by Selina Rosen
Alone. She had been alone for most of the first part of her life. Surrounded by other soldiers, but separated from them, she had to be careful they didn't find out that she was a GSH, but it hadn't been very hard to keep most of them at bay because part of her nature was obvious. She was obviously an Argy hybrid, and humans didn't want to be around someone who could read their emotions. It made them feel raw and exposed, so usually they kept their distance.
Of course occasionally one of the men would let his sexual curiosity beat down his better judgment, and he'd try to make time with her. It wasn't usually very hard to get them to back off, and if they didn't she promptly beat them to a pulp.
A picture of herself caught and held her attention. She was standing on top of a transport truck, her chain in hand, her face a picture of passionate rage as she flung her favorite weapon out at some unseen foe from some past battle. She started to just walk past and then stopped dead in her tracks. She turned slowly around and went back to look at the picture.
Where did she go? RJ thought. Look at me. I used to have such passion, such purpose. How long have I just been going through the motions? One day after another. I remember every word I've ever read, or heard, everything I've ever seen. But when did I change? When did I stop being that woman? I don't know, I . . . I can't put a time on it or even link it to an event. Did it happen slowly over the course of the years or all at once? Did everyone else notice and they just didn't say anything? Everyone else is gone, maybe they took little pieces of me with them when they went and left this thing that I am now.
Suddenly she found herself running all over the ship looking just at the pictures of herself. Pictures of her smiling and radiantly happy. Crying, and obviously tattered and left in ruins by her grief, but that hadn't done it, either. Looking at the pictures she saw not who she was, but only who she had been. Not one of these pictures was who she was now.
Yet she hadn't aged, she hadn't changed, she was physically the same.
But her soul, her mind, knew that she was approaching her second century.
Knowledge, horrible, terrible knowledge had stolen away the spark of humanity she had worked so hard to acquire. There were beautiful things, wonderful things, everywhere she had ever been, but they were always dwarfed when compared with the harsh truths of life. The really good times, the happy times had been short. The agony, despair and loneliness had stretched out for year upon year, till the only happiness in her life was memories.
People you loved and put your trust in would betray, forget and abandon you just when you least expected it. They would use you as long as it served them and then forget you and toss you aside till they needed you again.
They would die. Some quickly and without warning, ripping your heart from your chest and leaving you in agony. Some died slowly in stages until their death was nothing but a huge relief. Some killed themselves to keep a secret. But they all died.
And when they were gone what had it really mattered that they had ever lived? Levits hoped to be remembered, and he would be, by her. But to the selfish Abornie that he had put so much store in, his memory would fade quickly. His face would only occasionally flash through their thoughts till eventually they wouldn't even remember his name. They would, in fact, remember her longer, because they had hated her, and people tended to remember their enemies long after they had forgotten their friends.
And somewhere along the line, in her mind, everyone had become an enemy. She had vilified the Abornie because she didn't trust them, and she didn't trust them, she realized only now, because she didn't want to. It was easier to just not trust in people, because they would always let you down in some way, shape, or form. Keep them at a distance and then they couldn't hurt you.
"No good deed goes unpunished," Topaz had been known to say. She had stayed on Abornie for Levits' sake, and Topaz had wound up staying, too. She had to wonder if they'd left twenty years ago if Topaz would have stayed. But worse than losing Topaz was what she'd lost of herself. The entire experience had done nothing but drain her spirit dry.
She hadn't realized it till now, but that was why she'd become so involved with the gardening, because it was the only thing that ever seemed to give anything back. She put out effort, and it gave back beauty and tranquility. It asked nothing of her that she couldn't easily give.
Everything else she had ever put her effort into had left her emotionally bankrupt. She had given huge amounts of herself to any number of people, a multitude of causes, and what had she received for all her trouble? What had been the big payoff for her?
She'd sacrificed her own happiness for others more than once, and though a million theologians, poets and scholars would try to tell you otherwise, there simply was no reward. You gave everything you had, and people gave back only what they felt like giving, with little or no thought to your needs. Eventually you wound up like she had, with nothing left to give anyone, not even yourself.
She suddenly felt like a puppet whose strings had been dropped; she went with the feeling and dropped to the floor in a pile. And what are you doing now, freak? Going back to what? To finish what you started. For what reason? What purpose? Will it make you feel better? Will it make you happy? Do you even remember how to be happy? Do you really believe anyone will care?
She had landed in a sitting position, but found that even that wasn't giving her the "worthless puddle of goo" sensation she suddenly wanted to imitate, so she lay all the way down and stared up at the ceiling, where Poley had carved a picture of Stewart.
How appropriate.
Was he to blame for having created her? Was this horrible empty feeling something that happened to everyone, or was it something that only happened to her because of what she was?
She wasn't immortal, but she was damn close. She didn't fear death, at times she would have welcomed it, but maybe that was because somewhere deep down inside her she knew that unless she was willing to actually work at the whole dying thing it wasn't really an option. She had only ever come close to dying twice; once Whitey had saved her, and once Levits had. Now they were both dead, and she was not only still alive, but physically she was as healthy now as she had ever been.
Almost dying had made her vulnerable for a moment, made her almost human. When she hadn't died, when she had in fact made a full recovery—as good as new—it had left her feeling . . . What?
She thought about it a good long moment and had her answer. It had made her feel separated from the others. More different than ever. She was a GSH, and GSH's had been created for one thing and for one thing only, to serve humans. RJ wasn't like other GSH's, of course, because she hadn't been programmed. Because all her emotions were fully, painfully intact, and she had no expiration date. Yet with all this free will what had she done?
All the things I did, everything I've ever done, so little of it was actually just for me. Why? I enjoyed fighting, admittedly, even fighting for the Reliance. It made me feel important, alive. I enjoyed all the planning and strategizing that went into our attacks on the Reliance, but all that changed when Alsterase was attacked. I changed then, but even then I wasn't the useless shell I am now. Something made me worse.
Suddenly she knew the exact moment when the little piece of her spirit that had remained had departed. It was the damned Ocupod incident.
When that happened, I knew. And once I knew there was no going back. I was no different in the minds of any of them that day than the Ocupods. We had all been created, and therefore our feelings didn't matter. It would have been so easy for Levits to just let me kill the bastard to make a point. But no, he chose the Abornie over me. He chose to make me look like a moron rather than let the Ocupods have the killer. Because he never understood that the Ocupods had as much right to thrive as the Abornie did. I knew then that I was still just a freak in the eyes of the masses, and that was when I reached the shit saturation point. I just couldn't take the crap anymore. Everyone seemed more interested in everyone else's needs, in their feelings than min
e. Because I'm bulletproof they treat me like I can't be hurt, and the only one who ever really understood that I could be was Whitey.
I just shut down. I didn't even know I'd done it, but I just shut myself off from everyone else. I was tired of being used when I was handy and forgotten when I was no longer necessary or entertaining. Tired of playing second fiddle, as Topaz would say. I was sick to death of everyone else's needs being more important than mine. So I just moved myself to a place where they couldn't hurt me, and now . . . I'm barely even alive. That's why Topaz decided to stay. Why Poley's found a new friend, because I wasn't really there for them anymore.
She started to blame herself for the way she felt, but it wasn't all her fault. How much could one person, even her, be expected to put up with, before something inside them said enough?
Still she hated the way she felt, or rather the way she didn't feel.
She started to get up several times and found that she simply didn't have the will to do it. At one point Poley walked up to her. "RJ, are you having a malfunction?" he asked, standing at her feet and looking down at her.
"Yes," she hissed.
"Do you need medical attention?"
"No!" she snapped.
"Would you like me to help you up?"
"No . . . I just want to lie here. Why don't you go play with your new friend and leave me be?"
"Are you mad at me because of Alan?"
"I'm not capable of working up mad. In fact, I can't even seem to work up an 'I don't give a shit'."
"You are depressed," Poley said, nodding his understanding, "because of Levits and Topaz."
"And about a billion other things," she said.
"I could give you a shot . . ."
"To make me believe that I'm happy? No thanks."
"Alan is making dinner, would you like to eat?" Poley asked. No doubt this was why he'd come looking for her in the first place.
"No, I'll just lay here staring at Father, wondering why he ever bothered to make me."
"He made you because he needed you."
"What do you mean?"
"You and your siblings were his key to eternal life."
"Freaking beautiful."
"RJ, staring at father will not help your depression," Poley said matter-of-factly.
"Well what would . . . short of drugging me up?" RJ asked flippantly.
"Perhaps if you went to work with your plants," Poley suggested.
He was trying to be helpful, so maybe he hadn't totally replaced her in his personality chips. Problem was she didn't want to be helped. "I don't want to work with my plants."
"What's wrong exactly?" Poley asked.
"Everything, Poley. Think about it. I'm ancient, so I should have it all figured out by now and I don't. I'm not even close. I don't know how to feel anymore. I've forgotten what it's like to be truly alive. You're just learning, and I'm forgetting." She rolled over and lay her face on the cool steel floor. "Sometimes it's not that life is bad, it's just that it isn't good. Do you know what I mean?"
"Not really."
"It's like nothing's really wrong but it isn't right either."
"That doesn't make any sense RJ . . . Perhaps you should go into the cryogenic chamber. I could wake you up when we reach our space."
"And I can be in this same great mood, five years older and covered in goo, no thanks," RJ said to the floor. "I've got to figure out what's missing and how to get it back before we get home, or what's the point of going home at all?"
"I've promised Alan that he can see Marge."
RJ banged her head on the floor.
"That won't help, either," Poley said.
"Maybe not, but it feels so good when I quit."
Chapter Nineteen
The campaign wasn't finished, yet Jessica found herself leaving the battle with a minimal crew and heading back to Earth.
"He'll be all right, Mom," Pete said, as he sat down beside her on the bed in Jessica's quarters.
Jessica shook her head. "No . . . no Pete, he won't be. He's an old man and he's sick. He's going to die. I just . . . I need to see him one more time." She cried, and he put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Pete had grown up in battle, he knew all about death. She saw no reason to whitewash it for him now. Besides, she couldn't be strong for him, she needed him to be strong for her. "I just need to see him. To talk to him before he dies."
Pete nodded silently, and she realized he was crying, too. Mickey had ordered him made, but all that mattered to Pete right now was that Mickey had always been in his life, and now he wasn't going to be. At twelve there were a lot of things about himself that Pete didn't know. Jessica knew the time to tell him was rapidly approaching, but she'd put it off this long, so she could put it off a little while longer.
Dax met their boat at the docks, where they embraced and had a good cry. Finally Jessica pulled away from him and dried her eyes.
"Can I see him now? Is he lucid?"
"Yes and yes. He's actually asking to see you every time he wakes up," Dax answered. "His brain's as sharp as it ever was, it's his body . . . It's just giving out on him."
She and Pete followed Dax to Mickey's room, but at the door Jessica stopped.
"I . . . I'd like to see him alone."
Dax nodded. "Come on, Pete, we'll go get something to eat."
Pete looked reluctantly at his mother, and she forced a smile. "You must be upset, someone has said 'food,' and you aren't gone already." She put her hand against his cheek and then bent down and kissed his forehead. "Go on."
He nodded and followed Dax. Jessica took a deep breath and entered the room. She walked right up to Mickey's bedside and dismissed the nurse in attendance with a nod of her head. Jessica sat down in the chair that had been placed there for visitors and took Mickey's hand. To say he didn't look like himself would have been a horrible understatement. He was almost skeletal, and his color was all but non-existent.
"You're here. Thank God, I don't think I could have held on much longer," he said, his voice showing just how weak he was.
"So, just what's wrong with you?" she asked bluntly, but with obvious concern.
He smiled, and he suddenly looked like Mickey again. "It would be easier for me to explain what isn't wrong with me."
Jessica laughed, the tears falling from her eyes and splashing on their joined hands. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you."
"You'll do fine," he said.
"I'll miss you . . . There's something I have to tell you." Her sobbing made her almost incoherent, so she took a deep breath and tried to get herself under control. "Something I should have told you a long time ago . . ."
"I know already," he interrupted.
"No, you couldn't, I'm . . ."
"Jessica Kirk. Yes, I know," Mickey said with a smile.
"But . . . how?"
"Right from the beginning I had my doubts. Remember one of the first things you ever told me was that 'people see what they want to see'? Well, I wanted to see RJ, and right away I started to ask myself what the chances were that RJ could have actually survived the attack that killed even Poley and Topaz, then escaped from the Reliance to return here. It seemed too good to be true. Then there were the little things." He coughed a little, and then continued. "RJ couldn't forget things, yet there were obvious gaps in your memory. Mostly they were small things, so I rationalized them away, told myself you'd had some sort of breakdown. I mean, you were obviously crazy. Sorry, no offense."
"None taken."
"Somewhere deep down, I think I knew all along that you weren't RJ, but I was never a hundred percent sure until Diana died and you started looking for Topaz's formula. You see, Topaz used the serum he'd created, but he was never actually able to duplicate it . . ."
"Something happened. Something outside the bounds of his experiment," Jessica said with a sigh. "That's why the formula wasn't on file anywhere, because he didn't know how he had made it. After he'd lived a few hundred years and learned
being eternal wasn't all it was cracked up to be, he just deleted everything he'd ever had on it to make sure no one else could even try."
"Probably. The point is that I hadn't forgotten that fact, and if I hadn't what were the odds that RJ had? It's not the sort of thing RJ, or anyone for that matter, would have forgotten. Unless you just didn't know in the first place. When you spent months and tore the place apart looking for the formula I knew then, for a fact, that you weren't RJ."
