Tiri came in followed by a sympathetic-looking R.N.
It was a gesture of love on Tiri’s part, but Liyan figured he was going to have nightmares no matter what. For a long while, yet.
*
Dear Cobalt:
I am Liyan’s friend and partner, Tiri. I know we have never communicated like this before, but now I am writing this for him.
We are so sorry your last four waves went unanswered.
There has been an accident. For now the details are classified, but rest assured Liyan is just fine. He is recovering in hospital. Do not be alarmed. He required a new spine and all is well. The surgery was quite successful.
I have little time right now, but want to say I am happy to answer any waves from you until he himself is able to do so.
He wants to come home to you when he can comfortably travel.
Would you be willing to arrange to put all three of us up at the Aurora… me, Lark and Liyan? I hope that is not a hardship.
I will wave you a timetable when I know more about the true length of his recovery.
Your friend,
Tiri
*
Dear Tiri:
Thank you for this wave. I would be lying if I said I have not been worried for many days now.
I saw your message and instantly expected bad news. Honestly, I feared worse.
I am so glad to hear Liyan is recovering well.
The three of you have open reservations at the Aurora whenever you can make use of them. No expiration date.
Please tell Liyan I am thinking of him. If there is anything else I can do, please let me know. I would come to him if I could. He knows that.
Your friend,
Cobalt
*
The physical therapy was annoying but efficient. Liyan could move around his hospital room with assistance after two days of beginning the therapy, but only for minutes at a time. Then he needed to rest. A hover-chair was brought in.
He still slept more than he was awake. He forced himself to sit up in the chair as much as he could.
He’d learned much in the last few days. Sekina’s ship had brought them all to a hospital outpost. Liyan remembered nothing of that trip, or the rescue. Lark told him he had refused to allow Sekina to take them back to Lone. So she headed for a hospital outpost that was non-military, neutral. Apparently Sekina had visited him every day while he was aboard the Dar-alon.
“She held your hand and talked to you a lot,” Lark said. “She had to leave after dropping us all here.”
“Please tell her thank you. I’ll wave her when I can.”
“I will.”
There was a lot more to catch up on, and Liyan quickly learned that the drama surrounding the death of his ship had grown into a kind of legal and panicky frenzy.
Lark and Tiri brought Liyan, in his hospital bed, documents and reports marked “classified”to help fill him in.
“How did you get these?” he asked.
“We all have clearance,” Tiri explained. “We’re part of the report.”
Within one long document he saw the reason for all the secrecy. There were phrases describing the admiral overseeing the military bases at Lone as “unfit for duty.” And, “the admiral, suffering from the onset of a rare brain malady could not make appropriate decisions regarding day to day…” etc., etc.
After the accident, the admiral had been put into a hasty retirement, somewhere safe where she could never again harm herself or others. In the official report, the blame for everything fell onto her. A lot of medical jargon was used to describe her condition and why it was she had ordered an expensive vessel of non-military civilians with a non-military grade deflector shield into a waiting death trap. And why Liyan and his crew had not been given the background files on the derelict ships, especially the one which still emitted a distress signal but had been adrift for years. If they had known about it, the Siren Song might have survived.
More psychological jargon was used to explain why it was not earlier apparent she was unfit for duty, why she remained in charge of one of the largest military contingency of bases for so long when her mental deterioration had been on-going for months.
Embarrassed, and perhaps facing both criminal and civil lawsuits, the military, of course, did not wish to go public with that information at all. Ever.
More reports came, amended.
When Liyan felt well enough he was interviewed by no fewer than three military investigators and four attorneys. They told him what to say and where to sign. Failure to comply would result in prison-time, due to an old, outlandish law that mostly had to do with war-time secrecy.
However, if he complied, and signed their amended documents, he and the rest of his skeleton crew that had gone on the mission to send probes into the anomaly would be given restitution. The figures were somewhat staggering, given that the military could just threaten them to comply and pay nothing.
Instead, they offered money.
The official ruling for the disaster became one unfortunate and horrific word: accident. The cause, as told to the media, was part of an on-going investigation.
So it came that less than two weeks after his rescue, Liyan sat in his hover-chair in a cozy hospital office with a multitude of lawyers and signed off on a second ‘official’ report that contained nothing of what he’d witnessed. Then he signed a statement verifying that he would never speak to the press. He then gave permission for each of his affiliated crew-members to sign.
Afterwards, he was presented with a sizeable check. A settlement. Hush money.
The rest of his crew received payments as well.
The report did not accuse him or his crew of negligence. But neither did it vindicate him. The higher-ups at C&C knew the truth, but not the hiring bosses.
He would have a lot of trouble finding another captaincy. And he was legally disallowed from speaking of the accident to completely clear his name.
With Lark and Tiri at his side, it was time to go home.
*
Dear Cobalt:
May I come home for awhile?
I know Tiri has waved you. I’m sorry I could not until now.
I have quite a story to tell, but for once I don’t feel like writing it in a wave.
I will tell you in person.
I am recovering well but still in a hover-chair.
Tiri says you have arranged reservations for us.
Thank you.
We will arrive soon. No hours-long shuttle voyage this time. We’re coming in a big ship, close as we can, then taking the shuttle from there.
Love,
Liyan
*
Dear Liyan:
Getting a message from you, any message, means I can breathe easier once again.
Your room is booked. The best we have. The penthouse. I insisted. Pel did not deny me.
I look forward to seeing you more than you can know.
Be well.
I will be waiting.
Love,
Cobalt
*
Dear Cobalt:
My name is Sekina. I command the Dar-alon. I will be in your sector on 29876 to deliver my friend Liyan into your care. Two more people will be accompanying him. You know who Lark and Tiri are even if you have never met them.
My friend only wishes to come home and it is so little for me to grant him that wish.
I know you will treat him well.
Meet my ship’s shuttle at gate 111 on the above date and time.
Sincerely,
Captain Sekina, Dar-alon
31. Always the Distant Rumble of the Ships
He’d missed mucky green skies, emerald vapors, the distant glimmer of the outer force-fields.
He’d missed the ozone scent of the rocket yards. The constant hum of the ships.
But most of all he’d missed the android who’d stolen a part of his heart. And even
though he’d had enough of himself left over to offer Lark and Tiri, that initial piece of his heart always ached, never allowing itself to be forgotten.
Cobalt met the three of them at gate 111. Liyan looked up at pale lavender irises.
The breath he took felt new and pure.
Their embrace was awkward because of the hover-chair, and because Cobalt looked fearful of hurting him.
Liyan stood up from his chair, then. He put his arms on Cobalt’s shoulders, pulling him in. “I’m just weak. I need time and exercise. But I’m healed. You can’t hurt me.”
Cobalt laughed softly and they hugged tight.
When Liyan pulled back and sat down, Tiri stepped in front of him. She pulled Cobalt into a quick hug, then kissed him on the cheek. To Liyan’s delight, Cobalt actually flushed.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you!” Tiri had never been shy. Now she looked askance at Liyan. “You never told me how handsome he is.” Then she turned back to Cobalt. “He told us everything else but that!”
Now Lark stepped forward. “Hey, friend of my friend.” Liyan watched as Lark politely embraced Cobalt, perhaps a little too quick.
Cobalt gave no sign that he noticed. He said, “Liyan has described you beautifully, but it’s still nothing like meeting in person. And now allow me to escort all of you to the best hotel in this sector.”
“We’ve heard the rumors of this grand hotel,” Tiri said. “Now we get to see for ourselves.”
The four of them headed for the exit.
*
The fake moon quivered, a chrome oval rising past the triangle window. The spaceport, usually quiet at this hour, spilled over with shouts of revelry. Virtual and real fireworks laced the double force-field shrouded sky. In a room on the highest level of the Grand Aurora Hotel, the android lingered by the silk curtains.
Cobalt turned toward the window, his coattails shushing the shadowed air. The moon of silver cast him in pale blue light which suited the aquamarine hair, the bronze features, the violet eyes.
“You should be down there celebrating, too,” the android said.
Lark and Tiri had ventured out to explore the town, leaving Liyan and Cobalt alone.
They had discussed everything, that they would never leave him, and accepted that Cobalt was to be a fixture now at Liyan’s side. Tiri had even read most of their correspondence. Lark had read only samplings. But through Liyan, they had come to love Cobalt as well.
The room lay in stillness, the gray shadows punctured every few moments by rainbows of refracted color from the blossoming pyrotechnics of the holiday. A new year approached like a new sector of space to be considered, entered, experienced. The old year waited to be left behind in stardust and vapor.
“Yes.” Liyan replied. “It sounds wonderful.” In truth, the fireworks of this day reminded Liyan only too well of the spectacular green and gold lightrise his dying ship created when it tore apart, ribbons of scarlet and gold littering the endless night while in his escape pod he hurtled with the rest of his shipmates in identical flocks of coffins spinning through the deadly vacuum.
The skin of his arms prickled uncomfortably at the thought.
Cobalt turned toward him and said, “I can take you down there.”
“No need. I’m fine here.”
Liyan watched his friend’s face. Cobalt seemed to study him with real emotion.
Liyan gave him a small smile. “You know, I confess that sometimes I suspected during all the times we were apart and communicating only through waves, that your programming might merely have obligated you to respond politely, even cheerily to me. But whenever I came to port and saw you again, I knew how wrong I was.”
“The myth of our kind is integrated into the culture quite efficiently.”
“After Juneau, well, that was when I think it all sunk in. The word ‘android’ is such a disservice to you. It’s an ugly word. It’s the wrong word. After…after that I never questioned your humanity again.”
Cobalt handed Liyan a glass of expensive Airielle champagne. “I know,” he said softly.
Liyan clasped the drink gratefully. His hover-chair was soft but confining. He took a long sip, tongue caressing the bubbles, eyelids lowering to the mechanisms and lights of the chair-arms his elbows rested on, and the gentle step that kept his feet from dragging uselessly on the floor. He’d grown used to the easy maneuverability of the chair, but he couldn’t wait to get rid of it for good.
The alien champagne was wonderful, but the effervescent air of it affected his vision with a stinging sensation. He did not want to look up and be seen as crying. He was a decorated captain. Thirteen years in space had made him strong, wise, decisive. People looked up to him. The story about the death of his ship still scattered across the intergalactic nets. Even now.
Some media articles he’d read ended with suggestive unanswered questions. Others were pure speculative fiction created to fill in the holes. There had been puffed up newscasts with rumor and supposition. Some blamed the explosion on the ship’s engineering design, citing anonymous sources from C&C. Some decided human error was the culprit, and blamed the captain.
His hand quivered. Cobalt took the glass and set it aside. Then he knelt. Softly, he said, “You can relax here for as long as you need.”
Liyan looked up and warm grief drew up inside him, a long ache that crept into his chest. Cobalt, in this moment, was more beautiful than ever.
He kept thinking everything had ended when really everything was beginning.
He kept thinking even Lark and Tiri were gone, but they were not. They were alive and taking in the few town sights.
“Thank you.” All the dramas were behind him now, but he was crying anyway and nothing could be done.
Cobalt said. “And there will be more ships.”
Liyan shook his head. “Maybe. It’ll be difficult.”
“C&C owes you. You take blame personally when you know there is none to take.”
He had never said it aloud, but Cobalt knew. Despite all the official and unofficial reports and the admiral’s negligence, he did also blamed himself. He blamed himself for not insisting on more research from the admiral. For not questioning her demeanor. He blamed himself for not taking even more severe and immediate evasive action as soon as he learned of the other wrecks, despite the ever-emitting distress call from one of them. It had been negligent of him to think he might perform a rescue in an area of space that had already wrecked three or more ships.
When the rescue squads of Sekina’s ship found the crew and took them aboard, they patched him up for the ride home, but the real healing would take place here. With Cobalt.
This he had discussed at length with Lark and Tiri.
With their support, he had upon arrival, used the money of the settlement to buy Cobalt’s contract from the soon-to-retire Pel. It had not been an easy deal. But it was the ‘fix’ he’d been looking for for thirteen years.
In Pel’s office, Liyan, in his hover-chair, had turned his head to look up at Cobalt. “It’s done. Now I’m giving you a choice in what you want to do with your life.”
“But I have no legal freedom within the society itself.”
“I want to make it clear to you I am only taking the responsibility to make sure you can make all your own choices now. I can provide any means you need to accomplish this. So if you want to leave here you can. You can do what you wish and I will facilitate that wish.”
Cobalt had a hint of a smile on his lips when he said, “I wish to stay with you if it is allowed.”
Liyan’s skin warmed. “Are you sure?”
“Are you?”
Tiri, who had been standing with Lark toward the back of the office, said, “We are definitely setting a precedent here. In more ways than one. It might seem, Cobalt, that we three are together and you are the odd man out. But Liyan loves you. And we love Liyan.” She elbowed Lark in the ribs and he nodded in agreement. “That’s al
l any of us needs,” Tiri continued. “That’s all we need to know.”
In the hours since then, Cobalt had never left his side.
The revelries outside stepped up. As the noise progressed and the fire displays superimposed themselves upon Liyan’s memory of his dying ship with more color, tremor and explosion, Cobalt stated the obvious. “It’s almost midnight.”
Liyan nodded, swiping the back of his hand across his face.
“Have you ever wondered,” Cobalt asked, “why we became such fast and immediate friends? A non-human and a human?”
“No,” Liyan said softly, heart fluttering. “I haven’t wondered.”
“You haven’t?”
“No. Because it is fulfilling. More than you can ever imagine. At least to me. I’ve never questioned how natural it was…is.”
Cobalt’s eyes glimmered with soft appraisal and maybe even a little heat. “Yes. I see you’re right. And I can imagine. I have imagined. The fulfillment has been more than I could ever have expected.”
“I know you’re not just saying that because I own your contract now. You once told me you didn’t believe in love. But our friendship is everything.”
Cobalt stood motionless in an aura of silvers and grays. His shoulder eclipsed the moon. His words were almost a whisper when he said, “I’m the one who asked you the question. If I didn’t understand our relationship in higher terms, it would never have occurred to me to ask why we’ve remained friends.”
“It’s always been you. Always,” Liyan confessed. “You know that.”
“And that’s why you bought my work contract.”
They had already discussed some of this in Pel’s office, but Liyan had saved one last detail about the ownership transfer for a more private moment. “Yes, That, and because I have always dreamed of being able to do this.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a chip. “This is everything I’ve always wanted to give you, Cobalt. I was waiting until tonight to do it.”
Letters to an Android Page 21
