by Glenn Smith
A loud SLAP and splash reached his ears from beyond the sliding deck door that he only then realized he hadn’t closed behind him when he came back inside. A large, loud groan and the sound of both girls laughing hysterically followed. One of them had apparently just belly-flopped into the water and Nick couldn’t help but grin, picturing that in his mind as he wandered back out onto the deck to see... and to make sure they both really were all right.
It was even warmer than it had been a little while ago. The sun felt hot on the back of his neck, he noticed as he approached the railing, noticing how the mountains had begun to fade and darken behind a thin curtain of bright, sunlit haze. The temperature had to have climbed another ten degrees already. No wonder the girls had gone into the water.
He looked down to find them standing by the edge of the pool, dripping wet. Heather was holding one hand flat against her slightly reddened stomach, but was also laughing with Rebecca. She’d obviously been the one who’d belly-flopped off the diving board, but she was apparently all right. She looked up at him and told him, “I’m okay,” so he acknowledged with a smile and a halfhearted wave and then walked back inside.
This time he closed the door, and then told the house to, “Turn on the air conditioning.”
When his French toast was finally ready—pre-buttered, so he didn’t have to bother with that—he piled all four steaming slices onto a small plate, grabbed a fork and a coffee refill, and walked back into the den.
A coffee refill? Hadn’t he already decided that it was too warm to have a second cup? Oh well. He’d already poured it, so...
“How’s that inquiry coming, HAL?” he asked as he approached his desk.
“I’m compiling the data and extrapolating now and will be ready to report my findings to you in a moment, Nick,” HAL replied, and that was exactly what he... or rather, it... had meant. A moment. By the time Nick set his breakfast down on the desk and started to sit back down, HAL was reporting, “My findings are identical to those of the previous inquiry, Nick. Not all personnel assigned to the Mars Orbital Shipyards at the time of the Excalibur’s destruction died within the next three years. Some of those personnel are still alive at this time. However, an unusually high percentage of them did die, or were killed, within that time period. Circumstances surrounding many of those deaths do suggest that foul play was likely involved.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Nick.”
“Next question: What was the official status of the starcruiser U.E.F.S. Albion in June of twenty-one sixty-eight?”
“Starcruiser U.E.F.S. Albion was decommissioned on four February, twenty-one sixty-two and dry-docked at the Mars Orbital Shipyard facility, where it remained until three April, twenty-one sixty-nine.”
“Same as before,” Nick remarked, whispering under his breath. “Next question: Is there a Crewman Stefani O’Donnell listed in fleet personnel records as ‘missing in action’ after being abducted by persons still unidentified?”
“Yes, there is, Nick. Crewman Stefani O’Donnell is list as missing in action since...”
“Stop. Next question: Is there a Commander Elizabeth Royer listed as deceased?”
“Yes, there is. Commander Elizabeth Royer was killed when...”
“Stop. Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ unless I ask for more information, HAL.”
“I understand.”
“Next question: Were an ancient Tor’Roshan Portal and a Solfleet research facility on the surface of a Federation planet codenamed ‘Window World,’ both classified, destroyed by nuclear weapons in a Veshtonn attack last December?”
“Yes.”
Nick sighed. The same answers Vandenhoven had given him, every one of them. Nothing in the present had changed. Nothing besides that simple message scratched into that Philadelphia sidewalk, anyway. “Okay, back out of the S-I-A records and access fleet medical records. Open my file and cross-reference it with any additional files you might find listed under my name or identification number.”
“I have identified and accessed one record. The database contains no additional medical records listed under your name or identification number.”
“Did you check for any hidden files?”
“Yes. There are no hidden files located within the fleet medical database.”
“All right. Question: Is there anything in my record to indicate that I ever was or might have been subjected to a memory-edit, mind-edit, memory-wipe, or any other procedure referred to in terms similar to those ones?”
“No, your record contains no entries using those terms or any similar terms.”
“Is there anything in my record referencing severe head trauma or brain damage, or any other mental anomalies, either physical or psychological?”
“Yes there is. There are precisely one-hundred thirty-seven entrees in your record that relate to nightmares brought on by severe post-traumatic stress that resulted from an incident in twenty-one sixty...”
“Stop.” That was the last thing he wanted to hear about. “Disregard all references to that specific incident.”
“Very well, Nick. Excluding all references to that incident, the record contains no further references to physical injuries to your head or brain or to any psychological issues.”
“Thank you, HAL. That’ll be all for now.”
“You’re welcome, Nick.”
Nick leaned back in his chair. Nothing, exactly like before. No indication whatsoever of a memory-edit. But his nightmares had changed. There was no getting around that fact. They had changed and there had to be an explanation. There simply had to be.
He sat right there until he finished his breakfast and his coffee, then decided he needed to take his mind off of everything for a while. Maybe he’d go out onto the deck and relax—sit out in the fresh open air and stare at the mountains for a while. Or maybe he’d read. He hadn’t read for pleasure since his arrest. Or maybe he’d combine the two. Maybe he’d go out on the deck and read... under the shade of the upper deck, of course.
He went back upstairs to the sitting area off his room where he kept the few books he’d already bought to replace those he’d lost to Mandela’s fiery demise, grabbed one of them off the book shelf at random and glanced at the cover—the first book in an old fantasy series entitled The Realm: Darkness Dawns, written by a twenty-first century author whose name sounded only vaguely familiar to him—and then went back downstairs and out onto the deck. So-called eBooks had been around for nearly two-hundred years and real printed books were finally beginning to get harder and harder to find. He’d only been able to find one store in the whole city that still carried printed book, an antique shop as it turned out, and he knew that he was going to have to buy a reader or download a reader program eventually. Either that or he was going to have to give up reading. But there was just something about holding a real book.
He pulled one of the deck chairs back away from the small round table a little closer to the wall, deeper into the shade provided by the upper deck. But then he realized that girls weren’t making any noise anymore, so before he sat down he walked up to the railing to check on them. They’d finished swimming, at least for the time being, and were sunbathing again, lying on their stomachs on their fully reclined lounge chairs. Nick sighed and shook his head slightly when he noticed that Heather had taken her top off, but he wasn’t really that surprised. He drew a breath to call down to her, intending to tell her to put it back on, but then decided to let it go, choosing instead not to embarrass her in front of her friend... who, to her credit, had not followed suit and was still wearing her top. Besides, she was lying face-down on her stomach, so it wasn’t like any of the neighbors could actually see her.
Heather was going to be sixteen in less than three months, and she was who she was. All the fatherly lecturing in the world wasn’t going to change that. Perhaps the time had come for him to back off, at least a little bit, and let her be herself. Within reason.
The day
had grown too hot to sit outside and read, he decided, so instead he went back inside and upstairs to put his sitting area to good use.
Chapter 30
Bright and early the next morning, having pulled on the same jeans and a clean tee shirt after his shower, Nick walked quietly downstairs in his bare feet and into the kitchen to pour his coffee, smelling that rich, mouthwatering aroma from the moment he opened his bedroom door. As good as it had felt to sleep until nine o’clock yesterday, he hadn’t liked the fact that in doing so he’d also slept half the morning away, so last night he’d reset his alarm for 0545 to ensure that he wouldn’t do so again. Consequently, the blazing spring sun had barely risen over the eastern plains when he glanced out through one of the foyer windows—it seemed to rise a little farther to the north each day—but bright daylight was already flooding the house and he could almost feel the air temperature rising around him. The night had brought with it much cooler air, but the day was apparently going to be another uncomfortably warm one.
As a lifelong reader of hard, realistic science fiction—he also read a lot of non-fiction, of course, but often times he just needed to escape from the stresses of the real world—he’d never really read much fantasy. What little he had read had either bored him silly with its simple yet dragged out characters’ quests for magical trinkets, confused him with far too many meandering subplots, or presented him with unrealistically one-dimensional characters that, try as he might, he simply couldn’t care enough about to warrant staying with. But he’d really enjoyed that book he started yesterday and had spent pretty much the rest of the day and a good part of the evening reading it. Coincidentally, The Realm: Darkness Dawns had turned out to be a novelization of the comic The Realm that he’d read in Geneva, written by the same author. Not surprisingly, it had been much more developed and fleshed out than its comic counterpart. It hadn’t bored him at all, no one had set out on a quest to find anything, and the characters had all been developed to seem like real people with personality quirks both good and bad. Even those who were gifted with some sort of magical power were relatable on a human level. With Heather going back to school this morning to finish her in-processing and placement testing, he was looking forward to spending the day relaxing and reading a lot more.
He took his mug down from the cabinet and poured his coffee, then blew gently across its steaming surface to cool it down a little. He’d adjusted the coffeemaker’s output temperature by about twenty degrees when he prepared it last night, so he took a cautious sip—much better, but still a little too hot—and swallowed, then set it down on the counter to let it cool a little bit. He adjusted the temperature down another ten degrees, then picked up his mug and blew on it gently again, leaned back against the counter, and took another careful sip. Better.
He heard music all of the sudden, filtering through the ceiling more or less over his head, muffled but with a fast and heavy beat, and loud enough that he could hear it coming down the stairs and through the foyer as well. Loud, noisy, frantic music. The kind of music Heather liked to listen to. Her alarm.
A few seconds later the music finally stopped, thank God. He could hear them talking to one another, but their soft voices were coming through as little more than subdued whispers so he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Not that he had much interest in eavesdropping on teenage girl talk. Whatever they were discussing, it made them giggle like children—a sound that he found oddly comforting. And why wouldn’t he? Other than yesterday’s belly-flop, when was the last time he’d heard Heather laugh... really laugh, as though she were truly happy? Okay, she’d been all smiles when they visited Mirriazu and went shopping with Regina, but other than that, when? It had been a while. Long enough that he couldn’t remember it.
He heard a soft thump overhead. One of the girls had just gotten up out of bed. A second thump sounded right after, several feet away from where the first one had come from. The other girl had just gotten up as well.
Footsteps. Two pairs. He looked up at the ceiling and followed the patter with his eyes as it trailed from Heather’s bedroom into her bathroom. Naturally, he had his own bathroom in the master suite, and he liked that Heather had her own bathroom off her bedroom, as well. That way if they ever had company staying in the guest room, neither one of them would be forced to share the bathroom off the hall with them.
He thought he heard the water start flowing through the pipes, but all the sound-shielding in the walls made the sound so faint that he couldn’t be sure. He probably had, though. The girls would be going to the bathroom, showering, brushing their teeth. At any rate, they were out of bed and getting ready for school, and in less than an hour they’d be on their way and he’d have the house to himself. That he could be sure of.
He couldn’t send them off to school hungry, though, so as he gently blew on his coffee once more and then took another sip, he thought about what to make them for breakfast. Frozen French toast was fine for him, but he wanted to make something healthier and more nutritious for them. Scrambled eggs and sausage, maybe. Orange juice, definitely. Orange juice was to Heather what coffee was to him in the morning. hash browns, too, or maybe...
The thump-thump-thumping of footsteps hurrying back out of Heather’s bathroom caught his attention and he looked up at the ceiling again. They trailed through Heather’s bedroom and crossed the hall into his room. His room? Why on Earth was Heather—at least he assumed it was Heather—running into his room? What was going on? What was she doing? Her footfalls grew fainter as they moved farther away and then stopped altogether over near the southwest corner of the house—about where one of his room’s south-facing windows was. But they resumed only a second or later, rushing back into the hall and then scurrying down the stairs.
“Dad!” Heather shouted.
She sounded afraid and she didn’t scare easily. Something was wrong. He splashed a few drops of coffee over his hand as he quickly set his mug down on the counter and then shook it off as started toward the foyer. But he stopped dead in his tracks again when Heather rushed into the kitchen before he’d gone three steps, holding the bright pink bath towel she’d thrown around her in place with one hand, her eyes wide with fear.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her, genuinely concerned.
“There’s a bunch of cops or soldiers or somebody coming toward the house from up the street in both directions!” she answered, swinging her free arm forward and then back, pointing first to the north and then to the south. “They’re carrying guns like the kind your Marines use when they go off to fight somewhere!”
“What?” he asked rhetorically as he headed toward the living room to look.
“They’re dressed a lot like the Marines, too” she explained as she followed, “except their uniforms are all black or blue!”
Nick passed through the doorway and stepped down into the living room and over to the nearest side window to peek outside. Finding the people Heather was talking about took no effort at all. They were maneuvering fast, on foot, straight toward the house from somewhere down the street, using whatever availed itself for cover. They weren’t fleet Marines, but they were armed and outfitted for tactical operations—black-clad Solfleet Military Police and blue-clad Colorado Springs Police S.W.A.T. officers. “What the hell?”
“What’s going on, Dad?” Heather asked from where she was standing right behind him, her fear still very evident in her tone. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he answered as he turned his back to the window and faced her. Then, wanting only to protect her from potential harm, he grasped her shoulders, turned her around, and nudged her forward ahead of him as he started walking hurriedly toward the foyer. “I want you to go back upstairs right now,” he directed her. “You and Rebecca stay out of sight and be quiet, whatever happens. I’ll try to find out what’s going on.”
“But they’re coming in like...”
“No ‘buts,’” he told her as they stepped up into the foyer.
“Do what I told you.”
Heather turned toward the stairs as Nick approached the front door, but before either one of them had gone two more steps the Solfleet MPs crashed through the door—Nick stopped short and threw his hands halfway into the air in surrender while Heather yelped and jumped with a start, whirling around to face the intruders and very nearly losing her towel in the process. One pair after another, the MPs poured into the foyer and spread out to surround Nick, each one of them holding his or her rifle at the ready, while every one out of two of them looked up the stairs or into the adjacent rooms.
“Contact,” the MP who’d entered first reported, speaking into a helmet-mounted pin mike near his mouth, raising his fist to signal his teammates to stop where they were and to maintain their several feet of distance between themselves and their target. He wore squad sergeant stripes on his sleeves, Nick noted. That meant there were at least a dozen of them. “One adult male,” he continued. “Caucasian, mid-fifties, gray-blond hair. You are retired Vice-Admiral Icarus Hansen, are you not, sir?”
“Yes I am,” Nick admitted. No point in trying to deny it. They could learn the truth very easily in any number of ways.
“I have positive identification on subject Vice-Admiral Icarus Hansen, retired,” the squad sergeant concluded. Then his gaze shifted toward Heather and he resumed, “One juvenile female, Caucasian, mid-teens, reddish-blond hair. I have positive I-D on bystander Heather Hansen.” He looked to Nick for confirmation, and Nick nodded his head. Finally, the squad sergeant looked past Nick and up toward the top of the stairs, and added, “Second juvenile female, Caucasian, mid-teens, black hair. Identification unknown, assuming second bystander.”