He still didn’t open his eyes. There was sweat on his forehead and temples. She felt his weight shift. His jaw rippled and he made a sound that she knew was a groan that he was trying to disguise.
“Now, one step down, then the other foot to the same step. It’s easier that way.”
He finally opened his eyes, to look around and over his shoulder.
“There’s no one here to see you,” she told him. “Just me and I’m nobody.”
His gaze met hers.
It was a moment that could only have lasted for a second, if that. It seemed to last much longer. She could feel the effects of his gaze, in her chest and her belly. It shifted her perceptions. She realized she had her arm around him, that she was sandwiched against him and his body was hot and hard and much bigger than hers. What had been a simple act of help had become something different.
Micah looked away again and the moment was gone. She remembered he was in pain. She could almost feel his humiliation. It was coming off him in waves.
“One step,” she coaxed. “Try it.”
His hips moved again and she felt his body lower as he reached for the next step with the weak foot. She waited until she felt his weight transfer over to the other leg, then pushed the inside of her knee up against the knee of his left leg, locking it into place. Even if the knee gave way, with her holding it in place his leg wouldn’t buckle.
Micah’s head jerked up. He looked at her again, his eyes narrowed. The scowl was back.
Laura stared steadily back, waiting for him to tell her to let him do it himself. He didn’t speak. Instead, he finished the step down. Laura climbed down to the step with him and locked her arm around him once more.
He used the same two-step process to climb down to the next step.
Then all the way down to the bottom.
Laura let her arm drop as she stepped away from the ladder. Her arms and legs were shaky from the effort of holding up a much heavier man. She stopped herself from stretching them out and drawing attention to the strain.
Micah stood at the foot of the ladder, his head down. Laura rested her hand on his arm briefly. “I really need that water now,” she murmured and deliberately turned away.
His hand caught hers, halting her. Laura looked back.
Micah lifted his head and looked at her. The scowl had gone. His fingers tightened around hers.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly.
He let her hand go.
Laura made herself walk back around to the door, which was ajar. She closed it behind her, poured the water she badly needed and tried to drink. The cup chattered against her teeth and the water sloshed.
She sank down onto the stool, trying to breathe. A few minutes later she heard the almost silent motor of the little car as it left.
Chapter Eight
Laura didn’t see Micah at all the next day. He didn’t come out of his office at eight to make sure she stopped working and went home.
Nor did he appear the next day.
That left Laura free to contemplate the burning question in her mind. What happened to Micah, twenty years ago?
It was no longer simple curiosity driving her to find the answer. Something had changed, out there on that ladder. She had to know more about Micah. She had to know if she could trust him. In her gut, she knew she could. Only, she had learned the hard way she wasn’t always a good judge of people.
Her sleep became fractured. When she did sleep, her dreams were uneasy ones of dark shadows and threats she didn’t understand, yet seemed to be all around her.
The lack of sleep was a danger of its own, too. She became even more careful about who she spent time with and where she went, trying to minimize the risks. Mostly, she stayed at home and kept digging into the ship’s history, looking for more information about the 381 date that had been stripped of vital news.
One night, when she had fallen into a fitful, shallow sleep, she woke with a jerk. “It’s masked, not missing,” she breathed into the dark. Automatically, she reached out for her journal and with sleep-fogged eyes and an uncooperative hand, wrote it down.
Sleep grabbed her again, pulling her down.
The next morning, as she was reviewing her journal entries for the day before as usual, she came to the scribble at the end.
Masked, not missing.
Laura considered the cryptic note. She remembered writing it down, now that she had seen it. It was enough for her to recall the epiphany that had woken her.
The missing newsfeed items were still there. Micah had hidden them, not erased them, for the newsfeed manager was still counting all the items. It just wasn’t displaying them.
A tiny part of her was relieved he had not taken the irreversible step of deleting parts of the ship’s history. Hiding items was a lesser offence. It was almost understandable.
They were still there. She just had to figure out a way to retrieve them. She was a software engineer. She couldn’t code and she couldn’t read raw code as Micah and the others could. However, Laura handled finished code all day long. She could package it, install it and make it do what it was supposed to.
There was more than one way to render and execute code. The newsfeed was just a sophisticated layer over the top of the raw code, rendering it in a way that non-coders could use.
If she could find the raw code for the hidden items, she could render it another way, outside the newsfeed function.
It took her three days to match up the raw code with the missing items. She stashed a copy of the code, then built a crude application to read it, cobbling parts from a dozen different programs.
Finally, she was able to read the missing news items.
* * * * *
The last time she had been in the Palatine had been for the same reason and Laura was astonished to realize that the last visit had been three years ago.
She used the metal stairs to get down to the surface. The farm was right on the edge of the Palatine and the stairs would take her almost to the admin buildings. A taxi-boat took too many energy rations.
Laura questioned the first person she met, a woman working among rows of wheat, tagging and cataloging stalks.
“He’s in the cowshed, last I saw,” she told Laura, with a quick smile. “Do you know where that is?”
“I do, thanks.”
The cowshed was a long hike away from the main buildings. It didn’t surprise Laura that Erron was hiding out with the cows. He had always been a reluctant administrator.
The shed was empty when she got there. The cows were already out in the pasture. Erron was leaning on the fence, watching them. He hugged her hard and held her at arm’s length. “What’s wrong? You’re here on a work day.”
“I need to talk something out.”
“You have hundreds of friends who would gladly listen, I’m sure. Why are you seeking out a beat-up old man like me?” The wrinkled skin around his eyes folded and his eyes danced.
“Because I trust you, Erron. I mean, really trust. You know why.”
His smile faded. He glanced at the time readout on the wall of the torus. “It’s going to start raining in a few minutes. Come inside. Let’s find a bucket to sit on.”
There was only one bucket. Erron insisted she use it. He leaned against the wall of the nearest milking stall and listened, while the rain drummed down on the roof of the shed and fell in a silver curtain just beyond the big open door of the shed, turning the dirt into mud.
Laura twined her fingers together, moving them restlessly. “It’s hard to know where to start.”
“General topic heading?” Erron asked, with a smile.
“Micah Thorn.”
He swore. “I knew it.”
“I’m glad you know exactly how you feel,” she said dryly.
“What did he do?”
“Twenty years ago, he was the starting groundman for the Dream Hawks. Then there was an accident. The walls of the arena collapsed and he was hurt. Then he hid it all. He buried any mention of it
and of him.”
Erron stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. Then he groaned and rolled his eyes. “Of course! That’s why I knew the name. I had forgotten. I don’t think he played many official games before he was forced to retire, right?”
“Just two,” Laura said. She held out her journal, where she had copied the items. “There’s the primary article. It has all the facts.”
She had reread it on the way to the farm. It did have all the facts, but she still had a thousand questions.
The walls of the arena had been weakened by the pummeling the fans put them through during an average game. The harmonics that had been set up by the rhythmic banging had made the plasteel walls shatter like old-fashioned glass at the touch of a tuning fork. That was before the safety struts had been added to the top of the tank, a very recent improvement made because of the collapse.
The game had been close to ending when the tank wall had collapsed. Except plasteel glass didn’t just collapse. It had shattered with an explosion that had sent the heavy chunks rocketing around the arena.
Erron stared down at the report. “Micah Thorn was the only player injured,” he said quietly. “I remember that. He didn’t drop to the bottom edge of the tank like everyone else.”
“Because he climbed up through all four layers and pulled down one of his team mates, who was stuck in the null gravity layer.” She took the journal from him and switched to the images and handed it back.
“Melody Rosen,” Erron said and sighed. “Now I remember.” He looked at her from under his shaggy gray brows. “His girlfriend,” he said heavily.
Laura nodded calmly. “Next picture,” she told him.
Erron turned to the next image. It was the one with Micah and Melody Rosen in casual clothes. Laura found it fascinating to study, not just because Micah had the long hair that was as much a part of the tankball uniform as the overalls they wore, but also because he looked—
“Damn, there’s one happy man,” Erron said. “Who’d’ve thought?”
“Not me,” Laura said quietly.
Erron handed the journal back. “So you dug up the incident you wanted to find. Why the long face?”
“I didn’t know any of this. I didn’t even suspect it! He has hidden it from everyone. Deliberately.”
“You think maybe he did it because he doesn’t want people feeling sorry for him as you are, now?”
She shook her head. “You haven’t met him, Erron. He’s…angry. It’s not as if he goes around fuming and swearing and destroying things, like Tivoli or even Keton would do when they’re pissed. He keeps it all locked up inside him. He barely speaks on most days. It’s as though he doesn’t dare talk too much in case it all comes pouring out.”
She thought again of the wooden box on the shelf in Micah’s office. She still didn’t know what was in it, although she could guess, now. It was something that reminded Micah of this time in his life that he had carefully removed from everyone else’s memories. Perhaps it was something of Melody Rosen’s. She certainly wasn’t in his life now. She was still a premier tankball player, a celebrated topman for the Hawks.
Erron walked over to the open doorway and stood looking at the rain, his back to her. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and sighed. “You can’t fix a man like that,” he said softly. “He has to fix himself.”
“I know that.”
Erron turned to face her. “Well, then…?”
Laura sighed. “I can’t figure out if I can trust him or not. He hid all this away from the rest of the ship. Now I know what he hid, I can understand why, too. Yet if he hid this….”
“What else is he hiding?” Erron finished. “Is there a reason you need to know if you can trust him, Laura?”
She swallowed. “I think there might be.” As she said it, she recognized that this was what she had come to see Erron for. She had needed to hear herself say it aloud. “I’m scared, Erron. This was never supposed to happen to me.”
Erron crouched down in front of her and picked up her hand in both of his gnarled and liver-spotted ones. “No one else will like it either, honeychild. No one remembers Micah Thorn for what he really is, anymore. He took care of that.”
“I can’t default on the note,” she said desperately. “I can’t stay away from him.”
“No,” he said and sighed. “You can’t.”
* * * * *
Even though she had reneged on her normal work shift, Laura knew she must go to the Aventine at the usual time and pretend that everything was normal. If she didn’t, she knew Micah would come looking for her to find out why she was not there. She wasn’t ready to face him—not on his own, away from the Aventine suite and the coders there and certainly not anywhere near her house.
Reluctantly, she made her way to the Aventine, timing it to arrive just before five as she usually did. Everyone was at their desks when she walked in and they all reacted just as they normally did, which was to say, they looked up, smile or waved or said hello and immediately bent back to their work.
Laura went over to her desk and let the AI know she was there.
The message popped up immediately.
In my office. Now.
The note had no signature. It didn’t need one.
Laura’s heart squeezed. She was tired beyond belief. She didn’t want to do this now. She also knew she had no choice. She picked up her journal and squeezed it in her hand.
Then she went to see Micah.
* * * * *
When the door opened to let Laura in, Micah whirled to look at her. He was pacing the floor as he usually did, all nine of the screens showing pieces of work at various stages. As soon as he saw her, the scowl descended.
“You asked—” she began.
“How dare you comb through my life like that!” His voice was loud and harsh, thick with emotions she could barely sort through, although the anger was unmistakable.
Laura sucked in a breath that trembled. “How did you know? I only copied—”
“You left footprints so deep they were trenches. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Me?”
Laura pressed her fingers to her temple. She had a headache. “I had to know,” she whispered.
“No. You didn’t have to know! No one does!” he roared.
She flinched. “You don’t underst—”
* * * * *
“Laura! Laura! Wake up!”
She was being shaken.
“Laura!” His voice was strained.
She was so tired her bones ached. Everything hurt.
Where was she?
“Laura, please…”
She forced her eyes open. Thought coalesced, slowly pulling together into a more cohesive whole and there was a part of her that recognized this was normal. It would take a while for it to all make sense again.
Micah was leaning over her. He let out a heavy breath as she looked at him. She felt his hand on her face. “Stars save me.” His voice was hoarse.
Laura realized she was lying on her side on something soft. “Where am I?”
“Danita’s office. The door is locked,” he added.
Danita…Soren. She put the name together. Head of…something.
Micah. Micah Thorn.
He was watching her, fear in his eyes.
It all came back in a rush and she sucked in a breath, remembering. There would be holes in the memories that she could use her journal to fill in later. The essential parts were there, though. There was enough to make her cringe. “No, no, no….” she whispered. “Not in front of you.”
Micah leaned back and she was able to process and recognize this time that she was lying on a soft bench or lounge. He was on his knees beside her. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low. “You were talking, then you stopped and stared at nothing. Then you….” He swallowed.
Laura closed her eyes. “I know what happened.” It had been described to her before, in colorful and ruthless detail. “It’s called a seizure.
”
Silence.
She opened her eyes again. Micah was staring at her. No, he was staring through her. Slowly, he shifted and sat on the carpet and crossed his legs, thinking hard. He dragged the left leg and settled it properly. “Epilepsy,” he said at last. “There are medications….”
“I’m allergic to nearly all of them.” She sighed. “They give me more seizures. The one I can use is only partially effective.”
He let out a heavy breath. “This explains so much…”
Laura shifted her feet, becoming aware of the rest of her body. She lost complete control during a seizure. Control and consciousness and memories were all casualties. “Sometimes I…did I…wet myself?” she whispered.
Micah rested his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that.”
Humiliation swept through her in waves. Tears welled and fell. She was too weak to stop them.
He brushed her hair away from her face and wiped her cheeks. “Don’t.”
“I wish I was dead,” she breathed. The agony was sitting inside her chest, glowing like a burning ember.
“So did I, once,” he said softly. “It will pass, Laura.”
She grit her teeth together, trying to halt the pathetic waves of self pity.
“Can you sit up?” he asked.
“Not for a while. I might…I could have another one.”
Micah considered that, then nodded. “Do you have a friend….” Then he shook his head. “You have too many of them. Who do you trust, Laura? Who can enter your house and bring more clothes for you?”
She drew in another shaky breath. “If you can give me my journal, I can call Erron.”
“Erron Fitzroar?” Micah seemed startled. “You stay there. I’ll call him.” He got to his feet, moving carefully. “I’ll come right back,” he told her, looking down at her. “The door will stay locked while I’m gone.”
He had guessed she would worry about someone walking in and finding her here.
She drifted. It wasn’t sleep, yet each time her consciousness floated for a while, she would return to a world that made more sense, the memories and her identity fitting back into place.
Laura felt something warm and soft falling over her and looked up.
Promissory Note Page 8