The Return of the Grey

by Robert Lee Henry

  Crell pulled on Serin’s sleeve and led him from the room. The third caretaker, poor Donen, had been quiet throughout the exchange. She motioned him to a seat and proceeded with the interview.

  Make something of this day, she told herself. But it was difficult. His clothes carried the same odour as Serin’s. The smell threatened her concentration and was making her slightly nauseous. Her subject was not much help either, paying little attention and glancing up often over her shoulder. She turned once herself, only to find the corridor empty. Probably worried about his cohorts returning, she thought.

  His responses were more controlled than those of his previous interview. More practiced, she suspected. He only spoke freely when she asked him about Trahern’s passage through the Box. Elation and fear came through in these moments, the conflicting emotions sometimes halting him completely. His episodic discourse somehow affected her. A headache was building and several times she found her eyes fixed on the pattern of black patches on his shirtfront, knowing that she had missed his words.

  His eyes flicked over her shoulder and she turned to catch a flash of black at the edge of her vision. The pain in her head belled and she blinked it away. When her eyes cleared, the corridor was empty. Briodi exhaled and turned back to the job in hand. She slid her chair away from the desk and swung sideways. This put her under the main air vent for the room. The fresh air eased her nausea and she was able to keep the corridor in sight.

  She noted the time in her notebook. Trahern will be here soon, have to hurry, she thought. ‘Donen, how long have you been on Box duty?’

  ‘This time?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, this current assignment, when did it start?’

  He hesitated, head bowed, then said all in a rush, ‘Just before you saw us last, that was it, then.’

  Something wrong there, thought Briodi, making a note to check the assignments and rotations of all the caretakers. ‘Well, I will be recommending that your tour is cut short. An internal posting, perhaps here in Med, would be more suitable.’ She looked up from her notebook with an encouraging smile but it carried no further than his arms.

  Donen had lifted both palms in protest and his sleeves had dropped away to reveal his forearms. The smooth cream surface of his prosthetic contrasted strongly with the ridged and welted skin of his good arm. Ranked scars, the last in the series still red, just healing. He has been cutting himself! She stood and came part way around the desk, intending to inspect his arm. His panicked stare swung past her. She turned to the corridor. Serin and Crell were standing there.

  ‘I asked you to leave. If you wish to wait, do it outside of Med,’ said Briodi.

  ‘The time for waiting is over,’ said Serin.

  Briodi shot her hand into her pocket for her comm. Empty. Must have left it on the desk. She did not want to take another backward step in front of these men. There was a fixed comm panel in the wall near Serin. If I can force my way to that!

  Serin stepped to the wall blocking her path. Crell jerked his head to Donen and then turned his grin to her. She did not dare take her eyes off Serin and Crell to see what Donen was doing behind her.

  Another figure appeared in the corridor. Crell almost jumped back, pulling Serin in front of him. Briodi was pleased to see fear on the caretaker’s face.

  ‘Is there a problem here, Psych?’ asked Trahern.

  ‘No, no, nothing,’ cut in Crell. ‘We were just playing a game on them,’ he added, forcing a smile. ‘Popping round the corner to fuss Donen. Seem’s we fussed the psych. It’s nothing. That one’s wound too tight. Scared of men.’ He waved Donen to him and moved around Trahern, keeping both of the caretakers between him and the Grey.

  If Trahern raises an eyebrow Crell will push them at him and run, thought Briodi. She could not talk, stunned by her reading of their intent. She pointed Trahern to a casual setting at the end of the room. She did not want him to sit where Donen had been.

  Briodi went to the wall plate and called Celene. The head psych’s comm was on standby. Hesitant to leave a message, she logged off. Perhaps she was overreacting. Nevertheless, she wrote in her notebook: ‘Pull in all the caretakers, use Security, keep them restrained and separate’.

  Trahern was waiting patiently. He had positioned himself with his back to the wall. Unwilling to leave her back to the corridor, Briodi sat close beside him. She was comfortable with Trahern, more so than anyone else on Base. He was so dangerous that there was no way she could kill him.

  She had killed three men. That is why she was here. Somehow she drew men to her that wanted more than the use of her body. Men that wanted to hurt her, badly, like the caretakers earlier. She had felt their excitement flare, and their need. Her reaction in the past had been just as violent, just as quick – well quicker actually for they were the ones that died, by their own straps and implements. Not again, she had decided, never again. The results of her pilot aptitude tests had been good enough for her to have sought service with a cadre. She could have hid in the Amazons, been safe away from men. But there was no understanding in that, no change. Instead she had joined psych, to help others and to learn to help herself, to become like Aesca and Celene, capable of dealing with men at their worst. Without killing them.

  The headache and nausea that had assailed her when dealing with the caretakers slowly abated during the routine portion of Trahern’s review but did not leave completely. She probably should have postponed his session and gone up to Med, but Celene was anxious for results and it was an Inner Belt request, after all.

  The head psych had briefed her after her return from Tracka-dan’s funeral. ‘Trahern is blocking. I’m sure of that. The why, I don’t know. Try to draw him out but do not press too hard. Involve him in the discussion, try to convey the attitude that he is accepted. And test for claustrophobia. If you see signs of panic back off.’ Briodi had come close to telling her to do it herself. She appreciated Celene’s trust, her advice she could do without. I will do this my way … that is if I can concentrate. The back of her skull still ached dully.

  The comm panel on the wall flashed. Probably Celene, thought Briodi. She did not want to move. She felt comfortable and safe next to Trahern.

  It wasn’t Celene. It was Aesca advising her that the scout was not likely to last through the night. She intended to discontinue the sedation, to let him return to consciousness, anguished as it might be, for one last chance at communication.

  Briodi returned to Trahern’s side. Suddenly it all became too much for her. How can I keep going? I’m sick. The caretakers want to do something horrible to me and the scout is upstairs dying in torment. Tears came to her eyes. When Trahern placed his hand on her arm she rolled into his shoulder. Her control was only lost for a few moments but she left her head there while she composed herself. The scout. He is the most important. He has the most pain and the least time. What has the deep done to him that I can’t understand?

  She pushed part way off Trahern’s chest, stopped with her eyes locked on his. Near enough to share breath. She had seen Celene go close like this, in confrontation. That didn’t work for Briodi. Her best work came from empathy. Never this close though. But it felt right. She lost herself in the grey of his eyes, fell in and was swept out to the deep. So deep, so alone. ‘How do pilots survive the deep? When there is nothing there? When you are alone?’ She barely knew that she spoke. She did not expect an answer.

  ‘You reach out to everything around you, outside of you. You spread your existence wide so that it is not crushed by the emptiness.’

  He’s talking, the psych in her exulted. Keep him talking. ‘Doesn’t your craft protect you, like it protects your body?’ she asked.

  ‘No, in this a ship or suit restricts you. Separate from the universe, the void will crush you. You have to put your senses on the outside, to stay connected.’

  His answer excited her though it swung her thought back to the scout. There was a possibility there. ‘How do you do this? Practically, I mean. The exact
actions you carry out to achieve this state.’

  He considered then spoke. ‘I increase the gain on the sensors reading outside the ship. I stay helmeted and feed the signals in.’ He struggled with the next part of the explanation. ‘I let these signals take over other pathways. It’s like Weaving but without the hardware. It’s a trick of the mind.’ Trahern paused to see how she was taking it.

  Briodi encouraged him to go on with a nod.

  ‘Everything inside the ship goes inside me. The outside of the ship becomes my outside. It’s easier with a suit.’

  ‘Suits have sensors?’ She asked. She didn’t remember that from her training.

  ‘Flight suits do; battle suits, like those the marines wear, don’t,’ he answered.

  Briodi leapt to her feet. She pulled Trahern to his. ‘Come with me upstairs,’ she ordered.

  Her thoughts raced with them as they ran for the stairs. The scout must have done something similar. When we pulled him out of his craft and took him to Med, it was like ripping his skin off. Eyes, ears, gone, only exposed nerves left. No wonder he is in torment.

  *

  Aesca was standing by the bed when Briodi burst into the room dragging Trahern. She looks a wreck, thought Aesca. She’s taking this too hard. The scout is dying, nothing will change that. Too many electro-magnetic fields and too much radiation without shielding.

  ‘Did he have his helmet on when you found him?’ Briodi asked.

  Aesca glanced to Trahern questioningly but answered. ‘Yes. It was on. He was in the pilot’s chair, connected for long flight.’ Had been for months by the look of him, she remembered. It wasn’t only external forces which had led to his decline.

  ‘And his mental state, what was that?’ Briodi asked. ‘Was he unconscious?’

  ‘Near comatose, I would say. I was surprised he had been able to bring his craft in. The agitation you are aware of only occurred after we bolstered his systems with life support here in Med.’ Where is she going with this and what has Trahern to do with it? Aesca wondered. The psych’s next statement answered her unspoken query.

  ‘Commander Trahern advises that there is a technique for deep flight which involves the substitution of the craft’s sensory apparatus for one’s own. The scout may have been employing this technique on his return, locked into it by habit or delusion. By removing him from his ship we may have stripped his sensory system.’ Briodi was almost laughing now in her excitement. ‘It would explain his distress. We must put him back in his ship!’

  Aesca turned away so Briodi would not catch her expression. If only she had found this out earlier. If I try to move him now he will die.

  A PlanCon officer stepped through the door and stood to the side to allow Colda to enter. The anger that had seethed in Aesca since she had heard the truth of Tracka-dan’s death flared up. ‘Possibly some scheme of the Houses’ had been said.

  ‘I was passing on my morning tour, when I noticed this commotion,’ announced Colda, tilting his head to indicate Trahern and Briodi. ‘I will take the matter in hand, if you wish.’

  ‘If I wish,’ repeated Aesca slowly. This fool had never tried to run his pretend patrols through her domain before. ‘No one here is a member of your cadre and you have no official business in my ward. Please leave, Commander.’ The last was said through gritted teeth. She pulled out her comm. ‘Security, I want four of you to room M717 immediately.’

  The shock on Colda’s face turned to barely controlled rage, but when Trahern shifted to stand beside her, the bulky aide quickly pulled the angry man into the corridor and away. Aesca looked to Trahern, who smiled.

  The first of her security team was soon at the door. He would have been stationed on this floor but she was pleased with his speed. ‘Stand easy,’ said Aesca. ‘I’ve ordered Commander Colda out of Med. Make sure he leaves.’ She remembered some vague warning of Celene’s about dealing with Colda. ‘Patrol the wards, in two’s, until I say different. If he turns up again, throw him out.’ She heard more running feet in the corridor. ‘Advise the others, and that was good time,’ she added.

  Aesca turned back to a harder task. Briodi was now at the head of the bed. The scout was starting to twitch as the medication wore off.

  ‘We have to hurry,’ said Briodi, ‘before he gets worse.’

  ‘No,’ said Aesca. ‘Switching him to portable life support units would kill him. They would not fit in his ship in any case.’ She watched the psych’s face collapse as her words sunk in. She needs a bed herself, thought Aesca.

  ‘I can hook him up to his ship,’ said Trahern. ‘The Weave equipment can make the connection. That’s what it does, connect a mind to a ship’s systems.’

  Aesca watched hope return to Briodi. These ups and downs are not doing her any good, she thought.

  ‘The scout won’t have to be moved,’ said Trahern. ‘We fit a Weave band to him here and modify his ship to link up.’

  ‘Is it invasive?’ she asked Trahern.

  ‘Yes, but not harmful. The band will grow microcrystals into the muscles of his face. They dissipate when the Weave is shut down.’ Trahern hesitated for the first time. ‘I don’t know how long you can keep him hooked up. Weaves are usually only a matter of hours.’

  ‘Do you have the equipment and can it be done immediately?’ asked Aesca, with a pointed glance to the scout. ‘This is only a matter of hours now.’

  ‘I’ll check with the Armourer,’ said Trahern. ‘He should have the equipment on hand and with his help it could be done.’

  ‘Let’s do it then,’ said Aesca. ‘The worst we can do is kill him.’

  CHAPTER 16: COLDA’S COLD FURY

  Colda stood in the centre of the atrium just outside the Med Section. He needed this large space around him. He was mastering his rage and it was great. His father had taught him this technique. Anger is valuable. It is a resource. Do not squander it. Visualise your anger filling a space around you then force it back into your body. Focus its outflow to a task. His anger had almost been too great for this large space. In his mind it had bulged the walls and ceiling before his grip pulled it back. That woman defied me! Dismissed me! In front of Trahern! His anger threatened to break free, to run in visions of her dismemberment. NO! He heard his father’s voice. FOCUS!

  Trahern. Something happened with Trahern. He had seen the tearful girl running, the Grey pursuing. That is what had drawn him in. He had only meant to pass by Med, curious as to the day’s activities.

  That ambitious dolt, Sussex, had offhandedly advised that Trahern had been called back to Med for psych review, at the request of the Scholar. The fool had also proudly let out that he was meant to be assigned to Med this rotation but at his insistence he had been freed for more important work. To sit at my table basking in his own self-importance, thought Colda. The pompous prick had been outmanoeuvred by that bitch, Celene. One of her underlings now acted as Trahern’s confessor and judge. And Sussex thinks to supplant her.

  The Scholar knows there is something of significance associated with Trahern. So do I, thought Colda, though my vaunted aides do not. The key to the Grey is here. With it I can control him or destroy him.

  As if materialising in response to his thought, Trahern appeared on the level above, hurrying across, so engrossed in his task that he was oblivious to those below. ‘Follow him,’ Colda commanded his aide. The bulky man left at once, exhibiting none of the reluctance which had lately become a feature of his associates. See, your anger works already, said his father’s voice. Now to my task, thought Colda, heading back toward Med.

  CHAPTER 17: HARDWARE

  It was a fair walk from Med to the hangars but Trahern’s long stride burned it up. The Armourer would meet him there. I hope I can deliver on this promise, thought Trahern. Aesca was very clear that the scout was dying. It was only the way of his passing that they were trying to alter. But if he died screaming, Briodi would be devastated.

  Briodi. Trahern could still feel her face on his shoulder, her chest pressed
to his side, her breath on his neck. So close yet no fear. None at all and he was attuned to the slightest signs. His sensitivity had kept him alive in the Games. Fear had been a constant there and he had monitored it constantly. It was no different here on Base. He was aware of the unease he caused, even in his friends. But she relaxed in his presence. The only person in his life ever to do so. It was a wonder to him.

  He didn’t want her to be hurt any more this day.

  The Armourer was waiting for him in the single hangar, in the company of a young fair-haired Blue. ‘This is Lammas. He’s better with this gear than me,’ said the Armourer by way of introduction. ‘If time is as short as you say, we’ll need some help.’

  The scout craft was almost twice as long as a fighter. The extra length contained a crew bay and storage compartment. Trahern had flown short scouts himself and was familiar with the craft, or so he thought. When they opened it up he was not so sure. The other two must have shared his sentiment. They all halted.

  ‘I’ve never seen one this modified,’ said Lammas.

  Cables and tubes ran from the storage compartment to various mechanisms in the crew section and then on to the pilot’s chair. A formed plastic shield, like a flattened half cylinder, had been swung back to reveal the inside of the chair. The surface looked unfamiliar to Trahern. He glanced inquiringly to the others.

  ‘We updated the scout craft five years ago, when you were … away,’ offered the Blue. ‘The power plant, shields and sensors stayed the same. Mostly we worked on the pilot’s support and the repair system.’ Lammas placed his hand on boxy units on the back and underside of the chair. ‘These were added to allow the pilot to stay in the chair longer; reserves of nutrients and water, air lifts, cleaning fluids, extra stimulators and massagers. All automatic.’ He traced the connections running back from the units. ‘This is all new. Our setup could give the pilot weeks in the chair. This looks to me like an attempt to go permanent.’