“I’m going to keep this quick. Lieutenant Maasuur said you’re okay, he said you went with Commander Do voluntarily, but we — I need to hear that from you. Lieutenant Maasuur said he’d bring you my phone but he didn’t make any promises he’d return it.” She smiles. “I have faith you’ll talk him into it.”
Damn right I will.
“Don’t leave me hanging, sis,” Sara says. “Stay safe. I love you.”
The video ends there. Love you too, sis.
“I’m going to record a message for my friends and you’re going to bring it back to them,” I tell Lt. Maasuur.
“I don’t take orders from you,” he says.
“But you do take them from me,” Commander Do says, “and you’re going to return with the recovery team and deliver this device back to her friend. Is that clear, lieutenant?”
Lt. Maasuur straightens. “Yes, commander.”
“Take your time,” Commander Do says to me, and then she escorts Lt. Maasuur away to give me some privacy.
I hold the phone up and will my hands not to shake. Don’t let them see how torn up you are over this. Let them see strong Carrie, even if it’s a total lie.
I start the recording. “Hi, guys. Um. So. Yeah. I’m in outer space,” I say. Sure. Start with the glaringly obvious. Why not? “I don’t know where, exactly. Commander Do says I’m still in the Milky Way galaxy, but that’s a moot point. There’s no way I can get home on my own power, so...”
Breathe, Carrie. You can do this.
“That’s also a moot point, because I’m not coming back. Not anytime soon. The Kyros Alliance is dealing with a major crisis and they need all the help they can get. It’s a little complicated to go into now, but they’re fighting for a good cause and I can help. I want to help. They’re not forcing me to stay, if that’s what you’re thinking. This is my choice. Sara, you know me better than anyone. You know I’m telling you the truth.”
Of course she knows. She knows me better than anyone. If anyone will understand why I’m doing this, she will.
“Sara,” I say, my voice catching. Don’t cry. Dammit, do not cry. “Sara, you have to tell Mom everything. Everything. There’s no point in hiding the truth anymore. It’s going to suck. It’s going to suck so much and this is going to be harder on you than anyone and I’m so sorry. I’m the worst friend in the world for dumping all of this on you.”
I have to pause the recording so I can pull myself together. I wipe the tears away and press on. Almost done.
“There’s another video on the phone, for Mom and Dad. I want them to watch it together. Please do that for me,” I say, pausing as if I expect Sara to somehow reach out from across the galaxy to tell me she’ll make sure my parents see the message I’ll record for them. I force a smile. “I love you. I love all of you. I’m sorry.”
End recording.
I sit for a while, letting my emotional batteries recharge for my second performance, the message for my parents. I spend a solid ten or fifteen minutes drafting, refining, and rehearsing a speech to explain why I’m doing something that, I admit, is absolutely insane on the face of it. I don’t know anything about the Kyros Alliance or its people other than what a fancy alien computer crammed into my brain, so why would I leave behind my friends, my family, my entire world to help them?
Because there’s right and there’s wrong and I can’t let good people suffer if I can do anything to stop it.
Once I have my thoughts down to my satisfaction, I start recording the second video. I don’t cry this time, but that’s only because I’m utterly wiped out. I’ve got nothing left in me.
“You must be wondering why I’m doing something so crazy — why I chose to do any of this. Well, um...”
I laugh, and suddenly everything I’d planned to say falls out of my brain. Nothing is going to comfort Mom and Dad or sufficiently explain why I’m staying, so screw it.
“You know, I had this long, elaborate speech prepared. Rehearsed it and everything, but...I guess what it all comes down to is, you raised me to be a good person, someone who cares for others and helps people who need it, and this is how I’ve chosen to be that person. I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind, but there it is.”
Oh, that’ll make everything better. Mom, Dad, I’m on the other side of the galaxy, and it’s your fault for raising me right.
Wrap it up, Carrie. You’re two steps away from passing out cold, and you’re not thinking straight anymore. Wrap it up before you say something really stupid.
I finish by asking Mom and Dad — begging them not to take their fear and their anger out on each other. Save it for me, I say. It’s mostly intended for Mom, she of the infamous Briggs temper, but it’s good advice in general.
“I love you,” I say, “and I’ll be back home before you know it. I promise.”
That’s a mighty big promise, Carrie.
Let’s hope I can keep it.
FOUR
After handing Sara’s phone back to Lt. Maasuur, I decide I might as well power through whatever the Vanguard has left for me and get it over with.
Commander Do leads me to the Vanguard’s medical center, a gigantic, sprawling hospital-slash-research facility. The Alliance is continually encountering new civilizations and incorporating new worlds, which means medical care is constantly evolving and adapting to meet ever-changing needs. There’s an entire facility dedicated solely to studying and developing responses to infectious diseases.
Sounds fun. Think I’ll never go there.
Our specific destination goes by the not-at-all-ominous name of the indoctrination center, where new recruits are cataloged at a cellular level so medical personnel can determine the appropriate treatment under any circumstances, up to and including the loss of limbs and organs. As awesome as that is, I am in no rush to test out that technology.
“They’ll also determine your particular nutritional requirements and miscellaneous physical needs, tailor our standard regimen of vaccinations to your genetic makeup, and implant your virtual assistant,” Commander Do says.
Virtual assistant? Implant?
We head inside. I find it almost comforting that the medical center has an Earth hospital vibe to it. White is the predominant color, everyone there is dressed in tidy, crisp uniforms, and the air smells of disinfectant, sharp and acidic, with a faint fruity note that clashes with the antiseptic tang. Commander Do escorts me to an examination room tucked within a spacious lab stuffed with enough exotic technology to keep Edison, Matt, and Dr. Quentin geeking out for a decade.
“Dr. Forre will be with you in a minute,” Commander Do says. “I promise you, this will not hurt.”
“Really? That’ll be a nice change of pace,” I say. “Commander? That crack Gretch made about Galt being a tragic mistake. What’s that about?”
Commander Do scowls, sighs. “Ohkny was Galt’s homeworld. After the Black End struck, he begged to join the Vanguard so he could avenge his people. The Council of Generals took pity on him and rushed him into our ranks — which was his plan all along.”
“His plan?”
“We learned, far too late, that Galt was a Black End sleeper agent tasked with infiltrating the Vanguard. He thought the best way to do that was to play on our sympathy, so he engineered the attack and presented himself as a grieving Ohknyian. We saw an opportunity to turn his anger to our own purposes and never questioned his motives or delved into his background.”
“You just gave him his astrarma, trained him how to use them, and gave the Black End the intelligence they needed to better fight back against you.”
“Precisely. With Galt on their side, the Black End could study the astrarma and develop countermeasures unlike any we’ve encountered before — and we fear they are at last preparing to put that information to use. For some time now, we’ve heard rumors that the Black End have been developing a weapon of some sort to decisively counter the Vanguard.” Commander Do sighs. “As General Gretch said, letting Galt into our rank
s was a tragic mistake. You can understand why he’s skeptical about you.”
I almost hate to ask. “Why aren’t you?”
“It would be rather difficult for the Black End to plant a sleeper agent on a world that, until today, they did not know existed. Don’t you think?”
“Weirder things have happened.”
Speaking of weird things, a brick-red humanoid one Carrie tall and two Carries wide enters the examination room. His head is a block perched on square shoulders that taper down to wrists as small as mine, with hands to match. His expression radiates an air of terminal indifference.
“This her?” he says, stuffing his tiny hands into the pockets of an off-white smock.
“It is. This will take a while,” she says to me. “I’ll be back shortly. Don’t worry; you’re in good hands with Dr. Forre.”
Good, tiny hands.
“Hi, Dr. Forre. I’m Carrie,” I say.
“That’s nice. This way,” Dr. Forre says, picking up a tablet-like device off a countertop. He takes me to a round platform. “Step on.”
I do as told. Dr. Forre taps his tablet and tells me to hold still. “So. What are you?”
“What am I? You mean, what species am I?”
“Mm-hm.”
“We call ourselves humans.”
“Then that’s what I’ll call you.” He types something into his tablet. “Binary gender structure?”
“Yes? I mean, on my world some people say gender is an artificial societal construct and doesn’t accurately define —”
Dr. Forre frowns at me. He doesn’t care. “Does it take only two different genders to procreate? Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Female?”
“Yes.”
“Mm. All right, you can step down now.” He examines his tablet and says, “Well. You’re boring.”
“I am?”
“You’re a seventy-three-point-five on the Caosus Scale.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re boring. This way.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. House.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Dr. Forre has me sit on a low examination table. He waddles on stumpy legs over to a cabinet set into the wall, digs around, and returns with a small black cylinder with an angled head. He presses the tip to my arm. The cylinder hisses, and a mild tingling sensation radiates from the point of contact. Dr. Forre steps back and folds his arms.
“Doctor?”
He holds a finger up, shushing me. Several seconds later he says, “Had to make sure you didn’t have a reaction to the wide-spectrum vaccine.”
“Oh. What were you looking for?” I ask, curious. “A rash? Difficulty breathing?”
He hesitates. “Sure, let’s go with that. Hold out your hand.”
I give him my left. I don’t trust him with my right, which is my favorite hand. He produces from his smock a small black case. He opens it, removes a circle made of a thin, transparent material, and applies it to the back of my hand.
“Say your name,” Dr. Forre says.
“Carrie Hauser.”
I jump when my own voice responds, “Hello, Carrie Hauser. I am your virtual assistant.”
“What the what?”
“Standard issue virtual assistant. It’s networked with Kyros Alliance systems and updates continuously. Assimilation takes a few hours but I don’t expect any complications,” Dr. Forre says, and then he grabs my head and sticks one of his tiny fingers in my ear. “No, you’ll be fine. Your body has fully assimilated the translation matrices without any issues, so —”
“Whoa, hold on, back up. My body did what to the translators?”
“Assimilated them. They’re techno-organic implants; that’s what they’re designed to do.” He arches a hairless brow. “You don’t have that technology on your world?”
“No.”
“Mm. Do they not have sleep on your world either? You look like you haven’t had any for days.”
“It feels like it’s been days.”
Dr. Forre makes another trip to his cabinet and brings back a cylinder the size of a triple-A battery. “Mild sedative in a single-dose hypo. Prime it by twisting this end here,” he says, indicating the priming knob, “and then press the other end to your skin. If you find you’re too stressed out to sleep, use it. It won’t put you out but it will relax you enough to let you sleep naturally.”
I take the hypo. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me by staying out of my hospital.” He subtly shifts from surly to somber. “I don’t enjoy patching up you Vanguardians.”
“I’ll do my best. Promise.”
He grunts. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
***
Commander Do and I head to my (thank God) final destination for the day: the Vanguard barracks, a rambling complex that’s a small city unto itself. Individual residential facilities resemble apartment buildings on the outside and the corridors of the Enterprise on the inside. Unlike the medical complex, which was bustling with activity, the barracks are as silent as the grave. Everyone must be out training or patrolling or whatever it is the Vanguard does during the day. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
We stop in front of a blank, featureless door. Commander Do tells me to hold up my hand, the one with the virtual assistant implant. Among its many other functions, the implant is the key to my quarters, a generous if bland space. It’s at least three times the size of my bedroom, not counting the closet and the bathroom (assuming it has one. God, I hope it has a bathroom). My bed is a thin mattress laid atop an elevated slab that appears to be an integral part of the floor. There’s no other furniture in here. Aside from a black, glossy panel mounted on the wall across from the bed and a small desk with a built-in terminal of some sort, there are no other features at all.
“They’re simple but should meet your immediate needs — somewhere to clean up and somewhere to sleep,” Commander Do says. “You’re welcome to do what you need to in order to make it feel more like home.”
It’s an innocent comment meant to comfort me, welcome me, but it makes me want to cry. I can’t listen to my music. I can’t read my books. I can’t waste time online. I can’t sit on my bed with Sara and talk about nothing important. There’s nothing I can do to make this place feel like home.
“Try to get some rest. Dr. Forre has sent your configuration to the quartermaster’s station. An attendant will bring you a uniform and headset in the morning,” Commander Do says.
“Uh-huh,” I say.
She steps outside. The door slides closed behind her.
My bathroom is as spare and practical as the rest of my quarters. There’s something that more or less looks like a toilet, a sink, and (thank you, God) a shower. I spend several frustrating minutes trying to figure out how to turn it on before I think to consult my VA — which, I discover, is how I turn on the shower. Warm water pours from the ceiling like rain. I strip off the ripped, filthy, sweat-soaked remains of my clothing and step into the shower and oh my God it feels amazing. I stand there and let the water pour over me, washing away all the grime and all the tension and all the anxiety. Okay, most of the anxiety, but enough that I feel like I don’t need Dr. Forre’s sedative.
I don’t. I flop onto the bed — onto my bed — and I’m awake long enough to think to myself, Wow, this mattress is cushy. Wonder what it’s made —
And that’s that.
FIVE
Go ‘way, Mom. Sleeping.
Go away. I’m sleeping in. Don’t care if it’s a school day.
Oh, for — “Mom! I’m sleeping! Go away!”
“Um...hello? Cadet? This is your attendant, Hef’Mrnan. I’ve been sent to assist you?”
Who?
Oh. Right. Not my mother. Not my bedroom. Not my planet.
“Hold on a minute.” I sit up and my head spins like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl. I instinctively grip the edge of my mattre
ss pad and hold tight until it passes. Oh boy. However long I slept, it wasn’t long enough. I reach for my clothes so I don’t have to answer the door in my underwear but think better of it. My jeans are torn up, caked with dirt, and smell like my sneakers after gym class. The T-shirt is salvageable, though. Now let’s hope answering the door half-dressed isn’t as scandalous here as it would be back home.
I open the door on a short, hairless, chalk-white being in a Vanguard civilian uniform. “Good morning, cadet,” he says. There’s no lingering male gaze or inappropriate comments, and I’m reasonably confident his eyes always bug out like that, so I think it’s safe to say I am not scandalizing the guy. He hands me a black suitcase. “I brought you your uniform. If you’ll suit up, I can bring you to the mess hall for breakfast.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
I make Hef’Mrnan wait outside while I change. The case contains a standard issue Vanguard uniform and a pair of boots, both sized for my “configuration,” a belt with assorted attached soft pouches and hard cases, and a Bluetooth earpiece-looking thing. The uniform is made of a material as soft as silk, but it feels incredibly strong, like those Tyvek envelopes you get at the post office. I slip it on. It fits like the proverbial glove and, better still, there’s no trace of a panty line.
I must be feeling better; I’m worrying about trivial things like VPL.
I slip into the boots, which also fit perfectly, snap on my belt, and make a mental note to ask about getting a mirror in here because I am dying to see what I look like all Vanguarded up.
“Ready to roll,” I say as I step into the hall. Hef’Mrnan glances down at my feet. “Figure of speech. I don’t roll, I walk.”
“I was wondering.”
“Do I have to do anything special with the earpiece here?”
“The comlink is to be worn at all times while on duty, and I recommend wearing it when off duty as well,” Hef’Mrnan says. “It has full communications and recording suites —”
“Recording?”
“Continuous audio and visual documentation. For official recordkeeping purposes.”
Action Figures - Issue Seven: The Black End War Page 4
