by Ken MacLeod
She told him she needed a minute, and went to the bathroom, where she ran water over her face, damned her red nose and puffy eyes, and made herself presentable, or at least as presentable she could. She knew that it was not the best time. She was terrified, a wreck. From what he’d typed, he wasn’t much better. But there would never be a best time, not if she just kept waiting for it. In life, there were always thresholds that had to be crossed, whenever they could be, if only because that was the only way to get to whatever awaited on the other side.
When she had done everything that was possible she returned, kissed her husband’s hands, and carried what was left of him to bed. After she undressed and got under the covers, his hands hesitated, with a sudden shyness that was almost possible to find endearing, then slipped under the covers themselves, and crawled through the darkness to her side, one heading north and the other heading south. The sheets rustled, and she allowed herself one last analytical thought: how lucky she was, after all, to have him come back as a pair of hands, and not as some useless strip of flesh in a sealed silver box. How very much they’d been left with.
She closed her eyes, grew warm, and let her husband love her.
Remembrance
Beth Bernobich
March 10th was too early for planting, too early (almost) for anything but raking away the detritus of winter. Kate didn’t care. She had promised herself a gardening session this weekend. After a month of long hours in the lab, poring over chip schematics, it would do her good to grub about in the dirt.
Clouds streaked the sky overhead, promising rain within a few hours. Ignoring them, Kate removed the sheets of canvas from the old beds. She scooped the layer of mulch into the wheelbarrow handful by handful, then cleared away the twigs and leaves. The debris would make good compost, along with the deadwood from the peach and pear trees. Good thing she’d invested in the shredder.
A cool breeze fingered her hair. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist, and breathed in the soft ripe scent of spring. If the rain held off, she could finish clearing the beds and cut a new edge. Maybe even replace the old railroad ties with those old bricks she scavenged from the renovation project downtown. After picking through heaps of dark red and brown bricks, Kate had unearthed a jumble of dusky pinks from the old municipal office building, and a handful of aged golden bricks from a long-abandoned bank.
A soft chime sounded—her cell. Kate wiped her hands hastily on her jeans and dug the phone out from her workbasket. The caller ID blinked “Unknown.” No visuals either, just a black shiny square with a question mark in the middle.
“Hey, babe.”
Jessica. Of course. She was calling from a semi-restricted zone at work, which explained the ID and blank vid screen. “Hey, yourself. What’s up?”
“Sorry I’m late. Something got in my way.”
Kate suppressed a sigh. Over the past six years, she had learned to expect the holdups and delays and unexpected changes in plans that came with Jessica, but she had never learned to enjoy them. “What now?”
“We need to talk.”
A breeze kicked up, making Kate shiver in her flannel shirt. “About what?”
“I got the promotion.”
Oh, yes. The promotion. “But that’s good—”
She broke off. Not good, clearly. Not when she could almost hear the tension in Jessica’s breathing. “What’s wrong?” she said carefully.
“Not over the phone,” Jessica said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Before Kate could say anything, even good-bye, her phone chirped to signal the end of call. Kate stared at the blank screen a moment before she returned it to her basket. She glanced at her newly cleared flowers beds, the neat stacks of brush and deadwood, the boxes of bricks waiting for her. She sighed and picked up her tools to wipe them clean.
An hour later, she had showered and changed clothes. Still no sign of Jess, though Thatcher’s headquarters were just a few miles away in the city’s new corporate complex. Kate made coffee, nibbled on a left-over biscuit, then began to pace. Talk. Jessica liked mysteries, she told herself. She just wanted to tease Kate, push her buttons. . . .
Jessica came through the front door, swinging her brief case. A few raindrops glittered in her dark brown hair, and her cheeks were flushed, as though she’d run the last few blocks. “Hey babe,” she said as she dropped the briefcase. She followed up her words with a breezy kiss.
“Hey, yourself.” Kate heard the odd combination of excitement and dread in Jessica’s voice. Jessica wore her corporate uniform, she noticed—a dark gray suit with just a touch of flare to the skirt and discreet slits at the sleeves. Sexy and sleek and proper. Jessica called the look her Republican disguise. It made a good impression, she said, when she accompanied her superiors to government meetings.
Piecing together all the clues, Kate took a guess and asked, “What’s the new assignment?”
Jessica flinched and laughed uneasily. “Smart girl, you. Yeah, I got the promotion, and it comes with a new assignment. Nice bump in pay, too.”
Kate noticed that Jessica did not meet her gaze. “What’s the catch?”
Another nervous glance, the briefest hesitation, before Jessica answered. “It’s an off-site assignment. For the Mars Program. The government wants extra security specialists for their orbital transfer stations, and Thatcher won the main contract. We just got confirmation today. I’ll be one of the unit supervisors on Gamma Station.”
Kate had heard all about Gamma Station on the news. Alpha for Earth and Beta for the Moon, whose base had doubled in size during the past administration’s watch. Now, after numerous delays, came Gamma, the first of the orbital transport stations that would serve as stepping stones toward the planned military base on Mars. Jessica had talked about nothing else these past three months.
“Just what you wanted,” she said softly. “What else?”
Jessica smiled unhappily. “All the bad news at once, I see. Well, for one thing, it’s a long assignment. Longer than usual.”
“How long?”
Jessica smoothed back a wisp of hair that had escaped her braid. “Five years. They want continuity, they said. They’re tired of retraining specialists every two years, and they want to cut back on expenses—especially with the draft up for debate.” Her glance flicked up to meet Kate’s. “But I have scheduled home visits built into the contract—twice a year—and bonuses for every month without any incidents. We could buy that house in New Hampshire.”
We could get married, came the unspoken addendum. Even if only six states recognized that ceremony. And Kate did want that marriage, no matter how limited its legality, but Jessica’s explanation skimmed over so much. Five years. Home visits were a week, no more. And incident was simply a euphemism for casualties. My lover the mercenary, she thought, unconsciously rubbing her hands together, as though to rid them of dirt.
“You accepted already,” she said.
“Yes.”
Rain clouds passed in front of the sun, momentarily darkening the living room, and a spattering of drops ticked against the windows. The room’s auto lamps shimmered to on, but their light was colder, thinner than the sun’s.
“I need to think about it,” Kate said. “What it means.”
Jessica nodded.
Another awkward paused followed.
“Would you like lunch?” Kate asked.
Jessica shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have a briefing this afternoon. That’s the other thing you should know—I’m scheduled to leave in three weeks.”
She knew, Kate thought. She knew and didn’t tell me. Or maybe all that talk about Gamma was her way of warning Kate without saying anything outright.
“You better go,” she said. “You don’t want to be late.”
They stared at one another a moment. Then Jessica caught up her brief case and vanished through the doors, leaving Kate standing in the empty living room.
In one sense, Kate’s workbench at XGen La
boratories resembled her garden. The lab allotted her a well-defined, if limited, workspace that she kept scrupulously neat. And she had her rows of tools laid out just where she needed them—some old and familiar and worn by frequent use, some of them shiny with special purpose.
Kate peered at the display, adjusted the zoom level with a few keystrokes, and studied the display again, ignoring how her mask itched. The customer had requested extra QA for these chips, and a high sample count to ensure the best quality. It meant more profit for XGen, but a longer, more tedious day for Kate. Still, she usually found the work soothing, working step by step through the checklist of tests, and marking down the results for each in the entry system. Today, however . . .
She sighed, removed the chip from the spectrometer, and placed the next one in its slot. At the next bench, Anne and Olivia carried on a murmured conversation as they too worked through their allotment of gene-chips for the latest customer order. Anne tall and lean and brown, her dark abundant hair confined in a tight bun. Olivia short and skinny, with blonde spikes all over her head. The next row over, Aishia quietly argued politics with Stan and Marcel. Stan and Aishia had worked together for the past thirty years, and as far as everyone could tell, they had never once stopped arguing. Kate resisted the urge to ask them all for complete quiet, just this once.
In her distraction, she hit the wrong function key. Her system froze and blinked warnings at her. “Damn,” she whispered. “Damn, stupid, damn, and damn it all again.”
Anne looked up from her console. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Wearily, Kate punched in the key-combination to unlock the system, then went through the security codes again. XGen required several layers of identification, including fingerprint scans, these days. The clients liked that—no chance of hackers infiltrating the company and wreaking damage with sensitive products.
She noticed that Anne watched her with obvious concern. Kate shook her head. Anne was a good friend, but Kate didn’t want to talk about Jessica, or the new assignment, or how they were almost fighting, but not quite.
Her system blinked a message, recognizing Kate. To her relief, it had not ditched her current entry. With a few more keystrokes, she resumed entering test codes and their results for the next chip. Concentrate on the screen and the analyzer, she told herself. Not on Jessica, who had returned late and left early, without giving Kate a chance to discuss the damned assignment. As if discussing it would change anything, Kate thought bitterly. She paused and drew a slow breath that did nothing for the tightness in her chest. I should be used to it by now.
Or not. They had never gone through the long separation most mercenary partners endured. Jessica’s first few assignments had lasted only a few months apiece. The longest—a twelve month stint on the moon—had included frequent time downside. Kate had almost let herself believe that things would continue the same.
But no, terrorists didn’t care about her loneliness, nor about keeping to convenient borders, such as the Middle East or selected regions in Asia. They traveled to New York and London these days. They were here, in New Haven. And now the stars.
The government draft had proved unpopular, and so private companies filled the void. In the bright new world of post Iraq, there would always be work for a smart, brave warrior like Jessica. The money was good, the benefits even better, if you didn’t mind the ache of separation. And as Jessica pointed out, these companies hardly cared about her politics or her sex life. They only asked her to be dependable and discreet.
I hate it.
“Hey, Kate.”
It was Anne, peering at her over the top of her console. A tiny frown made a crease between her brows.
“What’s up?” Kate asked. “Problem with the spectral unit?” The new equipment had not proved quite as flawless as the salesperson claimed.
“Always,” Anne said dryly. “But for once, it’s not about work. Olivia and I were talking about going out tonight with Remy and some others. Maybe grabbing a bite at the new Indian restaurant, then see what’s playing at the York Square. Cordelia and her husband might show up.”
“I don’t know . . . ” She didn’t think Jessica would like a night out, not with things so tense. Or then again, maybe a night out would help. “Let me check with Jessica.”
She punched in the speed code and waited. And waited. After a dozen chimes, the phone switched her over to voice mail. Kate clicked phone shut. If Jessica were in Thatcher’s high-security zones, she would have no cell access. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead to cover the disappointment. Think of it as practice, she thought, for when Jess is really gone.
“No luck?” Anne asked.
“Busy,” Kate said. Which in a way was true. “I guess you’re stuck with just me.”
Anne smiled. “Hey, I don’t mind.”
The lab cleared out within minutes of the five o’clock chimes. But they would all be working overtime tomorrow, Kate thought, as she skinned out of her lab suit and into jeans and a T-shirt. She ran her fingers though the curls and tried to revive them. The mask always left her hair a mess.
“You look fine,” Anne told her.
“Liar,” Kate said.
Olivia was repairing her makeup, while Aishia recapped her argument with Stan. “He thinks with his balls,” she muttered. “The right one. That accounts for his idea that God made guns so we can blow up our neighbors.”
“Seems like they’re blowing us up, too,” Olivia said as she applied eyeliner. “Ask Remy. Her brother was on that bus in DC with the suicide kid.”
“He’s alive.”
“Barely. A lot of others aren’t.”
Olivia and Aishia continued bickering as they left the lab and passed through the corporate security into the gated parking lot. Remy waited outside the parking lot, leaning against a dented lemon-yellow VW. Olivia broke off in mid-argument and waved cheerily.
“Who else is driving?” Anne said. “I took the bus today.”
“Me,” Aishia said. “If you don’t mind the mess.”
“That’s fine. Kate?”
Kate barely heard them. She had sighted another familiar figure through the fence.
Jessica. She came here even without me calling.
A very jittery Jessica, to be sure, dressed even more formally than usual—all dark gray and ivory, with polished nickel studs in her ears that winked every time she swung her head. “Hey, girl. Hungry?” she called out.
“Ravenous,” Kate called back. She hurried through the security procedures—ID card presented to the guard, palm against the reader, the retinal scan unit. When the gate clicked open, she ran through and into a hug from Jessica.
“Time off for good behavior,” Jessica murmured. “Come on. I’m starved for some decent Italian food.”
They retired to a diner a few blocks away on Chapel Street. Jessica ordered an extra large helping of everything, but when her dishes arrived, she fiddled with her salad, and picked at the heap of calamari. Kate watched in silence, her own appetite slowly draining away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
Jessica shrugged. “You mean, besides the usual?”
Kate nodded.
Jessica stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork. “I hate us fighting. I hate going away for weeks and months and years. But it’s what I do. And it’s better for you and everyone else that my job is out there and not right here in New Haven.”
“I know,” Kate said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t say anything wrong. It’s just a bitch, the whole thing. So I was thinking—”
She broke off and ate rapidly for a few moments, while Kate waited, breathless, for her to continue that tantalizing sentence.
Jessica pushed her plate away and wiped her mouth with a nervous flick of the napkin. “I had another briefing,” she said. “Thatcher’s R&D department is testing a new device, something XGen prototyped for us last year. Do you remember?”
Kate shook
her head. XGen was small, but its R&D department kept to itself. QA usually saw new products only after the customer had okayed the prototypes.
“Anyway,” Jessica went on, “there’s a new chip, and they want me and some others as test candidates. It’s for recording sensory input from a soldier’s body. Sight. Touch. Smell. Even sub-vocals. Actually, I already volunteered for the implant and . . . I was hoping you would, too.”
“What?” Her own meal forgotten, Kate stared at Jessica. “Are you insane? Why would I volunteer for a Thatcher project?”
Jessica glanced away, her cheeks turning pink. “I thought . . . I’ll be gone a long time, and I thought . . . We could use it for ourselves. It might make things easier.”
Kate swallowed with some difficulty. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. What’s the problem?”
How like Jessica to forget who else might view those recordings. “The review board,” she managed to say.
“Oh, them.” Jessica dismissed those concerns with an airy wave of her hand. “They read my emails and they censor my vids. I’m used to it.”
But I’m not.
Jessica put down her fork and clasped Kate’s hands. Hers were lean strong hands, callused from handling who knew what. Warm and gentle hands. Kate loved them. She didn’t want to share them with anyone.
“You don’t like it. I know,” Jess said softly. “But do you understand?”
Reluctantly Kate nodded. “Yes. No. Of course I don’t like it. But then, I don’t like you going away.”
“Neither do I. But Kate . . . Five years is a fucking awful long time. Even with the home visits. At least consider the idea. Please.”
Kate released a sigh. “I will. Consider it, that is. I can’t promise more.”
Jessica squeezed her hands. “That’s all I ask.”
With spring’s arrival came the soft soaking rains, interspersed by damp gray skies that echoed the mist rising from the warming earth. If the sun broke through a day here or there, Kate hardly noticed. She neglected her garden for Jessica’s company, and avoided glancing at the calendar.