From the Torment of Dreams

by Iain McKinnon

  Never scared to ask a question Nasim said, “What's that mean?”

  Lan had the answer to this one from his own Terran military training, “It means we're going to be running around out there for hours on end being shouted at.”

  “That's right,” confirmed Keir, “My orders are to get you up to speed as quickly as possible. No one wants you boys being a liability on this mission. Now I don't know what competencies you have and we don't have time to fanny around finding out. So we’re going to give you all we can until we get the order to shipping out.”

  Keir downed the last swig of his water and set the empty cup on his tray, “You've got the condensed weapons and tactics training course. I'll teach you to shoot, to crawl, first aid, camouflage, survival skills and brushing your teeth. The only thing I won't teach you is how to make love to a woman. But if we get a weekend furlough you might just pick that up as well.”

  He winked and turned to leave.

  “Captain Keir!” Lan called out after him.

  Keir turned back, “Yes?”

  “When do we learn to parachute?” asked Lan.

  “What?”

  “Well we are being assigned to a parachute regiment.”

  Keir laughed, “How smart do you sailors think you are? By the time you learn to pack a chute the war 'll be over!”

  Keir walked off shaking his head and chewing on his last mouthful of bread.

  Sergeant Ramage opened the old mahogany doors that led into the dormitory. Inside it was still dark, though outside the summer sun was just cresting the horizon. He walked up to the window behind Lan's bunk and pulled open its shutter. It promised to be a hot summer's day once the morning mist had burnt away.

  With no regard for the beauty outside Ramage turned and walked silently back into the middle of the room. Taking a deep breath of the cool air Ramage filled his lungs.

  “GOOD MORNING!” he bellowed.

  Lan awoke with an instinctive jolt that toppled him from his bunk and onto the floor by Ramage's feet.

  “It's zero six hundred hours before one of you idiots asks what the time is,” Ramage stepped over Lan who looked like a giant caterpillar as he lay there cocooned in his sleeping bag.

  “Get dressed, get fed and be out at the Quartermasters stores by zero six forty.”

  “Aren't we supposed to be wakened by a bugler?” Lan, used to Terran military protocol, asked.

  Sergeant Ramage fixed Lan with a caustic gaze. His eyes seemed to strip away Lan's façade to stare directly into his soul.

  Ramage bent down to be close to Lan's face, “Just for you son I'll arrange that.”

  Still inches from Lan Ramage slowly turned to eyeball Jackson.

  “This isn't the fuckin' Navy!” he yelled in Lan's ear.

  Ramage straightened up and addressed the whole room, “You gentlemen have had it easy! Well I am here to see that changes, starting now!”

  With that he turned around and marched out of the room.

  “Oh Jeez'“ said Jackson once Ramage was out of earshot.

  “What?” asked Lan suddenly made to feel uncomfortable from his comrade's stern looks.

  “Right,” said Ramage, “there's your kit.”

  He pointed to three rucksacks on the counter of the Quartermaster's store.

  The Quartermaster's cheeky grin beamed out at them. He was standing with his folded arms resting on top of the mound of equipment. His sly smile revealed that he knew exactly what was in store for the trio of new recruits.

  Ramage continued, “Here's the map.”

  He thrust a folded sheet of paper into Jackson's hand, “You'll be following the route marked on it and don't think about cheating cause I'll know if you try!”

  Jackson unfolded the map and surveyed it, “That must be more than a hundred Kliks!”

  “Come now, don't exaggerate it's only ninety two. Just follow the map and make sure you're back here for six tomorrow morning.”

  “What?” exclaimed Jackson.

  “You heard me! Now get started.”

  Jackson and Lan struggled to get the backpacks over their shoulders. They both felt like they weighed a ton.

  Nasim sat down on the ground and started to unpack his.

  He scattered the contents across the floor and sifting through he grouped the items by their priority.

  “Can he do that?” Lan asked Jackson.

  Ramage answered, “He can, you can't.”

  Nasim stood up and walked over to the counter, “Excuse me but have they got the same stuff in their bags?”

  “Yip,” said the Quartermaster.

  “Thanks,” Nasim returned to the mess that surrounded his backpack. He opened his ration pack and tucked its contents into the thigh pouches of his fresh new fatigues.

  From the debris on the floor he picked out the large green waterproof poncho and laid it out flat.

  He placed his survival blanket in the centre. Alongside this he put his army issue towel and the compact first aid kit.

  He then folded the poncho over, rolling it tight around the contents.

  Taking the lanyard from his compass he tied the two ends of his poncho together.

  “Here,” he said to the Quartermaster, “you can have these back.” He dumped the backpack and its unused contents on the counter in front of the Quartermaster.

  Throwing the rolled up poncho over his shoulder he picked up two water bottles and fastened them to his belt.

  Nasim looked at Jackson and Lan, “Well, I'm ready.”

  It wasn't long before the morning mist evaporated leaving nothing but clear blue skies. Although the gardens around the valley were lush with irrigated water, the terrain along the hillsides was arid and dry.

  The route climbed high into the hills that flanked the camp and by mid-morning Jackson was beginning to flag. His lungs laboured to suck in enough of the scorching air to fuel his legs. The heavy backpack he wore was well-designed and comfortable to carry but its oppressive weight sapped more and more strength with each step.

  “Guys,” he gasped, “can we take a short break?”

  Technically he was in charge and could have ordered them to stop but Jackson had never substituted manners for rank.

  Nasim and Lan came to a halt and stood waiting.

  Jackson sat down on a boulder at the side of the path. He pulled out the map from his pocket and started studying it.

  “How far have we come?” Lan asked.

  Jackson looked up and checked his bearings against the landscape around them.

  “That's Counds ridge ahead of us,” he pointed to the hills in front of them, “and there's the orange grove to the west.”

  He fingered a green clump on the map. “I reckon we've done nearly fifteen Kliks.”

  “That's in what, three hours?” said Lan.

  “About that,” Jackson confirmed, “If we keep up this pace we'll be back in camp for midnight.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” said Nasim.

  “Yeah sure, what is it?”

  “It's going to get extremely hot towards midday, what do you say to pitching up and resting during the hottest few hours.”

  Lan was concerned, “That will mean walking through the night, it would be to easy to get lost.”

  “But if we keep going through the day we'll waste a lot of water,” reasoned Nasim.

  “You've both got good points. Looking at the map there's a steep descent about fifteen Kliks from home,” Jackson traced the precarious path with his finger on the map, “there's no way we can do that in the dark.”

  “We wouldn't have to. Sun sets about nine but there's a good hour's worth of twilight. We'll also get an hour or so before dawn,” said Lan.

  “How do you figure that?” Jackson asked rubbing the sweat from the crease of his neck while wondering how Nasim and Lan looked so fresh.

  “Not getting any sleep on the drive over here has reaped its reward.”

  Jackson took a swig of water and swilled it around to
moisten his parched mouth, “OK, we'll rest up for a couple of hours at lunch time. Have something to eat and get an hour's sleep, then we'll take things from there.”

  After a few more hours the climb began to level out and the path became less arduous. Even with the relief of walking on the flat mesa Jackson's lungs were seared from a combination of the dry air and physical exertion. Lan and Nasim, although quiet, looked none the worse for the gruelling hike.

  Jackson felt old as he trailed behind them, they were both a good ten years younger than him and a lot fitter.

  “You look like you're used to this,” Jackson called out to Nasim. Nasim slowed his pace to let him catch up.

  “What, the walking or the heat?” asked Nasim as Jackson drew level.

  Jackson replied, “Well, both. Do you come from around here?”

  “No the village I come from is a long way off and it was never this dry. The hillsides were a lot steeper though.”

  “How about you Lan? You look like this is nothing new to you,” Jackson shouted ahead.

  Lan turned and walked backwards so that he was facing the other two, “I haven't climbed too many hills but there are massive canyons back home. They run as far as the eye can see, deep and long.”

  Lan gestured with his arms, trying to capture the enormity of what he was describing, “Did a bit of yomping in basic...”

  “Yomping?” Nasim asked.

  “Yeah yomping,” Lan turned round to walk normally again and shrugged, “This, hiking with bloody great big backpacks.”

  “What's home like for you, Jackson?” asked Nasim

  “Nowhere near as impressive as that. I was born and brought up on Greda. It's a wild planet. You can't go outside without an environment suit, even then the wind gets up a hundred K's an hour most days so it's almost impossible to move about.”

  “Sounds horrific,” commented Lan from ahead.

  “Things aren't that bad. The colonies are all self-contained. We mine the minerals and ores Neotra needs and that brings in a lot of money. The people are more affluent than here so there are a lot of amenities. It's clean and the crime rate is low but few newcomers can handle the claustrophobia for long,” Jackson looked up from the path at the few wisps of white cloud in the almost clear blue heavens, “I mean, it's great to see the sky instead of a ceiling, but I guess I kind of miss the place.”

  “You never miss places, only the people,” said Nasim.

  “True,” Jackson agreed, he looked down at his ring finger and the furrow that his wedding band had left behind, “I wish I could just speak to my wife. I don't even know if she's OK. I don't know if the Navy have told her I'm still alive.”

  Lan turned round again, “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I spoke to her just before the attack on the Berenices. I wrote to her each week when we were in hospital but I know there's no way she could have received the letters. The military wouldn't waste valuable space on mail. That's even if they could get a ship from Neotra to Greda past the Terran sentries,”

  “What pen and paper stuff?” asked Lan.

  Jackson nodded, “Yip old fashioned style.”

  “So why'd you write them if you knew she'd never get them?” Asked Lan.

  “Putting off the inevitable I guess,” Jackson was struggling to keep up the pace and hold a conversation at the same time. He also didn’t want to explore his motives right now.

  “OK, let's rest up here for lunch,” Jackson announced.

  Lan couldn't sleep. The other two were dozing after their lunch but he sat by the side of the path throwing loose stones down the hillside. The stones would bounce down the arid slope kicking up puffs of dust and occasionally dislodging others in a mini landslide.

  In the valley below a dry riverbed snaked its way through shrivelled orchards and fields of brush weed. Hot currents of air formed a heat haze that made the sides of the hills shimmer and dance.

  Jackson snorted in his sleep as a fly landed on his cheek. He rolled over and the insect buzzed off into the air again.

  It was difficult to know if Nasim was actually sleeping. He was sitting perfectly still in the lotus position, and had been since they finished lunch. Unlike the dozing Jackson, Nasim showed no concern for the occasional irritation.

  From some way down the dusty path Lan could hear a rhythmic pounding. Faint at first it grew progressively louder. He stood up and walked slowly towards the noise. The path curved along the side of the hill and by walking to the corner he hoped to see what was causing the peculiar sound.

  Before he reached the bend, two soldiers pounded into view. They wore full battle dress with backpacks and rifles. Their uniforms were the same dark and patterned fatigues Lan had seen Keir wearing. The two men had rivers of sweat discolouring their already dirty uniforms.

  As they drew closer one of the men proffered an, “All right.”

  Lan answered back with an, “All right,” of his own.

  It seemed as if each footfall were synchronised as they ran past.

  Jackson woke up from the noise of their passing.

  “Who were they?” he asked.

  Lan was still watching them as they disappeared around a bend in the road, “Don't know. But they're fit as fuck!”

  Nasim could hear what was going on but for all its clarity it was so faraway. His body was calm and relaxed. His mind felt sluggish and warm. It was like thinking through candyfloss. Nasim relaxed into the sensation, letting it support him like water.

  He lowered his breathing, reducing the oxygen in his bloodstream still further.

  The intense reward of endorphins coursing through his body heightened and with it he sank deeper into this dull tranquillity.

  Jackson could hear the hard clink of stone on stone. It sounded some way of mixed in with the chirping of native insects. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to see what was making the random noises. Immediately the bright white glare of Asellus made him shield his eyes. With one eye closed Jackson held his hand up to the sky and tried to eclipse the sun with his palm. The glare seeped round either side of his silhouetted hand forcing him to squint.

  Back on Greda he could block the whole of the sun with his thumb so much further were they from the centre of the solar system.

  As he grew more accustomed to the shocking light he could see Lan sat at the edge of the path idly tossing stones down the dusty hillside.

  Sitting up from where he had been resting on his pack Jackson checked his watch.

  “Well, I suppose it's about time we got moving again,” he nudged Nasim on the shoulder before picking himself up.

  “Are you ready?” he asked the bleary-eyed Nasim.

  “Yeah, right,” Nasim's gaze was slow and unfocussed like a drug addict during his hit.

  “You feeling OK?” asked Jackson.

  “...What, yeah fine,” Nasim got to his feet and picked up his poncho.

  Jackson secured the chest strap on his backpack, “Right then, let's get moving.”

  Dusk had fallen and hot sticky sweat clung to Jackson's chest. The summer sky was still light enough to travel by and a handful of the brightest stars had started to appear.

  As they strode along Jackson began delving into his ration pack. His fist returned victorious after the blind rummage, clutching a bar of nougat.

  He ripped open the thin plastic wrapping and took a deep bite out of the confectionery.

  The sugar gave Jackson a rush of energy and the sweet taste took his mind off his aching muscles.

  Since their stop for lunch the terrain had remained fairly level, making the hike less strenuous.

  The sun's last few scattered rays would fade away in half an hour or so making their progress treacherous. Jackson decided to keep going until the last glimmers of sunlight dipped below the horizon. Although their torches were inadequate for walking at night they could use them to set up camp without too much trouble.

  Jackson willed himself on. Every step he took now was one less in the mo
rning and he had to keep moving to prevent himself from losing face with his younger companions.

  No one talked, Jackson was concentrating too hard on keeping going to converse, Lan was as introverted as ever and Nasim seemed to be elsewhere.

  Both the sun and the walking had failed to slow Lan down. Even with the weeks spent bedridden, his muscles were still in good shape and he relished the punishment the hike was inflicting.

  Nasim's body had been conditioned by harsh years of village life. Although he had held a special place within the community he had still been expected to labour in the fields like the rest.

  Jackson stumbled over some loose rock, a combination of the gloom and fatigue.

  “It's getting a bit dark guys, think it's about time we set up camp,” Jackson stood with his shoulders hanging loose from exhaustion.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling it,” confessed Lan windmilling his arms.

  They set a fire and Jackson badgered Lan into cooking a meal. It wasn't a difficult task, it was only a matter of pouring hot water into the packets of freeze dried rations.

  Jackson peeled off his sweat soaked socks and examined his blisters by the light of his torch.

  The tip of his little toe on his right foot bulged out, angrily throbbing at him. This was the most painful of his foot sores but both heels had erupted into blisters that the rubbing of his boots had long since burst.

  Jackson pulled out his first aid box and bandaged his wounds.

  “So Nasim, what the hell are you doing here?” asked Lan.

  “What do you mean?” said Nasim.

  “I think what Lan meant to say was why are you being trained for the army when you're not a soldier? I gathered from Keir that you're a civilian on special attachment,” said Jackson.

  “Must be real special if they didn't just draft you,” piped up Lan as he stirred dinner.

  “My family and friends were killed by a soldier. I tried to find him and ended up being detained on a base. It turned out that they want to find this man too. So here I am. As for the drafting I told them I wouldn't work with them if I was forced to.”