by H. J. Lawson
Being raised by a combination of caretaker and scientific observer tends to build a mind that never really feels like it belongs. I have no regrets and no complaints about my nurturing. How would I know any different? I was fed, clothed, and educated. But never integrated, never belonging. Part of me yearned for connections with others, like listening for voices that were never there.
It probably would’ve made a great novel. Abandoned orphan of unknown lineage adopted by a female scientist. A brilliant mind nurtured by another one. Few friends, because friendship is something that must be learned, which in turn means that someone needs to teach you.
Unfortunately, this was something that I was never taught, never learned. So I grew up without belonging. Going through the motions, but never finding a connection. That is until I found Grace, or she found me. I wondered many times if this was what is called love at first sight. That instantaneous emotional connection that somehow just feels right. Like when you have that flare of discovery in your mind, and you finally work out the answer to that complicated equation. And there are no more complex equations in my world than those that happen between people.
I think that this is love. Lacking previous experience and correlating data, I don’t know for sure. But with her, I belong. She fills me, and I crave her, in the same way, I understand addicts crave drugs. She supports me, and I support her—not a bad definition for companionship and love.
It was the need to find out who and what I really am that led to this. Grace supported me in my need to know my origins, just like she has supported everything else. So I got to send my message out to the universe, trying to find out about my background or family or something. And I got a response.
So this is my fault.
It comes down to responsibility. I am responsible. The deaths, the anguish, the orphans, widows, and destruction—all came back to me. Trying to find my original family, I have drawn despair and horror down on my adoptive one.
I have truly done my best to help find a solution. I got Grace and others into orbit with the tools that I thought they would need to solve this infection was very challenging and arduous. But we managed to carry it off. They are up there now, fighting for their lives, and I can’t help them. Can’t help her.
I was once more incomplete. Without Grace, I was adrift in the sea of unconnected beings. My mind listening for those voices, my soul missing the connections that were so much an integral part of my need. Food for my soul, nurture for my mind.
Does everyone have this desperate need to be connected? Do the people around me who seem to be happy about being separate, about being alone, not feel the rightness of being connected? How can they live in such an isolated form? And why, oh why, am I so different?
The colonel is looking at me again. She reminds me so much of her sister. The same big eyes, the same direct gaze. There are differences, of course. Kearyn never looked at me with the same condemnation. She was admiring, happy and pleasant. This Colonel Jones looks far more potent and angry. And I feel guilt every time I look at her.
It’s my fault. I know it.
But what can I do? This need, this craving to understand where I came from overwhelms my logical brain. Only Grace could fill that desire. And she was on a purple tagged spaceship being buffeted by rocks in outer space, and I can’t get to her.
I will do anything I can to fix this. Give up my work, my life, to save Grace. To atone for the blood and smell of ashes that hangs like a forgotten fog around me day and night. But who will believe me? Will the colonel? Do I really have anything that I can contribute at this point? Or are we as humans on Planet Earth about to be eradicated? Is there any saving this, is there any going back? I don’t know.
Grace would’ve wanted me to do this, I am sure. I can play memories—the feel of her hair, the softness of her lips. That helps somewhat. Not a huge amount, but enough that I feel encouraged, feel a faint shadow of the connection that I crave. She is going to be a doctor and help many. Provided she is still alive and can stay that way.
Is this what love is? The willingness to sacrifice your own being for someone else?
If the answer to that question is yes, then perhaps I have finally made a connection. It would mean that those empty places in my mind that keep listening for other voices,that look for some sort of a group have finally found something that satisfies them. I often wonder if I am really an ant in a huge anthill. Working away and thinking that I’m all alone and separate, where instead I am part of this massive collective. A group of many minds, needs, desires, and objectives all striving toward common goals. A group that most of us simply don’t know or recognize.
So I will volunteer. Whatever I have to pay, whatever I have to do, I will do it. For Grace and the others that are determined to solve this terrible problem, for atonement, and in acknowledgment of both my need and fulfillment.
“Colonel, I am all in. Deal the cards.”
Chapter 13 – TS Paul
Sergeant Jacobs
The makeshift command center was a madhouse. SpaceRx had built a fine facility here, but they never expected it to become one of the humankind's last redoubts. Military personnel were everywhere. All of the lower windows and doors were barricaded, and armed guards stood ready. The former corporate lobby and reception area was a charnel house of wounded and dying soldiers. Up front, three units of advanced special forces held the line.
Outside, the dead lay in piles surrounding the building. When the civilians realized that the ships were gone, they desperately searched for those that could help them. Military meant protection and many bases and bunkers were swarmed. Hard-eyed military sharpshooters were given the order to protect the command center, and civilians died. To save some, many had to die. Now it was the infecteds’ turn. They came in near endless waves of blood and flesh, their glowing eyes red in the darkness. Ammo was depleted, and power packs drained. The command was to hold. The sake of humanity was on the line.
“Sir, we can’t hold this position for too much longer!”
“You have to. We have to, Sergeant Jacobs! There is no choice. This is the last command center that can monitor those ships. If we fall… We can’t fall.”
“You don’t understand, sir. We won’t have a choice. Over half, my men are either all around us or dead. The fallback position is our only option.”
The major looked at the dead and dying men. He shook his head. His entire career had been behind a desk. Making life and death decisions was not something he was prepared for. Saying a prayer of forgiveness to himself, he looked the special forces sergeant in the eye.
“Round up your men and fall back. Take every weapon and all the ammo you can carry. All the stairwells are blockaded except the main ones. Do not try the elevators; we cut power to them hours ago.”
“What of my men?” He swept his arms to encompass the room.
“Arm them if you like, Sergeant, but we will need the weapons more. We cannot take them upstairs! The risk is too great.”
Sergeant Jacobs looked down at one of his oldest friends. The man was bleeding out on the cold, blood-covered floor. “Damn it!” He nodded. The major was right. He grabbed his comm and began issuing orders.
The major grabbed the medical personnel and tried to force them to leave their patients. Many refused. Shaking his head, he left them to their own fate. He hurried up the stairs to the first landing. His second line of defense was setting up machine guns and power grenade launchers.
“Where did we get those?”
“The machine guns? We found them in a National Guard armory on the way here. We were just as surprised as you are. Those things are ancient. But they still shoot. One of the men said they use them for the local military cadets to practice with.”
“Try not to kill us with those grenade launchers.”
“No, sir. Not today.”
“Good. Special forces and some of the med staff should be heading up right behind me. DO NOT allow them to bring any critically wounded
or infected up these stairs. Walking wounded only. Understood?”
“Sir, those are our men down there!”
The major stared the man down. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir. We will do it.”
The major nodded his head and went further up the stairs. The third floor was where all the magic happened. The control center was here along with all the remaining SpaceRx staff and the colonel. Up on the roof were the various generators and solar systems. He had sharpshooters up there as well.
Nodding to the troops at the final checkpoint, he entered the madhouse that was master control.
Techs and communications specialists ran in every direction. Vid screens, hastily connected, were on all the walls. He could see tracking numbers for all the viable ships and those that never made it. Up on the main screen was Commander Gorgas, the leader of those up on International Space Station 12.
“...we can see them, but our shuttles can’t reach them in time. Even if we could, we just don’t have the room for them here.”
“Commander, how about purple? Can you see what they are doing?” Major Pomortsev was only the supply coordinator, but he was now the only man on the ground the IS12 knew and trusted.
“As we told the colonel, we can’t see them from here. Mikhail? Can you tell us what is happening on the ground? Our families…”
Major Pomortsev bowed his head. “I’m sorry. We don’t know anything. They were supposed to be evacuated to Cheyenne Mountain, but we lost contact with them yesterday. I will try and find out what I can. Now can you tell us what…”
The major turned away from the spectacle. They should be happy up there—they were safe. At least until they ran out of food. He took two steps in the direction of the colonel’s office when he heard something he had never witnessed outside of a vid or military show. The rattle and hum of two 240b machine guns on full auto echoed up the stairwell.
***
“Holy shit, these things kick!” Sergeant Jacobs had just gotten his men up the stairs when the booby traps exploded. The infected began pouring into the makeshift med bay. The screams and screeches of the med staff combined with the roars of the infected. Small explosions could be heard as his men released their grenades and died warriors’ deaths.
The old machine guns were cutting the infected down in waves. Their broken bodies were falling down the stairs, creating additional barricades.
“Sergeant! We are almost out of ammo.”
“Already? Damn. That must be why we stopped using these things. Back to small arms fire. Pick your targets carefully! Private Hood, go find the major. Tell him we can’t hold here forever.”
***
The major took the private’s report and looked down the stairwell at the battle. He shook his head. This really was the last line. He stepped back into the command center. The relief force was gearing up and preparing to go down and help.
“NO.”
“Sir, we can help.”
“No. Barricade these doors and the emergency ones on the north side. We are the last stand. If you die down there, who protects these people?”
The soldier really looked at the major. His uniform was dirty, and sweat stains were ever expanding under his arms. His face was rough and unshaven, but his eyes were clear. This was not the face of a madman. The man would follow his orders.
Treavyn
“Colonel, I am all in. Deal the cards.”
At that moment the heavy wooden doors opened without a knock. A rough-looking man in a major’s uniform stepped inside.
“Colonel Jones, we have a problem.”
“What sort of problem, Major Custer?”
“They have broken through the first defense. We are still holding at the second level but not for long. I’ve ordered the room sealed and barricaded. We can only hold for a few more hours, sir. We have only the roof to run to. Your personal shuttle is still up there, but that is all. It only holds three. Sir, you can still make it to Cheyenne or one of the other redoubts.”
The colonel took a deep breath and let it out. “What of our men on the lower floors?”
“I ordered them to hold. This is our last stand, sir.”
Colonel Jones looked at the ragged major and then turned her gaze upon Treavyn. “We have one last place to go to escape this. Earth’s last chance to either stop this or give our people some sort of hope.” She stared at him again. “If you are lying to me or trying to deceive me I will toss you to them myself. Am I understood?”
Treavyn nodded to the extremely scary colonel.
“Major, I need a pilot. Treavyn here might have a solution to this mess.”
“Sir, are you taking him to the Omega base?”
“What choice is there? Hopefully, they don’t shoot us down.” She glared at Treavyn again.
“You better be worth it.”
Chapter 14 – Katherine Hayton
Grace
After tapping the lid in place on the second cylinder, I tossed them both into the ejection port and slammed the button to expel The Tide from the ship. For a moment I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the smooth wall. All those months of trying and failing to contain the virus, trying and failing to save a single patient from their horrendous fate. Yet now I held a cure.
"They've gone."
For a moment I couldn't tell whether Kearyn's voice came from inside or outside my head. Then my ears reported the sound of breathing, the sound of life.
Before I could stop myself, I hugged Kearyn to me, so tightly that the pounding of her heart beneath the thin suit she wore beat a pattern on my chest. For days I'd tiptoed around her, this awkward cast-off from my fiancé’s past, but now joyous warmth enveloped all thoughts of her, as though we were still joined as one being.
"How did we do that?" Kearyn pushed me away and stared into my face with wonder. Hand out; she turned it over to look at the palm that had so recently glowed with the energy of The Tide. She squinted out of a navigation portal, seeing our home planet spinning far beneath. "So many people died. Are dying."
"Come on." I walked down the hall toward the medical bay. "Let's double check if Brody survived." Now disconnected, my thoughts became easier to hide—of course, he was dead.
Brody's remains lay spread in a pool across the outer bay floor. No longer fearful of infection, we quickly cleared him away.
"Looking good," he'd called to me yesterday and emphasized the sentiment with a wolf-whistle. Emotion tugged at my chest, and I fought the sensation. This was a pile of hazardous waste, not the flirt who may have caught my attention if I'd been available.
I needed to touch base with Treavyn. The sacrifices our team had made—Mark most of all—were worth nothing. Science couldn't fight this disease any more than magic.
While The Tide had been inside me, part of me, instead of me, they whispered their plans, fed me their compulsions. Well, if they thought they could take over my home planet they had another think coming.
"Wait." Kearyn held up one finger and turned her head. I paused and listened. The sound repeated. A thump from farther in the medical bay.
I strode ahead, praying the door The Tide had destroyed so easily wouldn't be needed. Hoping we wouldn't find another remnant of Brody.
"The sound's coming from a pod," Kearyn said, passing me as I paused to listen again. "Over here." She stroked the smooth white egg. "How do we get this open?"
My hand stroked the outside of the capsule, seeking the panel. One moment before I switched sides, my palm found a dent, and I pushed harder. A small door opened to reveal a keypad. What was the number Monroe barked at me earlier? 2-7-9-2. Whether Monroe knew or not, overriding the main door security to the medical bay caused a reset of all codes to match.
Just as I was about to enter the numbers, Kearyn grabbed my arm to stop me, and I raised my eyebrows. "Who is it?" she asked. "Were they here before me and...?" Her voice faltered while her gaze wandered back to the disposal bin.
"Walt and Finn are up on
deck. Monroe wouldn't come back in here again if you paid him." I frowned down at the floor, tracking back everyone's movements. "Sephia went back to her cabin." I swallowed hard as a memory floated across my vision. Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sephia walking with me in the park, each lifting me by an arm, so it felt like I was walking on air. Why couldn't I save Uncle Jake? "It’s Riley."
The thump sounded again followed by a high, thready scream. My blood turned icy as Kearyn moved to stand beside me. I punched the number in on stiff, resistant keys, then glanced over at her. "Ready?"
"Ready."
I pressed enter, and together we flipped up the lid. Riley lay inside, writhing in pain, her back arching. A snarl contorted her face below eyes pleading for release. A disconnected voice came from the A.I. speaker. "What's happened? Riley? Are you there?"
The scream sounded again, torn from Riley's lips as her arms flailed, trying to ward off a monster only she saw. I reached for Kearyn's hand and took one of Riley's in mine, her skin burning to the touch. Kearyn took her other hand, closing the circuit, and we reached for Riley's mind to guide her through the ebb.
Immediately, I sensed something wrong. Kearyn stood beside me and inside me, but although I sent out my thoughts in a wide, sweeping circle, I couldn't connect with Riley. Kearyn's mind broadcast the same query. "Where is she?"
The virus was in Riley, part of her, mutating through every cell of her body. But unlike Kearyn, unlike me, Riley's core was absent.
"Close the door," Kearyn screamed as blood streamed from Riley's left eye, seeping into the white cushioning of the medi-pod. Breaking the circle, I slammed down the lid as the A.I. speaker asked her questions again.
A cry of frustration burst from my lips, and I pounded the top of the capsule. So stupid. I thought I possessed the answer and it turned out to be no answer at all. Riley would die, and we'd exposed ourselves to infection with a cure that might never work again.
Kearyn laid a hand on my shoulder and stroked back and forth. With our minds still linked, her thoughts echoed mine, amplifying my frustration and loss.