“They didn’t have it when I did it---did you use it to contact her mum?” she asks, “Or was she Space Forces?”
“No, she’s a civilian, I never contacted her,” I say, as we get our trays and go to sit down.
“Why not?” she asks.
“Never saw the need,” I say.
“What if she’d wanted to meet you? She only carried your child,” she says, a bit accusingly.
“I don’t care, she chose to enter the program,” I say, shrugging, “Her choice. She could’ve kept custody of her if she’d wanted.”
“Yeah, but she’d not have gotten any money which is probably why she did it,” she says.
“Then she got her money,” I say, “Why should I care? I have my daughter.”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you Tess might be interested in meeting her mum?” she asks.
“No,” I say, “She doesn’t ask.”
“That’s because she thinks you don’t know who she is. don’t you think it’s a little bit unfair to keep her from at least knowing who she is?” she asks.
“No, it’s perfectly fair,” I say, sharply with more than a hint of malice.
“Are you afraid that if Tess met her mum, she’d somehow love her more than you?” she realizes.
“No,” I lie, very badly.
“Titus, you do, don’t you?” she says, leaning to look in my eyes as I lean away. “Is that why? Because you’re afraid if you let Tess meet her mum, she’ll love her more than you?”
“Well, why wouldn’t she?” I ask, desperately.
“Because you’re her dad,” she says, “No mum is going to replace you---”
“No, not replace, but she’ll be better than me, Tess will rather spend time with her than me she’s my daughter I’m supposed to get her all the time, I don’t want to share her,” I say, flatly.
“Why do you think somebody else would be better than you?” she asks, “You haven’t even met this person, she might not even like kids, she might be perfectly miserable for all you know.”
“I do know! take any person---any random person you’ve ever met, think really hard about this now---aren’t they preferable in countenance and manner, to me?” I ask, cocking my head.
“Well---”
“Honestly now---”
“All right, yes, but not to Tess, you’re her dad, she loves you, nothing is going to change that,” she says, “You’re always going to be her strong, brave dad who carries her on your shoulders and shows her your medals and comes back from every distant asteroid to see her. That’s not going to change in her heart even if her mum absolutely perfect.”
“No, but it’ll be different,” I say, “She’ll see, she’ll start to see what other people are like—and she wouldn’t talk to her the way I do, wouldn’t teach her the things I do---it’d be all different, and I like things the way they are, for the first time---somebody cares about me, because I’m me, not in spite of me.”
“It would be different but---,” she takes a deep breath, “I understand how you feel, but---it’s important for Tess to have other people----”
“She doesn’t need other people she has me,” I say, firmly.
“I know but---all right, give me a second, to show you how to think about this-----” she says, taking a deep breath.
“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning.
“I mean I know there’s a way to get you to understand this, to help you understand how people feel----okay, I’ve got it,” she says, “Didn’t you tell me, back when Tess was born, we were still flying together---remember? You mentioned that you wanted more children?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding, “But the biological mother I was matched with never consented to more children, apparently, or they weren’t viable---and I was only ever matched with one woman, they do something with IQs apparently.”
“Big surprise, yes---”
“But I don’t see how that matters, meeting me wouldn’t make her more likely to carry my offspring I think we can both agree on that,” I say.
“Okay----okay yeah that’s true, I’m really sorry that’s true--- but no that wasn’t what I was going to say---”
“Oh, right, sorry, go on—”
“—what I was getting at was, you would like to have more children, wouldn’t you?” she asks.
“Yes, a couple, more people like me,” who love me. like Tess does, looks forward to seeing. Thinks I’m the best thing to happen to the universe. And no fear in her eyes, no hesitation when I speak, none of the cautiousness that haunts all others when they are with me.
“Right, but would that make you love Tess any less?” she asks.
“No, of course not, she’ll always be my precious little girl she----ah, I see what you mean,” I realize, “You’re saying that just like I wouldn’t love her any different or spend any less time with her if she had siblings. So she wouldn’t feel differently about me if she knew her mum.”
“Yes, exactly, you see? You’d still love her even if she had brothers or sisters, it would make both of your lives richer, and the same is true of letting her meet her mum,” she says.
“No it’s not---her mum will---odds are---be completely normal---I am not normal, my children would not be normal, I would not love Tess less because she is perfect, nobody else could make her less perfect---if she meets somebody else, another parent, she’ll see how I am----less---less than other people,” I say, my voice angry.
His voice is shaking, I feel bad for pressing the issue. He’s more sensitive than I realize, that’s the problem with him. He seems so terribly strong, so careless with people and emotions, yet his heart is tied so closely to that little girl. I know it would be best for the child to meet her mother, yet in reality, it’s for the very reason I’m telling him it’s not. the little girl does need to meet somebody----not him. not meet but---be loved by, parented by. He never had a father, nor mother much for that matter, so I know he’s doing his best with her but he’s so----I can’t stand to use his own word. Less. But it’s true and he knows it is and that’s what hurts.
“Okay, you’re probably right,” I say, because I can’t bring myself to say anymore.
“No, you don’t think that,” he says, looking down at his hands. I think there were tears in his eyes. I feel bad—it’s terrible. He knows all too well far too many things, including his own faults. Nobody should see themselves that clearly. It’s too painful. Yet he does, in his curse of seeing everything so well, it includes himself.
“No I do, you’re right, she could be perfectly miserable, and you and Tess have each other,” I lie.
“We do,” he says, “I’ll research it for her, for her friend. Tell her tonight, I was going to take her out.”
“That’ll be nice,” I say, gently. His voice is coming back to normal. “How’d the day go with your cadets?”
“That was fun, they’re over there with Tom now,” he says, nodding across the room.
“You still haven’t gotten her to forgive you?” she asks.
“No, working on that, thank you though. Thorn was no help by the way.”
“He wouldn’t be he’s the first one to admit he can’t manage his own love life let alone help with anyone else’s----what did you take them flying today?” I ask, looking at the cadet’s faces.
“Yes,” he says, smiling now at the mention of it, “How did you know? Did you see it in the logs?”
“No, I saw their expressions.”
“What’s that?” he asks, turning around.
“Something like shock and horror mixed with bliss.”
“Well, what’d you think?” I ask, amused. Jordan and Starr are sitting across from me, in a haze like state, barely touching their food.
“He was right, that was like dying,” Jordan says.
“I know.” I say.
“I didn’t think things could feel like that,” Starr says.
“I know,” I say, “Try flying with him when you’re actually in space and not safe on
the ground.”
“Oh, ma’am, I’d sooner not, I was terrified and I knew it was a simulator,” Jordan says, “How does he do everything so quickly?”
“It’s his magic,” I say, forcing myself not to glance over at him, drinking his milk, either reading two books at once, or reading one book and sitting with Ziegfeld, asking her why I’m angry with him. Let him wonder. Eventually his little sociopathic mind will realize that I blame him in his bloody genius perfection, that he couldn’t save Leavitt. Not save him. He did save him. He is alive. barely, a voice in my head whispers.
“I didn’t like flying, before,” Starr says.
“You do now?” I ask.
“No, now I hate it. it fees like---being too real,” Starr says, looking down at his food. “I didn’t like it.”
“Ma’am, how is it that different? Flying with you didn’t feel like that---I mean of course you’re much, much better at flying than me or any of the cadets but---he just doesn’t fly like any of our instructors, like he flies how they told us not to,” Jordan says.
“That’s true, he does,” I say.
“Ma’am, why is that?” Jordan asks.
“Because only he can fly like that,” I say, “Anybody else who tries winds up dead pretty quickly. He should be dead by now. he just isn’t.”
“It’s like he doesn’t care,” Starr says, finally, “Like he doesn’t have any fear of dying.”
“He doesn’t,” I say.
“Ma’am, how can that be a good thing?” Starr asks.
“It’s not,” I say.
My evening turns out much better than I anticipated a few days ago. coming out of the hospital, I had assumed I’d spend my evenings not thinking about drinking, being legless, and watching myself drool. Granted when I flew that last mission with Card, I thought I’d come home with my legs. Odd, life.
Instead I’m sitting on the floor, all the lights off, watching the neighbor across the way’s house through night vision goggles, eating greasy take out food out of boxes, with a very beautiful woman who seems perfectly willing to have sex with me by my side, with an eight year old girl lying on my back with her head pressed against mine because apparently it’s interesting in there. I feel a bit bad about that, I’m pretty sure the majority of my life is an X rated horror film. But she’s enjoying herself and Jo says she hasn’t been this happy since she found her. So. whatever.
“When do you think they’ll get back?” I ask. I’m concerned for whoever is planning on offing the guy. I mean, this is war but this is war on enemy territory with back up of a crippled veteran and a telepathic kid and one probably really bad ass woman. The latter is probably the only marginally helpful back up but we are all still in enemy territory and telepathic kid and crippled veteran have no back up, people skills, lying abilities, or experience at this. So I’m generally nervous about the mission. Jo is more calm, she’s run this sort of mission before. I am disgusted at how nervous I am about this. I’m used to the luxury of millions of dollars of machinery beneath me and at the least a few dozen well paid killers at my side.
“She said they were shopping first, so it may be a while. She wants to do it here once dark falls, but if she has to sooner because he makes a move, that’s what she has to do,” Jo says. like I said she’s really used to this.
“With what?” I ask.
Jo glances at Lizzie who is mumbling and putting her face in my short hair.
“Yeah, what’s in there is much worse,” I say, tapping my head.
“I like you,” Lizzie says, for the eighteenth time tonight. not that I’m counting. What? People don’t generally like me or talk to me. mostly because I’m the guy who doesn’t go out drinking, and stands in corners avoiding looking or talking to people and giving one word answers.
“She has a knife and small gun, she’ll probably use the knife, don’t want to introduce a gun if we can’t help it, his MO is knife,” Jo says, shrugging.
“What about the body?” I ask, softly.
“Unless she wants to plead self defense; we wait till dark, dump it in the Lovecraft,” she says. the river that runs through the capital is known for having bodies turn up in it.
“Can I stay here with Quentin?” Lizzie asks.
“If she says she’s fine, we both will stay here,” Jo says, “No need for all of us to go wandering about after dark.”
“How do you get around after dark?” I ask. to save energy in the interests of not destroying this planet and all that shit, the lights New America wide go off between midnight and four am, leaving us in pitch darkness, on a moonless night like this. Of course, Space Forces doesn’t follow that rule because we ran 24 hour operations, so I’m not used to getting up in the middle of night only to realize I can’t turn on any lights.
“It’s not hard, didn’t you play in the dark when you were a boy?” she asks, surprised.
“No,” I say. my mother used to keep us in. first of course I was too little, then I was minding Ginny while my mum worked.
“You get used to relying on hearing things instead of seeing them, it’s especially useful if the person you’re fighting isn’t used to it,” she says, “Or if police are coming, they have the night vision goggles, so they aren’t used to chasing somebody who can get about.”
“Well, as the person with the night vision goggles, I’m not used getting about without them,” I say.
“Doesn’t matter, you are still the person with the night vision goggles,” she says. but I determine to learn how to function without them. I’ve only got two pairs and if it came down to it I’d rather Lizzie and Jo have the goggles for all their telepathy and general awesomeness, the girls should have those if the enemies move in. the enemies are the police if you hadn’t gotten that.
“Even so,” I say, “How’d you learn to get around? Muck about enough in the middle of the night?”
“That, and during the day I’d muck about as well---I was one of those weird kids who used to want to do all that spy stuff, practice crawling about, kidnap my sister that sort of thing, I’d blindfold myself, and practice finding my way around in the complete dark, sometimes I’d bounce a ball, or have my sister bounce a ball at me, and I’d try to catch it, just from hearing where the bouncing was coming from,” she says, sounding like she’s smiling at the memory.
“Huh, I’ll have to try that,” I say.
“No need really, like I said, just a thing I did,” she says.
“Ah, I don’t like being in a party not being able to do things the mission requires,” I say.
“You weren’t assigned to the party,” Jo says.
“No, I sorta volunteered,” I say.
Lizzie mumbles.
“You havin’ fun up there?” I ask, amused.
(who am I in your party?)
“You’re the spymaster,” I say.
“What’s that?” Jo asks.
“Who am I in the party?” Lizzie repeats.
“It’s a space Forces thing, when there were a bunch of us brass, we called it a party, and even though we were the same rank or about, we each had a specialty---this wasn’t an actual formal thing it was just a thing we did, made things simpler or whatever, ‘cause each of us had a job we were best at, screw rank and all that, if the person in charge of that job said to do it even if they were little lower rank, we did it---so for every party, there were a set number of positions, depended on if somebody died or not, then somebody else would take over the other’s position. The positions were: the spymaster, the scholar, the touchstone, the savoir, and the killer,” I say, “There were a few others if the party was bigger, but those five were the main ones---sometimes you’d have a radar and a mapmaker, stuff like that. in our party there were usually just the five.”
“How’d you get each job---like what would you do?” she asks.
“First mission we had, first mission off planet, we’d get together as a group, us officers, and assign jobs. The stripes never knew, they didn’t know the way we�
�d sort things---guess most people don’t know---but anyway, we’d sit around, and figure out what every one was good at.
“So, Spymaster, they were the one who knew the most languages, good at sneaking places, that sort of thing. They had to go in first if there was an enemy base, they would infiltrate, typically, this person would have had the most encounters with the Isylgyns.
“Scholar was the person who knew the most, had the biggest knowledge of facts and computers and repairing the ships and stuff, they were the one we turned to if anything broke, if we needed to know about the planet, they directed finding out about the planet, stuff like that. The
“Touchstone was the person who was luckiest, they were the ones who, if it came to left or right or go or stay, they called it, ‘cause they were always right; don’t know why, but they were. usually they were the oldest, had flown the most missions, stuff like that. The Savior is basically in charge, they’re the ones who call the shots, make the final decisions when it comes down to it, and at the point of no return, they’re the last one—”
“What’s that mean?” Jo asks, sensing no doubt that I forget she doesn’t know all of the terms I’m using.
“Meaning, if we’re all gonna die, the Savior is the one who mercy kills everyone, then themselves,” I say.
“Right, go on? What was the fifth job?” she asks.
“The fifth job is the killer, they’re the ones who are the best shot, and the last one to freak out when everyone else is dying, they go into battle first, take the risks, do the heavy shooting, if it comes down to conserving ammo, that sort of thing, the killer gets the last ammo, the best gun,” I explain.
“So I’m the spymaster, ‘cause I can sort of read minds,” Lizzie says, happily.
“Yeah, you are, and you’re much better than my last one,” I say.
“Who was your last spymaster?” Jo asks.
“Major Card, the guy who was flying the ship when I lost my legs,” I say, a bad taste in my mouth at the mention of his name.
“Ah,” Jo says, “His name sounds familiar---”
“Yeah, he got captured by the Isylgyns before, stuff like that, they give him medals. He’s a creepy bastard,” I say.
Darkside 3 Page 6
