Going Grey

by Karen Traviss

  "I'll keep a watching brief."

  "Give my regards to – well, you know."

  "I will."

  Kinnery wasn't sure that he'd ever hear from Leo again. There was a sense of finality about this for the first time in nearly twenty years, and it didn't feel quite like the relief he'd always expected. But Ian was in the best place he could be now, and he'd be left in peace. Shaun had too much to lose by digging deeper. Kinnery hoped he realised that.

  Sorry, Maggie. Sorry I had to lie about you to do this. Pitiful specimen, aren't I? I even lie about the dead.

  She would have understood, though. She might even have approved.

  ELEVEN

  The real risk in morphing isn't compromising security or even creating new medico-ethical dilemmas. It's about the basic human need to believe what you see. We live in a fearful, paranoid age, for which politicians like me have to accept much of the blame, but once people start thinking their neighbour could be someone else in disguise, a different person from one day to the next, society will change for the worse. The real danger in Ian is simply the idea that he might exist at all.

  Leo Brayne, talking to his son.

  PORTON, MAINE

  END OF SEPTEMBER.

  "Have I caught you at a bad time?" Brad asked. "I can call back."

  Rob sat watching the office entrance from the comfort of the Mercedes, nursing a latte while he waited for Ian and Mike to emerge. "No, I'm parked up. Mike's with his lawyers."

  "No problem, I hope."

  "Routine family trust stuff. He just blows a dog whistle and they show up anywhere he wants them to."

  "Okay, I know you're not available at the moment, but I just wanted to touch base."

  It was time for some pre-emptive stalling. "Sorry, mate. I didn't plan to be out this long. I'll be clearer about my schedule soon."

  "If you're still worried about long contracts, remember that a lot of the yacht work is under four weeks."

  "Yeah, I'd probably be up for that." There. He'd said it. "But there's family stuff I've got to nail down first."

  "Understood. By the way, most of the guys you passed on to me are signing up, so thanks for that. Check your bank for your bonus."

  These were his old oppos, blokes he'd served with. If he could put any private work their way, then he did. Rob didn't care about the recruitment bonuses. "Have you given them top rate?"

  "Would I short-change your buddies?"

  "You're a diamond, Brad. I'll stay in touch. I promise."

  "Okay. Give Mike my best."

  Rob put his phone back on the dashboard and wondered how long he could kick this down the road before he started to get skills fade and Brad decided he was never available anyway. He had to stay looking employable in case he ever needed to go it alone without Mike's patronage. He knew Mike would never let him down, but it was necessary for his self-respect to know he could survive.

  But how long had he been sitting on his arse and gathering dust now? Months. He'd never been completely idle for this long since he was a kid. It felt like the beginning of the big run-down period to oblivion. He was forty, Tom didn't need him any more, and he had none of things that a bloke his age should have had – a permanent home, a trade, a missus, and, for fuck's sake, an identity. He wasn't a Marine now, no matter how much he'd always think like one. He didn't feel at home in England, but he was never going to be an American, either. In fact, right now he didn't feel like he was anything. Some days he wondered if he was just as much of a nothing as he was at the supermarket, except now he had a Rolex, a Jag, and a solid gold safety net.

  Jesus Christ. Listen to me. Get a grip, Royal. Stop dripping.

  When things settled down with Ian, perhaps he could fit in some proper work without leaving Mike in the lurch. Whatever he was doing for Ian didn't count, because it was just common human decency to do it, and Leo should never have been paying him for it. But Ian hadn't morphed since the traffic stop, and that meant stability and a fairly normal life were within his reach.

  Rob also felt better for knowing that Mrs Wrong Number was Dru Lloyd. Kinnery had recorded his meeting at KWA and sent a sound file via Leo. There was no mistaking that voice.

  But you can't follow Ian here, love. Good effort, though.

  Half an hour later, the glass doors of the office block parted and Mike strolled out with Ian, clutching a tan leather briefcase and looking – well, like someone else. This was the other Mike, the one who did business the way his father had taught him and wore the uniform for the task, a very quiet charcoal suit so well cut from such perfect cloth that Rob was afraid he'd ruin it just by sitting too close. If that had been the Mike he'd first met, he wasn't sure they would even have spoken.

  Mike laid his jacket and tie on the back seat beside Ian and pulled on a jumper, transforming himself into good old Zombie again.

  "I thought you'd decided to move in," Rob said. "You've been hours."

  Mike glanced at his wrist. "One hour forty-five." He still wore his cheapo lucky watch even with his sharp suit. It was quite something to see a bloke who was that far beyond the reach of status symbols. "She's very thorough."

  "Scary," Ian said, a timid voice from the back seat. He might have been putting it on, of course. He had a low-key sense of humour. It had taken Rob some time to spot it. "I felt like she was preparing me for a murder trial."

  "But you're all sorted now, eh?"

  Mike nodded. "We've set up Ian's finances and covered our tracks on the sale of the ranch. If KWA go back and want to trace the new owners, it's not linked to us." He didn't elaborate. "We just need Kinnery to swear an affidavit to supplement the hospital birth certificate so we can get a passport."

  "Christ, that sounds risky. Are we still chained to him, then?"

  "All he has to do is say that he's known Ian for the requisite period."

  "I'm okay with that," Ian said. Rob could see him in the rear-view mirror, chewing his lip. He'd picked up that anxious mannerism from Mike very fast. "I've got to deal with him sooner or later. Whatever he did, he's done everything he can since then to put things right."

  Rob didn't feel that gracious. But that was Ian: he was still a naive teen about some things, but very mature indeed on the big philosophical stuff. The kid shut out every negative thought, even when being negative was reasonable, always looking for the up side of every scenario. Rob wondered if he'd overdone the Royal Marines' mantra of cheerfulness in adversity. But it really did seem to be something at the core of Ian's personality.

  "Well, it only needs to be done once," Mike said. "We discussed changing Ian's surname to add extra camouflage, but you want time to think that over, don't you, Ian? Anyway, it's something you can do any time. We can just get you new papers later."

  "Yeah." Ian nodded, busy reading some document. "We can get the photos done this week."

  Rob had waited a long time to hear that. "Beer, birds, BMW."

  "Beer, birds, BMW," Ian repeated, sounding like he was mimicking Rob's accent.

  "Are you teaching Ian bad ways, Robert?" Mike asked.

  "Alliteration. I had to look that up in my pop-up illustrated dictionary."

  Mike tapped the dashboard and gave Rob a let's-roll gesture, finger pointed. "Lafite, ladies, Lamborghinis."

  "Hasn't got the same ring, has it?"

  Rob hit the radio and drove off, singing. Ian joined in and Mike glanced over the back of his seat. "Imagine being stuck on convoy protection with this joker," he said. "They only fired at us to shut him up."

  Ian could actually carry a tune. Livvie was teaching him French, and she said he had a great ear for accents as well. Rob wondered if that was a result of being cooped up on his own for so many years, hanging on every word of a movie or TV show.

  "I do believe you were taking the piss out of my accent," Rob said, mock-huffy. "I don't know, kids today."

  "Oi durno," Ian mimicked. "Moi ahk-sent."

  Jesus Christ. Do I sound like that? "That was brilliant.
What we'd call a proper job where I come from."

  "Prah-per jawb. You always sound like a pirate. Oh-ah."

  "Do I really say that?" Rob asked. "Oh-ah?"

  "Occasionally. Mostly it's eh."

  Ian had obviously noted it and added it to his mental database. He seemed to be able to separate local dialect from military slang. Rob suspected that he spent ages reading up on all the detail.

  Mike laughed. "Awesome."

  Rob watched Ian smile to himself and marvelled at how kids could put years of crap behind them so fast when Rob found himself permanently changed by isolated events. Rob hadn't worried much about driving beyond usual vigilance until his first deployment, when his patrol had run into an ambush. After that, every road became the front line. The brain was a strange machine that didn't always trust the world to go back to the way it used to be.

  Mike looked back at Ian again. "We need to get you a car. I've got to go through the motions of training you for six months before you can take your test. You want to go look around dealerships?"

  He said it innocently. It was just the way he was, carelessly generous. Ian leaned forward between the front seats.

  "I kind of miss my old truck," he said.

  "Sure, but a guy needs a car too."

  Rob caught the look between them. Mike wasn't a hard bloke to read. He was in full paternal mode, fretting about Ian's future. He'd been waiting to be a dad for so long that it was probably too much to resist when Ian needed so much on every level. Rob felt a sudden urge to call Tom for an extra-long chat. He was back at university now, so they weren't limited to snatched calls from wherever he'd been working. When he came to visit, Rob planned to give him the time of his life.

  You're right, Mike. It's priceless.

  "Okay, anyone got any plans when we get back?" Rob asked.

  Mike picked some invisible lint off his cashmere jumper. "I need to take Livvie to the movies. Some quality time. We'll be back for dinner."

  "Movies? You unimaginative bugger."

  "We're never jaded, and we never run out of thrills."

  "You could fly her to Singapore. Paris. Anywhere."

  "January," Mike said. "We'll do it in the New Year. We'll all be totally sorted after the holidays."

  "Okay, I'm going to do some phys after lunch. Can you spot for me, Ian?"

  "Sure. I could do with an extra workout myself."

  "Recovery time," Mike said pointedly. "Don't forget to schedule it. Or you'll lose lean mass instead of putting it on."

  Mike was getting the hang of teenage psychology. Rob tried not to smile.

  While Mike and Livvie were getting ready to go out, Rob opened the fridge to find a tray of fresh protein shakes with neatly written labels like prescriptions, listing when Ian had to drink them. Livvie seemed to be relishing her trainer role. It was touching. She and Mike had thrown themselves unreservedly into the family thing. Ian was an easy kid to like, but it still took a leap of faith even for a couple who never had to worry about the bills.

  "Look at this," Rob said, showing Ian the contents of the fridge. "You're made for life."

  Ian treated the shakes like they'd been handed to him specially by some Greek goddess. Rob wasn't sure which goddess was in charge of phys, but he was pretty sure the Greeks would have had one.

  "I ought to make these myself," Ian said. "Livvie's got enough to do as it is."

  "She loves doing it. She'd buy the ready-made stuff if she didn't."

  Ian did his weights session with extra vigour as if he had to justify Livvie's effort, then went on to the punchbag. He could certainly land a punch with plenty of aggression, but he saw it as extra cardio training rather than learning how to hit someone. It was probably a good time to tackle that topic.

  "Have you ever been in a fight, mate?" Rob asked. "I'm guessing not."

  Ian paused, wiping sweat off his nose with the back of his sparring glove. "Can't remember. But I'd have been knee-high if I had."

  Rob had to keep reminding himself what Ian had not done in his life, no matter how switched on he seemed. It was the stuff that Rob had taken for granted as part of growing up. Ian hadn't had much contact with other kids, maybe a couple of years at primary school if that. It was pointless teaching him how to transition between weapons and storm a compound if he couldn't look after himself in a bar.

  "You need to know you can take a punch and ride it," Rob said. "The first time's always a nasty surprise. Some people swing straight back naturally, but normal instinct makes you curl up if you can't run away. So you need to be trained to handle it. Humans aren't designed to hurt each other unless they can't avoid it, believe it or not."

  Ian straightened up. "You did unarmed combat, didn't you?"

  "I don't mean commando stuff. This is so you know what it feels like to get hit, so that you don't freeze."

  "Did you ever box?".

  "And ruin this face? No. But I've been in a few unplanned fights."

  Ian took it as a joke and stood back, arms out to his side. "You'll cream me."

  "Body blows only." Ian was half Rob's age. Rob knew there was no guarantee he'd be the one doing the creaming. "The head's off limits because we don't have any head or mouth guards."

  "I think you're the kind who swings back."

  "I grew up on a council estate. What's your word for it? A project. I was a bit of a bugger when I was a kid."

  "Okay, let's do it."

  "I'm not going to think any less of you if you don't want to."

  "No, I'm up for it."

  Rob pulled on a pair of gloves. "Remember that it's just about knowing that you can fight hurt. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Body only."

  "Okay."

  Rob talked Ian through it as they squared up to each other. He remembered getting this far with Tom as a kid and then being completely unable to even prod him. Tom, ten and not sure of his own strength, took it seriously and landed one in Rob's gut. My baby boy. I can't do this. Rob had abandoned the plan on the spot and signed Tom up for boxing class at the local club instead.

  "That's it, that's it," Rob said. Thwomp. Ian jabbed at him and caught him in the ribs as he shielded his face instinctively. The blow was faster and harder than Rob expected. Well, Ian had at least twenty years on him. "Good. Hard as you can."

  "Okay."

  "Come on." Rob stepped into Ian and punched upward into his chest. It wasn't maximum effort, but it hurt. Rob saw it on his face. "Come on. Back at me."

  They threw a few more punches almost politely, concentrating on avoiding each other's heads. But then Ian stepped it up a notch, and so did Rob, and then Rob hit him a little too hard in the upper arm with a quick follow-up in the kidneys as Ian hunched over.

  The punch that flew straight back at Rob nearly winded him. It was instant, accurate, and bloody hard. Rob returned it equally hard without thinking. He felt under threat. It was instinct.

  Ian was much, much better at this than he should have been.

  "Fuck," Rob said, taking a step back. Ian kept coming. Rob pushed him back. "Break. Stop."

  And then he looked at Ian and his heart sank.

  The guy in front of him wasn't Ian. More to the point, he was, but not the same Ian who'd wowed Livvie and that Rob had grown used to over the last few weeks. His hair was mid-brown and his face was rounder, younger, a stranger again, all except the eyes.

  "Oh Christ, I'm sorry," Rob said. "I'm so sorry."

  Ian stuck one hand under his arm to pull the glove off and felt his face. Rob could see his anguish at losing control. All my fucking fault. He took off his gloves and put his hands on Ian's shoulders.

  "Deep breaths, kiddo. You can get back to it."

  "Okay." Ian used that word a hundred times a day. "I'm okay."

  "You're not. Come on. Let's pack this in and go and calm down."

  Rob was distraught. After all that time and effort, after Ian was on a steady course and Mike was finally getting his photo documentation i
n order, Rob had fucked it all up by pushing the kid too far. They were back to square one. Ian went upstairs to shower, leaving Rob sitting on the stairs and wondering how the hell he was going to tell Mike and Livvie.

  How was Ian going to cope with this new face?

  Rob went upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. "Ian, are you all right?"

  "I can sort this." The water was still running. "It's not your fault, Rob. I'm the only one who can fix myself."

  Rob spent the next couple of hours at the kitchen table, trying to work out how to resolve this. They'd have to start the process over again, or Ian would have to get used to the fact that his life would be severely limited by things he'd never be able to do.

  When Mike and Livvie got home, Ian was still upstairs with the door slightly ajar. Mike looked at Rob and his face fell. They knew each other too well.

  "What's wrong? Is it Ian??"

  "He's in his room," Rob said. "We were boxing. He morphed. My fault."

  Mike went thudding up the stairs and Rob braced for incoming. Livvie put her hand on his arm.

  "It's nothing we can't handle, Rob."

  "No, I ballsed it up. I should have known better."

  Livvie followed Mike upstairs. Rob could hear the buzz of voices, and then the thud-thud-thud as Mike raced down to the hall again.

  He stalked into the kitchen. "What the fuck were you thinking, Rob? Seriously, what the fuck?"

  Rob had rarely seen Mike angry enough to eff and blind before, let alone angry with him. What else could he say? Ian wasn't like any other kid, and Rob had ignored that fact, thinking that persistence was the answer to all of life's problems. He was gutted. And the last bloke he wanted to upset was Mike.

  "I know what I've done, mate. I'm sorry."

  "Jesus Christ, the attorney's seen him." Mike leaned over him with one hand on the table. It was an odd kind of anger, very cold and white. "What the hell is he going to do now? Any terrific ideas?"

  Rob wasn't used to problems he had no power to solve and that weren't his to learn to live with. "I can't change Ian back, mate. He'll come downstairs when he's ready, and then we can work something out. Meanwhile, I'll piss off so you don't feel obliged to hit me."