by Neal Jones
"The readout that I have displayed here is Aliira's brain wave pattern."
Messani nodded.
G'San switched to a second readout. "This is also your daughter's brain wave pattern." He moved the first readout so that it was directly below the second. "Your daughter is emanating two distinct brain wave patterns."
"I don't understand," Messani said, shaking her head. "How is that possible?"
"I don't understand it either. It's physically and medically impossible."
Messani looked down at Aliira, at the symbol that was etched in the center of her forehead. She reached out, gently tracing it with one finger. "It doesn't feel like skin," she murmured.
G'San frowned, nodding. "I was going to ask you about that. The bioscans detected no cranial ridges in her forehead. She should have started developing them by now."
Messani shook her head again, smiling ruefully. "She did. But they disappeared. I watched this symbol drawn into her forehead with my own eyes, and yet I still don't quite believe it."
"That's Tor'Ahl's emblem, isn't it?"
"Yes." Messani didn't dare speak aloud the thought that had occurred to her in the holding room. Was it possible? Was the lightning storm at the church and her daughter's mark a fulfillment of Tor'Ahl's first prophecy? She looked at the readouts on the bio-monitor once more, and then turned to Doctor G'San. "Is she in a coma?"
He shook his head. "That's what's so unusual about all of this. She's asleep, that's all. I haven't tried to awaken her with medication yet. I was hoping that she would come around on her own."
"Could it have something to do with those brain wave patterns?"
"Probably. There's a neurological specialist on call, and I've already sent him a message. He should be here soon."
"Thank you, doctor. May I stay with her?"
"Yes. I'll be back in a few minutes to check on her if Doctor Setavo isn't here by then."
Messani nodded and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. She whispered another prayer of healing, and when she opened her eyes she saw Generith standing just inside the door.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to disturb you."
"It's all right. Come in." She told him what G'San had told her and motioned to the pair of readouts on the bio-monitor. "There's another doctor coming to examine her, somebody who specializes in brain waves and neurology."
"Messani." The tone of his voice made her look up. He moved to the other side of Aliira's bed and grasped the child's hand. "I want to tell you what I believe has happened – is happening – and I think that you know it to."
She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "You believe this is the fulfillment of His first prophecy."
"Yes. Your daughter has been chosen to be the vessel for the Emissary's spirit reborn. That rebirth is what we witnessed at the church this morning."
Messani smiled and wiped her eyes. "I want to believe that. I really do, but..." She looked down at her daughter.
"You're afraid for her life." Messani nodded. Tah'Mor walked around the bed and knelt in front of her, grasping both her hands. "Look at me. Aliira will wake up. I know this as sure as I know that you and I are sitting here now. It may not be today, and it may not be tomorrow, but it will be soon. She has a great destiny ahead of her, you know this."
Messani nodded again. "I know." She wiped away more tears and attempted another smile. "It's so ironic. I prayed to the Varashok for a sign, for something to show me what our future would hold, and now they have. But I never thought it would be this."
Generith rose and walked back to the other side of the bed. He took Aliira's hand and motioned for Messani to take the other. "Let's pray."
She bowed her head.
( 12 )
Aliira did not wake up until sunset. Messani was dozing in the chair next to her bed. Doctor G'San had had Aliira transferred to a more permanent room in the hospital's east wing, and the sky beyond the window was awash in bronze and orange and gold, its light spilling across Aliira's face and the chair where Messani slept. The girl took a sudden, deep breath, and her eyes fluttered open. She raised a hand to block the light from the window, and then pulled herself into a sitting position. She looked around the room, mildly confused, but when she saw her mother she smiled with relief.
"Mother," she said softly. "Mother, wake up." Aliira reached out to pat her shoulder.
Messani jerked awake, gasping, and blinked as she looked up. "Aliira! Are you all right? Look at me." Messani held the girl's face in her hands and searched her eyes. "Are you...Aliira? Are you my daughter?"
"Yes, mother, it's me." And then something changed, something behind the eyes. When she spoke, her voice changed as well. It was still Aliira's voice, but there was a different quality to the tone. "I am also the spirit of Tor'Ahl reborn, just as I prophesied three thousand years ago. I have returned to lead my chosen people through the End of Time and Days." She reached up, covering her mother's hands with her own. "Rejoice, Messani, for you have found favor in the eyes of the Varashok. Your daughter has been chosen to fulfill my first prophecy."
Messani began to weep with joy as she listened.
"A sign has been given unto you, and you shall go forward from this day as the Mother of the Emissary. This is also a sign of things to come, and the faithful shall rejoice when they learn of my rebirth."
"Thank you," Messani replied. "Thank you!"
"Mother?" It was Aliira's voice now. She reached out to wipe away Messani's tears.
Messani embraced her daughter, rocking her gently, and whispering, "Everything is all right now."
"I know," Aliira replied. "I feel..." She searched for the right words. "I feel like new." She pulled back and looked into her mother's eyes. "I wish I could describe to you better what this feels like." She reached up to feel the symbol on her forehead. "It definitely feels a little strange." Then she smiled.
Messani embraced her daughter once more as the last, fading rays of the sunset bathed the room in ethereal light.
Part Two
"The Ties That Bind"
Chapter 7
____________________
( 1 )
COMMODORE GABRIEL SIGHED AS HE reached for the bottle and poured himself another tumbler of Scotch. He set the glass on the coffee table and stared at it for ten minutes, and then stood to unzip his uniform jacket. He kicked off his boots before walking to his desk to check his messages. It had been a week since the last message from Jeanette, two weeks since the night they'd met for the first time; the same night that had ended with him leaving her in the observation dome, hurt and confused by his abrupt departure. In the time since, Gabriel had stored her messages but not answered them, and he'd busied himself with his work in an effort to distance himself from both Jeanette and Laura.
Oddly enough, Laura had obliged him and not said anything during the few times that her and Marc's paths had crossed during their work. He knew her well enough – even after all these years - to know that she was upset with him, and he'd expected her to corner him several days ago, but she'd maintained the distance, speaking to him only when necessary and keeping the subject work related.
Marc heaved another sigh as he sank back onto the couch and stared at his drink. He was hitting his old habit harder than ever, and it was starting to take its toll. Last week he'd overslept and missed the first ten minutes of a staff briefing. He made up a medical excuse but he could tell his officers hadn't bought it. By then they'd known about his past relationship with Laura and that Jeanette was his daughter, but except for Mariah, none of them had ever attempted to talk to him about it, and he hadn't given them opportunity to do so.
He traced the two-inch scar on his chest with his thumb, barely aware that he was doing so. It was almost a habit now, something done automatically whenever he felt anxious or tired. He was still only getting three or four hours of sleep at night, and it was starting to show in his appearance. Two days ago, Doctor Rosenberg had tried to talk to Gabriel after a staff meeting,
but the commodore assured him that he was fine, and that he was just overworked. Ben hadn't believed him, but he let him off the hook for the time being. But Marc knew it would just be a matter of time before his CMO put his foot down and insisted on giving Marc a complete physical. That would lead to a discussion about his lack of sleep, which would lead to the topic of the nightmares, and then Rosenberg would insist that Marc talk to a therapist, and that was what the commodore was trying to avoid at all costs. All he needed was a good sleep-aid prescription, but there's no way Rosenberg would give it to him without ordering him to see a therapist as well.
Marc finally took a sip of his Scotch. What would a counselor tell him? Yes, commodore, it appears you're having nightmares because you're suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's a common occurrence for someone who's been through this type of ordeal. Why don't we talk about it? No, thanks. Gabriel stretched out on the couch and rested the cold tumbler against his forehead in the classic pose of a stressed alcoholic. It didn't help his situation that he was starting to see Colonel Serehl in the face of every Chrisarii officer, including his EXO. He knew it was irrational and illogical, but he hated the Chrisarii more now than he had when he'd first received his assignment from Admiral Hazen five months ago.
The therapist would tell him that he needed to deal with his anger, that he needed an outlet. Perhaps some type of aggressive sport such as gravball or fencing. Or perhaps boxing. Several studies in this area have shown that these types of rigorous exercise can provide a healthy release for much of your anger and resentment as well as increasing the body's production of endorphins, which heighten feelings of satisfaction, happiness and well-being.
Gabriel had already thought of this, during one of his many bouts of insomnia when he'd come across an advertisement for one of those all-in-one home gymnasiums. Last week he'd started spending an hour at one of the rec rooms after his shift, playing racquetball with a holo-opponent. He came home exhausted, but still woke up screaming two hours after falling asleep.
You need to give it some time, commodore. Why don't we discuss –
The door chime interrupted Gabriel's silent conversation with his imaginary therapist. "Come in," he said without getting up or opening his eyes.
"Oh, well, doesn't this bring back memories?"
"Go away."
Laura sat down in the easy chair and reached for the bottle of Scotch. She took a healthy swig and grimaced as she swallowed. "Not your usual brand."
"I needed something stronger." He raised his head and opened his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to go away?"
"Not until you tell me why you're ignoring Jeanette."
"I'm not –" Marc scowled and sat up, sipping his drink. "I need some more time. I'll talk to her in a couple days. I promise."
"What's wrong with right now? For that matter, why the hell have you waited two weeks? I understand if you're angry with me, but please don't take it out on her, Marc. She's the innocent party in all of this, and I don't think you realize how badly you hurt her the other night."
"I know, and I'm sorry." He set his glass down and rested his forehead in his hands, his elbows on his knees. "I just...I just don't know what she wants from me. Or what you want from me." He looked up at Laura, irritated. "Why did you let her come here? Why didn't you tell her about me years ago, when all of this would have been a helluva lot less awkward?"
Laura gave an indignant gasp. "First of all, Jeanette is twenty-three, going on forty. The time is long past when I've had any control over her life. Second of all, it would have been far more complicated years ago if I had told her about you. You're just confused and afraid by all of this, and that's okay. I understand. So does Jeanette. We all just need some time to work through this."
"Who's Keith Powell?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
Laura was too stunned to reply. Marc could tell from the look on her face that he'd scored a direct hit and taken her completely by surprise. He poured himself another drink as he calmly waited.
"How do you...I thought Jeanette wasn't going to say anything to you about him."
"She didn't. A friend of mine works at the FCE Mars office. After you told me about Jeanette, I called him and asked him about you. He said that you fought this assignment because it would conflict with your wedding plans. You never told me you were getting married in a couple months. Congratulations!" He took a long gulp of his Scotch. "So, let's see if I have my scorecard marked correctly. This is your third marriage, is that right?"
"Marc, stop this! You're being immature and petty! I came here to talk about Jeanette."
"And I want to talk about us. Why did you break off our engagement? And I don't want that bullshit excuse you gave me twenty-three years ago. I want the truth."
"That wasn't an excuse! You just couldn't accept the truth. You and I weren't right for each other. It was that simple."
"Bullshit!"
"Will you stop saying that?"
Marc jumped to his feet and walked to the viewport, turning his back on Laura. "I was ready to start a new life together, but you were afraid. And you didn't have the guts to admit it."
Laura stood. "I'll leave you and your Scotch alone. You two are far more intimate than we ever were. Goodnight, Marc."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Start a conversation and then leave in the middle of it."
"You want to talk about me and Keith. I want to talk about you and Jeanette."
"No, I want to talk about you and I." Marc crossed his arms and leaned against the window frame. "I've been thinking about us, about what we had twenty years ago. Or almost had."
Laura sighed. "I don't want to talk about it, Marc," she said softly.
"Why? What are you so damned afraid of?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing. Jeanette said you two had a pretty good time the other night. She said it was awkward and a little uncomfortable, but she wants to get to know you. She thought you felt the same way."
"I did."
"Then what's the problem."
"I...I don't know. I don't know what to say, I don't know...what she wants."
"I just said –"
"Yes, I know. She wants to know me. So we go out for dinner again, we talk some more, I tell her about my life, and then what? What happens after that? She's probably not staying on Exxar-One, so we end up as pen pals, is that it? Exchange letters every month or so?"
"Yes. What's wrong with that?"
"It just feels...it feels damned weird! This whole situation is so fucking awkward, and I'd rather she just leave. We had a good time the other night, she knows a little about me, so let's just go our separate ways and be done. It's easier that way, for both of us."
"If that's what you really want, then fine. You tell her." Laura walked out of the room before Marc could say anything more.
"I will," he muttered, reaching for the bottle again. But then he thought better of it and stretched out on the couch once more. He closed his eyes and tried to think of a happy place.
( 2 )
A year passes since that first night they met at the bar. Marc's third year at the naval academy has just begun, and he and Laura have grown closer in the last several months. The relationship has lasted much longer than the cadet expected, and he finds himself daydreaming about her more often than is healthy, particularly in the middle of his classes. He almost flunked two exams last spring because he was out with Laura when he should have been in his barracks studying.
Marc stands at his living room window, watching the hovercar traffic. It's still dark out, at least another hour before sunrise. The off-campus apartment is new, a privilege allowed only to third and fourth year cadets, and while it's barely large enough for one, it feels like a mansion compared to the cramped barracks that Marc had to share with his fellow cadets for the past two years.
He frowns as he unfolds the crumpled ball of paper in his hand and reads the note one more time.
He crumples it again and shoves it back into his pocket. He walks to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the front of his dress uniform and adjusting his collar.
The doorbell plays a sprightly tune, and Marc is annoyed by it. He reminds himself to change the setting when he gets home tonight.
Laura is standing on the other side, wearing a black evening gown and matching heels. Marc's never seen her in heels before, nor has she ever worn jewelry. A pair of diamond earrings matches the small, silver brooch on her left breast. Her shoulder length hair is pulled back into a simple, yet elegant braid, with just a few wisps framing her lovely face.
"Are you just going to stare at me all night, or can I come in?"
Marc blushes. "I...yes, you look...amazing!"
"Thanks. I must have done something right if you're stuttering."
He laughs as he shuts the door and walks to the fridge.
"So do I still have to wait for my surprise, or can you tell me now? And why did I have to meet you this early in the morning?"
"Look in the envelope on the table." Marc opens a bottle of champagne and pours two glasses.
Laura gasps. "Oh my gods! 'La Bohème'??" She reads the tickets again. "In Paris??"
"You didn't think I remembered that particular conversation."
She laughs as she accepts a glass. "Well, you always get that glazed look in your eyes whenever I bring up the subject, so I just assumed."
He raises his glass. "To our first year."
"Our first year."
They drink. He pulls her close and they kiss. The act isn't as fervent and awkward as the first time, and Laura thinks that this moment is just about perfect. When he finally releases her, she feels slightly dizzy and foolish and warm. She takes a gulp of the champagne, giggling as she admires her boyfriend in his dress uniform. He's looking very sexy at this moment.
Marc watches her, also emptying his glass and he asks if she wants another.
