by Neal Jones
Grax was laughing and shaking his head. "No, commodore, that actually makes sense."
"Call me Marc."
"Okay, Marc. You realize you should be talking to Jeanette about this. She probably felt the same way."
"You want to know something else? Ever since Laura came back, and after meeting Jeanette, I just keep thinking about how my life would have turned out if I had quit the academy at the end of my third year and if Laura hadn't broken our engagement? I keep trying to picture myself in a civilian job in some office in a skyscraper on Mars, probably with two more kids besides Jeanette, and..."
"And what?"
"I can do it. I can imagine myself with that other life, and it just makes me hate her all the more. She said yes and then decided she was too fucking scared to go through with it after all. What kind of bitch does that?" He sipped his beer and then finished his sandwich.
"Your father and grandfather were in the navy, right?"
"Yeah. The Gabriel family tradition."
"So you've always wanted to be an officer?"
"Ever since I was a kid. Well, until I got this assignment." Marc glanced around to see if anyone was in earshot, but the restaurant was fairly empty. "I'm going to tell you a truth, Grax. I mean Thalor. I hate this assignment. Every day is just one massive headache, and I long for the days when I had just my ship and everyone on my crew wore the same uniform." He took a big gulp of his drink and pushed away his empty plate. "Thanks. I think this one will be my last." He passed his credit card across the counter.
Grax accepted it and walked to his terminal. When he handed the card back he said, "You want to open an account? I can reserve a stool for you. Command officer's privilege."
"Thanks." The commodore gave a tired smile. "That sounds nice. Same time next week?"
"Sure. See you then."
Gabriel tapped his commlink on his way out the door. "Gabriel to Saveck."
"Go ahead, sir."
"I'm calling it a night. I'll see you tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred. Don't forget to wear your ceremonial uniform."
"Yes, sir. Have a good night."
( 4 )
"Doctor."
Rosenberg glanced up from the chart he'd been updating. The plate beside it contained the remains of the steak sandwich he'd finally been able to finish. He brushed off his hands and reached for the compad that Nurse Varela handed him.
"It's what we expected," she said, reaching for his fries. "May I?"
"Be my guest." The doctor scooted back from the table and rose, his gaze fixed on the pad. "Murdohn kazas. Well that explains the encephalitis."
Varela nodded. "I'm standing by with the order for the anti-virals. Just needs your thumbprint."
Rosenberg signed the order and handed the pad back to her. "But how the hell did she contract something like kazas?"
The door to the lounge opened and Lieutenant Mackerson poked his head in. "Doctor, there's a woman here who says she's the mother of that girl that was brought in this morning."
Rosenberg and Varela followed him out into the ER. Near the admit desk was a middle-aged human woman who looked distraught.
"This is Carol Wickers," Mackerson explained. "Her daughter's name is Amy."
"Thanks, lieutenant." Ben turned to Carol. "I'm Doctor Benjamin Rosenberg, Exxar-One's Chief Medical Officer." He gently took her by the elbow. "Let's go see your daughter."
Carol nodded, her eyes red, her fingers mangling a tissue. She followed Rosenberg to the other side of the ER. As soon as the door to the treatment bay slid aside and she saw Amy, her eyes widened and she rushed to the girl's bedside. "That lieutenant said that she was brought in this morning?"
"Yes. About five hours ago. She lost consciousness and right now she's in a coma."
"Oh gods!" Carol started to cry and bowed her head.
Nurse Varela entered and handed a vial to Rosenberg. After she left, the doctor pulled up a chair for Amy's mother. Carol sank onto it like an old, heavy blanket folding in on itself. Ben grabbed a chair for himself and sat next to her, waiting quietly for her sobs to ebb. After a couple minutes Carol dug in her coat pocket for some more tissues and wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry, doctor. You're probably wondering what kind of mother abandons her daughter, especially in a place like this, so far from home."
"Actually I was thinking that you look like someone who's been through quite a lot. I also assumed that you and Amy probably became separated by accident. The promenade is a busy place. Situations like this are a regular occurrence." He gave her a reassuring smile as he hooked up the vial to the I.V.
"You're kind," she replied and attempted a smile of her own. But her gaze drifted back to her daughter, and her eyes began to well up once more. "It has been difficult for us. Amy was diagnosed two years ago, just a month after her tenth birthday."
"Diagnosed with what?"
"Iverson's disease."
The words startled Rosenberg, and he tapped his commlink. "Rosenberg to Varela."
"Go ahead, doctor."
"Will you please initiate a type twelve blood workup for Amy Wickers."
"Yes, sir."
Ben turned to Carol, anticipating her request for more information about the blood tests and her daughter's condition. But she was still focused on Amy, and she reached out to brush back an errant lock of hair from the girl's pale cheek.
"We were headed for the research hospital on Pelray. Our transport had to divert here for unexpected repairs, and it's going to be a two-day layover." Carol kept her fingers busy with folding and unfolding her Kleenex. "I paid for some guest quarters, and I told Amy I would take her shopping this afternoon after I took a nap. It's the time difference, you know. It's the middle of the night back on L'Whera – that's where we're from. I didn't mean to sleep for so long. When I woke up, Amy was gone."
Rosenberg laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. "I understand, Mrs. Wickers."
"It's just 'miss'. I'm divorced."
"Do you have Amy's medical records with you?"
"No. But I have the name and comm number of our doctor back home. That's why we're going to Pelray. There's a research facility there that specializes in neurological diseases. Doctor Geitman was able to get Amy admitted into a study there."
Rosenberg handed Carol a compad so she could enter the information for him. "How far along is she? Stage two?"
"Yeah. She was diagnosed at stage two just before we left." She looked up at the bio-monitor with fresh anxiety. "Why is she in a coma? Doctor Geitman didn't say anything about this as a possible side effect."
"It's not, and we've already diagnosed the cause. It's a Murdohn virus known as kazas. It causes encephalitis in humans, and I've prescribed an anti-viral for Amy." He pointed to the I.V. "We should see some positive results in a few hours."
"So…she's okay?" Carol looked up at Ben.
"Yes. She should be awake by eighteen hundred."
Carol nodded weakly and handed the pad back to Rosenberg.
"Miss Wickers –"
"Call me Carol."
"Carol. Do you know if there were any Murdohn passengers on your transport? It's very likely that that's how your daughter contracted the virus. Everyone who was on that ship needs to be tested. That includes you."
Carol nodded again. "I think there was a Murdohn couple. They were in a cabin two doors down from ours."
"Okay. Would you like to get something to eat? Or some coffee?"
"Coffee sounds good. Thank you."
"I'll have Nurse Varela bring you a blanket and a more comfortable chair. She's also going to draw some blood. Is that okay?"
"Yes, that's fine."
"Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"That sounds like enough. Thank you, doctor." Carol smiled wanly before turning back to her daughter.
"I'll be right back with the coffee."
Ben was grateful to see that the lounge was still empty. The memories of his sister, of the hospital rooms, of his mother k
eeping vigil at her bedside, of the long fights between his parents, of their divorce, of the hundreds upon hundreds of tests and scans and doctors' appointments, of the long nights, of the memorial service – it all flooded upon him so fast and so relentless that he almost couldn't breathe. The doctor sank onto the couch and bowed his head. It was several minutes before he found the strength to walk to the food dispenser and order a cup of coffee.
( 5 )
The coffee was finally taking effect. Marc had only received a slight buzz from the three beers he'd drank at lunch, but he wanted to be completely sober when he talked to Jeanette. He pressed the door chime and waited anxiously, wondering what to say first.
The door opened, and Jeanette blinked in surprise. Then she smiled. "Hi."
"Hi." The commodore smiled back. "May I come in?"
"Sure. I was just about to make a snack. You want anything?"
"Just coffee for me." He followed her into kitchen. "Isn't it dinner time?"
"I had a late lunch."
"Me too."
Jeanette handed Marc a steaming mug and then ordered a ham sandwich from the food dispenser. "I'm glad you stopped by. I hope I didn't cause another fight between you and mom."
Marc didn't mean to laugh, but the response was instinct and he choked it back with a sip of coffee. "Sorry. No, you didn't cause a fight. Laura and I have no trouble doing that on our own." He forced another smile.
Jeanette motioned to the table and they sat. Neither was sure what to say next, so she took a bite of her sandwich, and he took another sip of coffee.
"Jeanette, I'm sorry. It wasn't anything you said or did that night that made me leave you like that. I -" He thought for a moment. "I realize that you're an adult. You don't necessarily need me as a father, and...I guess I don't know how to relate to you. Does that make sense?"
Jeanette nodded. "Why don't we just pretend for now that we're not related. Let's just start as friends. That's all I want. To get to know you. Is that okay?"
"Yes. Of course." He was surprised at how simple this was after all. She was right. All they needed was to take this one step at a time.
"Can I ask you one thing?"
"Sure."
"If mom had told you about me when I was born, or at any time when I was growing up, would you have wanted to come back? Would you have tried to be part of my life?" Jeanette picked nervously at the crust of her sandwich.
"Of course." He said it without hesitation. "But it's probably better in the long run that we're meeting now and not ten or fifteen years ago. I think I would have been a lousy father."
"Every parent thinks that way."
"No, Jeanette, I'm serious. I'm not somebody you should be looking up to. All you've seen is my uniform and my service record. What you don't know is that I drink too much, I'm short tempered and selfish – especially in personal relationships, and I have a hard time relating to my family. I probably would have treated your childhood like boot camp."
"Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself?"
Gabriel gave her a rueful smile. "No. You should consider yourself lucky that I'm admitting all this to you. It's only recently that I've owned up to it myself. Besides, your mother and I were too young to get married. My flaws added to hers would have messed you up so bad that you'd probably have run away by the time you were fifteen."
Jeanette laughed and took another bit of her sandwich. She chewed slowly, looking down at her plate. Marc realized that his statement wasn't that funny after all and that it was uncomfortably close to the truth. It made him wonder if Laura had really been acting out of fear when she broke off the engagement, or if maybe she had seen the inevitable and stepped up to the line to do what needed to be done, whether he was willing to admit it or not.
That thought led him back to the What-Might-Have-Been path, and Marc wondered yet again if he had made the right decision to stay in EarthCorps and finish his academy training. Once Laura had ended the engagement, it didn't make sense to continue with his plans to drop out. He hadn't been able to imagine a future without her, and it seemed prudent not to throw away a promising military career. But what if he had turned his back on the academy and the uniform? The money that he was saving for the wedding could have been used to purchase a ticket to one of the outer colonies. Or he could have finished his education at a civilian university and been hired at any number of wealthy corporations.
And what would his father have thought of that?
That was the true reason for why Marc had not left the naval academy. Hadn't his love of a military career begun at six years old when Robert had given his son a replica of the Christopher Tiberius Medal of Honor? Or an antique pulser for his tenth birthday? (Alanys hadn't been happy about that one, despite repeated assurances from her husband that it was no longer able to fire live energy packs.) The more he thought about it, the more Marc realized that his only connection to his father had been the uniform. But that shouldn't have come as a surprise, for hadn't he known that subconsciously all along? The only memories of him and his father were when Robert was home on leave and Marc would pester him for stories about starships and space exploration. As Marc entered high school, his questions to his father had been about the application process to the academy. The first two pages of his entrance essay had talked of nothing else but the memories of field trips with his father to war memorials and, on one special occasion, a tour of the naval academy itself.
"Marc?"
He blinked. "Huh? Sorry. Lost in thought." He swallowed the last of his coffee. "Jeanette, you have a whole new side of your family tree that you haven't seen. Would you like to come back to my quarters to look through some photo albums?"
His daughter beamed, and she nearly dropped her empty plate as she placed it in the reclamator. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that very much. I thought you'd never ask."
( 6 )
"Do you understand what I'm asking of you?"
Lieutenant Dynyl shifted in her seat but didn't look away from the Chrisarii man sitting on the other side of the desk. "Yes, eminence, I do."
First Cleric Tajek nodded his approval. "And you have made all the necessary arrangements? There won't be a problem with security in that section?"
"No. Since I am in charge of that entire deck, I will be the one overseeing the security scan. I have already set the timer and detonator."
"Good. And the arrangements for your suicide?"
Dynyl hesitated. "I will be injecting myself with a bedar compound."
"Are you afraid, child?"
"Of course. But I serve the will of Onng Le'Roh."
Tajek nodded. "As do we all. I wish that this course of action wasn't necessary, but we have known for hundreds of years that this prophecy would come to pass. You have been called for this purpose, and your faith shall be rewarded in the next life. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes, father."
"Then let us pray." Tajek stood and walked around his desk so that he could lay hands on Dynyl, and she bowed her head. "Onng Le'Roh, we come before thee in thy name and the name of your prophet, Rynn Seraudu. Place your hands upon this child, and give her strength for the task that lies ahead. Be with her, and comfort her in her hour of need and welcome her into thy spirit when her life here is done. For yours is the true kingdom and the true power. Amen."
Chapter 10
____________________
( 1 )
"ALL HANDS, PLEASE STAND BY FOR initiation of docking protocols."
Messani N'Lyn blinked and roused herself from her reverie as the voice of the Lorzach's comm officer continued with instructions for personnel who would be disembarking at Exxar-One. Messani had so little time to herself these days that she had welcomed the brief respite that this trip provided. Aliira was alone in the next room, and Messani had taken a blissful, two hour nap after breakfast. She woke up only a few minutes ago and had been sitting next to the viewport, sipping a cup of tea, lost in thought.
To say that the last
two weeks had been eventful for Messani and her daughter was akin to stating that outer space was very cold. From the moment that Aliira finished her prayer on that morning of worship, just after the miracle of her rebirth had occurred, almost every Chrisarii in the Alliance had been desperate to catch a glimpse of the Emissary. That was her new title now, in addition to the Daughter of Tor'Ahl, and every news media outlet was rebroadcasting the visual record of the miracle – what little of it had been caught on hard drive – at least once an hour. Only in the last two days had they begun to report on other newsworthy topics, but there was always some new blurb somewhere at the bottom of each hour about Aliira's latest tour stop or some new tidbit of her family history.
This visit to Exxar-One was the most high profile stop thus far, and Messani felt the familiar twinge in her gut as she prepared herself to leave her quarters and face the public. The adjustment from living in obscurity as a farmer's wife to being the mother of a long ago prophesied – and long awaited – Emissary was no easy change, and Messani was still not accustomed to the reverence and awe with which she was treated by the followers of Tor'Ahl.
Which, of course, was nothing compared to the veneration they paid to the Emissary herself.
Messani walked into the bedroom to check on her daughter, and she was struck, as always, by the look in Aliira's eyes. It wasn't the cheerful, mischievous gaze of a twelve year old girl, but that of a seasoned, wise man of a hundred years or more. That was the only way to describe it, and while Messani knew that this child in front of her was still her daughter, she was never quite sure whom she was addressing: a man who had died three thousand years ago or the child who had been born a mere twelve years earlier.
"Hello, mother. You look more rested than usual."
Messani nodded. "I feel guilty for napping after breakfast, but these time zone changes are exhausting. I don't think I could ever get used to living in space."
