by Neal Jones
Gabriel looked skeptical. "I don't have to see a therapist?"
"Not if you take this leave voluntarily. You have almost sixty days accumulated. You can afford to take ten. But if you don't do this voluntarily, I will place you on forced medical leave, and then you won't have a choice about talking to a therapist."
Marc sipped his coffee, and this time his scowl wasn't because of the taste. "All right, fine. Starting today. I'll fill out the forms and have Mariah sign off on them. But I am still presiding over Lieutenant Hardin's memorial service later this evening."
Ben nodded and stood. "Speaking of which, should I be concerned that the audio recording of his suicide was playing while you were getting drunk last night?"
Gabriel stared into his coffee. "I don't know how I made it back to my quarters in one piece last night, doctor, so I have no recollection of turning on that recording." He looked up. "Obviously I must have at some point." He shrugged. "I'll be fine. Thanks."
The doctor nodded again. "All right. I'll be back this afternoon with some sleep aids." He glanced around the sparsely decorated room and then added, "You really aren't going to stay in here the whole week, are you?"
Marc smiled wanly. "No, Ben, I'm not. I'm sure that Mariah and Jeanette will make sure I get some fresh air and sunshine."
After the doctor left, Marc stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew Jeanette was leaning over him, nudging him awake.
"Sorry," she said, looking relieved. "You door wasn't locked, and you weren't answering the chime."
"It's okay," he replied, sitting up. "What time is it?"
"A little after eleven. I wasn't sure what time you wanted to have lunch."
"Now's good." He stood and stretched. "I'm starving."
"You look like shit. What did you do after leaving mom's place last night?"
"I went to Grax's and then back here. What do you want? Sandwiches? Pizza?" He started for the kitchen.
"Sandwiches and pasta salad sound good."
Gabriel accessed the dispenser's menu. "Italian? Macaroni? Coleslaw?"
"Whatever you want is fine. And a Pepsi for me."
Marc ordered water. They sat at the table and ate in silence for a few minutes.
"Mom didn't say anything after she came back to dinner. I know it's none of my business but..."
Marc nodded. "It's okay." He swallowed his bite of roast beef and ham. "I told your mother that I didn't want anything more to do with her outside of work. I'm sorry, Jeanette, but she and I can't be friends. She's marrying Keith, and all she wanted last night was some kind of blessing from me for that."
Jeanette chuckled wryly. "She's still in love with you. Her marriage to Keith is nothing more than convenience."
"Yes, I figured that out awhile ago," Marc replied. He swallowed and then cleared his throat. "That's why I told her..." He frowned, and then shook his head. "It's just better this way. For all of us."
His daughter nodded. They ate some more in silence. Marc glanced at Jeanette. He put down his sandwich and toyed with his napkin for a moment or two. She noticed this and looked up.
"What?"
"You called me...'dad' last night. That was the first time."
Jeanette blushed. "I...uh, hadn't really planned to do it, it just slipped out."
"I liked it. It was...weird, but it felt good."
"Oh good. I mean, I'm glad." She laughed nervously, and then reached for her soda.
Marc reached for his water. "This is...more awkward than I meant it to be."
Jeanette shrugged. "It's okay. We're still getting to know each other. We're probably going to have a lot more awkward conversations like this."
Marc nodded. "Just for the record, I'm glad that something good came out of my relationship with your mother all those years ago. And I'm glad that you and I have this chance to get to know each other."
Jeanette smiled. "So am I." She stood to refill her Pepsi. "Would you like to do something tonight? A concert maybe? The Rustard Philharmonic are performing this week."
"That would be nice, but can we do it tomorrow night? I have a memorial service I need to attend tonight."
She nodded. "Sure. I'll see if there's any tickets left when we're done with lunch." She scooped up some pasta salad. "So...tell me some more of mom's secrets from high school."
"I didn't know Laura in high school."
"No, but I'm sure she told you plenty while you were dating. Especially because she drank a lot more back then than she does now."
Marc smiled as he rearranged the meat on the remainder of his sandwich. "Yes, she did. And yes I do know one or two things that you would find very interesting." He took a bite.
"And?"
Marc continued to smile as he chewed.
( 2 )
"We're here to mourn the loss of one of our own." Gabriel paused, glancing down at his compad to remind himself of the full name. "Lieutenant Daniel Hardin was an exemplary officer, placing devotion to his uniform second only to that of his family. The death of his wife and two young sons was a loss that he never fully recovered from, and we can only guess –"
The commodore paused again, looking out at the large crowd of fighter pilots. The station's entire air group was present on the quarterdeck, and the last time he had stood on this stage was five months ago, to mourn the deaths of the soldiers and crewmen who had died in the Chrisarii attack. That battle was long over, but like the shockwave of a supernova its casualties were still mounting. Gabriel turned his head slightly, to glance at his senior staff from the corner of his eye. They were in their customary seats behind him at the rear of the stage.
The commodore sighed and switched off his compad. He turned to the audience once more. "I have spent most of the last two days trying to understand why Daniel did what he felt he had to do. And I think the answer is a simple one, and it's one that we who have fought on the frontlines of battle and suffered great loss are all too familiar with."
He cleared his throat and then continued, raising his voice just a notch. "I think that he was able to cope with the death of his family, and for a time he made himself believe that he could go forward with his life. But the strange thing about grief, especially in the aftermath of such a great loss, is that it never fully leaves you. It becomes a part of you, like a cancer, and no matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise, the pain never really goes away.
"I'm sure that the memories of his wife and sons were too great for him to ignore, but he tried his best to keep up the appearance of being fine. In fact, he accomplished that better than most. And then after awhile, even that became too great a burden. And at that point is when life itself became a burden that Daniel could not bear any longer, and the only release from the loneliness and pain was death."
Gabriel paused again. "As I said before, this is something that only those who have suffered a loss in the same manner as Lieutenant Hardin can understand. I grieve for the loss of any soldier under my command, but I do not begrudge him his choice. My only hope is that he has found the peace that he was searching for, and all that we must do now is move on with our own lives." He hesitated, trying to think of something more to say, something a little more hopeful and positive, but nothing came to mind. All he wanted at this point was for the service to be ended so he could return to the privacy of his quarters. In truth, he was exhausted, and he desperately craved a drink.
"All rise." The audience obeyed. "Honor guard, please step forward." Gabriel waited until the group of soldiers was in position at the foot of stage left. He then turned to stage right where Ensign Miller was positioned at the opposite foot as the honor guard. She tapped a command into her compad, and the mournful melody of a lone bugle began to waft over the crowd.
As it played, the honor guard took down the flag and folded it. Since there was no family of the deceased to whom to present it, nor was there a coffin on which to drape it, the flag was given to Hardin's squad leader, Li
eutenant Corwin. She accepted the flag, returned Commander Scoletti's salute, and then the honor guard retreated to the rear of the quarterdeck. The final notes of Taps faded to silence.
"This service is concluded," Gabriel said. "You are dismissed."
The throng of pilots and officers melted away, leaving the quarterdeck in small groups. The commodore waited with his senior staff until they were the only ones left. "Thank you, everyone." Again he felt the need to say something more, but all he could think of was, "Goodnight."
They, too, left in small groups of two or three, and Gabriel stood alone on the stage, the endless field of stars and space behind him.
( 3 )
Marc stood in front of the door to Hiver-6, staring at the com panel. He'd promised himself that he wasn't going to visit the parallel universe today. He should be back in his quarters, watching HT, with a bowl of spaghetti or some other type of Italian comfort food. But somewhere along the journey from the quarterdeck to his corridor in DS-1 he had changed his mind. He didn't want to be alone tonight, but neither did he want to suffer the crowd at Grax's. So he had changed out of his uniform into something casual with the intent of just observing a typical evening in the holographic household. But then on his way here he had changed his mind yet again, and he made a short detour to a tailor's shop on the promenade. He had decided to play the role of himself in this fantasy instead of just observing it like he'd done with the birthday party.
Marc selected the program from his saved file, and he ordered the computer to change the scenario from spectator to interactive.
"Program active. Please enter when ready," the computer responded in its usual neutral tone.
Marc felt a peculiar sense of fear and excitement, something akin to stage fright, and he smiled to himself as the Hiver's door slid aside, revealing the front hall of his "home".
"Laur?" he called out as he hung his suit jacket in the closet by the front door.
"Hi, dad!" Jeanette responded, poking her head out of the living room.
"Hey, kiddo. Where's your mom?" Marc was pretty sure that he'd never used the word 'kiddo' before in his life, and it felt very odd to say it now, even in this setting.
"Upstairs in the shower with Logan. He's had the runs all day."
Jackson emerged from the kitchen, two sugar cookies in one hand and a soda in the other. "Oh! Hey dad!"
"Yeah, nice try. Go put those back."
"But Miss Pearson doesn't have dinner ready yet. Logan's been sick all day."
"Who?"
Jackson gave his father a weird look. "The nanny, dad. Where have you been?"
"Oh. Right. Is she still here?" Marc wasn't surprised that the holographic version of Laura had hired a nanny. She wasn't the stay-at-home-mom type.
"Nah. Mom sent her home an hour ago."
Marc plucked the cookies and soda from his son's hands. "You and your sister program something from the dispenser and set the table. I'll be right back."
On his way up the stairs, Marc nibbled on the cookies. He only had to follow the sound of wailing and running water to the first door on the left. Laura was kneeling by the tub, gently washing her youngest son as he bawled.
"Hi," Marc said.
Laura didn't even bother looking over her shoulder. "Hand me the towel, please?"
He obeyed, and then set the unopened soda on the sink. "Jackson and Jeanette are getting dinner."
"That's nice. Logan, stand up."
The boy's sobs faded to sniffles, and he rubbed his eyes. He gave his father a truly tortured and mournful look. "Daddy," he moaned.
Marc smiled sympathetically and kneeled beside Laura. "Hey, little man, what's wrong?"
"He's had a fever and diarrhea since late this morning. Will you finish getting him dressed? His pajamas are on the back of the chair. I'm going to get a hypo."
Marc gathered Logan into his arms and finished patting him dry. The boy sighed and closed his eyes, laying his head on his father's broad shoulder. Marc carefully stood and reached for the pajamas on his way out the door. He paused in the hall for a couple minutes, not sure which door belonged to Logan.
Laura reappeared with a hypo and injected the medicine into Logan's bare arm. "What are you looking for?"
"I...I can't remember which room is his."
"Oh don't tell me you're coming down with something," Laura sighed. "His room right there, where it's always been for the last three years." She pointed.
"No, no, I feel fine. Just a little...tired, that's all."
"Uh-huh. Come downstairs after you've put him to bed. I gave him something to help with the fever and he should be asleep soon." She bent and kissed her son's warm forehead.
Marc laid Logan on his bed and put his pajamas on him, one limb at a time. He pulled back the covers and then pulled up just the sheet. Laura was right. The boy was already asleep, his breath wheezing in and out of his stuffy nose. There were tracks on his chubby cheeks where his tears has dried, and Marc wiped them away with one gentle finger. He kissed Logan's forehead, and then quietly tiptoed from the room, leaving the door open just a crack.
Laura, Jackson, and Jeanette were seated at the table, their plates already filled. Marc grabbed a plate and looked at the large dish in the middle of the table.
"It's tuna casserole," Jackson announced proudly, as if he'd slaved over a hot stove to make it himself.
"It's not bad," Laura commented. "Needs some spices though, and you'll probably want to scrape off some of the cheese."
"Yeah, Jack," Jeanette chimed in. "How come you had to program so much cheese?"
"There's no such thing as too much cheese," Jack retorted.
"What time did you come home?" Marc asked Laura as he scooped up some casserole.
"Just after lunch. Nina said that the medicine wasn't working, so I stopped by the pharmacy and picked up something stronger. Didn't you get my message?"
"Uh, no, my commlink must not be working right again. Are you sure we shouldn't take him to the doctor?"
"We'll see how well he sleeps tonight. I think this is just a twenty-four hour thing. It's been going around a lot lately."
Marc nodded and turned to his other two children. "How was school?"
They both started to talk at once, and Laura scolded Jack for trying to talk with his mouth full. Marc sampled the casserole, agreeing with his wife that it needed more salt and pepper. When the meal was over, Marc told Jeanette and Jack to clear the table, and Laura disappeared into the study to catch up on work.
"Dad, can I play Galaxy War tonight? Please? Just for an hour?"
"May I play," Jeanette corrected him as she set the dirty plates in the reclamator.
"Shut up!" Jack replied.
"Don't tell your sister to shut up, and yes you can play for an hour if your homework is all finished."
"It is."
"Show it to me."
Later, while Jack played his HT game and Jeanette played on the computer in her room, Marc walked back upstairs to check on Logan. His youngest son was still asleep, on his back, the sheet bunched around his legs. Marc straightened it out, tucking it around Logan's waist, and then placed a hand on the boy's forehead. It still felt warm, but not as much as earlier. But what the hell do I know, Marc thought dryly. And why am I taking this so seriously? This is just a holographic simulation. This boy is no more alive than the desk in my office on the command deck.
That's not true, another part of him objected. This is what you've always wanted. You just haven't realized it until now. This family is more real to you right now than anything out there on Exxar-One.
Marc stood in the hall outside Logan's room, glancing at the other doors and wondering which was the master bedroom. He guessed correctly that it was the last one on the right. Most of the east wall was glass, offering a spectacular view the night sky and the city beneath it. The master bath had a Jacuzzi large enough for four, and an equally roomy shower stall in the far corner. The marble countertop held two spacious sink
s, and Marc found it amusing that the wallpaper, towels, bath mats and toilet seat cover were all color coordinated. Same for the bedroom. The bedspread, curtains, wallpaper and carpet were various shades of pastel blue and cream. The bathroom colors were lavender and cream.
"I would never have guessed you to be this feminine, Laur," he murmured. In the two years that he had known her back in the academy, Marc had never pictured Laura to be the type who cared whether her bath towels matched the wallpaper, or if the bedspread matched the drapes. Once again he wished that he had had access to her FCE psychological profile, because he was pretty sure that the real Laura Sysko would never have paid this much attention to the interior design of her bedroom and bath.
But isn't that the point? part of him whispered. This whole scenario isn't real. This Laura Sysko would never have broken the engagement. She would have married you, and this would have been your life.
"Which I guess isn't so bad after all," Marc said to himself. He spotted another door that led to a walk-in closet, and while it wasn't very large, it was big enough to hold Laura's designer label wardrobe, which occupied one entire side. The other side was Marc's, but he didn't need all of it. He'd never needed much closet space – holographic or otherwise. Only his uniforms needed to be on a hangar, or in this case his suits, and the rest of his clothes could be folded up and stuffed into drawers. None of his girlfriends had ever understood this, just as Marc had never understood why one needed enough color coordinated outfits to clothe an entire army.
Marc shut the door and left the bedroom. He toured the rest of the house, marveling at its size. In the brief time that they were engaged, he and Laura had talked about the house they would live in someday, but nothing that Marc had imagined came close to this. He passed the living room where Jackson was slaughtering aliens on the HT screen, past the study where Laura was analyzing holographic images of a dig site somewhere in Federation space, past the kitchen, the dining room, through the back hall to the guest bedroom on the left, and then a second study on the right – which he assumed was his – and, finally, on to the back porch. There was a patio table, lawn chairs, and a barbecue pit. Marc leaned against the railing and inhaled the warm sea breeze.
