by Ma West
The commodore approached a kneeling Xendorian. It was someone special, someone loved, and the baroness could feel the emotional attachment. The baroness’s heart beat faster, and terror gripped her deep inside as if she knew what was about to happen. The kneeling Xendorian looked up, its face longing, remorseful, and loving. The commodore slowly moved behind the Xendorian, lightly grabbed her shoulder, and slid his hand down toward the center. Then, with a quick thrust, he killed the kneeling Xendorian.
The connection was lost, but the feeling of loss was overwhelming. A strong lurch by the ship forced Lyndia to release the baroness as she braced herself against the wall. Red lights once again flooded the hallway. The baroness, still overcome by the emotion of another’s memory, paused her flight. Was she just attacked? She wanted to run but had no idea where to go.
It took her a few seconds, but Lyndia accessed a panel on a wall, again something that would have been totally invisible to the baroness. “That, was that the truth?”
Lyndia turned from the panel and studied the baroness. “The truth is that the commodore is a very dangerous individual with great skill, great ambition, and no morals. That is why we are going to the hangar bay as ordered. As for that?” Lyndia motioned toward the ceiling. “That was a collision in the hangar bay. No doubt caused by the efforts of your escaped friends.”
Feeling that she was neither friend nor foe, the baroness was once again being carried by Lyndia, at amazing speed, around a few corners. She saw some Xendorians working feverishly to extinguish flames, while a herd of small, black robots stampeded past them and into the hangar deck.
It was fear that kept Prisoner 00’s eyes closed. Physical pain was easy, for his body’s signals were easy to ignore. His heart’s aches, however, could only be expressed in overwhelming emotions that either erupted out in violence or stained his soul with their truths. He couldn’t bear to lose her again. She was so small, so innocent, and so precious, and he had failed her. No, it was too much to face losing her again.
Yet even if it was tiny, there was a chance she was still alive, and if she was still alive, she would need him. With his eyes closed, both were true: she was still alive, and she did need him—and she was already dead, lying there waiting to expose his overt failings. To open them would be to face a possible truth that he had failed, again.
He grasped for control but found none. His emotional wall struggled to hold back the tears, and as he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see past them or the memories. His vision cleared slowly, each blink bringing that horrible reality back to truth, and when he finally caught a clear sight, he knew what had happened.
He tried to lash out in anger, and he tried to vent the pain, but there was nowhere for it to go. So he turned his head, unable to look upon his failings anymore.
His tears came so ferociously that they burned, and as he turned away, no longer able to accept the truth, he saw her—no, them. He saw them, and without intent, without effort, he had repeated the same set of missteps. She was beautiful, magical, and in trouble, and he had to face the truth that she was doomed and it was his fault. How could he protect her? The baroness and her child—he couldn’t do it, ever. Now, as he looked at the girl, he realized that he would be forced to face his failure, not once but thrice more. Oh, what cruel fate would force a man to fail those most important to him, over and over again?
“Death, give me death, you cruel bastard. I can take no more.” He shouted in a voice not verbal, not internal. Had there been a way, he surely would have killed himself.
The alien put the baroness down as she and the other Xendorians rushed to the aid of the pilots. The baroness ran to Prisoner 00’s side, his head frantically shaking no, tears pouring like rain from his eyes, his face swollen and red. This misery was on a deep level. All those times she had gazed into his eyes, she knew it was there, but she had no idea how intense it was for him.
Her tears formed in sympathy as he ached. His body twitched, his eyes faded, and his heart broke. Another human body lay several feet to his side, and as the baroness neared him, she recognized the mangled corpse as Terresa. Terresa had been one of his new favorites, but the emotional impact she was having on him hurt her.
Fear crept into her heart. Would he be faithful? Could he love another? Could he really be who she needed him to be? The closer she got to him, the more she wanted to retreat. The new truth of her life was too much. She needed him to be strong, not like this crying fool. Anger burned inside her, frustration set in, and her feet stomped. How could he? He was supposed to be hers, and hers alone. How dare he give his heart to another? How dare he?
The baroness came forth in a rage, but as her hands reached for his throat and his tears washed over her hands, her heart softened. She raised her hands, now placing them on each side of his face. He twisted and squirmed, thrashing in agony, but she had no fear, no more anger, and as her hands made contact with his skin, she could feel the pattern of his breathing change, but the panic remained.
What had she done? A new emotion crept into her heart: guilt. She didn’t ask him if he wanted to be a father; she simply chose him. Damn it! Why did she have to choose him? Why did she have to get pregnant? Why did she have to do any of this? It was all her fault. It was all on her, and now that she realized it, it hurt her too.
She sat on his lap and slowly brought his head under her control. As she made eye contact, she saw the sorrow, the pain. It wasn’t Terresa—it was something more personal, and she could feel it, even if she didn’t know what it was. She peered into his eyes, connecting with his soul, and she said the only thing she wanted to hear. “You are forgiven.”
Rage, rage had always been the answer. Now that it was taken away, other emotions were proving overwhelmingly painful. Each new emotion, each new fear, and each new realization hit Prisoner 00 harder than any bar drunk, jock, or even alien ever could have. Never before had he wished, begged, or prayed to be freed of his prison with such intensity.
What did she say? The words came out jumbled in tears. “What did you say?”
Again she looked at him, tears coming down from her own eyes. “You are forgiven.”
The words shook him. They entered his mind but held no meaning. They entered his heart, and still they found no meaning. But when they entered his soul, his prison evaporated. The pain of failures past came again, but differently. He had failed, he was dead, and while the pain was there, it had been transformed—transformed into something that gave new life to his soul, his heart, and his mind. He was forgiven.
Chapter 21
Girl Time
For several long, heart-breaking outbursts of sobs, Sasha stood there holding her new friend. A troubled and varied array of emotions went through her mind. Even though she knew it not to be true, Sasha blamed herself. She was the one who had suggested getting drunk, she was the one who fought back, and she was the one to blame.
Emilia pulled back, never really having engaged Sasha in an embrace, and let loose several angry kicks into a nearby couch. “Stupid fucking boys, why do they have to ruin everything? Why? Why? Why? Can’t there be just one good man in this world? It’s always, ‘touch this,’ ‘let me touch that.’ Am I nothing more than a vagina?” Emilia released another volley of kicks into the couch before breaking down into tears.
Emilia’s comments confused Sasha. Sasha wanted to blame the individuals, including herself, not the sex. To Sasha, boys had always just been around, especially Daddy. She couldn’t immediately bring up any negative memories of boys. In fact, she had learned many things from boys. After some thought, though, Sasha also realized that she had never had any form of sexual encounter with a boy before, nor had she any desire.
The stream of tears rushing down Emilia’s face provoked a strong reaction in Sasha, and a feeling of anger rose again. Sasha wanted to rage—against the perpetrators, against Emilia’s tears, and against herself for failing. Normally this level of anger would have provoked an intense round of fog, but things were
different around Emilia. She felt more in control, more responsible, and more important. The continued sight of her friend’s tears quickly vanquished her rage, turning it into something more human. “Emilia, I can protect you. I can keep you safe. I can love you.”
The regret came instantly as that last set of words came out. She had overplayed her hand, exposed more of herself than she should have, and now someone she was starting to care about—someone who was struggling, someone who was afraid and confused—had more put on her.
“Love, love, what the hell do you know about love? There is no fucking love in this world, just debauchery and lust. Love is a fairy tale used to deceive little girls into thinking they have a chance. Consider yourself lucky you’re just a weapon. There is no worse fate than being a woman.”
The viciousness of the remarks pained Sasha, and no instant regret on Emilia’s part would undo the hurt. Sasha stepped back. She had opened herself up more than she had intended, and now her worst fears had come to fruition. She calmed herself, making sure to control any signs of the fog, but she had lost all chemistry with Emilia. Sasha felt her emotional wall rising. She wanted to run. She wanted to take back the words. She wanted to die.
Sasha was wrong. Emilia, being more empathic than other people in Sasha’s life, picked up on her rising panic and—with two simple words—released all the tension like a breaking dam. Two words that undid all the hurt, followed by two words that strengthened their chemistry, refreshed Sasha’s heart and brought two strangers closer together. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”
“Oh, man, I’m high, too high for driving. Holy crap, has it been that long since I last . . .” Considering the car was empty, Captain Drexter was speaking to himself, yet it came across as more of a coaching up. “Concentrate, concentrate, look for an opening, focus on the objective . . . there.” The captain had managed to park his vehicle. His head twirled around, and for a few seconds, he enjoyed the last of his high. However, his time was limited, and he needed to come down. He surveyed the surrounding streets, a liquor store, and a couple empty storefronts. Down the street, he saw a coffee shop. Enticed by the prospects of both caffeine and a snack, he double-timed it, making sure to lock the vehicle behind him.
Returning with supplies in hand, he felt reassured that he could now drive safely, and thanks to the preparation work ahead of time, his uniform and gear were inspection ready. The untimely discovery that his keys were not in any of his pockets sent a sudden body-freezing jolt throughout his body. His eyes moved slowly, and his heart sank, for there was nothing worse than missing a military obligation by getting high and locked out of a vehicle.
Sasha felt her heart race. In one night, she had expended more emotional energy than she had in her entire previous life. She no longer wondered why Father had denied her this part of the human experience. It was exhausting. Every phase, every look, every word Emilia made consumed her full concentration and analysis. Yet for all its enormous effort, she craved more, not only more quantity but more intensity too.
Emilia approached and gently hugged Sasha. “I already feel closer to you than some kids I spent an entire year with, after school.” A slow tingle crept down Sasha’s back, and her body froze. A range of emotions, hormones, and thoughts pulled her in a million directions at once. Sasha restricted the words before they came out and ended up silently mouthing them: “I love you.”
Emilia’s head tilted as she asked, “What?”
Sasha’s heart pounded as she scrambled for a cover, unaware of what she’d done. Again Emilia had brought her to the point of extreme exertion. “I . . . would . . . love . . . to watch a movie with you, is all that I was going to say. I must admit, I am feeling a little tired all of a sudden.”
For a brief moment, just until the longer-term consequences could sink in, Drexter wanted to know his near future. Lacking that ability, however, he cursed himself and pulled up wildly on each of the door handles. He looked around. The liquor store had some loose papers on the ground, but nothing useful. Tracing along the empty storefront, he found half a wire, maybe part of a coat hanger. Looking back at the vehicle, he saw a small crack in the passenger window—not big enough to get a finger through, but maybe the wire.
His pulse quickened. He was already pushing it, regarding the time. Sure it was most likely some stupid parade, inspection, or other protocol BS, but he was still more than a couple years away from survivable retirement. A poor showing today might make those years rather unfulfilling. He grabbed for his phone, wanting to locate the nearest locksmith, but was greatly disappointed to realize it was also still in the vehicle.
Desperate, he bent the wire to make a hook and placed it around the window. At first he pulled down, hoping not to break it. It wedged a bit but popped back up when his pressure decreased. He tried again but stuck his wallet in the gap as he pulled down. It lodged in place, so he looked for something bigger and found a rock. He now pulled down on the window and attempted to wedge the rock inside.
A siren blared, startled the major, and rattled his wallet enough to drop it into the vehicle.
His desired mind clearing from the caffeine—and adrenaline, now that two uniformed police officers were aiming weapons at him—had yet to materialize. He froze and his jaw dropped a little, yet no words came out as a midforties officer with a graying mustache approached. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
There was a long pause, as his brain refused to process the encounter, on the grounds of its unfathomable nature. “All right, rookie, cuff him and search him. I’ll keep an eye on him and call it in.”
His thoughts ran like a herd past a predator, avoiding capture. His body offered no resistance as an early-twenties Hispanic man advanced, wide-eyed and visibly nervous. The new officer spoke with a mild quiver in his voice. “Any sharp needles, scissors, or blades in any of your pockets?”
The older cop stopped speaking into the radio and came back. “What, isn’t this where you’re going to tell us that this is really your car and you just accidently happened to lock your keys in the car?”
His mind searched, but down every path was impending doom. To claim ownership of the car was to admit ownership of the marijuana inside—a potential court-martial, retirement-stealing type of offense, especially for an officer. He could flee, but he was already being handcuffed. Taking a misdemeanor charge meant the chance of vehicle confiscation and eventual discovery, or not.
The younger officer finished handcuffing the major, looked into the vehicle, and weakly spoke. “Eh, Chip, there are keys in the vehicle.”
Officer Chip looked annoyed. “Listen, rookie, HQ wants us on post, like, now. Throw him in the back of the car, bag the rock and hanger, take some pictures, and get it done now!”
It was a move based on pure desperation rather than conscious thought, and it was the first time Captain Drexter had ever resorted to something he personally detested—and it would become his second regret of the day. “Discrimination, discrimination!”
Bringing his hand to his forehead, Officer Chip yelled, “Get him in the damn car, rookie!”
While it fell short of fleeing, the captain was in a state of flight as the adrenaline continued to push out the same word, over and over. The junior officer continued to lead his prisoner, but he did so with an underwhelming amount of force, allowing the captain several additional moments outside the car—at least until a sharp pain stabbed his side and brought him to his knees, knocking the junior officer back.
A powerful hand grabbed him by the shoulder and tossed him into the back of the vehicle. His entire body hurt, and his head pounded, but he still heard Officer Chip’s lecture through the windows.
“When I say put the perp in the back of the fucking vehicle, I mean put the fucking perp in the back of the goddamn vehicle! I don’t mean let him cause a scene. If you want to survive a career out here, kid, you need to grow up real fast.”
The young officer shook his wrist as the Taser automatically diseng
aged itself. He uttered a few words of defense, but the senior officer started up again.
“Do you have any idea how much more fucking paperwork you just caused me? Use your damn head. You know of any military installations around here? You know what the hell is around here? Military surplus. Look at those fuckin’ eyes. This dude is so cracked out he can barely even speak. So, rookie, you tell me what’s more likely—that a military officer in the middle of bum town accidently locked his keys in the car or that some hobo ripped off surplus, saw a wallet on a car seat in front of a liquor store, and tried to steal it. Now get him secured, get this evidence bagged, and let’s get on our damn way.”
The captain sat stewing in his own thoughts. He silently cursed “the man,” ignoring the fact that some might even consider him “the man.” He cursed himself, the police, and the circumstances, but surprisingly he didn’t curse the marijuana. Every time he could gather a coherent string of thoughts, they were lost or garbled before they formed on his lips, keeping him a fidgety mess.
This weed seemed particularly strong, and he tried to think back to where he had acquired this batch. Again his thoughts were interrupted as they arrived at the station.
The younger of the two officers led the captain through a maze of obligatory requirements, including pictures and fingerprints. The young man was still on his first week of actual street duty, and his newness, eagerness, and interest in what most officers would consider mundane was quite refreshing. It crossed the captain’s mind to try reasoning with the young man, but he figured it was well past the point of no return. In the end, he went into a holding cell with roughly ten others to await his phone call, still unsure about whom to call.
