War Orphans (The Terra Nova Chronicles)

by Robert Dean Hall

  “There is certainly a family resemblance,” Morning Grass remarked. “The two of you are practically identical.”

  “Pretty much,” Russo said, “except I have green eyes. Hers are brown. See?” She pressed a button to enlarge the holograph and handed the cube back to Morning Grass.

  Morning Grass looked closely at the eyes of the woman in the photo. They were indeed brown.

  Morning Grass quickly handed the cube back to Russo. A wave of anxiety washed over her. She felt herself break out into a sweat. She smiled sheepishly when she noticed the look of concern on Russo’s face and tried to pass it off.

  “Mary Margaret, you said,” Morning Grass asked.

  “Yes. Her name was Mary Margaret Russo. Everyone called her Maggie. My dad was very fond of her, but that’s all I know. My family never talks about her for some reason.”

  Russo’s concern became more intense when Morning Grass kept her head down and failed to make eye contact with her. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Her eyes. They’re brown,” Morning Grass asked, now trembling. “She has brown eyes?”

  “She had brown eyes,” Russo said. “What the hell does that have to do with anything? You’re scaring me, Morning Grass.”

  “My god,” Morning Grass exclaimed. She was shaking so hard she barely got the words out. “That’s her.”

  “That’s who,” Russo asked.

  Morning Grass looked up at Russo. Her eyes were now wet and answered Russo’s question without the distraught feline needing to utter a word.

  Russo thought back to the long night Stiles, Morning Grass and she spent talking about Morning Grass’ dream of her mother.

  “It can’t be,” Russo said. “She died fifty years ago.”

  “Are you sure? You just said you didn’t know much about her.”

  “I’m not completely sure,” Russo replied. “I never really talked with anyone in my family about it. Like I said, for some reason they rarely if ever brought her up. The only one who ever said more than five words about her was my dad, and that was just to tell me who she was when I asked him about this very photo.”

  Morning Grass sat on Russo’s bunk and buried her face in her palms. She began moaning and crying uncontrollably. Between the violent sobs that shook her all over she kept repeating, “It’s her. I know it’s her.”

  When Russo failed to calm Morning Grass, she picked up her locator. “Locate. Colonel Stiles. Margaret Jane. Chief of Space Medicine.” She fought to keep her own composure as Morning Grass curled up into a large ball on the floor of her cabin.

  Stiles answered almost immediately, but it still seemed to Russo like she was taking forever to pick up.

  “What is it Dawn Marie,” Stiles asked. “I was about to go to the Officer’s Lounge for dinner.”

  “It’s Morning Grass. She’s having some sort of breakdown. Please come to my cabin. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t panic, Dawn Marie. You’ve dealt with emergencies before. Make her as comfortable as possible. I’m on my way.”

  “Should I give her a sedative,” Russo asked.

  “If she will let you,” Stiles said. “Don’t give her anything that will make her sleep. I want to talk to her. Stiles out.”

  Russo dropped to the floor and knelt over Morning Grass. The feline was still sobbing and moaning loudly, but was not balled up as tightly into a fetal position as she had been before Russo’s call to Stiles began. It was obvious she was exhausting herself so Russo abandoned the idea of giving her a sedative.

  When Stiles arrived, she found Russo still on the floor cradling Morning Grass’ head in her lap, stroking the distraught feline’s hair. Morning Grass was still crying, but she was no longer shaking.

  “Morning Grass, would you like to get up from the floor and move to Dawn Marie’s bunk,” Stiles asked. “I know that won’t be as comfortable as the one we built for you, but it would have to be more comfortable than the floor.”

  “I’m fine where I am, Colonel,” Morning Grass replied. “Please don’t make me move.”

  Stiles looked at Russo.

  “I’m okay, Peggy,” Russo whispered. She pointed to the pillow on the bunk.

  Stiles nodded and handed the pillow to Russo who lifted Morning Grass’ head from her lap enough to slip it underneath. Morning Grass lay back down on the pillow and Russo recommenced her motherly stroking of the feline’s hair.

  Stiles grabbed the blanket from Russo’s bunk and covered Morning Grass’ upper body. Morning Grass was turned away from Stiles so she couldn’t see her face, but she assumed the feline was not disoriented or agitated.

  “Did you give her anything,” Stiles asked Russo.

  “No,” Russo replied, still whispering. “She’s exhausted herself.”

  “What’s the matter, Morning Grass,” Stiles asked. “What has you so upset?”

  “I’m not insane, Colonel Stiles,” Morning Grass replied. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Of course you aren’t. Who ever said you were,” Stiles asked.

  “Nobody ever has in so many words, Colonel,” Morning Grass said. “But, I know you and Dawn Marie have always thought I imagined my mother and she wasn’t real.”

  “That isn’t exactly true, Morning Grass,” Stiles answered. “With so little to go on, we didn’t know what to think. That’s why we’ve been regressing you. The more you remember, the easier it will be for us to figure out what really happened to you as a child.”

  Stiles got down on the floor with Morning Grass and Russo. She reached for Morning Grass’ hand and held it in both of hers.

  “We know there’s something to your memories,” Stiles said. “But in cases like yours they aren’t always a record of what actually happened. We’re pretty sure your amnesia was induced, so we don’t think your memories are completely reliable, that’s all. If we led you to believe we thought you were delusional we’re sorry. We certainly don’t believe that.”

  “She’s real,” Morning Grass said. “I know that now. My mother is real.”

  “How do you know that,” Stiles asked.

  “I have proof,” Morning Grass replied. “She’s real. I know it.”

  “Proof,” Stiles asked. “What proof?”

  Stiles turned to Russo. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  Russo frowned. She took the hand she wasn’t using to stroke Morning Grass’ hair and reached for the holographic cube on her desk. She touched the pad on the bottom to activate it and handed it to Stiles to look at.

  Stiles took the cube from Russo and studied it for a moment. She then looked up at Russo. Her expression was a mix of shock and concern. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said. “I’ll be goddamned.”

  Chapter 70

  “Are you alright, Dawn Marie,” Mike Russo asked his daughter. “The guys in the radio shack told me this was an emergency.”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” Russo said. “Never better.”

  “That’s good to hear, Munchkin,” the elder Russo said in a relieved tone. “Now tell me what’s so important the Forward Command would approve an audio channel so we can talk?”

  “This is Colonel Stiles, Mike. I’m here with Dawn Marie.”

  “Peggy,” Mike replied. “This is a pleasure. What has my little girl done?”

  “She’s golden, Mike,” Stiles replied. “You’d be proud of her. For that matter, I’m proud of her.”

  “That’s good to hear, Peggy,” Mike said. “Now what can I do for you?”

  “We need you to clarify something for us, Dad,” Russo said. “Morning Grass saw the photo of you with Aunt Maggie on my photo cube and she’s convinced Maggie is the human woman who adopted her as a child. She reacted very intensely and we’re having trouble getting her to see reason.”

  “We don’t believe Morning Grass is fantasizing her mother,” Stiles added. “It’s very possible a human colonist did adopt Morning Grass. But, we think she has confused that human with Da
wn Marie somehow and might be confabulating some of the details. It’s complicated. That’s about as simple as I can state it.”

  “I think I understand,” Mike replied. “What exactly do you need from this end?”

  “I just need you to tell me what happened to your aunt, Mike. If I can go back to Morning Grass and tell her I spoke to you and you confirmed she died when you were still a child, we can prove to Morning Grass she could not have ever met her.”

  “And what would you accomplish by that,” Mike asked.

  “Well, Dad,” Russo replied, “we would be able to convince Morning Grass she should allow us to keep regressing her with the hope we would eventually help her retrieve a genuine memory of her mother. If, in fact, that person existed and the memory wasn’t implanted by somebody to mask something.”

  “We still haven’t been able to help her remember anything that would shine a light on what happened to her when she was young,” Stiles added. “I can’t be sure what to focus on until we make her feel it’s safe to remember.”

  Russo and Stiles waited for a reply, but there came only an uncomfortable silence. They were about to question whether the connection had been cut when Russo’s father finally spoke.

  “I understand Peggy, and I know just how important this is to you and Dawn Marie,” Mike said. “And, I would like to be able to help you, but I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, Dad,” Russo asked.

  “I can’t tell you my Aunt Maggie died when I was a child,” Mike answered. “It would be a lie. The truth is I don’t know what happened to her. She had an argument with my dad and my grandmother at my tenth birthday party and stormed out. As far as I know, nobody in my family has seen or heard from her since. I don’t mind telling you it broke my heart. She was like a mother to me.”

  “Are you certain nobody in your family has had contact with her, Mike,” Stiles asked. “Could Dawn Marie hyper-mail someone back home to verify?”

  “She can try,” Mike replied. “I don’t think it will help, though. Maggie was a taboo subject after that. My grandmother went to her grave without telling me why they argued, or if she even knew her whereabouts. I don’t believe any more than you do that Morning Grass has seen my aunt, or she is anywhere other than the planet Earth, but I can’t affirm it without being less than honest.”

  “Thank you, Mike,” Stiles said, “It was very good to talk to you again.”

  “It was great to talk to you also, Peggy. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “We’ll overlook it this time,” Stiles replied. “If you would please keep the channel open, Mike, Dawn Marie has something to discuss with you in private. Until we meet again?”

  “Yes, Peggy,” Mike said. “I hope that will be very soon, in fact. I transferred from the Aldrin to the ship bringing the Ekkidan delegation to Zunnuki. If we can maintain our pace we should be there in just a few weeks.”

  “That is good news,” Stiles said. “I’m going to leave you two alone now. Goodbye, Mike.”

  “Goodbye, Peggy.”

  As soon as Stiles was gone, Russo spoke up. “You’re coming here?”

  “Yes, and I can’t wait to see my Munchkin,” Mike said. “Now, tell me. What was so important it couldn’t wait for a hyper-mail? Did you make Lieutenant Colonel?”

  “I wish I could say that was it,” Russo replied, “but, no.”

  “Then what, Sweetie,” Mike asked. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Daddy. I’m pregnant.”

  Epilogue

  1-March-2410

  Zheng picked up the holographic photo cube and examined it. He pressed his thumb against the actuator on the bottom, but the cube didn’t light.

  “I'm sorry, but the cold-fusion power source has failed, Colonel, Sir,” Still Water said. “This cube also belonged to General Morning Grass. It contains tagged photos of her family, both human and feline. I last looked at the holographs in this cube during prep school. They’re still on the memory card, but I don’t have anything that will read a card this ancient.”

  “I may be able to help, Cadet,” Zheng said as he used his thumbnail to push the memory card deeper into the slot so the spring-loaded catch would open and eject it. The card came out without a problem and Zheng reached into his desk drawer to retrieve Chamberlain’s tablet.

  Zheng powered up the tablet and inserted the memory card. He smiled when the tablet recognized the card and the files on it.

  “Where did you find such an antique, Colonel,” Still Water asked watching the holographs appear on the screen, one by one, as Zheng cycled through the files.

  “I’m restoring it for inclusion in the Bureau’s museum,” Zheng said. “Would you like me to save these on a more modern card for you, Cadet?”

  Still Water smiled from ear to ear. “Yes, please, Colonel, Sir.”

  Zheng pulled his personal tablet and a standard memory card from the desk drawer. “You didn’t see this,” he said as he pulled his homemade hyper-link device from his briefcase and activated it to transfer the holographs from the ancient tablet to his own. He handed the card to Still Water. “You can now look at these whenever you like, Cadet.”

  Still Water graciously accepted the card and placed it in her satchel. “This is beyond kind, Colonel.”

  Zheng stepped through the holographic photos on his tablet screen. “If it can be proven the tags on these holographs are genuine and I can verify the identities of the people in them, it will go a long way in proving the authenticity of the account in this journal,” Zheng said, “but, it still isn’t certain.”

  “I understand, Colonel, Sir,” Still Water replied. “I have some other things you should see.” She reached back into her satchel. “I know I should probably have given these items to you along with the journal, but they hold great sentimental value to me. Even though they probably belong in a museum I’m finding it difficult to part with them.”

  “It would always be possible for the Bureau to study them and return them to you later,” Zheng told her. “Holographs and holograms could be made for display.”

  “You know best Colonel, Sir,” Still Water replied. “I entrust them to you.” She pulled her hand from the satchel and placed a book with a plain blue cover and an ancient hairbrush on Zheng’s desk.

  Zheng looked at the brush and saw that it had some old Latin alphabet characters etched into the handle. “Em-em-are,” he said out loud. “Just how familiar are you with the English language, Cadet?”

  “I can speak it fluently, Colonel, Sir,” Still Water replied. “As fluently as I can speak Sino. It’s taught as a second language in the feline council schools, but most speak it exclusively at home. I’m sure you know it was the first native language of the felines and they hold to it viciously.”

  “Certainly, Cadet. I was only being rhetorical.” Zheng picked up the plainly bound book that Still Water had placed on his desk. On the title badge, in a non-ornamental font were the words Pride and Prejudice — Austen, Jane.

  Zheng opened the book and saw that it was highlighted and annotated. Most of the annotations were in English, but a few were in Sino. All the annotations looked as if they were written in the same hand that penned the journal.

  Still Water watched Zheng study the book. “Are the brush and book of any significance, Colonel, Sir? Will you be able to use them to authenticate the journal?”

  “I’m not certain, Cadet,” Zheng answered. “I would imagine these items spoke volumes to the original owner. That’s why they were passed along as heirlooms. To those of us unfamiliar with them, however, they are mute. I’m sure you have limitless stories to tell about each of these relics. Perhaps you should be recording them in permanent form.”

  “But, Colonel, Sir,” Still Water protested, “You just now told me yourself, without proof this journal is a genuine first-hand account of the life of my ancestor any stories I would have to tell about these item would be nothing more than hearsay.”

  “That doesn’t mean t
he stories shouldn’t be told,” Zheng said. “In fact, the sooner you put them to paper, the less likely they are to be discounted in the future. You are at least six generations distant from General Morning Grass. That means anything you’ve heard has been passed down through the moral, societal and ethical filters of at least that many generations. As these items were passed down to each succeeding generation, small details of vital importance to each preceding generation were retold to fit the times. That’s how history becomes legend and then fades away into myth. I struggle with that phenomenon constantly in my work.”

  “But, if anyone can provide undeniable proof of the authenticity of these relics it would be you,” Still Water blurted out. Once she spoke, she apologized. “I’m sorry, Colonel. Forgive me. My passion for this subject has once more made me forget decorum.”

  “Forgiven, Cadet,” Zheng said. He sat back and pondered Still Water for a moment. “Are you ready to tell me what it is that you are truly trying to accomplish, here?”

  “If the story contained in this journal is fact, Sir,” Still Water replied, “it means the true origins of the feline race, and the human race as well, have never been told. It is an injustice to both of us.”

  “I believe that chance has already passed humankind by, Cadet,” Zheng said.

  “Has it passed for the felines, though,” Still Water asked. “Please, Colonel, Sir, help me right this wrong. If you wish it, I am ready repeat this class and answer your questions in the required manner.”

  “You don’t have to ingratiate yourself on my account, Cadet,” Zheng snapped. “We wouldn’t be talking about this at all if I didn’t think the journal was authentic. My problem is how to prove it.”

  The End of Book Two

  About the Author

  Robert Dean Hall currently lives along the Ohio River with his gorgeous and adoring wife Bethel, who inspires him to write, and two needy dachshunds, who shall remain nameless, that conspire together to do everything possible to keep him away from his keyboard.