by Neal Jones
Amy snorted. "And you think I can do it?"
"Your mother says you're very bright, that you've tested two grades ahead in school. The puzzle I have for you is an easy one, but you will have to study some geometry to understand it. According to my friend who gave it to me, it's a type of puzzle that all Dalkorian children are expected to know and solve by the time they're fifteen, which in earth years is about your age." Ben reached into his pocket and handed the small, square platform to Amy.
She took it reluctantly, but he could see by the look in her eye that she was intrigued by his description. She pressed the switch on the side of the game board to activate the 3-D puzzle. A thicket of gray sticks appears, resembling a large briar patch. A holographic control panel also appeared, and Amy flicked the command to pull up the instruction menu.
"What do you say?" Rosenberg prompted.
"Thank you," Amy replied without looking up.
"You're welcome." Ben checked the setting on the portable bio-monitor attached to Amy's left wrist, and then he shut off the larger monitor beside the bed. "I'll be out in the hall with your mother. Nurse Temple will be here in a few minutes to give you some instructions."
She just nodded and Ben smiled to himself as he walked out into the hall. Carol was sitting on a bench, looking down at a compad in her lap, but she wasn't really seeing it. As soon as the doctor appeared, she quickly stood, almost dropping the pad, but he motioned for her to sit.
"Let's give her a few minutes," he said as he sat beside Carol.
She nodded absently. "Sure."
"Carol." He waited until she was looking at him. "What are you thinking?"
She motioned to the compad. "I was reading about Ilkara. Is it true what this says? She's cured several diseases?"
Ben could see immediately what she was thinking, and he hesitated. "Yes, that's true. But Carol, those were viral diseases. What your daughter is suffering from is a degenerative neurological disorder. It's possible that Ilkara's physiology might someday provide a cure for this type of disease, but not in time to save her."
Carol's face became taut and she jerked to her feet. "Yes, doctor, I know. I was just hoping, that's all."
"I'm sorry, Carol. I didn't mean –"
"No," she said, shaking her head wearily. "It's all right." She turned toward Amy's door, watching through the narrow window as her daughter stared intently at the puzzle in her lap. "I don't know..." Carol's voice broke. "I don't know what I'm going to do when she's gone!"
Ben stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He guided her into a nearby room that was unoccupied, and then placed a privacy seal on the com readout. Carol sat in a chair next to the bed and Ben reached for a box of tissues. He pulled up the other chair and waited for her crying to ebb. Carol wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and then scrubbed a hand through her hair.
"I know you don't want me to apologize, but I'm sorry to be like this. I feel..." She gave a rueful smile. "I feel like I should be strong for her, and after reading about someone like Ilkara, it's hard not to hope." She shook her head and blew her nose again. "I know that I will lose Amy soon, but that doesn't make it any easier."
"I know," Ben sympathized. "If it's any comfort, you're holding together better than my mother did with Sam when she was in her final stage. This is a very hard time for you, Carol. You're allowed to fall apart."
"Thank you." She attempted another smile, but it was wan, and she sighed. "You've been very kind, doctor."
"Ben," he corrected.
"Ben." Carol dabbed at her eyes, and then began to twist the Kleenex in her fingers, mangling and crumpling it. "I've been reading about the Pelray colony. It's very nice there. Doctor Geitman said Amy and I will have our own apartment. It's near a beach."
Ben nodded, listening.
"I suppose there will be other parents there with children who are suffering from this disease. He mentioned a support group and the name of one of their counselors." Carol became silent for awhile, staring at the shredded tissue in her lap.
"Carol?"
She looked up.
"Is there anything you need from me? I can get you some more information about Pelray, about the research program. Or would you like to stay here for another couple days? I could arrange for a discount of your rent on your guest quarters."
"No, no, you've done more than enough, Ben. Thank you." Carol stood, threw her tissue in the reclamator, and smoothed the front of her blouse. "It's time for us to go. Are you sure Amy will be okay until we arrive at the colony?"
"Yes. Nurse Temple will give you copies of Amy's chart and all my notes."
Carol scrubbed a hand over her face, and then through her hair. "All right. I think I'm ready."
Ben gave her an encouraging smile, and followed her out into the hall.
( 3 )
It's the third weekend in March, almost three months since Marc and Laura reconciled. Just nine more weeks until the end of his third year at the academy. He's on a four day leave, and it's a cold, crisp Saturday night. Marc showed up unannounced the previous afternoon, as a surprise for his mother, and Alanys had insisted on cooking a turkey dinner with all the trimmings earlier this evening. That's her younger son's favorite meal. It's after midnight now, and Jason is on the back porch, sprawled in a wicker chair, his feet propped up on the railing. He's smoking one of the cigars from the box in Robert Gabriel's den. His sons aren't supposed to know the hiding place, but that doesn't stop them from indulging once in awhile.
Marc steps out into the darkness, the screen door creaking as it closes behind him. His older brother is nothing more than a shadow, a vague outline at one end of the porch, illuminated only by the red-orange flare of the cigar tip whenever he inhales. Marc lights his cigar and pulls up another chair.
"I don't know how dad can smoke these," Jason mutters, coughing.
"You say that every time," Marc quips. He, too, suffers a brief coughing spell. "You're right, though. They leave a nasty taste in the back of your throat."
The silence rests between them, around them, hinting at unresolved conflict. But neither is ready to break the spell, and some things are better left unsaid. Marc looks out across the vast expanse of the cornfields, the seeds not yet planted. Not for another two weeks, at least. Alanys talked at dinner about the upcoming planting season.
"Got another letter from dad on Wednesday," Jason remarks. "Didn't say much."
"He never does," Marc replies.
Jason laughs. "Yeah, right. I'm sure his communiqués with you are five pages at least."
Marc bristles. "Not always."
"He said he's hoping to be home on leave in a couple months." Jason's tone is bitter.
"You know how it is. He's a commodore now. That kind of rank comes with a lot of demands."
"Uh-huh."
Jason's been spoiling for an argument all evening, and Marc has finally had enough. "What the hell's your problem?"
"Nothing." Jason nonchalantly douses his cigar stub in the ashtray that's balanced on the porch railing.
"Bullshit. You always act like this every time I'm home, as if you're jealous or something."
"And you whine like a little bitch." Jason drops his feet and the front legs of his chair hit the floorboards with a dull thump. "Did I tell you that Jim's going to let me take over one of his cars? I get to restore it by myself, no supervision. It's a 2078, a Camus Cruiser. The guy we're doing it for is a millionaire from one of the Braxton colonies."
"That's cool," Marc says without much enthusiasm.
"Oh, I'm sorry, little bro. My news isn't as thrilling as a simulated combat mission, but mom at least pretends to care."
"Is that what this is about? You think mom and dad care more about my career than yours?"
"What household did you grow up in?" Jason snorts. "Of course yours is more important. My career is a joke to them. I make more money than you do, but that's not what they care about."
"Whatever." Marc is tired of the same old scri
pt. It always amazes him how immature Jason can be even though he's older.
"You still dating what's-her-name? The computer specialist?"
"Laura? Yes. We broke up awhile back, but now we're back together."
"Good for you! She seems nice."
"Now who's the one feigning interest?"
"No, I'm serious. You guys have been off and on for what now? A year and a half?"
"Close to that, yes." Marc's tone is guarded. He's not sure if Jason is serious or teasing.
"I could never settle down like that. Marriage and family are a waste of time."
"So I shouldn't bother with sending you a wedding invitation?"
Jason's laughter dies quickly as he realizes his brother isn't kidding. "What? You and Laura?"
"No, me and Janie."
"Hey, don’t get sarcastic with me. I'm just surprised, that's all."
"Sorry."
"When's the big day?"
"I haven't proposed to her yet." Marc takes one last drag on his cigar and then drops the stub in the ashtray. He clears his throat. "That's not all. At the end of this semester I'm turning in my resignation to the academy board. Laura's received a posting to FCE headquarters on Mars, and I'm going with her."
Now Jason is sure his brother's joking. "Nice try, Marky, but you need to get a better sense of humor."
"I'm not kidding. I'm dropping out. I'm working on my application to Scarsdon University. Not sure yet what I'm going to major in, but I figure I'll just take the core classes for the first year and see if something interesting comes up."
Jason turns to Marc, trying to read his face in the dark. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Don't play dumb. Why are you dropping out?"
"So I can be with Laura."
"So this is all about her? Gods, Marky, I thought you were better than that."
"Stop calling me that! And yes, it's about her! I love her. I want to marry her, and I don't want our family to be like this one. I don't want to only see my kids twice a year and leave Laura to raise them alone."
"I knew it!" Jason's tone is smug.
"Knew what?"
"You've resented Dad's absence as much as Melissa and I did."
"I never said I didn't."
"No, but you sure acted like you didn't. You bragged about dad so much at school I was surprised you didn't get your ass beat daily."
Marc squirms in his chair, shifting his feet to the porch railing and leaning back. "You got your ass beat more than I did. And I didn't always like dad being gone all the time. I was just..."
"What?"
"I don't know. I was proud of our family legacy. How could you not be?"
"I am proud of it, but I don't let it dominate my life."
"Neither do I. That's partly why I'm leaving the academy."
Jason stands. "I need a beer. You want one?"
"Sure."
Marc wishes that it's Melissa he's having this conversation with, but she couldn't make it home this weekend. And their mother wouldn't completely understand. She'd be more disappointed than pleased, so that leaves Jason. He doesn't really get it either, but Marc needs to tell somebody, and oddly enough, this could end up being one of the few things they have in common.
Jason hands a bottle to his brother and then plops back into his chair and puts his feet up on the railing. He downs a third of his beer with the first swig, and then says, "So when are you telling mom and dad?"
"I don't know. Do you think I should do it before or after I turn in the letter?"
"After. If you tell them now, they'll talk you out of it. Or dad might decide to have a conversation with the admiralty."
"There's nothing he can do. And I've made my decision. No one's talking me out of it."
Jason gives another of his trademark snorts. "So you're not at all intimidated by Commodore Gabriel? I want to sell tickets to that conversation."
"Hey, I can hold my own!"
"If you say so."
"I think you're the one who's intimidated."
"Yes, yes I am. That's why I'm the one with a career outside the military, and it's not my bedroom that has the massive collection of war memorabilia. And what is your MOS again? You're on the command track, right? I thought you were going to do something in tactical or weapons?"
"All right, all right," Marc replies sourly. "You've made your point."
"Don't get me wrong. I'm all for it. I think it's time we ended the noble Gabriel legacy. Three generations is plenty. But seriously, Marc, make sure you're doing this because it's what you really want, and not just to piss off dad."
"Or because of a girl, either."
"I didn't say that."
"But you were thinking it."
"All right, maybe a little." Jason took another swig of his beer and then started picking at the wrapper. "You're really going to do this, aren't you?"
Marc is grateful for the darkness. "I am. I thought the navy was all I ever wanted, but after meeting Laura ...I don't know. It's hard to explain."
"That's okay. I get it."
An uncomfortable silence follows.
After a minute or two, Jason finishes his beer and stands. "Well, whatever you do, let me know. I'll be there to support you." He gives Marc an awkward pat on his shoulder and then disappears into the house.
Marc digs into his pants pocket and pulls out a tiny box. He opens it and gazes at the thin, gold hoop with its tiny, diamond trio at the top. He's never been this terrified in his life, but he's also never been this excited before either, and he grins like an idiot as he finishes his beer.
He goes to the kitchen and grabs the rest of the twelve pack. He spends the night on the porch, too wound up to sleep, dreaming of his future.
( 4 )
Laura stared at the ring, turning it over and over in her fingers. It was a nice ring, a perfectly good engagement ring, one worthy of showing off to one's friends. Keith had presented it to her two months ago, at the same restaurant where they'd had their first date almost a year earlier. He'd ordered a bottle of the expensive wine, which was poured by the waiter out of Laura's sight. The ring was in the bottom of her glass. In the background the violin trio was playing softly, and the other patrons had "oohed" and "aahed" at the whole romantic scene after Keith got down on one knee to slip the ring on Laura's finger. It was all so perfect, so romantic, so...
...so fucking traditional.
Marc had cooked dinner himself, in his apartment, and the bottle of wine wasn't near as expensive as the one Keith had ordered. Because he was so excited and so anxious, he'd input the wrong settings on the stove and burnt the steaks. This had caused a small fire, which the apartment's computer system had quickly taken care of by dousing the kitchen with the anti-flammable solution, which meant that the salad and dessert were ruined as well. All of this had occurred just before Laura's arrival, and Marc was cleaning up the mess when Laura pressed the door chime. She'd had no idea, of course, of his plans to propose. All she knew was that they were going to spend a quiet evening watching something on the HT and ordering pizza.
Once the kitchen was back in order, Marc had explained that he had a surprise for her, and he knelt to one knee while pulling the ring out of his pocket. But his hands were still damp from scrubbing the counters and floor, and the ring slipped out of his grasp and skittered underneath the stove. The kitchen space was too small to pull the stove completely away from the wall, and after an hour of stretching, grunting, cursing, wrangling, and reaching, he'd finally been able to pluck it from the dusty, grimy corner. He rinsed it off and then – without any ceremony or words – grabbed Laura's hand and slid the ring on her finger before anything else could interrupt the moment.
Before Laura could lift her hand to admire the new accessory, the ring slid neatly off her finger, bounced twice on the tiled floor, and then came to rest at the toe of Marc's shoe. He'd only been able to guess at her finger size, and he'd been just a tad off in his measurements. By this point, he was too
furious to speak, and the look on his face made Laura giggle. Once she started she couldn't stop, because the more she replayed the whole scenario in her head, the funnier it became, and she felt so bad for Marc, and she tried to get her breath to apologize for laughing, but she just couldn't.
By the time he picked up the ring he was laughing too, albeit a little more reluctantly, and she took the ring from him and slipped it onto her left thumb. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, and by that time she had calmed enough to tell him yes, she would marry him. They'd gone to the bedroom then, and an hour later they ordered pizza. They spent the night wrapped up in each other, and for a long time that had been one of Laura's best memories of the relationship.
"What are you smiling about?" Jeanette breezed into the room, a pair of shopping bags on either arm.
Laura quickly sobered and shook her head. "Nothing."
"Have you been sitting there since I left? That was" – she checked her timeband – "five hours ago."
"I've just been thinking, that's all." Laura started to rise, but Jeanette gently pushed her mother back onto the sofa and sat beside her.
"You're moping."
"I'm not moping."
"Yes you are. Let's talk about it."
"I'd rather not." Laura made another attempt to get up.
"You need to talk about it." Jeanette locked an arm around her mother's shoulders to keep her seated. "You didn't have to take this assignment, you know. You could have given it to one of the other managers, and I would have introduced myself to dad on my own."
"It was easier having me here to break the news."
"And now..."
"Now what?"
"You still have feelings for him, don't you? Even after all these years there's still something between you two."
"No," Laura said firmly, "there isn't."
"Then why are you moping?"
"I'm not moping!"
"When I walked in you were looking at that ring with definite chagrin. You're already regretting your engagement to Keith, aren't you?"
Laura didn't respond.
"Mom!" Jeanette prodded.
"What??"