Much of the eastern quarter was reduced to a pile of rubble. A few taller buildings teetered precariously between standing and collapsing; some sections of laneway walls seemed to have decided to remain upright, and behind one of these walls, Laurel found Helen, her black hair matted with blood and one side of her face grotesquely swollen. Blood spread through her uniform from a wound to her thigh. She was propped up against the wall, her eyes closed; in her arms, a terrified Semevalian child. The little girl’s hands were over her ears, her eyes wide with terror and her mouth opened in a mute scream. Several other children huddled against Helen. At first glance, none of them appeared seriously hurt.
Laurel knelt beside them, and Helen opened her eyes, “Laurel?” she said weakly.
“Yes, it’s okay, Helen, we’re here,”
Helen started to cry, and the little girl buried herself into Helen’s chest and sobbed with her.
“Oh, Laurel, it was the hospital, they’d put the little kids in there, so many of them. I lost Marta, and I tried to find her, but I heard a voice, then lots of voices and they all became one, and it was behind me, I saw the hospital, and I went in, and there were children,” the words tumbled over each other, and Helen barely paused to breathe. “They followed me out, and Chloe came and put a few in the scout, but there were so many, Laurel. I promised I’d come back when I got these little ones to safety, but they bombed it. They’re all there,” Helen sobbed. “Buried, but not in graves, Laurel, they’re in that crater, all those little kids.” Helen’s voice dropped to a whisper in her grief and heartbreak, not for her injuries, but because she had failed to save the children.
“Hush, Helen, don’t talk,” Laurel tried to quieten her. “Your jaw looks broken, and you are bleeding badly. The MedAid will be here soon.”
But Helen was too shocked to listen to reason, her voice slurring with effort, she grabbed Laurel’s hand. “Laurel, I was so scared, people were falling down dead around me, and a man rushed at me, and I couldn’t fire the lick, so I kicked him in the balls, and he punched me in the face and shot me, then Chloe came, and I tried to do that thing, you know, where you do that thing on the thing but, but it hurt,” she moved her leg and cried out in pain, the blood now oozing from the wound at an alarming rate. Laurel pressed it with her hand to stem the flow just as Harry skidded to a halt beside them. He dropped to his knees, tearing a vial from his belt and upturning it on Helen’s leg, squirting a syrupy substance that created a skin over the wound. The bleeding stopped, but Helen’s colour wasn’t good. She continued to ramble, incoherently for the most part, confirming she had already suffered a significant loss of blood.
“I wet myself, Laurel, I’m sorry,” Helen had a final moment of cohesion as the MedAid clanged down the alleyway with the gurney.
“Don’t worry, Helen, you’re going to be fine,” Laurel squeezed Helen’s hand to reassure her. “I’ll see you back at the base.”
Marta rounded the corner and saw them.
“I knew you were here, Laurel. My God,” she stared down at Helen, then reached out her arms to the child huddled in Helen’s lap. “Can I look after you for a little while?” she said gently. “Helen needs to get cleaned up; we’ll go with her and get you cleaned up too.”
After only a second’s hesitation, the little girl allowed Marta to lift her from Helen’s arms. Marta held the child close, and the little girl’s arms slid around her neck. The other children stood, watching in confusion as the MedAid and Harry placed Helen gently on an antigrav gurney.
“We’ll go together,” Marta held out her hand to the other children. They looked from the now unconscious Helen to Marta, and slowly followed her, the older children ushering the little ones ahead.
Laurel was in shock herself. “How did Helen survive that?” she said to Harry. “She must have been pretty close.”
“It was a hell of a blast, Laurel,” Harry declared, wiping his hand over his face, rearranging dirt and blood. Laurel saw he had been injured, his uniform shredded and blood soaking through a cut on his arm.
“Harry, you’re hurt!”
“So I am,” Harry smiled slightly and helped a weary and sore Laurel to her feet.
“I expect Helen got a distance from the hospital with the children. These walls are pretty substantial,” Harry pushed against one of the still standing walls.
“I got hammered by that explosion two kilometres away, Harry,” Laurel reminded him. “Helen should be dead.”
The fact mystified Harry too. “I can’t explain it. I don’t know how she survived that blast and saved those children as well…”
Laurel’s rapid intake of breath cut Harry off mid-sentence, as her pain asserted itself now she knew Helen was safe.
“Come on,” Harry said, gently placing his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go and take a look at that hand.”
The infirmary ship stood by to transport casualties back to the 100 moons; the deceased were to be removed separately, and the Semevalians had begun the disposal of the slain enemy.
Chloe landed her ship in the main thoroughfare, and around twenty children paraded in silence down the ramp into the waiting arms of Semevalian men and women. She was in control, but her distress was palpable.
“I knew Helen needed me,” she said to Harry, fighting tears. “I didn’t intentionally disobey your orders, Commander, but after we took out every bramble droid in the mountains; I couldn’t just stay there.”
“It’s fine, Chloe. You went where you were most needed.”
“Helen told us you got the children to safety,” Laurel said.
Chloe looked at Laurel, puzzled. “No, Helen did that; she got them to me. She was shot. I couldn’t land in an alleyway, so she tried that thing you do, Laurel, jumping up and hanging off the landing rail, but Helen’s not… well, she—she fell off.”
“How did you pick up the children?”
“I circled, and she was out in the main street with a load of little kids. Helen wanted me to land, but enemy soldiers were heading north, if I landed, I knew I’d be detected.” Chloe pointed towards the now destroyed hospital, “She was trying to save these kids, so I fired a few covering shots, dropped down and packed in twenty of the children, she’d got a bunch of the older kids out, ones who could run faster. I covered them, but the enemy seemed to want to get away, so they ignored them, probably because they knew the hospital was going to be blown up. I couldn’t sense her after that. Is she badly hurt?”
“She is,” Harry said, “but she’s on the infirmary ship; she had around ten children with her. How many were in the first group she saved?”
“Twenty with me,” Chloe gestured to the children who were now safe with their friends and families, “and a couple who ran in fright. I calculate she got another ten or so to safety before she went back a second time.”
Laurel turned to Harry. “Helen is amazing, after her fear of failure, she saved over forty children.”
Marta joined them. “Helen’s OK, still unconscious,” she looked around at where they stood amid the carnage and shook her head, saddened.
“In the final count, Marta,” Harry spoke gently, remembering the first time he faced such devastation. “I believe you will find our casualties, and those of the Semevalians are greatly reduced.”
“I found it hard to shoot the first soldier, Harry,” Laurel said, as she watched the sad spectacle of Semevalian’s collecting their dead and dying. “I stunned him. The soldiers following me killed him, but I shot others, so many others.”
“We don’t take prisoners, Laurel, there is nothing else to do. Look,” he pointed at a group of people walking slowly, many surveying the ruins of their home, arms around each other, comforting one another.
The Semevalian Prefect had been removed to the foothills with his wife. He now approached Harry, first taking his hand, then embracing him, having no shame in weeping openly. Harry informed the Prefect of the valuable part played by the whole souls and told him also of Helen saving so many
children. The Prefect spoke to each woman in his language as a mark of his respect, then dropped into Seera. “You delivered us from the enemy.” The Prefect looked around then closed his eyes. “At such cost. Will it never end?”
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to do more,” Laurel said.
“We can rebuild,” the Prefect smiled sadly. “But I fear the enemy will not take such a defeat lightly.”
Harry laid a hand on the Prefect’s arm. “Look to your people now. We’ll leave a garrison. The enemy won’t retake this prefecture.” Harry’s voice, level and confident, hid his true feelings. Laurel knew his heart broke at the senseless loss of so many good people. But there was another thought, hovering near the surface. As the Prefect turned away, Laurel picked up Harry’s thoughts, sensed his bewilderment, his concern.
“This was too easy.”
Chapter 23
Hazy sunlight had just begun to take the chill from the air when they returned to the 100 moons base. The battle had been short, only a few hours in duration, and many of the uninjured soldiers laid the success of the brief campaign on the whole souls’ contribution. After hearing Harry’s thoughts, Laurel wasn’t so sure. The infirmary transport arrived back ahead of the others; the injured triaged and treated, and the rest of the units ordered to clean up and rest. Marta, Chloe and Eli received only minor injuries; Harry and Laurel were treated and passed for duty, so Harry remained at the infirmary to help care for the wounded.
Not able to face company and with the vision of the mortuary ship leaving for Mentelci scored into her brain, alongside the other ugly and inhumane things she’d seen, Laurel skirted around the perimeter of the camp to be alone with her sorrow. Hours later, Marta found her, tearful and reflective, the magnitude and horror of what she witnessed having had time to seep deep into her bones. She hadn’t yet been able to expunge the image of the burned woman from her mind and soul. Marta placed an arm around her, pulling her close, understanding her pain.
Laurel allowed the tears to fall. “I killed someone,” she wept, scarcely believing herself capable of such an act, even with all the training, the talk, the preparation…it couldn’t be real.
“Just one?” Marta angled her head to look at her.
“No, too many,” Laurel said through her tears. “Sons, husbands, brothers. Then I pointed out to our squadron which ones they should execute.”
Marta gave her a little shake. “It doesn’t pay to think of them as people, Laurel, they’re the enemy. They would have killed us, or worse, and they used those gentle people as shields. They’re evil, they serve evil, don’t forget it. Did you hear their thoughts, what they do to Semevalian women? My conscience is clear.”
Laurel sighed, the truth of Marta’s words settling in beside the horrors of those few hours.
“I did hear their thoughts, and when I think of Helen…I wish there were another way. Human nature has such a capacity for evil.”
“And for every evil human being,” Marta said, “there are ten good people looking for ways to help, to administer and show mercy; people like Helen, she didn’t kill anyone.”
Laurel wiped her eyes and sat up, keeping hold of Marta’s hand for comfort. “The final tally isn’t in. Harry said they lost far fewer than usual, because of us.”
“Because of us?” Marta echoed. She twisted around to face Laurel, “Did you notice anything about the enemy? Something unexpected?”
Laurel recalled her first physical encounter with the soldiers in the Prefects House. She would have answered, but from over Marta’s shoulder, she saw Chloe and Eli approaching.
Eli answered Marta’s question. “We all felt it, even me.”
“We need to talk about it, decide what to do,” Laurel said, wiping her eyes. “Helen must have sensed it, that’s why she got so muddled at first.”
“Why did they tell us the enemy are all half-souls?” Chloe sat herself down on the grass and laid a sympathetic hand on Laurel’s arm, seeing the day’s events had taken a toll on her friend. “They misinformed us,” she said. “And it’s not just the enemy, I sensed half-souls among the Semevalians.”
A rumble of consensus went between the four.
“The League aren’t empaths, Chloe,” Marta said. “They use social criteria to determine. Maybe we should say something.”
Laurel disagreed. “Now isn’t the time, Marta. What purpose would it serve? No, we recognise the difference, we recognise the intent, the focus, for now, that’s what’s important. We can explore the whys and wherefores after we win the war. Telling the League of this might cast suspicion on quarter-souls, or who they assume are quarter-souls.”
“I agree with Laurel,” Eli nodded. “Let’s keep this to ourselves. I guess it’s not important; half-soul, quarter-soul, if the intent is there, then they’re the enemy.”
“But the intent; it has no physical manifestation. No translucence, nothing,” Marta stroked the area just below her collar bone. “What if we make a mistake?”
“I don’t think we’ve made any so far,” Laurel said. “We have to trust our new skills won’t let us down.”
“But they’re very new,” Marta shook her head slowly. “How come we didn’t recognise them before?”
“I wouldn’t have been comfortable if they’d manifested to the degree they do now,” Laurel said, bringing a nod of agreement from Eli and Chloe. “And I still feel a sense of wonder that I have them at all; and the enhanced speed.” Again her companions agreed.
Laurel gave a brief laugh. “I think it all came home to me today. You, me, we really are empaths, as Darlen said. And we’re telepaths, whole souls, and truly bound up in a war in a universe we weren’t born into, yet somehow, I feel like I belong here.” She looked at the others. “Say nothing about the half and quarter-souls for now.”
The brief conversation concluded with that understanding. No-one would speak of it to Harry or any of the commanders.
Late that night, Laurel rose from a fitful slumber and stepped outside the lodge. The air was fresh and fragrant, expelling the stink of scorched flesh that had lingered in her nostrils since the battle. The brisk, chill night air exorcised some of the memory and vision of the horror of Semevale 8.
She came across Harry sitting on the grass on the outskirts of the base, bathed in an eerie, cold, natural light that came from the nearby moons.
“Are we safe wandering around at night?” she asked.
“As safe in the universe as anywhere,” he patted the ground beside him. “You say you’re not a fighter, Laurel.”
She sat, drawing her knees up under her chin and clasping her arms around her ankles.
“Not by nature, Harry,” she turned her head to smile a sad smile at him. “A difficult childhood taught me resilience. I can’t bear injustice.”
Above them, Semevale 8 hung distant in a star filled sky; it seemed smaller tonight, diminished, the cancer running over its surface making it less bright. She thought about the times she watched the moon from her bedroom window as a small child, not realising then it was just a desolate rock. In her child’s mind, she imagined it to be a place of excitement and adventure, a place to escape and become the heroine in her own story. When she learned its true nature, it lost its appeal, but with Semevale 8, she would go back in a heartbeat if it saved good people from further suffering. But she had no desire to talk about war. Gentle splashing and rippling sounds drew her attention, and through the trees, she caught glimpses of the reflection of the closest moon on water.
“Is that a river?” she said, peering through the half-light.
“Rather a grand title for it, I’m afraid,” Harry chuckled. “It’s more a stream, the water’s clear, and the reflection of the low moon in the water is restful to watch.”
“You’ve been here many times?” she asked, feeling the cool air settling onto her skin.
When he didn’t respond, she glanced back at him. He was watching her, watching the emotions on her face change from puzzlement to thoughtf
ulness and even to sadness. But for him, it was infinitely better than seeing post-battle stress, something he’d seen far too often. Tonight, the medical staff had not called him to a single patient for anxiety, such was the faith the empaths inspired. The moment hung between them, and she angled her head, wondering at his expression. He finally answered her question, even though she’d forgotten she asked it.
“I practically live here now, the evening air rejuvenates, and the stream calms.” Harry looked up at the moon. “I find myself tired of war, Laurel.”
“I’m tired of it too, Harry, and I’ve only been in one battle. What did you mean, when you said—thought—it was too easy?”
He made no mention that she’d read his mind. “The enemy deployed too few troops to establish a definitive stronghold. Also, they seldom use high explosives; they do more damage firing from orbit, particularly on such a small prefecture. Semevalian casualties are a fraction of what they usually are, and we lost none of those in the mountains. I don’t know,” Harry’s uneasiness came through. “Something’s not right.”
“You said you aren’t a warrior, Harry. But I noticed the black eye earlier, which has miraculously disappeared, and the injury to your arm. I wondered how a physician gets to be a commander. You mentioned briefly you were in law enforcement, like Asde.”
“That’s right,” he grinned, the moonlight catching a sudden sparkle in his eyes. “As I grew up, I wanted to join the police. They accepted me at sixteen, my father moved to his new life, and I went into the Academy. I loved it, keeping fit, training, travel. An ideal way of life for a young man,” Harry laughed. “Just after I graduated, I went on a practical assignment to the border, but after the excitement of the Academy, it was slow. A few of us went to an outpost to get rid of some energy; we got set upon by a few others there doing the same thing.”
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