by Rick Wayne
Regent nodded. It was a fair question. "Set the gun down and I'll tell you."
Gabriel looked at his weapon. He took a breath and set it on the counter. He rested his hand on top.
At least it was a step in the right direction. "You know," John exhaled. This would be tough. He didn't like talking about his friend Danny. Not after what had happened. "I was in Bangladesh once, long time ago. We were chasing some guys. Real bad fuckers. Kept their women in a compound like slaves. Not that our guys cared. We were just after some rogue bioweapon. They wouldn't tell us what it was, just that no matter what, the case had to stay sealed or goodbye civilization.
"Somehow I get on the rooftops of this shantytown kinda thing, and I'm chasing this guy. Fucker was fast. I thought I read him good, squirrely scientist type, feels he's too smart to play by the rules, feels the world owes him 'cuz he's so awesome. Only now he's terrified. To your enemy, you're always the bad guy, right? And here we were coming for him.
"I knew he had a pistol, but for guys like that, it's a safety blanket more than anything. I knew weapons. I'd been trained. I had experience. I knew you can't be afraid. So I kept after him, jumping across gaps, making sure not to look down, keeping my eye on the target. Only I couldn't because there was all this laundry."
"Laundry?"
John chuckled and nodded. "Hanging out on the roof to dry, right? They don't have room for dryers and shit there. All these different colors, sequins and stuff on it. Millions of lives on the line and I'm fighting laundry for a clear shot.
"Anyway, I bust through some robes or sheets or something and POW. Turns out the bastard had run out of roof. I had read him good. He was just like I thought—as long as he could keep running. But once he faced that dead end, there was a moment of desperation.
"People do some crazy shit when they're desperate." He looked Gabe in the eye. "Stuff that don't make no damn sense. It's panic.
"I thought I was done. Game over. But my friend Danny had come up on flank. He'd got up to the roof just in time to give me a little shove. Saved my life.
"Without that little shove, I woulda taken one right in the face." John tapped his cheek with two fingers. "Boom. DOA. Something like that happens, you get to thinking a lot about life, death, and all that, and I realized . . . We all like to think we are who we are because of the shit we've done or the choices we've made or how hard we've worked. But that ain't even half of it. Luck, environment, all that, comes first. Every single thing we do is built on top of what the world gave us. Some folks get lucky. Others . . ." John shrugged.
"Your dad. My stepmom. That's the kind of shit they don't teach you how to deal with as a kid. We all do the best we can. But I got lucky with my Moms. And my Granddad. I look at you and I see what woulda happened if they hadn't given me that little shove, ya know? That's how I started out. I got lucky. That's all. That's the only difference between you and me. I got a little shove in the right direction." And that's how it'll end, John thought, by giving one back.
"Besides," he tapped his friend's artificial knee, "last time I checked, you and me were still soldiers in the same army. It's just a different war here. That's all."
Corporal Gonzales glanced at the burnt and broken man in the wheelchair. He saw the captain's arm twitch, and his upper lip. The man was in pain. All the time. Gabriel turned away in shame.
John saw it. "The damned cool thing is, you don't gotta do any of this alone."
"Esme--"
"She told me." John stopped him before he could get started. "She didn't leave. All she said was that you fucked up and you gotta earn your way back. Just like pulling latrine, right?"
Gabe looked at the floor. He smiled and nodded.
"I'm sure it seems like a lot right now, but the doc, ya know, she cares, man. She really does. You're the one who's gotta do the hard work, but she'll help. You can trust her. And I don't say that about too many folks."
Gabriel Gonzales ran his fingers over the polished stock of his weapon. He saw his own dark and twisted reflection.
"Time to put that away."
The corporal stared at the gun. "Yes, sir." He said it instinctively, but his mind was elsewhere and his hand didn't move.
Thousand-yard stare, John thought. Gotta bring him back. Give him an order. A mission. "You're gonna do something for me."
"Yes, sir." Still Gabe didn't look up.
"No matter what happens, no matter how tough it gets, you're gonna stay alive long enough to give this back. One of these days, you're gonna meet a guy, someone like you. Maybe it's the same kind of thing. Maybe it's different. But he's gonna need some help. You understand?"
Gabriel looked John in the eye.
That did it.
"Yes, sir." He nodded.
"He's not gonna be perfect. Maybe he's got a temper or it's alcohol or just really bad B.O."
Both men smiled.
"Whatever. You wait around for someone perfect to help, you're never gonna give back to anyone in your whole damn life. Right?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're gonna do for that guy what I did for you. And you're gonna make him promise to pass it on, just like this. Got it?"
Gabe nodded again.
"Promise. On your honor."
"Yes, sir." Gabe sniffed and cleared his throat. He was calm. His head kept bobbing in tiny nods. "I promise. I won't ever forget this. Not me or Esme."
"All right." Regent sat back in his chair. He realized his heart was racing. He looked at the gun, then the picture. "You didn't tell me if babygurl has a name."
"Serenidad."
"That's beautiful, man. Beautiful." John lifted his right hand and held out an open palm.
Gabriel Gonzales lifted his sidearm, flipped the safety, cleared the chamber, removed the clip, and put the weapon in the captain's hand.
John held it in his lap. "Corporal Gonzales."
"Sir." Gabe put the picture of his unborn daughter in his shirt pocket.
"Dr. Zabora is your new commanding officer."
"Yes, sir." The stout man stood on two legs, one real and one artificial, the result of a surreal trauma.
"Report for duty."
Gabriel locked his eyes to the horizon and gave a stiff salute. "Yes, sir."
T Minus: 050 Days 13 Hours 12 Minutes 38 Seconds
John watched from the door of Exam Room 3 as the lieutenant's men took Gabriel Gonzales into custody. There'd be repercussions, but then John figured some time to think wouldn't be bad for the man. And with the doc's help, he'd get what he needed.
Amarta said a few words to the corporal before the MPs took him away. She watched him disappear behind the elevator doors, then turned to look down the hall at the man in the wheelchair.
It was only a moment before the lieutenant stepped over and asked her to join a debriefing with key members of the staff. Several doctors and hospital administrators had appeared after the "all clear" came over the intercom. They had gawked from the nook by the stairwell as the guards handcuffed Gabe. Now they were discussing where to meet and who should be present. They were all so serious.
Dr. Zabora wanted none of it. She waved off the lieutenant and walked down the hall without a word. The young officer scowled at her and turned back to the cooperative staff.
Amarta stopped in the door across the hall from John and leaned against the frame. "You're just full of tricks."
The captain shrugged.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me how you pulled this one off either."
"Shouldn't you be . . ." He waved to the end of the hall.
"What? Debriefing? The lieutenant's balls are bigger than his ears. He isn't going to listen to me. I'll wait for Colonel Philip. There's no less dick-waving but at least the colonel is up front about it. We need to talk." She stepped inside the exam room behind her.
John scowled and rolled in after. "Last time someone said that to me, I got accused of treason."
"Our mutual friend didn't bother to check in with me this
morning. Makes me think I'm not important to her anymore."
"You're not. My case got escalated. They're probably here already."
Amarta was confused. She thought Ayn wanted the captain at the hospital. "Wait. Who?"
"Some folks you really don't want to mess with."
Dr. Zabora crossed her arms. "What are you talking about?"
Regent looked to the side. He wasn't sure how to explain it. "Most of the time, the stuff that goes on in the world is pretty much like you expect. For that last little bit, the folks in charge--or maybe it's the folks who want to be in charge. Either way, they're willing to break the rules to get things done. To get what they want."
Amarta tapped her foot. She was getting flustered. She had a plan. She was proud of it. Now she was afraid it didn't matter.
"There was a kid in Malaysia—well shit, he's probably grown up by now. His body discharges shocks, like an electric eel. I saw it. He threw a little fit and there was a crack in the air. Everyone standing around him flew back and hit the ground in convulsions like they'd been standing next to a bolt of lightning."
The doctor had had enough of the captain's fantastic stories. "What does that have to do with Ayn?"
"We took him. Put him in a cage. I'm not sure what they did to him or even if he's still alive."
Amarta let out a long, deep sigh. "I see."
"Like I told you yesterday, I'm not your problem anymore." Regent held out his right hand. "Thanks. For everything."
Amarta didn't take it. That would be shaking on a surrender. "They can't just take you."
"Doc--"
"There are laws."
"Laws are just words, ambiguous ones too, especially for anyone labeled 'combatant.' How many guys at Gitmo can you name? Folks with uniforms and badges show up and say someone's a terrorist, how many people you think will ask questions?"
"So they're just going to--what? Kidnap you in front of everyone?"
"They won't have to."
"You're going to give yourself up?"
"I'm done fighting, Doc. I had a good run, but it's time to face facts." Regent raised his weak arm. "I can't get very far. Not like this. I need meds and a steady supply of colostomy bags." He laughed. He was the only one who ever had a sense of humor about his intestines. "And I sure as hell can't blend in. I knew the best I could ever do was hold them off for awhile."
"What about . . . what you told me yesterday?"
John shook his head. "I'm not doing that anymore." It was one thing to hide from torture or sneak an unused pair of legs for a run, but he'd taken it too far. He'd been intoxicated. Saving the corporal from his addiction wouldn't mean much if John simply succumbed to his own. "It's not right."
Dr. Zabora put a hand in her coat pocket. She fiddled with something inside. She paced. "No . . . But then neither is government-sponsored kidnapping." She looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, then at her patient. "Where will they take you?"
"A black site. Probably overseas." Avoid the Constitution and the media.
"And when--" Amarta wanted to say when they find out there's nothing to find out, but she remembered they might be listening. "And when they get what they want? What then?"
John faced the floor but his eyes were looking up at the doctor.
Amarta closed hers. They'd execute him. "Jesus."
Regent looked away. "One time we got orders to leave a door unlocked so we could 'legally' shoot someone while escaping."
"Capta--"
"I knew this was the endgame the moment I went AWOL. I had my reasons. That's all anyone's going to know."
Dr. Zabora felt a deep and rumbling anger gurgle from her bowels. She bit down hard. She didn't know why he abandoned his unit, but she knew her patient, and she was certain he was protecting someone.
Absolutely certain.
Then she realized, maybe that last story was significant. That would be like him. "What happened to that man? The one who escaped."
Regent smirked. The doc was good. "Her. And she disappeared. They never found her."
Amarta tapped her foot in silence.
John looked amused. "Man, it sure took a lot longer to get to this point than I thought. I never expected to make it this far. It was one helluva run. Just promise me you'll take care of Gab--"
"Stop!" Dr. Zabora put her hand to her face. She sat. She started talking faster. "I did a lot of thinking last night, Captain. A lot. I doubt I got more than a couple hours sleep, which has been just awesome with everything that's happened today. I kept telling myself, I'm a scientist. There's no way I can accept what you told me. I can't. I was dreading the morning. I knew I had to come in today and sign the order to keep you here, just like they wanted."
John had expected it. "So why didn't you?"
"Something . . . a gut feeling. Morals, maybe. I don't know. Something wasn't right. It didn't make sense. I kept going around and around. But then I figured it out." Amarta turned her head to the door. "Lieutenant!" She called.
Down the hall, the lieutenant turned.
Dr. Zabora yelled again. "Can you join us for a moment?"
John scowled.
Amarta turned back to him. "I kept telling myself, I'm a scientist. I can't believe it. I'm a scientist. And then I realized, that was the answer. I didn't have the data. It's easier to give up, Captain. It will always be easier to give up. I wanted to so many times these last couple years. But someone reminded me this week—today, actually—of why we keep fighting. And what the hell we're fighting for."
The big lieutenant poked his head though the door. "Ma'am, we really need you to--"
"Can you come in here for a second?"
"Ma'am--"
"Please, it will just take a moment. Then I'll join your little tea party."
The lieutenant looked down the hall, probably to hide his reaction to the jibe, then stepped into the room.
"Please close the door."
The lieutenant looked at the captain, who shrugged. The young man turned and Amarta pulled a snub syringe from her pocket and pressed it into his side. He was unconscious before he could see what poked him. His body slumped to the floor. His head bounced against the wall and left a mark on the plaster. Amarta stepped over his legs and looked up and down the hall. No one had noticed. She pushed his feet out of the way, then closed and locked the door.
"Shit." John sat up.
Amarta lowered her voice. "So here's my experiment. It's not pretty. But it looks like we're out of both time. And options. So this is how it's going to be. I'm doing something for you, and in return you're going to do something for me."
Regent was silent.
The doctor pointed. "I'm going to walk out that door now and close it behind me. If what you told me yesterday is true, you'll be able to follow—on two legs—and I'll escort you, both of you, whatever, right out the door. Quick. Easy. No one's the worse for wear. And then you do me the favor and keep fighting. Get the hell away from them. Get a lawyer. Go to the press. Whatever it takes."
Dr. Zabora took a deep breath. "But . . . if there's some reason why you can't do what you said, some excuse about radioactive interference or the moon in the wrong place or aliens in your brain or you're just too shook up, then I was wrong—again—and you need a lot more help than I thought. You're my patient. I'll do everything I can to help you, and that means keeping you right here where you'll get the treatment you need. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
John nodded. He liked the doc. She didn't fuck around. And whether she had any patches on her arm or not, she was a genuine officer. She knew how it went. An officer can't complete the mission. The men and women under her command have to do that. That's their job. It's the officer's job to get her soldiers the right tools, to remove obstacles, and then to get them home safely to their families.
Amarta stood and took another deep breath. "This is insane." She walked out and shut the door behind her.
Regent watched the door close. He heard it click shut. Then
he looked down at the lieutenant's unconscious body.
§ § §
Amarta paced back and forth in front of the elevators. She was already having second thoughts. She looked down the hall.
Still nothing.
"Crap," she whispered. The little girl in her had really wanted it to be true, for it all to be more than just another story from a gifted teller. She had told the loitering hospital staff that the lieutenant would meet them in Conference Room B, that he was debriefing the captain and it might be awhile. They grumbled and left. She was already in one helluva lie. She looked down the hall again.
Nothing.
Amarta leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling tiles. "Shit."
One of the elevators dinged open and Ethan Brand walked out. "Gabriel is oka--" He stopped. "You don't look so good."
Dr. Zabora exhaled through pursed lips. "Thank you, Ethan. I might have just screwed up. Did you need something?"
"I saw in the computer that the captain's discharge was approved."
Shit. "Yeah. Look. About that . . ."
"I know we can't exactly throw a party, but there are a lot of people who would like to say goodbye."
"Tell them to come to the lobby." It was the lieutenant's voice.
Amarta turned. The young officer was pushing the unconscious captain down the hall. Her eyes got big. Her scalp began to tingle.
"Uh. . . Okay." Ethan was surprised by the speaker. He didn't even know the captain and the lieutenant were friends. "Now?"
"Lieutenant . . ." Amarta collected herself.
"Better hurry though, Ethan."
Ethan looked between the lieutenant and the doctor. The young soldier seemed unusually calm. He was normally a nervous wreck. And apparently they were on a first-name basis now. Ethan studied the captain asleep in his chair. Nothing. "Right . . ." He took a step back. "Hurrying." Ethan walked to the stairs.
Amarta watched the nurse leave, then looked into the big lieutenant's eyes, back and forth. "My God, it's really you, isn't it?" she whispered. She raised her hand to her mouth. "This is . . ." She had no idea what to call it. "Oh. My. God."