by Mark Bordner
“Special Agent Kinsley, FBI,” He stated, his face stern. “I’ll need to see your identification, Sergeant.”
Minerva nodded, setting the bag down and fishing her military card out and handing it to him. He scrutinized the photo, comparing it to her face, then handed it back to her, “Mister Carreno is what relation to you, Miss?”
“My father.”
The agent’s stern expression softened a little, “I’ll take you to him.”
They walked through the maze of corridors and rode the elevator up nearly to the top floor. When the doors opened, he led her past the nurse’s station and down a last hall, where another agent was standing guard outside the door. Kinsley opened it and motioned for her to enter, relieving her of her bag and purse, which would have to remain out with them.
Her father was sitting up in bed, eating his lunch, with her mom sitting next to him, watching the soaps on TV. They both looked at her with expressions of utter joy.
She rushed to them and embraced them, giving kisses and trying to hold back tears.
“I’m so glad you’re alright, Pappy,” She told him, smoothing down his ruffled hair.
“This stubborn old goat is doing fine,” Her mother assured her. “They fixed his back almost good as it was.”
Cleo winked at her, “I walk a little hunched, now, but at least I’m walking!”
Minerva smiled, happy to see him as optimistic as ever. It took a lot to bring him down.
“Marcos couldn’t come?” Her mother asked, turning off the TV. “I thought we could have dinner together in the cafeteria. Your Pappy walks down there without any help at all.”
Minerva’s face darkened, and she blushed. She willed herself to be strong, “Mama, Pappy, I have to tell you something.”
Her parents looked at her attentively, unaware of what she was about to drop on them. She searched for her words, but they seemed to have abandoned her. Her resolve began to crumble, and despite her best efforts, the tears came.
“Mark was killed a few days ago. “
Her mother immediately came around the bed and took Minerva into her embrace. Being there was what she had needed so badly, to finally release her anguish. The pain, the anger, the utter sense of complete loss flooded out against her mother’s bosom. Cleo sniffled and gazed out the window, his jaw tight, eyes shining with moisture that he
would not allow to progress into tears. He had feared this, but more than that, he feared the day that might come when it was his own daughter who would not be coming home.
When Minerva’s sobs began to abate, her mother led her to the chair and sat her down, retrieving tissues for her. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes, hands shaking.
“I spoke to him just a little while before it happened,” She told her parents. “We were miles apart in different cities. Fighting had broken out all across the front, and he called me on the helmet communicator, to see how I was doing. He told me that he loved me, and I didn’t answer him, Momma. Not on purpose, I mean, we were all in the middle of a firefight, I just didn’t have time.”
Andrea stroked her daughter’s hair, “That’s not your fault.”
“I know, Mamma, but that was the last time we talked. He said he loved me and I didn’t say it back!” She broke into a fresh fit of tears, consumed with guilt. Her parents looked at one another, unsure of how to comfort her.
USS Terra Daley
High Earth Orbit
The ICU was quiet in the evenings. The ship followed Earth Standard time in relation to its fixed orbit, which was above the central United States. At 9:00 PM, the lights were switched to night-mode, at half-power with a red tint. The day shift was off duty, the operation of the ship relinquished to the swing shift. Those who were off visited the ship’s commissary or lounged in the movie room. The galley offered sandwiches and juice to those who wandered through. The officers enjoyed their perk of being allowed a ration of alcohol up in their private club.
Those in the ICU were monitored by one technician and the clinical computer. The tech made her rounds, stopping at each bed and checking the monitor’s data, making notations and replacing I.V’s as needed. The bay was filled with quiet snores and the subtle beeping of various equipment. The air conditioner came on, the whisper of air barely audible from the vents.
The occupant of the last bed in the row, cast in shadow from the jut of a support beam blocking the dimmed light next to it, lie still. An I.V. in one arm supplied saline water to keep him hydrated, another in the opposite arm was the source of an antibiotic laced with nano-bots. Tubes running through the nose and down to the stomach provided a path for the nutrient solution to reach his stomach. Over that, a mask issued enriched oxygen.
Beneath the thin blanket, his naked body was already displaying encouraging signs of rapid healing--- the benefit of the nano-bots. Within, nerve pathways were finding one another, battered veins had been restored to usable highways in which to transport blood. Capillaries were winding their way through the mashed musculature, increasing oxygen-rich environments that facilitated even faster restoration of the muscle fibers. The vital organs were operating at full capacity. Up to the skin, where the bruising was beginning to fade, changes from the horrid black-red to a greenish-yellow were evident.
Within the brain, that incredible human computer, things were busy at work. Neurons transmitted commands to the varied regions of the body, managing functions, continuing repairs, cooperating with the microscopic bots that labored to assist.
Somewhere deep in that well of sub-consciousness, the soul, the being that was Him dwelled quietly. It was dark there, but not frighteningly so. It was a haven, safe from fear or pain. He had no idea how long he had been floating there, or where there exactly was, or even how he had come to arrive there; but it was safe. So long as he kept within the confines of this void, there was no discomfort.
When he had first become aware of Himself, it was a little like waking from sleep, and he had tried to rise up out of it. In doing so, he had discovered that just beyond that shadow in which he rested, where the first vestiges of light began, there was a significant level of pain. He immediately retreated to the safety of the darkness. There, he remained for a while, not thinking, just content in the fact that he was aware.
Even in that void, there must have been some sort of measure of time, though. At some point, he was not exactly sure when, he realized that he was getting bored. That’s when the dreams, or the flashes of memory, whatever they were, began to come. The sanctuary would be abruptly interrupted by brief visions of plasma fire, or mortars going off. There were instants where he heard screams, blasts, the ground shook. Sometimes, a feeling of great loss intruded on him, or sorrow. His safe haven was becoming a place that was no longer so welcoming.
He decided to try venturing out again. Slowly, he approached the grayness that bordered his dark shelter, tentatively feeling around its edges with his consciousness. It wasn’t so bad this time, the pain was dull, like after a hard work-out, not searing like before. He allowed himself to rise a little further; the grey was becoming lighter, touched with blue. There was a new sensation now, more than just the visual colors. He could feel beyond the throb of dull pain that wrapped around him like a blanket. There was a cool quality to it.
Push ahead a little more. Awareness expanded. He was aware of himself more than before. He was no longer asleep, but not quite all the way awake, either. Almost.
He could feel his arms and legs. They seemed far away, but they were there. Moving them was yet impossible, as they were weighed down. Tons, they weighed. He could breath. There was something on his face, snug and smelling of plastic--- hissing over his nose and mouth. Its breath was cool and dry.
His brain now registered Self. It was much like a switch turning on, at least that’s how it felt. He was Mark. That was all that came. Just Mark. He was here, wherever here was. He was lying in a bed, that he could feel as well; and the thin, cloth blanket that was draped over him. The soft
mattress underneath. Mark knew that he was alive and awake. That was good. He could live with that.
Boredom lurked around the periphery, though. Just lying there was not enough. What else was there? He searched his brain, which was still recovering itself, trying to put pieces of a scattered puzzle back together. It came to him, a primal function pulled from way in the back. He could open his eyes and have a look around.
Mark tried, but at first, even the eyelids were incredibly heavy. Blast shields that were rusty, not wanting to open, but he willed them to. Ever so gradually, he won the struggle. They opened, but he did not comprehend what he was taking in. Everything was a dim, reddish blur hovering over him. He blinked a few times, squinted, and things began to swim into focus. The reddish blur congealed into a picture. He was looking at a metal ceiling with support beams, and dim, red lamps mounted at intervals along its surface.
He moved his eyes in their sockets, taking more in. There was a pole standing on either side of him, with tubes dropping down toward his arms. There were tubes in his nose and down his dry, parched throat. He was fairly certain that there was a tube running up into his privates, too--- that one was uncomfortable.
His brain was hungry for more information, now. Needed to know more. The puzzle pieces were coming together. Turn the head. Mark did that, and his neck muscles protested dully, stiff and sore. There was all kinds of strange equipment surrounding him, with probes and Lord-knew-what stuck into him. There was a steel bulkhead and a pressure hatch. Beds across the way. What was this place?
More internal searching, wheels turned, gears clicked.
Hospital.
With walls like that, no ordinary hospital. This was a ship, either ocean-going or space, but it was a hospital ship. What was he doing here? Was he injured? Looking at himself, at the equipment and tubes, he supposed that he had been, but it didn’t really feel that bad. He just weighed a thousand pounds; that was all.
Someone came into view, a woman in a nurse’s uniform, and she looked at him
with wide-eyed wonder, “Well, look who’s finally awake!”
Mark understood what she said, but it had no meaning to him. Of course he was awake. Why wouldn’t he be? She checked something on a monitor up above his head and nodded approvingly.
“Your O-Two saturation is good,” She said. “Let’s get some of this stuff off of you.”
The nurse removed the mask that was shushing him with oxygen and set it aside. She gave him a sympathetic look, “I’m going to pull this feeding tube out of your throat, it’s going to be uncomfortable for a second, ok?”
This was a question. It required an answer. He nodded yes.
She began pulling the thing out in a rapid motion, and he swore that there was a snake being hauled all the way from his stomach. His throat involuntarily began to spasm, and he gagged as the damn thing came out. She pulled it free and sat that aside as well.
“Sorry about that,” She told him.
He breathed relief. Things were beginning to gang up on him now. New sensations that had to be identified. He was dry. He found the word that he was looking for and labored to communicate it. Tongue worked with jaw and throat.
“Thirsty,” he whispered. It was all that he could manage. His voice was buried under gravel somewhere. The nurse smiled again. She went away and came back with a small plastic cup half-filled with a clear, brownish liquid. She eased the straw between his lips, and at first, he hadn’t the slightest idea what he was supposed to do.
“Suck on the straw,” She told him.
His brain seemed to have registered that instruction on its own, as his lips puckered and did just that. The liquid was cool and sweet. His brain pulled that recollection from a file. Sweet tea. It was delicious. Glorious. The finest thing that he remembered ever experiencing, as that cool wetness cascaded down his throat and into his stomach. It refreshed the entire path. He shivered with pleasure.
The nurse pulled the drink away and he relaxed, savoring the burst of renewal that it had brought. His thoughts seemed to be clearing. His head was full of smoke, but it was being filtered out a little at a time. Another need clamored for his attention. Mark analyzed it. His stomach was empty. That was not pleasant. He wanted food.
“Hungry,” He breathed.
The nurse was busy writing on his chart, “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you anything
to eat without the doctor’s clearance. Maybe some Jello, or pudding, how about that?”
Mark tried to remember what those things were, but it wasn’t coming right away. Anything was better than nothing. He nodded. She left again, and returned with another small cup, this one filled with a dark brown substance. She opened it and spooned a little to his mouth.
This was a thick type of liquid, sweet and bitter at the same time. Chocolate. Chocolate pudding. The memory brought desperation. She couldn’t spoon it to him quickly enough to satiate his driving hunger, but strangely enough, when the cup was empty, he felt satisfied. Not full, but quenched. This seemed enough for his system. His brain said, ’sleepy’, and he felt it. The drowsiness was welcome, different from before.
“Hey, before you go to sleep,” The nurse said to him, hovering over his field of vision, “Can you tell me your name?”
He moved his lips, slipping steadily into exhausted slumber.
“Mark,” he said, just before the world faded away.
Irvington, Ohio
October 17th
The 83rd Marine Regiment had settled comfortably into garrison life. The troops mustered every morning at 6:00 AM for roll call and the reading of the day’s news and work assignments, broke for chow, then went about whatever duties that they had been assigned. By 4:00 PM, the work day was over, and they were free to do as they wished. The companies rotated two days off out of every seven. It was a pleasant environment of normalcy, without the stresses of combat to haunt their every waking hour.
Ford and Manny found themselves in one of the local laundry mats this particular evening, washing their fatigues among a crowd of other troopers who loitered about, waiting for the cycles to end. The facility was filled with the dull roar of conversation and laughter, much too crowded for either of their tastes, so they wandered outside to wait. Lounging on the bench near the door, they watched civilians go about their business, envious of the lack-luster lives that they led. As each town was liberated, the citizens quickly returned to their previous daily doldrums. It was a blissful ignorance that the veterans wanted to rejoin, to go to work and shopping, and watching the idiot box at night. To rant about the latest sports scores or complain about taxes.
As the days had gone by, the sharp pain of losing their mutual friend gradually faded. It was a stark fact of their profession, people that they cared about were often lost. The bitter truth of it was, everyone always had that inner relief that it hadn’t been they themselves who had died. The days and the war were always there; they had to move on.
It was this acceptance that allowed them both to actually feel pretty well on this autumn evening. The trees were in full color, the late sunlight casting them in a bright hue of reds, oranges, and yellows. The air was pleasantly cool, almost chilly at night, and the humidity had retreated until the following summer.
Ford had just fired up one of his cigars, sharing one with Manny, and asked the young man what his plans for the night were, as they were heading into their two day weekend. The master sergeant grinned.
“I have a date with Rose at eight-o-clock,” He announced. “A late dinner and maybe a walk in the park over there.”
Ford chuckled, “You’re getting serious with that Attayan gunship pilot, aren’t you?”
Manny shrugged, puffing on the stogie, “She’s got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
The sergeant major gave him a curious look, “It doesn’t bother you that she’s, well, kind of like a cat?”
“Not at all,” Manny told him. “She’s a great person with a sweet personality.”
Ford puffed up a great cloud, still frowning, “I think this is the first inter-species relationship that I’ve ever known of,” He told him. “You might run into some bigotry over it.”
“She’s as human as we are,” Manny insisted. “Just a little different-looking is all.”
Ford elbowed him in the side, “If anyone gives you grief over it, let me know.
We’ll rearrange their outlook on equality.”
Manny smiled, nodding, “I think I’m in love with her.”
“Is this the marrying-kind of love we’re talking about here?” Ford teased.
The master sergeant’s smile faltered a little, “Maybe, but I’m not going to go that far until after the war. Just in case, like what happened to…”
Ford’s smile waned as well, “Yeah, I know.”
There was some silence for a little while, then, “I miss him.” Manny said.
Ford nodded, gazing off into the park, watching the sunlight fade and the shadows creep out from under the trees. “Yeah, me, too.”
Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a disheveled-looking young man, perhaps in his early twenties, clad in armor and huffing his weapon and duffle bag over his shoulders. His sleeve and breastplates had the insignia of the 1st Battalion, and the rank of gunnery sergeant. He was not in a good mood.
“Can either of you two tell me where I can find First Battalion?” He asked curtly. “I’ve been walking my ass off all around town!”
Ford said nothing, merely looking at him with a barely concealed expression of amusement. Manny motioned toward the nearest street, across from the park, “First is quartered inside of the Wal-Mart. Captain Hannock can get you billeted in.”
“The Wal-Mart?” The guy said incredulously. “Whose stupid idea was that?”
Manny thumbed at Ford, sitting next to him, “Ask our deputy commander.”
The gunny cleared his throat, “Sorry, I didn’t know, with you dressed in civvies.”
Ford shrugged, “No offence taken. It wasn’t my idea, anyway.”