From the Torment of Dreams

by Iain McKinnon

  Lan and Jackson were abandoned. No one seemed to know where or when they were being picked up. After an hour of being ignored or palmed off, they went in search of something to eat. It was dark before they were directed to a mess tent and told to wait.

  Dinner had been over for some time but winning over a porter with their hard luck story and puppy dog looks managed to score a meal. The friendly kitchen hand supplied them with some reconstituted meat roll. It had been carved into thick slices and served cold with an array of pickles, the preserves were sweet and tasty. Even considering the poor quality of the tinned meat it was a welcome repast.

  “What if we're in the wrong place?” worried Jackson.

  “How'd you mean?” asked Lan.

  “Well, no-one here knows who we are or where we're supposed to be. What if the pilot dropped us off on the wrong air base?”

  “Well, seeing as he told us to get out, I think he'd have a pretty good idea where we are. If he had made a mistake he's not likely to keep quiet and hope no-one notices,” Lan said casually.

  “I'm going for another wander around the terminal, try and find out where we're supposed to be,” Jackson stood up, “Are you OK to stay here in case someone comes looking for us?”

  “Sure,” said Lan.

  “I just wouldn't want us to miss whoever comes looking for us,”

  “It's fine, just go,” Lan said.

  “OK,” Jackson said and he left the mess tent.

  Lan didn't mind sitting about doing nothing.

  It gave him time to think.

  His mind wandered back home to Euler. When he signed up it was to get away. He was trying to forget Nicola. When he was there everything reminded him of her. The friends and places that brought them together constantly tortured him, every street he walked down sparked some memory of her, but those memories had followed him. The smell of his fresh leather boots triggered a haunting memory.

  Their first date. Lan had bought a new pair of boots that Saturday afternoon. He wasn't aware of the aroma at the time but it triggered something inside now.

  He'd been so nervous, scared to speak in case he blew it. Her beauty and her style overawed him. She was a Goddess and, for a few short months, she was his.

  She was so perfect. He hung on her every word.

  He'd lived in that city all of his life but had never seen half the things Nicola had shown him. His life had become a wild exciting whirlwind. Racing from venue to venue. Dancing from theatres to parties to night-clubs and all in the arms of the most desirable woman who ever lived, and after an evening on the town they'd fall into bed and make love.

  Lan tried to recall the deep tender feelings when their bodies had seemed as one. Touching her soft, warm skin, making love.

  He could remember each intimacy, but couldn't quite conjure up the full intensity of it. He found it odd his memories would come rushing back with such clarity by themselves but he couldn't invoke them at will. They flitted tantalisingly away, just out of reach. Like Nicola forever out of reach. And all that was left was the cold, hard, unforgiving loss.

  Lan had tasted the only thing that made him whole. Without it, it was as if there was a piece missing. She had touched his soul. Now that she was gone, so was his very essence. She had left him a hollow zombie.

  Lan drew his sleeve across his face and wiped away his tears.

  The tent door opened and a man dressed in a dark camouflage stuck his head through the canvas entrance.

  The outfit he wore had an unusual pattern and was certainly not regular air base personnel. He wore a dark green beret with a winged lightning flash embossed on the badge.

  He looked down at a scrap of tattered paper, “Jackson C or Agstaff L?”

  “Lan Agstaff,” Lan gestured to himself with his thumbs, “Jackson is just out trying to find you.”

  “Me?” the man said in surprise.

  “Well, he's looking for someone to tell us what's going on. Looks like that'll be you.”

  “Guess so,” he entered the mess tent, “I'm Captain Keir LaFer. I'll be looking after you guys,” He turned round and looked out the way he had come, “That is, if I can find all of you.”

  “Probably best if we just wait here for him,” Keir held open the tent flap and called out, “In here a moment.”

  Into the marquee stepped a tall youth. He was wiry and clad in rough leathers. They were hand-made and not the work of any fashion house. His skin and eyes were a warm brown. Long, black hair rolled over his juvenile shoulders in thick locks. His adolescence gave him a feminine frame but his gaze carried none of that youthful demeanour.

  “Nasim, this is Lan Agstaff,” Keir introduced.

  Nasim nodded a greeting which Lan returned.

  “Right. I'll bring the four by four up front and we'll wait for...” Keir was cut off by the piercing screech of a siren.

  A low, dull whine built to a cacophony as klaxons joined in the warning.

  Keir took control, “Come on, out of the tent, the air raid shelter is this way!”

  The three of them ran out of the tent and into Jackson.

  “What's going on?” Jackson shouted to Lan.

  With a thud the first set of runway lights lit up. The illumination streaked up the runway as each beam in turn flared into life. From their garages fire engines raced towards the landing strip. On the ground, taxiing, was one of the stealth fighters Jackson had spotted earlier that evening.

  “Look!” shouted Lan above the noise.

  Jackson turned just in time to see a second plane smack hard into the tarmac. Its undercarriage left behind, she skidded along, sparks flying from her rasping body. She ground to a smouldering halt, saved from igniting by the foam sprayed on by the emergency crews.

  Of the five planes that flew out, only these two had returned.

  “OK, panic over. Let's get in the Cow,” said Keir as the sirens died down.

  Jackson and Lan picked up what few possessions they had and made their way to the waiting jeep.

  The jeep bounced along a narrow dirt track. Jackson gripped onto an overhead handle to dampen the effects.

  “You called this jeep a Cow earlier, is that another army abbreviation?” Jackson asked.

  “Nah, it's their nickname on account of their steering,”

  “So how did you get landed with chaperoning us?” said Jackson.

  “Good question,” Keir considered his answer for a moment, “Come to think of it I don't know. Because I'm the best instructor in the whole of the Twenty Third? Because I drew the short straw? Because I'll be leading our assault team?” Keir shrugged, “Who knows? What I do know is you should appreciate Sune-Regia while you're there.”

  “Soon what?”

  “Sune-Regia. It's the name of the training camp, well the name of the mansion to be precise. You might think the training’s tough but it's a walk in the park compared to the front lines,” Keir shouted over the noise of the jeep’s engine, “You two OK back there?”

  Nasim called back, “Fine.”

  “Well I'm not,” Keir said with traces of a coarse Neotran accent seeping in, “I'm dyin' for a piss.”

  He stopped the jeep and got out.

  The other three occupants followed suit each choosing a likely bush. Jackson didn't need to go but he thought he might not get a chance to relieve himself later on in the journey.

  “Get a drink of this.” Keir offered as Jackson came back to the rear of the jeep. What he had initially thought was a spare fuel tank was now dispensing a hot steamy liquid.

  “What is it?” he asked, being handed a cup.

  “Fucking awful. That's what it is!” coughed Lan as he poured his onto the ground.

  “Army tea,” Keir answered, “The single most versatile weapon in our arsenal. Keeps you warm. It's safe to drink, gives you energy and you can use it to paint the jeep with.”

  He patted the side of the vehicle.

  “Might want to put some sugar in it,” he finished off helpfully. />
  Nasim had also given up on the beverage and was now crunching on a handful of sugar cubes.

  Tentatively Jackson slurped down some of the green liquid. “Sweetener's a good idea,” he said after his first mouthful. He dunked half a dozen lumps into his cup and tried hard to forget the flavour.

  Keir appeared to be some sort of masochist, straight after he'd finished he poured a second cup for himself.

  The drink made Jackson appreciate the coffee Lupus Alpha had supplied. Foul tasting it may have been, but it was the right colour and there were never any bits floating in it.

  The night's journey had been long and uncomfortable. Lan had curled up on the hard cold floor of the jeep and tried desperately to sleep. Nasim had far more success.

  When they arrived at their destination the sun was high in the hazy morning sky. Lan rubbed his tired eyes trying to shake off the headache induced from lack of sleep.

  Disgorging from the vehicle they found themselves in the grounds of a stately home. It was once the retreat of kings and prime ministers before the unification that Earth brought, now it had been reduced to a billet.

  Keir led them through hallways that were clad in beautiful oak reliefs. The historical battles and deeds of valour depicted on them went unnoticed. The group's exhaustion was measurable by the lack of conversation. Their trek through the regal mansion finally led them to a large dining room. The majestic room had been converted into a makeshift dormitory.

  Obviously just as worn out as the rest, Keir bid the bleary group a good day's sleep and shuffled off, leaving them to their own devices.

  The bright summer sun that came streaming in through the ornate windows could not dissuade rest. Pulling the blackout curtains to Nasim stymied the golden light. Jackson passed round the thick army sleeping bags and camper beds that were neatly piled in a corner of the room. In weary silence Lan, Nasim and Jackson made preparation to sleep in their new accommodation. Their minds numbed by fatigue they clumsily assembled the beds and found their way into the sleeping bags.

  Lan stared at the bubbles in his glass. He watched as they lost their hold on the side and gushed up to wedge under a head of foam. He sat there in the hard noise of the club ignoring the people and the sounds around him. Behind his half empty glass stood a collection of drained bottles, monuments to his quest for oblivion.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Lan silently called out to himself, “What did I do wrong?”

  Lan took a hold of his glass and slugged back a deep gulp.

  “I love you so much. Why did you dump me?” the answer wasn't at the bottom of the glass but Lan knew the drink would dilute his sorrow.

  But even a stomach full of alcohol couldn't drown the emptiness inside. It felt to Lan that all the sweetness in the world had been sucked out.

  He knew he was in the wrong place as he looked around the bar. He took Nicola here on their second night out. Now all he could see was how empty his life was without her.

  A flash of blonde hair caught Lan's attention. He gazed through the crowd and there she was. Her long blonde hair lying loose around her shoulders, like the way she wore it on their first date. She pushed her way through the throng surrounding the bar. Lan's face burst into a smile, the first in what seemed like an eternity. She knew he drank here, she had come looking for him. She was here to say she had made a mistake, that she wanted him back, that everything would be like it was.

  Nicola dragged someone through the crowd up to the bar with her. She turned and wrapped her arms around the stranger. With her mischievous smile she craned her neck up and kissed him on the lips.

  Lan's smile fell. He sat there in solemn silence; the effects of the alcohol now completely gone.

  Nasim awoke. For a brief moment he couldn't remember where he was, but the disorientation from the journey soon passed. A warm shaft of sunlight broke through a chink in the blackout curtains and cast a beam across his bunk.

  He didn't know how long he had slept but he estimated it was at least mid afternoon.

  Lan turned in the bunk next to him and muttered something in his sleep.

  “Who's 'e,” he mumbled as Nasim slipped out of his bunk.

  “What?” Nasim asked instinctively.

  Lan's eyelids fluttered frantically.

  “Wif' Nic,” came the dreamy reply.

  Nasim watched as Lan's whole body twitched and shuddered in the sleeping bag.

  Whatever he was dreaming about obviously vexed him.

  “Relax now,” Nasim said in a slow and soothing tone, “let your mind and body relax. Sleep a deep and peaceful sleep.”

  Lan's muscles softened and the twitching ceased. He muttered something inaudible under his breath and rolled over.

  Nasim sat down cross-legged on the cold wooden floor in the relative tranquillity of the billet. The only nuisance was a light rhythmic snort from J ackson each time he inhaled, and that was quickly ignored.

  Nasim closed his eyes and calmed his thoughts.

  The climate here was far dryer than he was used to, back home it was always humid in the summer months, even the city of Mendus had enjoyed the lush caress of rejuvenating rains.

  Here, though, the climate was harsher, the low spiky shrubs testified to that.

  Nasim relaxed further and sank deep into his own mind.

  He was standing in his first level. It was a dark expanse with nothing but a kennel and a set of stairs leading up.

  He knelt down and whistled. At the sound, a sandy furred puppy trotted over to him from its abode.

  “Good boy,” Nasim said picking up the comical whelp.

  Its tongue hung from one side of its mouth panting and drooling. The dog gave out a high-pitched yelp, happy to see its ethereal master.

  “OK, boy. It's very hot outside and I need you to keep me cool. So just you keep panting and if I get too hot give me a big lick with that wet tongue of yours.”

  The puppy duly licked Nasim's cheek and let out yet another excited yelp.

  He put the puppy back on the ground and started climbing the stairs.

  Lan pulled himself back to consciousness. It was getting too hot to sleep. He rolled onto his side at the sound of wet footsteps. Heaving his way upright he focused blearily on a sopping wet Jackson.

  “How long has he been sitting like that?” he asked looking at Nasim.

  “Since I woke up anyway. Best part of twenty minutes,” said Jackson. He was clad only in a rough, green towel and his mousy hair was wet and limp from the shower he had just taken.

  “What's he doing?”

  “I guess he's meditating.”

  Lan changed track, “Where are the showers then?”

  “The way we came in, on the right. If you see Keir find out when breakfast is.”

  “Breakfast! What do you think this is?”

  Lan snapped to attention, force of habit from his Terran training.

  The sergeant finished his rant in true atavistic style, carrying on the tradition of drill instructors throughout history, “A fu-ck-ing finishing school?”

  His swearing was slow and deliberate for the hard of understanding.

  The summer camp atmosphere was shattered.

  “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he shouted, marching up to Nasim.

  “You might get a bit more response from me if you speak in a civilised manner,” Nasim said, his eyes still firmly closed.

  “He's meditating,” offered Jackson.

  The sergeant turned his abuse to Jackson, “You will address me as Sergeant Ramage or Sir. And you will only speak when spoken to! Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Sergeant. From now on you will address me as Captain or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

  Sergeant Ramage grabbed the dog tags around Jackson's neck and read the inscription. His purple face gave way to red. The rank was official and though Jackson's naval commission held no sway in the Army, it was standard practice to afford professional courtesy.

  “Captain, thes
e two men are not properly attired, nor do we provide a crèche facility for quiet naps,” Although technically outranked this was the drill sergeant's territory and he could not leave without affirming his authority.

  Nasim stood up and walked off towards the showers.

  “Where the hell do you think you're going?” the sergeant screamed, “Get your sorry ass back here soldier!”

  Nasim continued walking.

  “I'm going for a wash,” he paused at the door and looked back, “and I'm not a soldier.”

  He proceeded to the showers leaving behind the furious and impotent drill instructor.

  “Heard you guys had a run in with Sergeant Ramage,” Keir said as the trio of new recruits sat down at his table.

  They looked a lot better than when he had left them that morning. They had showered and washed, and more importantly they had found their own way to the canteen. Keir took a deep bite from the crust of bread he'd been using to mop up his gravy.

  “He introduced himself to us when we got up this afternoon,” said Jackson as he laid down his tray.

  “Well, don't let him worry you. He's just a hat and jealous of you newbies swanning in here.”

  “What's a hat?” enquired Nasim.

  “Well, he's got a hat because he's regular army, us Paratroopers wear berets.” Keir bowed his head so that the three could get a good look at the winged emblem.

  “On a serious note, you two ought to watch your mouths,” Keir said looking at Jackson and Lan, “We're all on the same side here but you two Gredans...”

  Keir paused trying to word things diplomatically.

  “Yeah ,I know,” Jackson interjected, “We don't sound Neotran.”

  “You're not in any danger, but those Terran accents of yours won't help you win friends. Especially with Sergeant Ramage after the dressing down you gave him,” Keir waved his fork at Jackson.

  Keir stood up, taking his empty plate with him, “One thing though, Sergeant Ramage is taking you for P.T. this week and you can bet he'll beast you stupid.”