Memory's Exile

by Anna Gaffey

  “You’ll notice I didn’t try to kill anyone.” But that wasn’t true, his brain reminded him, presenting him with Rachel’s You pushed me, Jake. He shuddered.

  Lindy shrugged. “Well, you didn’t have time, given you were unconscious on a regular schedule.”

  “It wasn’t exactly restful.” And yet, even with the fear and anger simmering inside him, he couldn’t avoid Nat anymore. How much of what Nat had done had been the thing on the planet, the things in their blood they’d carried with them from birth? With Leech. Who had told him that? Con. He couldn’t yet justify away the fading bruises on his body, even as they merged with the hurts from the cavern, from the thing with the melting coalescing faces…no, not yet. Don’t think about it yet. But he couldn’t hold on to righteousness with Rachel Santos’ words ringing through him. He was no better.

  Lindy had continued. “…overall, we’re a team of walking wounded.”

  “Is that why you’re tallying up all the meds?”

  “I’m combining our stores with the Harmon’s, if you really need to know,” she said tartly. But not tartly enough to cover the momentary pause in her light examination of Nat. She walked back to her tray and resumed her doings.

  “What’s the status of the Harmon?” Jake pressed. “And the comms? Have we contacted Earth? Any word?” He imagined the words, the screaming vids as the Gov Board scrambled to mop up the mess, and what a mess it was. Devastated planet. Destroyed legacy station. Dead crew. Probably a full gem’s worth of official reprimands, probably a few terminations for some of the lower level Harmon crewmembers before the Board got to the marrow of the disciplinary actions, the reassignments, the recovery and recon. Bureaucratic reactions were predictable. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they lumped us into the Harmon’s mission. Reassigned and top secret, you know.”

  It had been, anyway. Even with Silverman’s inner agenda momentarily veering the helm toward the station, Science’s plans for Marathon and whatever was out there hadn’t changed. Jake had known how to keep his mouth shut, once upon a time. Con would shake his head.

  Con. Where was he? It was embarrassing that Jake kept ending up flat on his back while Con jumped up and shook off the same events.

  Lindy was still quiet. If anything, she had grown stiffer, her movements more economical and focused. He let go the problem of Con for the moment. “Lindy?”

  “You need to be briefed,” she said again. “Santos has all the information.”

  “But we are going to Marathon.”

  “Funny. I’d never heard of it before today.”

  “You know you’re need-to-know only, Lindy.”

  “Sweet-talker.” She looked ready to thump him.

  “Brief me now. I feel clear, even though I’m missing bits. Will I get them back?”

  “I’m no neuro expert. It might come back little by little like it’s doing now. Might not. Can you remember what happened down on the planet?”

  “Every last second.” He couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice, and why the hell should he want to? He’d spent the last near decade of his life bobbling around the holes in his brain. Never mind the little hiccups in comprehension, or the way his thoughts tended to veer toward Carmichael and the blood sliding down his chin, or the rough metal of Mick’s ring, or Mei—Mei, slipping out of his head until only her name was left, only blood, a bloody handprint against a cold white floor. Santos and Nat blurred together into dark watchful eyes. Kai, an endless stream of entertaining bitchery.

  He was just exhausted. Lindy had said so herself. Jake focused on the small items of the unfamiliar sickbay, everything in stringent economical order: portable trays, cases of fluid packs, the empty beds murphied into their sterile wall panels. There were two points of exit, one on either end, and he calculated the distance to get to the closer set of double doors. But even if he could get past Lindy, where would he go?

  Con would be on the flight deck. He could go there. He had been okay. He had flown the shuttlepod, for fuck’s sake; a man couldn’t do something that delicate without possessing some lucidity. And he wasn’t here in sickbay. He couldn’t be…no, Lindy had said he was fine. “Lindy, you’ve got to tell me. Where’s Con? Wasn’t he banged up at all?”

  “Jake,” Lindy said, her voice thick again. “I don’t know quite how to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  As if in response, the sickbay doors slid open and two people came in: Rachel Santos and a dark-haired man with stern, austere features. Connor Griffin. The sight of him gave Jake what felt like a pleasant bout of acid reflux.

  Santos smiled at him. “How’s the patient doing?”

  “Which one?” Jake asked.

  Santos’ gaze cut to Lindy. Lindy gave a sharp shake of her head, then opened a packet and began emptying powder into a wide polymerine dish. “He’s mending fast, or near enough. He should be fit for conference in an hour or so. Until then he needs rest, if you get my gist.”

  Con turned to Lindy. “The stores?”

  “Getting there,” she said. “We’ve got more than I thought.”

  Santos nodded. “Good.” She came closer and sat on the edge of Jake’s bed. “I suppose you’re ready for a few days off-duty.”

  Behind her, Con had moved closer to Lindy and was talking to her in a low voice. Lindy shrugged and said something back that Jake couldn’t quite make out. Something like “It will be rough.” Or perhaps, “Enough.” Then she crossed back to the medical lockers, and any semblance of audibility was lost in the rustle of supplies.

  Jake looked up at Santos, who was staring at him expectantly. “No. No, I don’t think so. I’ve think I’ve had enough of infirmary beds for the next twenty years.”

  “I gave a general briefing.”

  “And I missed it.”

  “You don’t say. Nor,” she continued, “do you seem particularly broken up about that.”

  “Nope.”

  Santos smirked at him. It was familiar, but…off, somehow. Her eyes were too watchful, her bearing overly rigid. Her entire body vibrated with awareness. “I’d like you to wait as long as Lindy says. After I brief you, I’ll need you to help with prep before the vault, if you’re able. If not, you’re welcome to stay here until we’re ready for cryo—”

  “No,” Jake interrupted. “No, no, that’s fine. Put me to work as soon as Lindy’s done with me, please. If that ever happens.” He lowered his voice. “I’m starting to suspect she’s got a kink for me on my back.”

  A loud snort issued from the medical lockers.

  “Either that or I’m more into doctors than I ever realized. Psych problems all around.” He didn’t look at Nat.

  Santos did. But she laughed. “Then, by all means, we’ll leave you alone. Comm me, Lindy, when I should come get him?”

  “As soon as possible.” Jake smiled at Con. “You on the mend, too?”

  A beat, and then Con smiled back. “Sure. I’m doing fine.”

  There was something exceedingly off about him, and easier for Jake to pinpoint than Santos’ restrained energy. All of Con’s lived-in nonchalance had deserted him. Standing at loose attention near the foot of Jake’s cot, he seemed stricken with first-flight jitters, but he nodded politely to Jake, his expression bland, faintly questioning, not at all knowing.

  “I understand you’re responsible for getting me back up here,” Con said. “Thanks for that.”

  Who are you? Another Con had asked, his eyes childlike in the dim thunder of the cavern, his voice hoarse from retching. Please? Who?

  The man in front of Jake clearly did not know him.

  Jake struggled to keep his expression lackluster, but his thoughts teemed. They were all looking at him. He had to say something. He dredged up a false, toothy smile of his own. “I should thank you. You did all the flying, I just dragged you into the pod.”

  “Sure,” Con allowed, shrugging. “Well, thanks.” He wasn’t merely disinterested. He was bored. Uncomfortable, too, because he co
uld read Jake’s familiarity even if he didn’t automatically return it. Santos and Lindy were unnaturally quiet, but they didn’t seem surprised. They had known. It explained Santos’ agitation and Lindy’s headshake. Con would make some excuse and leave in a moment.

  The silence stretched out in excruciating plainness. Lindy stopped scritching away at her powders.

  “That reminds me, Con,” Santos said smoothly, as if she hadn’t even noticed the awkward gap. “Redbear said you should call the flight deck when you get a chance.”

  “When?” Con asked.

  “Just before we came in here.”

  “I’d better get up there.” He gave a polite nod and fairly bolted out of the sickbay.

  Santos stood and patted Jake on the arm. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing gloves, thin little brown things. “I thought that maybe Lindy would have…” she trailed off.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Rachel, don’t. Why doesn’t he know me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I hoped that, if he saw you, it might jog something.”

  “He doesn’t remember anything?”

  Santos looked helplessly at Lindy, who sighed and laid down her scraping knife. “He remembers snatches of what happened down on the planet, and about flying the pod up again. Though he passed out at the end.”

  “Right, I told you that. But—”

  “He’s had some trouble with names,” Lindy continued. “And he seemed unsure of Kai. But until he tells us otherwise…”

  “What?”

  “He remembers some of us from the station,” Santos said. “But only in bits and pieces. And he doesn’t remember you at all.”

  “Oh.” He could feel Lindy and Santos exchanging their meaningful glances, but he couldn’t meet their eyes. He didn’t know where to look—he couldn’t look at them, couldn’t look at his leg. Really, he was confined to a view of the ceiling, but the lights were beginning to bother his eyes.

  “It’ll likely come back to him,” Lindy hedged. “He remembered your trial on Earth, for example. And he’s fine physically. Stellar. Mentally shaken, I’d wager, but intact.”

  “Sure. But you’re no neuro expert.”

  Lindy’s mouth thinned. “No good throwing my words back at me, Jake.”

  “So he’s fried.” A thought occurred to him. “And you’re letting him fly the damn Harmon?”

  Santos crossed her arms. “He’s demonstrated the necessary competencies. I’m noting it in the ship’s mission log, and I’ll take full responsibility. And his copilot is taking a more active role than normal—”

  “But that’s just crazy time. He’ll have to calculate vaults. Who’s to say he’ll remember the right figures, the right formulae? Presumably we’ve got stores, supplies. Why don’t we just float for a few weeks and wait for the Gov Board to process a reliable replacement?”

  Santos’ commbud gave an audible chirp, and she clapped a hand to her ear. “One moment.” She backed away and listened, and then she shook her head. “Briefing soon, Jake. When Lindy assures me you’re back up to standard, I’ll send someone to escort you for duty.”

  She left without looking back.

  Jake lay back onto the cot. “I don’t understand it. We were both there. It was on both of us, drinking us dry. I could feel myself losing things. Forgetting. But now it’s as if my brain has been, I don’t know, dusted up. Everything’s so clear and clean and sharp to me. How the hell could he forget when I can remember so much—”

  “Shh,” said Lindy, not at all soothingly. “This is why you’re resting. Plenty time for that later.”

  Of course she didn’t know why, neuro or not. How could she? None of them knew why. The only thing that could possibly know would be Leech. Tempting though it was, Jake had had enough incomprehensible conversation and near death to last a lifetime.

  She worked over him in silence for a few moments, her fingers (gloved now) cold and unyielding against his neck, his arms, over the stretch of his chest.

  Another thought occurred to him. “What happened to all our stuff?”

  “What?”

  “You said the station was definitely, definitively destroyed.”

  “Yes. Ship’s engineers yanked Heart’s backups and whatever hardware came easiest, and I took the data gems from the infirmary. Dr. Murakami took care of Science. But he’s indisposed. As you can see. Just as well, otherwise he’d be busybodying the lab techs to death right now. He left a mem gem and tablet for you with Santos. Personal effects, things in quarters. There wasn’t time. Even a lot of necessary supplies got left.”

  Lindy pressed a cold infusion into his arm port, and, as it slipped into his veins, he pondered that. Things in quarters. For him, that was an assortment of nonsense: his weird glass shapes, his books and piles of memory gems dark and full with notes, logs, letters. All lost forever now. He’d even lost his mother’s satchel, that blessing in fake disguise. There was no way he’d go back into the heart of Selas, not even for that. She’d probably be put out, and the thought of her pursed-lip, tolerant irritation made him smile. All of it blurred, as if he’d covered it with gauze. The last real moments he remembered in his quarters were from the morning he and Con had eaten breakfast together.

  Connor Griffin. The name gave a sense of that mythological bird of prey, something old with sharp talons and implacable green eyes. He could feel the heat of Con in the bed with him, the solid presence of Con taking up space in the room. Con, you idiot, you’re Con.

  He pressed his fists into his forehead. It didn’t matter. The room was gone, the things were gone, the station was gone. The whole thing was finished, folded up, disintegrated. What did it matter if one man didn’t know him?

  But he couldn’t pretend indifference. He couldn’t. He had to fix whatever it was. Jake was no stranger to adversity. If Con didn’t remember him, he’d just have to make him remember. There had to be a way. If Jake could remember the events erased by Silverman—granted, remember them with the aid of a life-sucking alien and his sister’s ghostly influence, but still—he could make Con remember. What he needed was a plan of action. A simple one-man siege he could engage, one that he could lay out and predict from start to finish. He shuffled through his options and ideas and…lost the train of thought. Grasping at it only made it eel away into some remote part of his mind.

  The infusion. It was making him sleepy. Damn Lindy anyway. He watched as she stripped off her gloves and dropped back into her counting, scraping, her notations and stockpiling.

  He drifted through less complex thoughts as the room slowed and dimmed around him. Selas, green and opaque. The station. The fucking first laws of physics.

  Every body persists in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed—

  But he wasn’t a physicist, he knew that. He was a geologist, or a pathologist. He studied history. He didn’t know a quark from a burr or a long-abandoned string. Did he? For a moment, his thoughts crowded him in a wide, vast clamor. Clear and sharp and dust-free, still chaotic as hell, but coming back all the same. Perhaps his physics would come dribble back in bits and pieces.

  And then! Why, then I would have the strength of a desperate man! I would use my hands, my knees, my chest, my head, my teeth to strangle him, crush him, bite him, tear him to pieces—

  No. No more fragments of ghost stories. No more history. No more shifting solid ground.

  No more Selas.

  The medication soothed him, told him he could best avoid the stories if he simply took his ease and let it work at unwinding the knotted tangle of his brain. He had to heal. To heal, he had to let go, to sleep. Sleep. Yes.

  Jake pulled himself up and out of bed.

  “Damn you, Jake—”

  He made it across the sickbay in three stumbling steps before Lindy caught him, her hands transmitting bright fl
ashes of her aggravation into him. Then his deadened leg began to give out. He knocked over only a few trays and leaning equipment stands before he caught the observation porthole with his fingernails, and looked out into…nothing.

  Soft greenish-white Selas was gone.

  He did not know what he’d expected. A shrunken cinder, perhaps, cloaked in a fragile shroud of black. A burning orb, furrowed over with orange lines of flame as it collapsed into death. Or a planet clouded and uninhabitable with dust and ice, all life and greenery withered into hibernation.

  But there was nothing. Eos glared off to the right, and the half-lit golden globe of Helias, farther along in its erratic orbit than he’d remembered. There were the distant, diamond-bright specks of stars, visible and unmarred, stars he shouldn’t have been able to see through the planetary bulk that had disappeared.

  “Maybe. Maybe it’s on the far side of Helias. Blocked from view.” His back throbbed distantly. For a second, he thought he saw a flicker of roiling, kaleidoscopic light in the empty space where Selas had been. But perhaps not.

  “We’ve scanned,” Lindy said. “It’s gone.”

  “Destroyed?”

  “Or just gone. Left. From here, anyway.”

  From here, anyway. What an odd thing to say. What did she mean? Where was here? For that matter, where was there? Somewhere alongside between-amid-during? It wasn’t funny, and yet Jake couldn’t stop the laughter that gurgled up inside him. “Another Earth, if they can find one. Full of livestock.”

  The station was gone. Their little floating cylinder, their starpile of junk. His starpile. And Selas, too. Gone, all gone. To here, there, neverwhere. To wherever, whenever the Leech could find their next meal. His hand looked lifeless against the glass. Lindy gripped his arms, and he found himself back in bed, overwhelmed by infiltrating waves of her compassion, her determination, fluttering through him from the tips of her fingers and into his brain in tiny, electrifying shocks. Then he knew nothing again.