonel in the 1st Legion. If you follow the news, you’ll understand that this...this is an usual situation.”

  “Trent Maxwell.” A man’s voice came from behind them.

  Trent turned to see an older gentleman, tall and stout, standing a few meters away. Judging by his graying hair and worn face, he placed him in his sixties or seventies.

  “You’re Trent Maxwell?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Trenton Ross—your grandson.”

  Trenton extended an arm and walked forward. Trent met him halfway. The two exchanged a handshake. Trenton’s firm grip made him proud. The idea this was all he had to base his pride on depressed Trent. For a moment, he contemplated hugging his grandson but decided that hugging a stranger with whom he shared nothing more than DNA didn’t sit right.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Trenton’s face glowed.

  “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Looking at Amanda, Trenton asked, “Is this a friend of yours?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry. Trenton this is Amanda. We serve together in the Legion.”

  He shook Amanda’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  He smiled. “You two come with me. There are a few other folks who would like to say hi.”

  What does one say to a grandson under such circumstances?

  Trent racked his brain for an answer as they walked. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t think of it. Instead, he trusted Trenton to take the lead.

  “Everyone in the family is so excited to finely meet you,” Trenton said. “We’ve read and heard so much about you. Honestly, most of us assumed that you were dead.”

  “Almost was more than once.”

  “They’re just around the corner.”

  The announcement froze Trent in place. Trenton took another step before pausing and turning.

  Trent asked, “Can I ask you something before we go any further?”

  “Sure, anything.”

  “Has...has Anna.” He trembled. “Has she had a happy life? I failed as a father. No matter what excuses I could offer, the fact of the matter is that I failed her. Before I see her, it would be of great comfort if I knew that she’s been happy.”

  Amanda held a few paces back to give them their space.

  Trenton went up to his grandfather, taking both shoulders in his palms.

  “She’s lived a human life. She’s known both great joy and great despair. Has she had a happy life? I don’t know. It’s not for me to judge. I do know this. Here she lies in the twilight of her years, surrounded by those who love her. What more can any of us ask from life? As if that weren’t enough, today her long lost father, a man I only heard her speak of fondly, having fought his way across half the galaxy, has returned. I know what this day means to her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll answer the question you really wanted to ask. Does she blame you?”

  The truth of the insightful words thrust themselves into Trent’s heart.

  “The answer is standing before you. Your daughter is a good woman and a great mother. I’ll be damned if the woman in all her hundred plus years ever once let go of a grudge. Hell, just today she was complaining about the time I broke her favorite lamp because I was playing soccer in the living room. That was over sixty-five years ago, for Christ sake. My point is this. If she blamed you for abandoning her, do you really think she’d name her only son after you?”

  Trent cried.

  Amanda cried.

  Trenton cried.

  Even the orderlies who overheard the exchange teared up.

  Regaining their composure, the trio finally rounded the corner. At the end of the white hall was a mingling group of people in an area lined with large windows. The early afternoon sun shone brightly through the glass. The collection of people, ranging wildly in age from the very young to ancient, grew quiet as they approached.

  Standing on the border between the hard tile of the hall and soft c
arpet of the sitting area, Trent remained silent, unsure how to precede. He was so decisive in combat, yet so frustratingly impotent now.

  Two women, in their thirties or maybe their forties, stood before Trent. Their frozen faces betrayed neither joy nor disappointment. They parted to reveal a gray haired elderly woman. Her weathered skin bore the scars earned during a long life.

  For a fraction of a second, Trent wondered who the old woman was. The sheer reality that his little baby girl could in fact be a woman at the end of her time on Earth conflicted with the parts of his brain responsible for logic.

  The eyes gave her away.

  The body might not have resembled the girl he once knew, but the eyes were the window to the soul.

  The soul never changes.

  Trent examined the frail figure before him, his heart flooding with regret. So many missed decades of time, and a lifetime of special moments were now in the past. Thanks to that bitch known as the law of relativity, he could never go back there. That whore insisted on taking so much and now refused to give any back.

  A life of raising children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren told Anna the expression on her father’s face masked a mountain of pain. Remaining seated, she gestured for him to come closer.

  He did, but his confusion prevented him from reacting. Fortunately, her motherly instinct knew what to do. Rising to her feet, Anna took him into her arms, cradling his head against her shoulder.

  Trent sobbed.

  “Shhhh,” Anna whispered into his ear as she would a child.

  The soothing sound calmed him.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

  Stroking his black hair she said, “I know. I know. What’s important is that you’re here now. I have a few people I’d like you to meet.”

  Drying the tears with a sleeve, Trent straightened to scan the audience. Many of them also dabbed watery eyes. Anna moved slowly as she shuffled her stiff legs. Her face radiated pride when she began naming her prodigy.

  “You’ve already met Trenton. This is Marinda.” She lifted her hand to an old woman who reminded Trent of his mother. “Your granddaughter.”