Heinlein's Finches

by Robin Banks

  “I beg your pardon?” Asher’s voice has gone dangerously cold.

  “Well, the Pollux campaign was hardly a success. If you recall, we lost.”

  Gwen snaps. “Lost? We saw sense.”

  “Just as you say. Maybe you’re right, and we shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I know that’s a very popular attitude. Pollux veterans… Well, not everyone regards them as heroes.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” shrieks Gwen.

  “Really? I’m awfully sorry.” He doesn’t sound it.

  We carry on down the hallway in silence until we reach the refectory doors. As we’re going through, Asher murmurs to Gwen “What was it that you meant, exactly?”

  Gwen shakes her head, her eyes burning with fury.

  Marcus walks off to his chosen table with the usual half-smile on his face. We make our way towards our table in silence. When we sit down, Asher locks eyes with Gwen. “You know, one day we will have to have that conversation.”

  “I know.” Gwen bites her lip. “But not here, and not now. Ok?”

  “Sure,” he nods.

  After a few moments of unusually awkward silence, Asher reaches across the table and takes Gwen’s hand. “Milady, it may not be anywhere near as bad as you think. The line between illusions and delusions can be very fine indeed, but I hope I don’t cross it. I think we can talk this through, and if we can’t it’s probably because I’m wrong, and I’ll come round eventually. It’ll be alright.”

  He holds her hand and strokes it with his thumb, and I can’t help looking at the faint markings of his scars. I always thought they looked good on him, like faded flame tattoos snaking up his arms and legs. I wish I’d told him that I liked them. It seemed silly and somewhat insensitive at the time, so I kept it to myself. Saying it now just won’t sound the same.

  Gwen manages to drag up half a smile for him, but doesn’t say anything.

  We hardly speak all the way through our meal. Aiden carries the bulk of the conversation, which is saying something. As we’re eating, I spot Asher pulling his sleeves down over his hands. I’ve never seen him do that before. It’s just not one of his mannerisms. He sees me watching him, catches what he’s doing, and shudders. Very slowly and deliberately, he pulls his sleeves up to his elbows.

  He sits up straighter and shoots me a smile with no joy in it. “Score one for the bad guy, hey?”

  I’m so angry I want to cry.

  Aiden catches us at the office one evening. We're lying about on our beds, doing nothing much, and he just turns up. That's unusual; he never comes visiting unannounced. He's a sociable enough guy once you get used to him, but you always have to take the initiative. He's here now, though, and he doesn't look happy. That's also unusual, and a bad sign. He's not prone to emotional displays.

  "Sorry. Don't know if you heard. Thought you needed to know."

  "Know what?"

  "Nick left today. Just found out. Didn't say bye. Off to float camp."

  Asher stares at him, stunned, until his face crumbles.

  "Well, that's it then. I guess we won't be sorting out whatever the fuck this is after all." He shakes his head. "I've known the guy nine years. This is how it ends, and I don't even get to know why?"

  Gwen tries to sooth him. “Love, nothing’s ended. He’ll be back in six months.”

  “Maybe he will and maybe he won’t, and maybe I’ll be here and maybe I won’t, but he’s not said a word to me in months and now he’s off. That seems pretty fucked up. And it feels final.”

  Aiden flops on the bed next to him. "Yeah. Totally fucked."

  "You'd think Reggie would have told us. Given us a chance to do something, to catch him before he went off."

  "That's not his place," murmurs Gwen. "He can't get involved in the personal lives of his staff."

  "This is professional, too. Nick hasn't spoken to me about his plans. Not a word."

  "Does Reggie know that?"

  "No idea. I didn't tell him. Oh, shit. Maybe I should have told him. It seemed wrong to go behind Nick's back. My priorities are really screwed, aren't they?"

  "Love, Reggie gave him the post."

  "He gave it to him because I suggested it. And because I got myself out of commission. My responsibility."

  "Reggie's not stupid, and he doesn't like you that much. If he wasn't sure about Nick, he would have nixed that."

  "Not so easy. Nick is the best we've got. Nobody comes close to him."

  "There you go. He was chosen because he was the best available option. Once he was chosen, he did things the way he wanted to. It may not be the way you would have done them, and it may not be the best way, and he might come to regret it. But you have to let it go, love. The moment he took the post, it became his post, your personal connection notwithstanding. He didn't have to listen to you or consult you in any way."

  "No. He didn't. I just thought he would. Out of friendship. Or respect."

  Aiden shakes his head. "Don't think he's been well enough to think like that. Dude has been in survival mode. Don't take this personal."

  "Kinda hard to, when my oldest friend loses it over my broken legs and blanks me out for months and takes my job and leaves without saying a word to me. There's a lot of me in that story."

  "True dat. But it won't help. You or him."

  They sit in silence for a while staring at the ceiling, until Asher turns to him.

  "How are you bearing up?"

  "It is what it is. I wasn't going to see him for six months anyway. Hope he comes back healthy. Back to normal. If not, not much I can do."

  "You sound so calm about this."

  "Must be a good liar. Ok. Gonna go. Asshole outside is probably counting the minutes I'm here. Sucks having to get past him to get to you."

  "I hope the baddies feel the same, because it's not a load of fun to have him lurking outside my door, either. It’d be a damn shame if it was for nothing. Oh, fuck it. Thank you for letting me know. You sure you don't want to stay? Have a drink?"

  Aiden shakes his head. "Not that good a liar when I've had a drink." He gets up and walks out without looking at us.

  I'm racking my brain for something to say that could make this better, but I can't think of anything. Apparently none of us does. We just lie on the bed, marinating in our individual unhappiness.

  When Gwen gets up to turn the light off, I roll over to Asher's side. I put a hand on his chest, and it starts to shudder. I can't bear this anymore, so I hug him as hard as I can. He hugs me back, tight enough to hurt, and sobs quietly on my shoulder. I don't want to ever let go of him. I don't want him to drift away.

  Gwen squeezes behind Asher, tight against his back, her arm reaching over him to hold onto me. We fall asleep like that. I wake up in the morning with a terrible crick in my neck, but we’re still holding on.

  The way Nick left really sucked. However, there is an upside, though I hate to admit it. With Nick away, Asher is suddenly in demand. There’s nobody left running the Tank bar the techs, who are not teachers. Students who are concerned about their training or who have questions don’t have anyone else to consult, so they’ve started to turn up at his office. Once the first few realized that he didn’t mind helping them, the word spread and the visits got more frequent. He can’t actually train them, obviously, but he can listen to and advise them, and sometimes that’s enough. Asher is feeling useful again, and that’s perking him up. We’re all glad to see that. Asher is trying to be upbeat as normal, but it’s an effort for him and the strain has been showing. He’s been getting cranky at times. Never at us, but near us; getting frustrated at his mobility issues, at being unable to look after himself; at being unable to do things for us. These distractions are timely.

  Marcus sees a flaw in the developing situation. “If students are turning up here at all times, unannounced, I will need to know what the security protocol is to cover this.”

  “How about saying ‘hello’ and opening the door? It’s worked well for us so
far.”

  “How droll. Who will be ensuring Professor McGee’s safety? You?”

  Asher answers through gritted teeth. “I will tell the students to come only in the morning, when Gwen is giving lectures. How’s that for you?”

  “Very helpful. I hope I’m not inconveniencing you too much by forcing these considerations upon you. It must be nice for you now that Adjunct Gray is away.”

  “How could that possibly be the case? He’s one of my best friends. We flew together. I miss him.”

  “I had no idea. I thought there was no love lost between the two of you. I’ve never even seen you talk.”

  Asher glowers at him. “We’ve both had issues. Personal issues.”

  “Oh, I thought this was a professional issue. I assumed that was why you were so keen to sabotage him.”

  “I beg your pardon?” splutters Asher.

  “Well, he took on your duties what, three months ago? And you made it very clear that you intended for his advancement to be temporary.”

  “How did you figure that one out?”

  “You stayed in his office.”

  “His office? My office.”

  “Precisely. It should have become his office when he took on your job, but you never relinquished it. In fact, you took it on full-time. Was that not meant to be a message?”

  “No. No, it wasn’t,” Asher whispers hoarsely. “It was the only room I could get into with two broken legs where I thought I wouldn’t be in the way.”

  Marcus looks surprised. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I should have guessed that you’d squared it all up with Adjunct Gray.”

  “I didn’t. I never thought to.”

  Gwen cuts in. “Love, this is nonsense. Nick knows you. He knows you wouldn’t pull a stunt like that. He knows I put you in here when you were still unconscious. He was there at the time. If he’d had a problem with it, if he wanted us to move, he would have spoken to you about it.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not been really communicative lately. I should have thought about it.”

  “It’s bullshit. You shouldn’t be thinking about it now.”

  “Yeah, well. Too late for that.”

  June

  Time passes, but I feel as if I’m repeating the same day over and over again. The most bizarre thing about living in constant mortal danger is how easy it is to forget about it, and how hard. It dwells at the back of my mind, but sometimes I can get so absorbed in what I’m doing that I manage to ignore it for a while. When I snap back to my normal state of mind it’s a huge shock. Reality grabbing me by the throat.

  Cracking jokes in the refectory or reading a book or writing a paper or planning a lecture or making love can take me away from it. But I always have to come back. I have to come back to the reality we’ve normalized, which doesn’t seem normal at all. Someone might try to kill somebody I love. They might kill me to get to her. That’s our reality, and it just doesn’t go away.

  Every time I manage to put it out of my mind, Marcus brings it right back. Sometimes he says something, or just gives me a look, apparently shocked that I could be temporarily switching off from my duty. Most of the time, his presence is enough. He’s a constant reminder that our lives are painfully out of kilter.

  On the outside, I’m functional. We all are. We get on with life as normal. But we could be dead tomorrow. That makes today’s pleasures absurd. What is the point in anything, when everything could so soon be over? But it also makes those pleasures crucial. We have to laugh and read and fuck, because it could so soon be over. We have to take what we can now, because now is all we have. But we can’t hold onto anything. Everything is so impermanent, which makes it both pointless and essential. Everything is so vivid and so brittle. Everything feels unreal, or surreal; high contrast and low resolution.

  The fact that nothing has happened for weeks doesn’t seem to make it any easier. We can never relax completely. We have to stay alert. And anyway, how could we relax knowing that the fact that we’re relaxed may get us killed? We’ve all had to learn to live with the tension. We mostly manage, but Asher’s bad nights seem to come more and more frequently.

  The worst thing about that, from Asher’s point of view, is that his office doesn’t give us any privacy. He doesn’t want anyone else to know about his issues. He particularly doesn’t want Marcus to find out about them. Desperately wanting not to have a night-time episode adds to his pressure, which increases his chances of having an episode. It’s a vicious spiral and he’s just as aware of it as we are, but he can’t get himself off it. That adds to his pressure, too.

  Going back to the tower would fix that. Unfortunately, there’s no his legs would get him there and he doesn’t want us to carry him. Fortunately, Asher’s never let minor inconveniences like broken limbs interfere with anything he really wanted.

  We’re sitting around in his office one evening, playing cards, when he broaches the subject.

  “Milady, if I may make a suggestion, I think it’s high time we decamped. My legs can take more movement now. A bit of extra pressure would do them good, really. Encourage bone growth.”

  Gwen glares at him. “Is that your informed opinion, or the medics?”

  Asher sighs. “As if I thought I was allowed an opinion on the matter. I asked. They will run another scan soon, but they want me to increase my weight bearing exercise.”

  “When did this all come about?”

  “At the visit today.”

  “I wasn’t even there!”

  “You were in a lecture. I told you now. You can check with them. Ok?”

  “Not really, but yes. So where would we move to?”

  “Back up the tower. No, I won’t try the stairs,” he immediately adds when he sees her face, “but Skip could fit me a rig so I can lift myself up the outside. Safety rig. Made by Skip with his own hands. Be good for my upper-body strength. Gonna need a lot of that for crutches, soon.”

  Gwen glares at him. “You can get that at the gym.”

  “I can. But it wouldn’t be half as much fun, and it wouldn’t get us home. I want to go home.”

  “So you plan to be climbing up the side of the tower with two broken legs still in casts; legs you broke in a climbing accident.”

  He nods. “Yup.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable. I will want to see plans of that rig, and I will obviously be telling Skip that if a hair on your head is hurt in the process, I will make the rest of his life a living hell, before I cut it short.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable. I’m sure he expects no less.”

  “I will also need to know how you plan to be getting in through a window without bashing yourself to bits. And if you ever try to do it without someone at the bottom and at the top in case there’s a problem, I will make you sorry.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Good.”

  The inauguration of Asher’s rig is meant to be private. Skip wants to make absolutely sure that there can’t possibly be any hiccups, and Gwen wants the 'damn contraption’ tested thoroughly and repeatedly before Asher gets anywhere near it. As per usual, trying to keep something quiet in this damn place means that everyone finds out. Everyone wants to have a look, too, so the whole thing turns into a sideshow.

  It’s quite jolly, really. Having a crowd of cheering cadets renders an air of festivity to an otherwise not-entirely-cheerful occasion; while it’s cool that Asher is getting his rig, there’s nothing cool about him needing it. However, the level of public interest sucks massively for Skip, who is intensely timid at the best of time and currently flustered by the responsibility he’s taking on. He looks so wound up that even Gwen, who’s been riding him pretty hard, tries to reassure him.

  “It looks good. It works fine. You’ve tested the hell out of it. You know it can hold the weight just fine. Asher would have to do something seriously reckless to mess this up.” She glares at Asher. “And I know he won’t, because then I’d have to skin him.”

  The r
ig itself is simple: a winch attached above our window, a cable running along the tower wall, and a padded harness. The simplest, most logical solution would have been to have the winch pull the cable to lift Asher up and down. Asher didn’t want that, because “it wouldn’t be any fun.” Instead, they rigged the winch so Asher will have to actually scale the tower to lift himself up. The mechanism is set up to automatically take up the slack on the cable, so that if he slips or falls he will not go anywhere. Skip has installed enough safety mechanisms to give himself a headache. The whole thing is good to go.

  Asher, however, is not.

  “I wasn’t expecting to attract such an audience.” He’s looking paler than normal, which is saying something. “I haven’t done a damn thing in ages. Haven’t climbed since the accident. Can’t use my legs. Chances are I’ll come off in no time. I’ll not make it up the top. And I’d rather fail in private.”

  “I can tell them to clear off.” Gwen looks unconcerned.

  “There’s about a gazillion of them!”

  “Yeah, well. My voice carries. You want them to clear off, I get them to clear off. You don’t owe them a show.” Her voice softens. “But I think they’re here to cheer you on, love, not to judge you. They want to see you do this thing because it’s you doing this thing.”

  Asher swallows. “Ok. No time like the present. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  The climb up the tower has been set up with hand holds; good as Asher is, climbing up the sheer wall using only his arms would be a bit unrealistic, particularly after the break he’s had. Breaks. Fractures. I still can’t quite get it in my head that after his accident, he wants to go back to climbing. I mean, I understand that he would want to do it. I just don’t think I could make myself do the same.

  Asher clambers off the ATR at the base of the tower, gets into his harness, and pushes the sensor that activates the winch. He looks up at the wall, takes in a huge breath, lets it out again, and releases the tension in his body. As he places his hands on the first two handholds, Gwen calls out to him “Hey, big shot,” and he turns to look at her.