by Ben Weaver
I jolted, snapped open my eyes, and an old man’s face came into focus. Bald, gray beard, soft blue eyes. If he wasn’t a doctor or medic, he ought to play one in films and holos.
“Easy there, Major. You’re all right. I’m Dr. Roshmu, and you’re in Casa Province, Point Victory. Your friend brought you here.”
I slowly sat up, blinked hard. A makeshift medical ward had been established inside a high school gymnasium, with hundreds of miners lying in cots and attended to by doctors roaming the aisles. I’d seen treatment sectors for Mass Casualty Incidents before, but nothing as large or as well-staffed as Point Victory’s.
“I’ll call your friend,” the doc said.
“Thanks. And, uh, did you examine me?”
“Major, I tried. But whatever’s happening to you is way beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I can’t even describe your brain activity. I’m not sure what I was looking at.”
“What you were looking at is classified. And those records? You’ll need to destroy all copies. Can I trust you on this?”
“My son is a guardsman, Second Battalion, Sirius Company.” The doc spoke rapidly into a translucent boom mike at his lips, then winked at me. “It’s done.” He excused himself.
I lay back on the pillow, trying to remember what had happened. We had been inside the restaurant, and then I had seen that image, that page from—
A chill struck me. Was my memory misfiring like that old woman I had encountered in the Minsalo Caves? Would my life finally end the way hers had?
“Look at this guy, lying around while I do all the work,” Halitov said as he loped down the aisle. “Yeah, here he is, saved once again by my capable hands.”
“Capable, if not modest.”
He grinned. “In war, modesty will get you killed.”
“All right, seriously now. I want you to tell me exactly what happened. Don’t pull any punches.”
“You know what’s happening,” he began slowly. “But if you want to hear it from me…”
We spent about fifteen minutes talking. He described my “blackout” inside the capitol and the second one inside the restaurant. He had carried me on his back all the way to Point Victory, nearly a full kilometer. In point of fact, during the entire journey I had been reciting colonial history and a parts list from a J229 endo/exo military cargo transport. There were 151,971 parts on that list, and Halitov found the conversation anything but entertaining.
“I’m scared, Scott,” he finally said. “Really scared. Because if it’s happening to you, then it’ll happen to me. And I don’t know when or where.”
“Then we stay together. And we help each other.”
“What if it happens to us at the same time?”
I just looked away, then lifted my tone. “Hey, have you seen Poe? Did he make it?”
“He’s here, but I haven’t seen him. I know he was in surgery for a long time. He left Eugene in charge of his group, and I have to say, that asshole’s been doing a pretty good job coordinating with the miners in the other colonies. Word has it these people are actually winning. They gained control of the capitol in Wintadia, and the garrisons in the other colos are about to fall. Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Yeah, but what about those cruisers in orbit? They’ll send down more air and ground support.”
“They haven’t so far. Maybe they’ve exhausted their personnel. And with just two ships, they’re barely hanging on to the system.”
“I hope you’re right. Because it won’t be rain falling on this colony’s parade.” He glanced up and nodded.
“I’d like to see Eugene. Maybe we can help.”
“You mean you want to mop up, too?”
“He’ll need a Blast Damage Assessment, and it’s part of our jobs.”
“Oh, so we work here now? No one’s told me where I can pick up my paycheck.”
“They don’t issue checks that small.” I rolled off the cot and started shakily down the aisle.
Halitov arrived at my shoulder and reluctantly led us through the treatment sector, through a long corridor, and into a bare-bones communications center established inside one of the school’s computer labs. Miners serving security detail scanned our tacs then allowed us inside. Halitov remarked that several Alliance suicide bombers had already tried to gain entry, but their attempts had been quickly thwarted.
Val d’Or glanced up, spotted us, then detached himself from a terminal where he’d been studying a long bank of displays. He glanced quizzically at me. “Scott, you don’t look good.”
“This was never about beauty, huh?”
“No doubt. One look at Halitov confirms that.” Val d’Or smiled broadly at my former XO, who returned a lopsided grin and scratched his eye with his middle finger.
“How can we help?” I asked. “You know, you could put us on BDA back at the capitol.”
“That’s already done. Reports coming in now. We knocked the garrison down to about twenty percent, and they’ve fallen back into the mines. We’re rooting them out now.”
“See? He doesn’t need us,” Halitov said, elbowing me. “Let’s go back to that restaurant.”
I elbowed him back, faced Val d’Or. “What else can we do?”
“Two things. You can listen to a bit of good news, then you can go see Poe. He’s been asking for you, Scott.”
“How is he?”
Val d’Or sighed loudly. “He’s dying.”
I shuddered, remembering Poe’s story about seeing his death. “How long?”
“Could be anytime now.”
“Does he know?”
“No one’s told him. But he knows.”
Of course he does.
Halitov took a few steps away, clearly uneasy with the conversation. “You said you have some news?”
“A colonial battle group just tawted into the system. I haven’t been able to raise them yet, but maybe your message got through.”
That woke my frown. “Even if it did, they couldn’t send help this quickly.”
“Then maybe Poe’s word got out.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“A few months ago, his people hijacked an ore barge and got off a short-range transmission. They thought that if the signal reached satnet, then even ships just skipping through the system would pick it up. Maybe one did. Or maybe the brass have been monitoring Alliance communications and are aware of the attack. Who knows. But I’m not arguing. I’ll take the miracle, thank you.”
“As soon as you raise one of those ships, I’d like to speak with its skipper.”
“I knew you would.”
“And Eugene?” I extended my hand. “You’ve done a lot here. You could’ve gone AWOL, but you made the right decision. You helped save a lot of lives.”
“But not all of them. It was Poe who helped me understand my calling.”
I nodded. “We’ll go see him now.”
Inside a small classroom converted into an intensive care ward, Poe lay on a gurney, eyes closed, his pale cheeks haloed by the flickering light of a half dozen touchscreens suspended behind him.
“I’ll be here,” Halitov said, hesitating in the doorway.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. The battlefield and all that death? I know how to turn it off. But it’s this…this is what gets to me now.”
“Okay.” I crossed the room, passing several other patients connected to wires and tubes, and reached Poe, whose chest was wrapped into a translucent bandage filled with neoanticiline, a fluid meant to prevent infection. “Mr. Poe,” I said softly.
His eyelids flickered open, his lips already forming a smile. “Major. Thanks for coming.”
I took his hand in my own. “We did it.”
“Yes. They called. We answered.”
Poe and I grinned at each other, until my grin faded. “I have to ask you something.”
“You want to know if this is the vision I had back in the chamber.”
“Yes.”
“In that vis
ion, you come to me here, and you ask me if this is the vision, and I say exactly what I’m saying now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s true that since I found out I’ve been anticipating—and dreading—your arrival. Yet I’ve realized something. I was meant to help my people, but I was also placed here to help you, because you’re going to help millions more. Go back to the perforation. Meditate there. Take your thoughts beyond the mnemosyne and find the bond on your own. The results will surprise you. Now promise me you’ll do that.”
“I promise.”
“Use my airjeep. The coordinates are set. But first send your friend over here.”
“He’s a little, uh—”
“I know. Send him.”
After a brief argument with Halitov, I persuaded him to speak with Poe. I watched as Poe whispered something in my friend’s ear, then gestured him off.
“What did he say?” I asked as we left the classroom.
Halitov gave me a strange look. “Nothing.”
Out in the hallway, my tac beeped, and I took a message from Val d’Or, who said he had established a link with the Thomas Krieger, one of our long-range destroyers spearheading the battle group. Poe’s message had, indeed, been received, and for a moment, I wondered if Poe had foreseen everything that had happened. Maybe he had known all along that the battle group would arrive and help ensure the colonists’ victory. I could have easily driven myself mad with suppositions, so I took Val d’Or’s lead and didn’t argue with the miracle. I spoke with the ship’s skipper, who told me that he’d have troops on the ground within two hours and would dispatch a dropshuttle for us. I told him that I had sent word to Ms. Brooks and Colonel Beauregard, but he said his orders had not come through them but through Fleet Command.
“So we don’t have much time to eat and get ready to go,” said Halitov. “So screw getting ready. Let’s eat.”
“I want to go somewhere else first.”
“Then I’ll meet up with you.”
“No, you have to come.”
His lip twisted. “Are we going back to that chamber?”
“I just want to try something. And Rooslin, what did Poe say to you?”
“Just some unbelievable bullshit.”
My gaze said I wasn’t letting him off the hook.
He squirmed then added, “I just don’t believe how he knew.”
“About what?”
“When we were inside the capitol and I was running a search for Jing, I ran a concurrent search for my sister. I found her, all right. She’s serving aboard the Mao Triggor. They’re part of a security flotilla around Neptune. Bottom line? If you want to get to Jing, you’ll have to go through my sister first. Fuckin’ small universe…”
“Yeah, it is. So Poe knew you ran the search?”
“Yup. And he told me that my calling would first be with her, then with you.”
“What did he mean by that?”
Halitov threw up his hands. “I don’t have any plans to join the Alliance Navy, I can tell you that. So maybe the old guy’s just drugged up and delusional.”
“Or maybe, somehow, he’s right.”
With a wave of his hand, Halitov dismissed the thought and quickened his pace.
Outside the school, I explained to Poe’s people that he had allowed me to borrow his airjeep. They confirmed that with him, and in short order, Halitov and I were whirring above the still-deserted streets, the dusty stench of the capitol bombing strong enough to warrant skinning up. We reached the entrance to the perforation in about thirty minutes, and within a few minutes after that, we stood on the ledge overlooking the sphere of translucent ice, with the perforation tossing up azure flashes at its core.
“So what the hell are we looking at?” Halitov asked.
I began to explain. He balked.
“Okay, Rooslin. You tell me what we’re looking at and how it got here.”
“I can’t. And I won’t. Because I don’t care!”
“Listen, Rooslin. Poe said we’re as close to the bond as we can be. He trained his people here, and there’s no doubt that they can manipulate the bond without having been conditioned.”
“Okay, so we got the tour. Can we go now?”
“This place can help us. Poe told me to close my eyes and reach toward the center of myself. He said we can tap into the bond naturally, and if we learn to do that, we’ll be able to control our aging, like Eugene has.”
“We don’t know if he’s doing that.”
“Shouldn’t we at least try? You would like to get laid some time in the near future, wouldn’t you?”
Halitov saw his whole sex life flash before his eyes, or at least that’s what his far off expression seemed to indicate. “Point taken. What do we have to do?”
I repeated Poe’s instructions, then followed them, closing my eyes and focusing my energy on an imaginary point, a point burning a brilliant white. Within the penumbra I saw two images of myself: one solid, fleshy, quite real; the other ghostly, incorporeal, with arms spreading like wings. I willed myself toward that specter and found myself enveloped in it, tingling with that familiar sensation as I felt the particles within myself, the ice, and even those within Halitov standing nearby. “I think I’ve done it,” I said. “It’s different here. It’s like I can choose either path, one through my body, and one through my thoughts.”
“I see it, too,” he said. “A body. A ghost. And the ghost takes me to the bond. This is weird, man! Maybe this is where science and the spiritual collide.”
“But what now? How do we heal ourselves? Poe never told me that.”
“Let’s go back. Maybe he can tell us.”
I opened my eyes, and a voice inside told me that it was already too late. I broke Halitov from his trancelike state, and as we wriggled through the tunnel exit, I called Val d’Or, whose somber words echoed that inner voice. Poe was gone.
“Of course he dies without telling us,” Halitov said. “Linda Haspel is still not through with me.”
“We’ll just have to keep trying,” I said. “We have to find the bond without the mnemosyne and somehow gain control over them. We don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, there’s always a choice. Unfortunately, death is always one of them.”
We boarded the airjeep and headed back to the school, where Eugene told us that the driver of an SS Morrow waited to transport us to the surface.
“Man, it seems like only yesterday that we were just cadets and I was watching you cut Halitov’s rope on old Whore Face,” I told Val d’Or.
“Yeah, we’ve grown up a lot since then, huh?”
I shook his hand. “My report will reflect everything you’ve done here.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.” He faced Halitov and spoke in a falsetto. “And you, Mr. Halitov, you I’ll miss the most…”
Halitov, who had been proffering his hand, withdrew it quickly. “Have a nice life, asshole.”
“You, too.”
Once inside the SS Morrow, something occurred to Halitov, and he swore loudly.
“What?”
“You rushed me out of there, and we forgot to eat!”
“We’ll get something on board the Krieger.”
“You think that shit’ll be half as good as this local stuff? You’re dreaming, man.”
“Now I know this aging problem is really getting to you. Our lives are all about planning to eat, eating, then planning to eat again.”
Halitov just leaned forward, elbows on his hips, chin pressed squarely on a palm. “If they get the sauce right, then even if the pasta is undercooked, it’ll still be okay…”
I left him to his imaginary meal and threw my head back, realizing that I finally had a chance to breathe and turn all of my thoughts to Jing. I imagined her lying on an examine table and being probed like a laboratory animal. Then I imagined myself exploding into that lab to sweep her away from it all. But deep down I knew her rescue, if one ever came, would never be that roman
tic or easy.
Once on the surface, we met up with the dropshuttle and were summarily ferried back to the battle group. Our dropshuttle pilot reported that the Alliance cruisers had tawted out of the system instead of engaging. The system was ours.
Captain James W. Callahan, a luminous figure with a snowy white widow’s peak and the build of an athlete half his age, greeted us on the Thomas Krieger’s bridge with a salute and hearty handshakes. “Gentlemen, your reputation precedes you, and it’s a distinct pleasure to have you on board my ship.”
“Meaning no disrespect, Captain,” I began. “But we’d like to leave as quickly as possible.”
He smiled knowingly. “That second chip to Ms. Brooks and Colonel Beauregard has already tawted out. All we can do is hope that they contact us before we get new orders—otherwise you’ll be coming with us or heading back down to the moon.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. You’ll contact us the minute you hear something?”
“Of course. Now then, I’ll have my XO show you to your quarters. You’ll have access to satnet there, and I’ve given you authorization to the encrypted logs per your request. You’ll find war news there as well.”
“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it.”
“And Captain?” Halitov asked. “I have a request.”
My cheeks warmed. I figured he was about to ask for his spaghetti and meatballs, but he surprised me by wanting to speak with the ship’s psychiatrist. The captain would arrange an appointment.
We opted to dine in my quarters, and there we stuffed ourselves with pasta glossed with a thin layer of marinara. Halitov ate the meal but spent the entire time cursing the chef. And worse, he had tried to score a bottle of Tau Ceti vodka, but no one would even admit to having one.
I glued myself to the terminal and stared repeatedly at the schematics of Nereid Research and Testing Facility where Jing was being held. I split the image and considered the flotilla, though the data I had on it was over a week old. The Alliances could have increased their defenses, and for all I knew, Jing could have already been moved since we last accessed the database. The uncertainty left me torn.
“Well, I’m going to go see the shrink,” Halitov said, tugging at the collar of his new uniform.