Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

The door to the chute opened, and they were off again before anymore could be said between them. Minutes later, Don knew he was no longer succeeding in hiding his discomfort or keeping up. Finally, he stopped, unable to continue.

  “Sir,” he gasped out, hand on the wall to steady himself, desperately hoping he didn’t sound too pathetic. Thornton turned. “My stride is not quite as long as your own.”

  It took only a glance for the man to take in Don’s appearance. “My apologies. I had been told you were injured, but you seemed well enough earlier.”

  Don grunted and, after a moment, straightened and moved forward. They continued at a slower pace until the corridors emptied of all but themselves. The man stopped beside a door and motioned for Don. “Your print has already been uploaded to the system.”

  Don palmed the door open. Inside was a quiet and extremely sparse apartment.

  Thornton brushed past him, opened another door and deposited his bag. “Your room,” he said, although the explanation was unnecessary.

  Don approached slowly and peeked in. It was spacious compared to what he had grown accustomed to.

  “I will be about my business.”

  Don turned to thank the man, but he was already gone. The door closed behind him, leaving Don alone. The man’s abruptness annoyed Don a little, but he brushed it off and sank down onto the bed. It was soft and inviting. The aching in his side had turned into stabbing knives during their walk, and the bed eased that to a degree. He closed his eyes, trying hard to ignore the pain.

  When he next opened them, it was to the sight of someone standing silently in the doorway. His eyes took a moment to adjust, but when they had, he could see it was his father. For the first time in his life, Don thought his father looked old.

  Don grimaced as he rolled to his side and stood slowly. There was concern in the general’s face, but he made no move to help his son. Don returned his father’s stare, unsure what to say or how to act. It occurred to Don, as he eyed each new wrinkle and gray hair, that he hadn’t seen his father since he had left for Basic. The general had seemed so much taller then.

  “Don?”

  In that moment, Don wavered. His father’s voice carried so much uncertainty in it. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his father. “Happy Unification Day, Da.”

  Gently, he felt the hug returned. Then the general pushed him away. “You have grown, son.”

  “I hope so. Couldn’t stay a shrimp forever.”

  “In more ways than that,” came the reply. “You have made me very proud.”

  Despite everything, Don felt his chest swell. He ducked his head in embarrassment, mumbling something in reply.

  “How are you?”

  “I assume you’re not asking about the broken parts.” The general opened his mouth, but Don cut him off. “I’ve been trying not to think too much about everything. So far, I’ve been successful. I sleep a lot. I assume that’s a side effect of my pain meds.”

  “When you’re ready, I’m going to ask you to tell me everything that happened.”

  “It’s classified,” Don answered automatically.

  The general laughed. “Very good, but I have clearance. General, remember?”

  “Ah.”

  “You’re not hungry, I hope?”

  Don shook his head, a little puzzled at the question. “Why?”

  “Because your surgery is scheduled for the morning, and they have asked for you not to eat.”

  “Surgery?”

  “To fix you up, son. To knit you back together.”

  Part Three

  November 16, 653 T.A

  Silence filled the tavern. No one knew what to say.

  The man sat resentfully in his chair and stuffed the tags back beneath his shirt. “Don’t you all have something better to do than stand there like dumb animals?” he growled.

  His words woke them from their frozen state, but instead of sending them scurrying off, his harshness seemed to draw them in.

  “If you knew him,” the woman said, stepping bravely toward him, “then you know I am right.”

  “Lots of people knew him.”

  “But you knew him when he was a pilot,” she persisted.

  He ignored her. Instead, he chugged what was left in his mug. He stared at it dolefully. “Lots of people knew him,” he repeated quietly to himself.

  “Did you fly with him? Is that how you know him?” one of the other men asked.

  The drunkard looked up, irritated to see them all still standing around him.

  The woman held out a hand with an inscrutable look upon her face. “The next one is on me if you answer my questions.”

  He studied her hand as he considered the offer. He made no move to accept, but slowly traced up the line of her arm with his eyes till he met hers. There was a challenge in them.

  “Make it two, and I will answer them truthfully,” he finally replied. The slur in his words was gone. He was completely focused now.

  “Done,” she said, scooping up his mug and handing it to her daughter. “Love, top him off.”

  Before anyone could blink, the little girl was gone. The man stared sadly after her. “You sure you want her to hear this?”

  The woman cocked her head a little and, though her tone was light, the warning in her words was unmistakable. “I have confidence she will not hear anything inappropriate.”

  “Aye, but it could break her heart.”

  “Then don’t break it.”

  Noise from the kitchen interrupted them as the little girl hurried back. She handed the mug to her mother without looking at the man. He, however, couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Finally, he reached for the mug. “I promised only the truth.”

  “Then answer me truthfully. If you knew him when he was a pilot, you also know I am right. He meant for the best.”

  The man looked from mother to daughter. “Sometimes,” he finally said, “it does not matter what you meant at the time, only the outcome.”

  “It doesn’t matter? But of course it matters! It’s what separates the good people from the villains.”

  “That’s not what the history books say.”

  “What the history books say? Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows those are full of lies and half-truths woven together by the Council to create a past that never was. Now, stop dodging the question and answer me.”

  The man’s hand tightened on his mug. “Woman, you are wrong. Whatever your husband told you was a lie. I stand by what I said before. O’Hara did nothing that did not benefit him somehow. Every step he took in life, he took for selfish reasons: when he was a child, when he was a pilot, and when he overthrew the Council. It was all about him, always.”

  “He put his life on the line―”

  “For his own benefit!” the man shouted over her. “To escape a fate he didn’t want to face.”

  “He could have left us in the Council’s grip, corrupt as they were.”

  “He turned against them for revenge!” the man answered in exasperation. “He had no other motive. He used their corruption to garner support from humans and Zarweans alike, but he’d have done it anyway. When he was finished, when he got his satisfaction, he disappeared. He never had any intention of following through to build back up what he destroyed.”

  “How could you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  Chapter 26

  August 17, 627 T.A.

  Over a month had passed since Don had come aboard the Agamemnon. His father was genuinely happy to have him around, and life aboard the space station was interesting enough. Don constantly found himself wandering around the civilian portions of the station. He was intrigued by the civilians and mostly managed to forget Thornton, who tailed him ceaselessly. Despite this, Don was not content. He’d already recovered from surgery, and now he wanted orders. Orders that never came.

  A few times, his father had requested his presence during the day. Don complied easily enough, if only
to break up the monotony surrounding him. He met people whose names he no longer remembered, shook hands, and flattered their owners, as was expected.

  News had come recently of another Zarwean attempt to break the SDZ. This piqued his interest even though the details had been kept secret. He plagued his father with questions about it until the general gave in. The battle was small: one of their own destroyers and two Zarwean dreadnoughts. In the end, the Space Forces had failed to arrest the Zarwean advance or escape. Rather than surrender, the captain had chosen to activate the ship’s self-destruct feature and take the Zarweans with them, leaving that quadrant contaminated with radiation that would last for years to come. Don’s father swore him to silence, but the news disturbed him. The war was changing.

  His father must have noticed the affect this had on him, because he spoke no more of battles. He began to probe Don with seemingly random questions and was genuinely trouble by Don’s responses. Finally, Don's birthday rolled around and his father announced that they were taking a visit to Dr. Ward.

  “You remember him, don’t you?” his father asked. Don hadn’t bothered to answer. He remembered. How could he not? Every two years, on his birthday, he had been taken to see the man. That is, until he joined the Space Jumpers. The thought of seeing the doctor again had made him immediately edgy, but there was nothing he could do.

  This time, there was no shuttle ride involved. Either the doctor had traveled to see them, or he had set up shop permanently in the Agamemnon. After a short walk, Don and his father entered a room arranged in an all-too-familiar manner, with a Medical Diagnostic Pod at its center. Dr. Ward smiled at him from his chair with the same crooked smile he always had. Everything was just as Don remembered.

  “Ah, O’Hara, I have been expecting you.” He glanced pointedly at Don’s father before continuing. “How long has it been?”

  “Three years,” Don answered curtly. He had never been fond of the doctor. Even though he had never been anything but courteous, something about him had always felt a little bit off.

  “You certainly have grown. I had heard, but it hardly does you justice. Let me see, three years makes you…”

  Don sighed and gave his father a pained look. “Eighteen.”

  General O’Hara cleared his throat. “Dr. Ward, it’s been a while.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Ward answered, clearly not as happy to see the general as he was to see Don. “I remember reminding you of such many times.”

  “I hope this won’t take long.”

  “It will take as long as it takes, general―”

  “I don’t suppose,” Don interrupted the two, “that it would be enough to just tell you I still don’t remember anything.”

  Dr. Ward put an arm around Don’s shoulders. It was a gesture Don was sure was meant to show camaraderie. “No, Don, it would not. You may remember things that you do not know you remember. That is what these tests are all about. If you get even a glimmer of a memory back, we want to know. In this way, we can help you unlock the rest.”

  Frustrated, Don knocked the doctor’s arm away. “Maybe I’m fine without them.”

  The two men stared at him, shocked at his outburst.

  “Seriously,” he continued, “it’s been over ten years. If I haven’t remembered yet, I doubt I’m going to. It’s not like I have suffered from not having those memories. I have adjusted fine.”

  “Don―” the general started, only to be cut off by Dr. Ward.

  “I’m afraid there’s more to it than that, this time.”

  The smile was gone. The doctor crossed the room to a bit of his machinery. Almost mournfully, he pressed a button and turned to face Don and the general. From the machine came a sound Don did not immediately recognize. Then a voice joined in.

  “What have you done?”

  It was Lana’s voice. Don turned his head to look at his father questioningly, but he could see the general’s eyes narrowing. His father was just as lost as he was.

  “Syke wants to talk to you...” She trailed off as if waiting for a reply.

  Don made to answer, but the doctor raised a hand to stop him. He snapped his mouth shut. What is this about?

  “Don, you’ve got to hang on just a bit longer.

  Now it was Syke. This time Don recognized the words. Horror nailed him to the floor.

  “I can see the Pilgrim on the radar, we’re almost there.”

  “Going crazy.”

  His own voice now, condemning him.

  Dr. Ward stopped the recording. “I think that’s about all we need to hear.”

  Don swore.

  “Now you understand.”

  “I was in pain!” he growled. “A person says a lot of things that he doesn’t mean when he’s hurting.”

  “And he says a lot of things that he does. Unfortunately, this is not a matter of my discretion. I am bound by the rules. However, I have no doubt that you will pass this test and receive a clean bill of health. All the same, formalities must be observed.”

  “Don.” His father’s tone made him turn. “Do as he says.”

  Don watched the general leave, his face dark and brooding. Disgusted, Don threw a leg over the side of the small MDP. “Do your damn tests.”

  “Just relax,” Dr. Ward told him before pulling the lid closed.

  “Sure,” he muttered. “Relax while I dissect your brain and put your most intimate thoughts on display. No worries.”

  To be honest, Don had never really understood the tests the doctor performed or how the results were determined. Nor had he ever tried to. It never bothered him before, most likely because he never had anything to hide before.

  Now, Don was angry. They had no business digging around in his head. There were things they had no right to know unless he decided to divulge them.

  “That is not relaxed.” The doctor’s voice entered his thoughts. Don bared his teeth at the pod roof. He heard nothing for a few moments, then, “We cannot begin until you settle down.”

  “I am uncomfortable with this, doctor,” he answered. “I’m afraid this is as relaxed as I get.”

  “Not so. I’ve seen you nearly fall asleep in there.”

  When Don replied, it was through gritted teeth. “I was younger.” It was as close to the truth as he could get.

  “I believe I can help with that.” There was another pause. “I have never used this before, simply because you’ve never needed it. However, since the occasion calls for it…” The man trailed off, and Don was left wondering what exactly Dr. Ward was planning. The answer came swiftly as he felt his eyes suddenly weighed down. Dr. Ward was drugging him. He didn’t even have time to protest before the drug took full effect.

  When he woke, nothing had changed inside the pod except that now he was extremely irritated, uncomfortably drowsy, and all too aware of how confined he was.

  Air hissed into the pod. Don tensed automatically. How long had he been there? The lid opened, and Dr. Ward stood over him, frowning. It was the first negative emotion he had ever seen the man express.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked. His mouth was unexpectedly dry.

  “Come out of there. I’ve some questions to ask you.”

  Don crept wordlessly from the pod. He glanced at the time. Hours had passed. What had the doctor’s test revealed? Dr. Ward had never asked him any questions before, not after the test.

  He followed the man into another room. His father was already there, wearing a frown to match the doctor’s. Don could feel his heartbeat quicken.

  “Sit, please,” the doctor directed.

  Don sat. His father refused to look at him. “What, exactly, is this about?”

  “The results of your test showed an increase of brain activity when certain areas of your memories were explored.”

  “In English?” he snapped.

  The doctor blinked. “We think you regained some of your memories.”

  Don forgot to breathe. “Impossible.”

  “Not at all. Many patients s
uffering from amnesia have been known to regain their memories after a time.”

  “No, that’s impossible,” he protested. “I would know if I had.”

  “I’ve already told you, you might not.”

  Don looked from Dr. Ward to his father. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He pushed past the immediate shock of what the doctor had said and forced his brain to start working. He couldn’t afford to be careless.

  “Then why are you upset?” he finally asked.

  General O’Hara stirred. Don’s words had reached him. Slowly, their eyes met.

  “What do you remember about your mother?”

  The question caught him off-guard. He leaned forward, opening his mouth to answer, but found no words to do so. Instead, he tapped a finger against the table as he collected his thoughts.

  “That’s the first time you have ever spoken about her.”

  “Son―”

  “Answer the question, please.”

  Don shot the doctor a dirty look before sitting back in his chair. This time, he remained silent. What could he say to them that would not reveal everything? If he did tell them, what would they do? He’d heard enough to know he didn’t trust them.

  “It is imperative―” Dr. Ward started.

  Obviously, he was taking too long. “Repeat the question, please,” he requested abruptly.

  “Sorry?”

  “Could you repeat the question?” he asked again. “I’m not sure I understood it.”

  “It was really quite simple.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be hard for you to re-ask.”

  At this, the general gave him a reproving look. Don ignored it.

  Dr. Ward seemed to surrender. “What do you remember of your mother?”

  Don pursed his lips and shrugged. “Almost nothing.”

  “O’Hara, it is no use lying. We know you remember something. Your results show―”

  “I don’t care what they show. I don’t remember anything,” he insisted. “I’m not lying. Hook me up to a polygraph. I’ll prove it.”

  “Those are unreliable, at best,” the doctor said in disgust, “even with our technology.”