Sat right there, reading, on the floor, all night long, submerged in happy splendor, suddenly finding himself in a pool of yellow sunlight, pink-eyed, realizing it was dawn, that his first exam was only ninety minutes away...
Cursing himself for a fool, rushing away for a quick shower, quick coffee, quick breakfast and...
In the morning, then, the news that lovely little Chen, having had a few drinks by herself evidently, had gone for a walk in the night, had gone down by the harbor, following him perhaps? Had stumbled evidently, and fallen into the dirty water and drowned.
He’d spent the next night in the library as well, reading, reading, and the next one after that, soul soaking away into the imaginary worlds with all their immortal, invulnerable, imaginary people, worlds where only the nameless spear carriers died, where the real heroes and heroines only died for... for reasons you could at least understand.
o0o
Astrid Kincaid, running through the featureless darkness, six strong women at her side, running from the site of vengeance, dead Bergeron sprawled in the weeds, sprawled bonelessly, blood running from his nostrils, stink of shit rising from his pants. Got what he deserved. Got what he deserved. Women running and running, comrades all, running together.
Mandy Richardson’s small hand warm in mine, hand in mine as we ran together, out of the darkness and back into the light. Sneaking back onto the base together, noncoms eying each other in the darkness, eyes wide, faces drawn, withdrawn. No one, the faces said, no one will say a word... Then going our separate ways, back to barracks, all save Mandy, who was in my charge, back to our own barracks, crawling in through the window of my room.
Sitting there, first in the darkness, then by the light of my single low-wattage lamp. Mandy sitting on the edge of my bed. Waiting? Waiting for what? Me, waiting now for her to gather her courage, waiting for her to slink back out to her little bunk in the common room. “Mandy...”
Dark eyes on me. “Sergeant, if I go now, someone will see.”
So? At worst, they’ll think you’ve come in to... a little smile. More than one way to gain favor, more than one way to kiss ass in this woman’s Marine Corps. Kincaid said, “No one will bother you about it, Mandy.”
More dark eyes, then, “Sergeant, if I go out now, someone will remember the time. The medical examiner’s office will be able to tell roughly when Captain Bergeron died.”
Oh. Memory of fear. And, though I’d been careful, the coroner, alerted, would have them take my clothes, have them check... Even if they found no bloodstains, they might find other little bits of Captain Bergeron.
Richardson said, “It’d be better if I spent the night in here, Sergeant. I don’t care what people think.”
Reluctance. I care what people think. Let them see me spending the night with one of my troopers, especially one of my female troopers, and I’d have to put up with all sorts of bullshit. Real dykes putting the make on me. Men hitting on me just to see if I really went both ways...
Kincaid said, “Well.” I see your point.
Turning down the bed then. Getting out of dirty fatigues, hesitating, deciding to leave her underwear on, bra and panties a sort of psychic armor, crawling into bed, sliding over, leaving room for Mandy. Who got out of her fatigues, stood there so slim and strong, looking down at her, white figure made whiter by pale, pale linen.
Clicked out the light. Stood looking down in the darkness. A whisper of cloth, Kincaid realizing she’d slipped out of her own armor, was coming naked to bed. Don’t be so damned foolish! She probably hasn’t give it a thought. Just likes to sleep that way, though army regs said...
Military regs say you sleep by yourself, in pajamas, nice green GI pajamas, that you dressed and undressed in your own latrine area, but... Regs never work. They put men and women together, young men and young women, and got what they deserved.
Richardson slid in beside her, head not quite on the edge of the pillow, squirming uncomfortably a bit, while Kincaid tried to lay still. “Good night, Sergeant.” No more than a whisper. A friendly whisper.
Kincaid lay there, thinking about the women. Six of us, acting in concert, enacting the vengeance of a seventh. People will remember this. Every time some bastard thinks he can do what he wants, he’ll... think, perhaps, before he acts. Warm feeling then, not thinking about dead Bergeron, just thinking about her six friends, comrades in arms...
Awakening some time later, darkness still there, lit only by the base light coming in through the blinds. Mandy holding her, arms and legs around her, Mandy crying softly, almost silent, tears like hot water spilled on her shoulder.
Arms on her back then, shushing softly. My God, if anyone hears this, they’ll think I forced her into my bed...
She could feel the other woman’s vulva pressing gently on her hip, soft hair tickling down there. An odd feeling, half revolting, half... Memories of childhood, of lying in bed alone in the dark, thinking about my parents. Thinking about the noises from their bedroom, the occasional kitchen tableaux, as if they imagined me blind, or absent altogether. Father holding Mother in his arms, caressing her back, so nice, so nice, reaching down, sliding his hand between her legs, caressing there as well, Mother arching her back, angling her pelvis just so...
As if she wants him to do it.
But, sometimes, you saw that displeasure on her face, face pressed against the side of his neck, face he could never see. Face resigned. Face saying, Let’s just get this over with...
Little Kincaid lying in the darkness, lying in her bed, thinking about the sounds, the set-piece vignettes, feeling herself down below. Nice, hair here, hair that had annoyed her for a while after it started to grow, damp places that were hard to keep clean. Places that...
Feeling that special sensation. Feeling it build right up and threaten to overflow. Warmth in her face and warmth in her fingers. Wondering why it bored Mother so. Wondering why... Then that first hard pulse, astonishing pulse of sensation redoubled, sensation echoing, echoing and fading away so slowly, leaving her filled with warm lassitude.
Richardson on her now, hips rocking back and forth ever so slightly, rubbing gently against the hard bone and muscle of her hip, against the ridge of her pelvic blade.
Kincaid thinking, I’ve got to make her stop. Even if I’m just imagining things, I’ve got to make her stop.
Richardson’s face, wet with tears, rubbing against hers. Richardson trying to kiss her, gently, first on the cheek, then on the lips.
Kincaid near panic, but... Taking Richardson by the hip, intending to hold her still, intending to make her stop, Richardson seeming to take that as active cooperation, thrusting forward harder now, spreading warm moisture on her skin. “Mandy...”
Richardson whispering in her ear, “Oh, Sergeant. Oh, please... please.” Soft, gentle, not so much a plea as a pleasure.
Kincaid holding still then, one hand on the other woman’s rump, feeling her rub, rub, rub away down there, letting herself be kissed, but not cooperating. Just being still, Just accepting that it might be... necessary.
Image remembered, of Mandy in the latrine, raped and bloody. Who knows what she needs? Not me. Mandy gasping against her, softly, ever so softly, warmth and wet increasing down below. Then Mandy so still beside her, holding her close. Finally, Mandy’s small hand stealing down into her crotch, fingers starting to probe.
Kincaid’s big hand intervening.
Soft whisper, “Sergeant? You’re so nice and wet now...”
Stomach crawling with desire. Heart crawling with bewilderment. This woman is my friend. Is that what friendship means? Also my responsibility. Am I responsible for this? Maybe I’ve done enough. Maybe... too much? Don’t know.
She said, “We’d better get some sleep. Morning’s coming.”
You could feel Mandy’s puzzlement, expressed by the tension in her body, but... “OK.” Snuggling close with a sigh...
It took a long time for the darkness to go away by itself, for the sun to rise, while li
ttle Mandy slept, safe and sound, secure, avenged, while Kincaid lay awake.
I killed a man tonight. Now I don’t know why. For friendship? And what is that?
o0o
Kincaid running through the darkness, through absolute darkness, running alone now, boots tock-tocking away on the invisible pavement, sound echoing off unseen buildings, off surfaces unknown.
Morning. Morning always comes, no matter how dark the night. Mandy smiling at me as she put her underwear back on. Troopers smiling at me, sly men’s smiles, appraising women’s smiles, as I went off to the showers in my own underwear. Showered among my soldiers, women just... looking at me. You could tell which ones were the Lesbians now, even if you didn’t already know. That look in the eye, saying, Do I want some of that? Maybe just the way they started to pose for her, try to get her attention...
No matter. It would fade in time. Just an aberration. Happens sometimes. They’d see her with men again. Noncoms from her own cohort-in-rank. Would remember seeing two sergeants, a man and a woman, equal stripes, equal hashmarks, slinking into a motel room, hand in hand...
Then the messhall, looking for the table where her friends would be. Other people sitting there, just now, chattering amiably. Women scattered, sitting at other tables, with other sergeants and corporals. Puzzled. These are my friends. We... did it together. Then the investigation. Being called to testify, one by one. When did you see him last? Where? How did you feel about him? Why? Wondering if anyone would break. No one did. Investigation eventually turned over to the local police. Captain Bergeron, it seems, getting a little careless. Wallet was empty, after all. Just killed by some thug or another, probably never find out which one.
No one thought to rob him. Probably spent it all on booze and whores. Astrid Kincaid running alone, running right through her life. Running through the darkness, waiting for pink streamers of light to form up ahead, heralding the dawn. What if I’m running the wrong way? What if I’m running toward midnight?
You’ll know. A whisper in her heart. A familiar voice. Voice of the angels? No.
o0o
Then Astrid Kincaid running alone, running barefoot, running naked down a dusty forest path, sun bright overhead, beyond a gray screen of trees, sheen of sweat on body and limbs, long brown hair streaming out behind her as she ran, heart thudding away in her chest, heart so perfect, so damnably immortal, burn of perfect conditioning everywhere, as her arms and legs flew.
She burst out of the forest, ran to the edge of the cliff and stopped, panting, pulse pounding in her temples, muscles quivering on the edge of exhaustion, reserves played out, everything done now.
Finished.
Sky overhead a soft lilac hue. Feathery gray grass rising round her ankles. Vista before her of a wide, alien landscape, lit by the light of a blue-gray sun. Stars twinkling through the purple haze, first magnitude stars aglitter overhead. In the distance a city, a magic city. City of the dead. Tall pastel towers in pale yellow, pink, light blue, bright gray. Silvery roads, aerial paths winding back and forth among them.
“Remember when we were the first ones here, Astrid Astride?”
Spinning round, sweat flying off her brow, soggy hair slapping the side of her neck and sticking. Pudgy naked man sitting on a dark gray stone, plump Caucasian body covered with a dense fur of reddish-black hair, gray hair on his head, face looking so old, so startlingly old...
He was only fifty-six the last time I saw him. Not so very old. Not this old...
“Dale.” Nothing else to stay, standing here, watching him look at you. Familiar interplay of eyes on your body. He’ll look at your face, yes, try to keep looking at it because he knew he was supposed to, but... Lingering on your breasts. Following the outline of your hips. Hardly lingering at all, though. Circling round and round and round, headed for the inevitable center...
Usually, by this time, he’d have an erection.
Yes. There it is.
Is this all there is at the end? I find my long-lost, longed-for lover and he fucks me and that’s that? Do we live happily ever after now? A little twist beginning inside. A spike of ancient revulsion.
Dale Millikan laughed his familiar laugh, and said, “Oh, Astrid. I wish I’d known you before you grew that hard, ugly shell.”
When was that? Before I was born?
A sigh. “Maybe so. Plenty of worlds out there in which you get the chance to be... someone different.”
And, in those worlds, I am someone different.
A slow nod, a knowing frown. “You understand that much about the Multiverse, at least.”
That perverse little thing sticking out of his middle, nodding just a bit as he breathes. Waiting for me to take notice of it. Memory of passion spent, of lying here, naked, atop this same cliff, of feeling him thrust away inside you, waiting for the warm spill of seed, seed spilled on barren ground... Why am I here?
He smiled. Shrugged. “Because you let yourself get tangled up in the machinery, Astrid Astride. Tangled up in the machinery until you couldn’t go home again. Until your home was well and truly lost.”
Is it gone, Dale? Did the Space-Time Juggernaut come?
“The Jug always comes, Astrid. Always.”
The Space-Time Juggernaut comes and wipes away whole worlds. Wipes them away to nothingness. And for what? What harm have we done?
A shrug, not so much of a smile. “All the harm there is. The threads come loose, the skeins unravel. In time the sweater unravels too, and the loom of garments is lost.”
And what about the souls who are lost?
“What about them? Would you die for the sake of your viruses, Astrid Kincaid? Would you give up your immortality?”
We gave up the Multiverse because we were all afraid to die, Dale.
“Just so. And now you hold God to a higher standard than your own.”
God again. Always God. As if that explains anything. Tell me about God, Dale Millikan.
He laughed. “Later.”
Will it always be later and never now?
He said, “When you understand why you’re here, Astrid Astride.”
That silly name. And yet... a feeling of familiar warmth. Of wanting him to rise, to push me down in the soft gray grass, push me down and use that thing on me... She could see him smiling. An infuriating smile, as usual.
I’m here because they sent me, Dale.
“You could have come, could have taken them out, could have blown the gate as you were instructed, gone home to live out your forever.”
Bitter thought. It would have been an empty eternity.
“So what were you going to do?”
Catch some Arabs, grab me a Chinaman. Send the soldiers home with their prisoners. Jump back out into the Multiverse and blow the gates behind me. I figured if the Jug caught wind of it, he’d come after me, not Earth.
“So you were headed out into the Multiverse. Looking for what, Astrid Astride?”
Not astride much of anything anymore. She thought, Looking for you Dale. You know that. And know how bitter I feel just now, having found you at last.
He said, “Looking for me? I don’t think so.”
You were the only one who ever talked to me, Dale. The only one who ever tried to be a friend as well as a lover. I couldn’t forget that, no matter how many years went by.
No more smile, more a look of sorrow than anything else. “It was the only coin I had, Astrid. The only coin with which to buy you.”
A slight shock of disconnection. I know that now. Maybe I even knew it then. Who among us wants to acknowledge a life without friends, a life in which our only connection with other human beings is... a gesture at his still-erect penis... is so trivial as that?
Smile returning. “Didn’t seem so trivial to me, Astrid Astride.”
I guess you’re still a man, then.
Silence between them. Silence and distance.
That same silence that surrounded me as a child. Silence of a mother who gave her attention to the husband w
ho used her for a toilet, rather than the daughter who needed her. Silence of adolescent friends, false friends who’d betray her for any slight advantage in their tawdry social games. Silence that followed the breakup of her circle of Corps friends. Wedge driven between them by what they’d done together.
Millikan said, “I gave you what you wanted. Is that so awful?”
Gave me what I wanted, offered up as coin to buy my cunt.
Awful enough.
Awful because I... knew.
“Why did you think I was still out here, Astrid Astride?”
Stop calling me that! Penis poking up out of his fat middle like some kind of demon, taunting her with its presence. Then, anger subsiding. I spent all those years reading the Scavenger books, Dale. Spent them trying to figure out where I’d been, what I’d seen. Trying to understand what had happened to me. Scavengers seemed to think individual Colonials had survived whatever disaster overwhelmed their civilization, had eluded the Jug, wandered the empty byways of the Multiverse for a long, long time, disappearing one by one, their pathways ending at... blank walls. I thought I might find you somewhere. I thought I could... rescue you.
“For what purpose?”
Rescue you for me. For me to have again. Have for my own.
“Did you think I might be changed?”
Maybe I did. I pictured you wandering the worlds alone, with nothing to do with your time but think.
“Did you picture me on this cliff by myself, masturbating and thinking of you?”
I pictured you here, thinking of me, yes.
He smiled. “What we imagine of other people is seldom more than a reflection of what’s in our own hearts. I did come here, once upon a time. Lay here on this same rock, looking at the city...” He wrapped his hand around his penis now, squeezing, so the glans darkened. Laughed at the expression on her face. “Sat right here and jerked off, looking at our lost city, jerked off and imagined you back home, lying alone in your bed, shoving a vibrator up your snatch.”
Hollow, sullen anger. Always... that. Never me, God damn you.
The Transmigration of Souls Page 43