Childhoods Lost (Sentinels Saga Book 2)

by Linn Schwab

  Chrissy struggled to draw in a breath and answered in a whisper, “I’m not strong enough.”

  Robin immediately let out a gasp and tried to peer into Chrissy’s eyes. But if there was anything unusual going on in there, it was too faint for her to make out. “Strong enough for what?” she insisted, attempting to shake Chrissy out of her daze.

  “What?” she responded, looking lost and bewildered.

  “You just said you’re not strong enough. Strong enough for what?”

  “I did?” she said, struggling to search her recent memories. “I don’t know.”

  Robin sighed in exasperation and looked down at the ocean’s waters again. There’s nothing there! she told herself. Nothing but a bunch of salty water! She felt a sudden urge to scream at the ocean — to communicate her sentiments of displeasure and frustration to whoever or whatever might be listening. But she somehow seemed to sense that she wasn’t strong enough — although strong enough for what, she wasn’t quite certain. It was enough to convince her it was time for her to leave before someone had to drag her out of the room. “Come on,” she said, pulling Chrissy toward the exit. “We need to stay focused on what we’re being trained for. This room is just going to distract us from that. We have more important things to worry about.”

  * * * *

  Never before in the history of man has a game of subject avoidance stretched on for so long. A whole day wasted while the war rages on. How could I have allowed this to happen? Dave’s head was hurting from trying to come up with questions that would draw information out of Major Richards. But the major never seemed to run out of answers that evaded the specific details he was seeking. He was no closer to knowing anything about her personal life, or what life on her planet was like in general. The structure of her leadership remained a mystery, as did the puzzling absence of men. And though he sensed she might be attracted to him, she refused to hint at anything beyond concern for his well–‌being, despite his repeated loosely veiled overtures toward her. When she finally excused herself for the night, he watched her walk toward the infirmary’s exit and realized he was every bit as guilty as she was. Both of us want and an to this war, he concluded. But neither of us is willing to betray our own people by revealing information that might put them at risk. It occurred to him that perhaps he was just being selfish, to the detriment of those who were still engaged in combat. He wanted her to open up first, but she was too intelligent to fall for his tricks. And it was she who currently possessed the advantage. All she had to do was continue waiting him out, and his conscience would eventually force him to break.

  “Major,” he said as she dimmed the room’s lights, “do you think there’s any chance we might end this war peacefully?”

  “That’s not for me to decide,” she said. “Get some rest now. I’ll see you in the morning.” She slipped out through the doorway once again, and he listened as her footsteps faded in the distance.

  Not for her to decide? he thought. What does she mean by that? Is she saying she isn’t authorized to make that decision, or is she just telling me the ball is in my court? Another unclear and confusing answer. The prospects for peace still didn’t look any brighter.

  * * * *

  Robin reached up and turned the water off, then walked from the showers to a nearby sink. She wrapped a towel around herself and looked in the mirror as she combed out her hair. Another towel–‌wrapped figure appeared to her right, and leaned back against the sink with her arms crossed in front of her. “Robin,” Christy said, “we need to talk.”

  The tone in Christy’s voice hinted at a private conversation. Robin glanced around the bath chamber. Other than the two of them, no one else was present. “What about?” she asked, continuing to work on the tangles in her hair.

  Christy paused as if she was reluctant to continue. “When we were in that map room,” she said, “did you feel like there was something inside your head?”

  “Like what?” Robin asked, trying to appear unconcerned.

  “I don’t know,” Christy said. “Like a voice. Like a song. Like someone else’s thoughts.”

  Robin suddenly seemed to take an interest. “Who’s thoughts?” she asked, looking Christy straight in the eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

  Christy shook her head and shrugged. “Maybe ... Valhalla’s thoughts?” she suggested.

  Robin stared at her with a look of skepticism.

  “Look, I know it sounds kind of crazy,” Christy said, “but there have always been rumors that the planet was alive. What if those rumors are true, Robin? What if the planet really is alive?”

  “How can a planet be alive?” Robin argued. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “So you didn’t feel anything in your head?” Christy countered.

  Robin frowned and closed her eyes. “There must be some other explanation.”

  “Like what? Nothing else makes any sense either. Right?”

  As Robin puzzled over the dilemma, she remembered having a similar experience while swimming with a pod of dolphins in the ocean. But I was very young then, she told herself. It was probably just my imagination. “I think I know what it is,” she said, recalling something Genevieve had told her earlier. “That room is just playing tricks on us, Christy. It’s interfering with our thoughts somehow.”

  “How?” Christy said, looking unconvinced. “How can a room play tricks on us, Robin?”

  “Think about it,” Robin challenged her. “The floor in that room acts like a giant magnifying lens. You saw how powerful it was. Who knows what effect that might have on us. It might even be augmenting something other than light waves. Something that might affect us anywhere on this station.”

  “You mean like the planet’s thoughts?” Christy pressed.

  “Don’t be silly,” Robin countered. “People might get you confused with Katrina. Let’s just stay away from that room, okay? You saw what it did to Mindy and Chrissy. How long would they have been standing there if we hadn’t been there to pull them out? Promise me you won’t go anywhere near there. It’s none of our business, anyway.”

  Christy nodded and lowered her head. “I promise.”

  “Good. And don’t mention this to anyone else, either. Or they might start calling you ‘Crazy Christy.’”

  * * * *

  The office door was wide open when Major Richards arrived to report her findings. Commander Eldridge was slouched forward in her chair with the side of her head lying on the top of the desk. The major gasped and hurried inside. “Commander Eldridge?” she called out in concern.

  The commander flinched and sat up in her chair. “Yes?” she replied, looking somewhat groggy. She saw panic in Major Richards eyes and immediately asked, “Are we under attack?”

  “No,” the major said with a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just that ... you had me worried. The last time I found someone in that position, she was dead.”

  “Oh. Right,” the commander said. She cleared her throat and got to her feet. “So, have you been able to learn anything yet?”

  “Well, I checked his blood sample, and there were no traces of the virus in his blood when he arrived here. Which means, either he’s never been exposed to it before, or his immune system is able to eliminate it completely.”

  “But you can’t tell which?”

  “Not yet. I’ll take another blood sample from him tomorrow. If it turns out that his body is susceptible to the virus, there should be signs of it in his bloodstream by then.”

  “I see. Did you make any effort to infect him with it?”

  “No. There’s no need to do that, Commander. This virus is highly contagious. It enters the air every time one of us exhales. Unless he has an immunity to it, or is somehow able to receive a vaccine, his fate was sealed when he drew his first breath on this station.”

  “Well, I guess it’s too late to isolate him, then. Has he said anything useful yet?”

  The maj
or thought back over her conversations with him and realized she had nothing to report for her efforts. Their discussions had been filled with descriptions of Dave’s home world, and questions about her own world that she had no answers for. Her inability to share any information with him had left her feeling frustrated and embarrassed at times. He’d willingly offered so much to her, and she’d left him completely empty handed in return. “No,” she said, suddenly feeling overcome with guilt. “Nothing that might help us win the war, anyway.”

  “Win the war?” the commander exclaimed in surprise. “You can’t be serious, Major. We can’t possibly win this war. Don’t tell me you haven’t figured that out yet.”

  The response left Major Richards stunned and confused. She stared at the commander in a captive daze. “What do you mean?” she asked in uncertainty. “Isn’t that the point of fighting them? So we can eventually win the war?”

  The commander shook her head and explained in a somber voice, “We lost this war a long time ago, Major. We lost it when they introduced that virus to our world. At this point, winning would mean taking the war to Earth and forcing them to surrender to us. And we just don’t have the capability to do that. Our resources are much too limited.”

  “Then what are we doing?” the major argued, shaking her head in a fit of denial. “If we don’t have any chance of winning the war, why are we even bothering to fight?”

  “Not every war ultimately produces a winner. Can’t you see what’s going on here now? We’re not fighting to win this war, Major. We’re fighting to make sure they don’t win.”

  Commander Eldridge stepped around the desk and took a few weary steps toward the doorway. “Carry on your work with our pilot friend, Major. Let me know when you have the results from that blood sample.”

  As the commander headed off along the corridor, Major Richards stood in the office alone, contemplating the uncertain future of her kindred. Is there no way to bring an end to this suffering? If we can’t win the war, are we doomed to just keep fighting forever? She felt empty — like her stomach had just been ripped away from her, along with any hopes she had of ending the bloodshed. This can’t be allowed to go on forever. Somehow, we have to find a way to end it.

  LAMBS 064

  Peter grinned as he opened the nursery door, knowing how the kids would react to his presence. They never failed to squeal with delight when he arrived to spend some time with them. The older kids had started calling him “Poppa Peter,” which always brought a smile of satisfaction to his face. But the name was too difficult for some of the younger kids, who happily referred to him as “Poppee” instead.

  Several times a day he came to play with them and tell them stories as best as he could manage to recall them. Whether his versions of the stories were accurate or not wasn’t of great concern to him. These kids would likely never hear the originals, so he felt no qualms about making up details to fill the gaps where his memory came up short.

  In between his frequent visits with the children, he spent his time scrounging through the station’s supply rooms, searching for materials he could use to fashion simple toys for them. A favorite of theirs was a crate lid on casters which they sat on while wheeling themselves around the room. Some of the older kids were mesmerized by a makeshift top, though they weren’t yet adept at getting it to spin. And one of the young girls was virtually inseparable from a floppy–‌eared rag doll bunny he’d made. She carried it around with her constantly, holding it snug against her chest. Even in sleep she couldn’t seem to let it go. It seemed to have earned a special place in her heart.

  By now, he’d managed to learn most of their names and had become familiar with some of their unique mannerisms. Little Katie loved being held in his arms. She was too young to understand his stories, but she smiled whenever he spoke to her. A young boy named Jack was particularly fond of being held at arm’s length above Peter’s head and carried around as if he was flying. The young girl who adored his floppy–‌eared bunny had been named Annamarie by her mother. The girl was unfortunately listed as an orphan since her mother had died after giving birth and her father had never been identified. Among the other children was a toddler named Tobey, who could almost always be found standing along the nursery’s outer windows, slapping both of his palms against the glass as he looked at patterns of stars in the distance. The behavior seemed a little peculiar to Peter, but he told himself it was just a fleeting obsession that the boy would get over as he grew older.

  As Peter had expected, the children squealed when he opened the door and hurried across the room to greet him. He scooped little Katie up in his arms and sat down on a bench to begin story time. The children sat down on the floor around him and listened as he butchered a classic fairy tale. It didn’t matter; his words were golden to them, and his exaggerated movements and facial expressions kept them captivated straight through to the end.

  When the story was nearing its conclusion, Commander Parks walked in and stood near the doorway. She smiled at Peter and leaned back against the doorframe, observing the joy on the children’s faces. When the story concluded, she sat down beside him as the youngsters scattered about to play.

  “You know,” she said, “these kids are really going to miss you when you’re gone. Perhaps I should try to think of some way to keep you here on a permanent basis.”

  “As much as I would love to stay,” he said, “I don’t think command would approve of that.”

  “Maybe I could hide you from them, then. Just pretend that you never arrived here.”

  “They’d find out about it eventually. And then they’d probably punish you by assigning you to a combat ship. Besides,” he said, looking around at the children, “these kids deserve a chance to grow up on a planet. Not remain stuck here on this floating mass of steel plates. If my skill as a pilot can help end this war, it’ll be the best thing I could ever do for them.”

  “And which planet do you suppose they’re going to live on, Captain Straydel? If you do somehow manage to win this war for them, are you assuming they’ll end up on this world here? Or are you thinking that once the war is over, they’ll be loaded on a ship and sent back to Earth?”

  The way she phrased the question raised some concerns in Peter’s mind. Is she trying to tell me they can’t go to Earth? Could it be that she knows the reason why no one has ever returned there before? Is there a hint she’s dropping that I’m just not picking up on? He decided this might be his best opportunity to get a definitive explanation.

  “I guess I’d just assumed they would live on this world. It seems like that would be better for them than spending another two years in space flying back across the galaxy to a world they’ve never known. But I suppose if they couldn’t live here for some reason, our only alternative would be sending them to Earth. Unless, of course, that isn’t an option?”

  The commander either didn’t pick up on his question, or pretended not to pick up on it. He decided he didn’t have anything to lose by just coming out and asking her directly.

  “Commander,” he said, speaking with sincerity, “in all the time I’ve been out here fighting, I’ve never heard of any ships returning to Earth. And that goes not just for the time I’ve been here, but all the way back to the beginning of the war. I’ve heard all kinds of rumors and speculation as to why, but I’ve never received what I would consider an official explanation for that.”

  He carefully observed the look in her eyes, but she gave no outward indication that she had an explanation for him.

  “Karen,” he asked her directly, “is there some reason we can’t go back?”

  For an instant, she appeared to be deep in contemplation, as if debating with herself whether she should share something with him. When it looked as if she’d finally made her decision, rather than offering an explanation, she stood up and gestured toward the nursery’s doorway. “Would you come with me, Peter?” she asked. “It’s time for me to make my daily rounds of the station.”

  Cu
rious to find out what her intentions were, he stood up and followed her out through the doorway. Once inside the agrisphere, she led him along the outermost wall, skimming her hand along the tops of the plants until something finally seemed to catch her attention. “Look here,” she said, reaching for one of the plants. “This plant is known as phaseolus vulgaris. It’s one of our most important crops, making up almost a third of our production on this station.”

  Peter looked back and forth along the row, puzzling over why she’d selected this particular plant. The entire aisle was lined with the same variety. What’s so special about this one? he wondered. He looked at the plant a little more closely. “Back home, we used to call those green beans,” he said. “My dad used to grow them in our back yard. I don’t remember them looking quite as colorful as these, though.” He looked at her and shrugged. “Kind of special, is it?”

  “These have been genetically modified to make them more suitable for growing here. That probably explains why the colors seem unfamiliar to you.” She looked at him as if expecting him to recognize something. He turned his eyes to the plant again and noticed she was pulling its stem to one side, revealing a small portion of a pane of glass. Glancing upward, he realized it was one of the large panes that made up the dome of the agrisphere. There were also some numbers painted on the glass, which she seemed to be intentionally exposing to him. White lettering, roughly four centimeters high: LV–42917.

  The number seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. When the commander seemed satisfied that he’d seen it, she released the plant and continued walking along the aisle. She led Peter to an open hatch in the floor, down a ladder and into a dark subchamber. As soon as both of them had stepped off the ladder, she stepped closer to the outer wall of the station and wrapped her hands around a leaky water pipe.

  “This pipe always seems to give us problems,” she said. “I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve asked for a replacement. But since I can’t speak with anyone outside directly, I’m at the mercy of the freighters to deliver my requisitions. And I have no way of knowing what happens once they leave here. I would very much like to have this repaired some day.”