Finality

by Amy Cross

  "I swear to God," I tell him, adjusting my grip on the blaster, "I'll kill you if I have to."

  "No," he replies, "you won't. Amanda Cole would never kill me, and she's in there somewhere, in the back of your mind. You might not believe it yet, Crizz Arnold, but you're not real. You're a fabrication stitched together out of false memories. If you just dare to let the truth emerge from the back of your mind, you'll see that I'm right. When we get back up to the station, I can show you proof -"

  "We're not going back up to the station," I say firmly. "I'm going back up."

  "So you're going to leave us here to die?" he asks.

  "You're traitors," I point out. "I only have to keep you alive if it's convenient. The regulations -"

  "Screw the regulations," Sutter replies, interrupting me. "Think for yourself."

  "Amanda Cole's dead," Tom says, stepping toward me. "We're just dealing with another dumb cadet here."

  "Get back!" I shout, aiming the blaster straight at his face. "If you don't move away from me in the next three seconds, I'll have no option but to use lethal force! Three!"

  "This is insane," Sutter says, limping toward one of the terminals.

  "Stop!" I shout, turning the gun on him.

  "You're not going to shoot me," he replies as he brings up a new screen. "I'm one of your oldest friends."

  "I won't warn you again!" I shout. "If you -"

  Before I can finish, I suddenly become aware of movement just beyond the edge of my vision. I turn just in time to see Tom lunging at me. Swinging the blaster toward him, I pull the trigger and a surge of red light explodes against his face, sending him reeling back against the wall before his body slumps down to the floor. I stare for a moment in stunned silence as blood pours from the exposed stump at the top of his neck, while the rest of his head has been blasted against the wall. Filled with panic, I swing the blaster back toward Sutter and see that he's staring at me with a look of complete shock on his face.

  "Don't say a word!" I shout, trying to hold back the tears.

  He takes a step back.

  I squeeze my finger against the trigger. Not hard enough to shoot, but enough to convince myself that I'll do it if he pushes me.

  "You see?" I say after a moment, determined to make sure he doesn't think I'm a pushover. "I'm not scared of you!"

  He turns to look down at Tom's corpse.

  "I had to do it," I continue. "You know what the regulations say."

  I wait for an answer, but when he turns back toward me, I can see an expression of absolute horror in his eyes.

  "I swear to God," I continue, trying to keep the blaster steady even though my hands are shaking, "if you underestimate me, I'll make sure you regret it for the final seconds of your life". I glance over at Tom's body, and for a moment I can't stop staring at the blood that continues to flow out from the top of his neck. Turning back to Sutter, I see that I've finally managed to get through to him.

  Taking a deep breath, I realize that I have to take control of the situation. This is the moment when I prove that I've got what it takes to work for Supreme Command. Hell, if I get everything right, I might even end up being recruited to S.E.A.S. one day.

  "Under the power vested in me by Supreme Command," I say firmly, "I hereby assert my right to use extreme force against all traitors who plot against humanity. This entire planet, including the station in orbit above, is now under martial law and as the only competent representative of Supreme Command, I'm placing you under arrest. Any resistance will result in your immediate termination. Do you understand?"

  He stares at me.

  "Do you understand?" I shout.

  He nods.

  "Now get on your knees," I continue. "Do it!"

  "Crizz -"

  "Do it!" I yell. "Now!"

  Hesitantly, he obeys, while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on me. I think he understands what's coming next.

  I take another deep breath in a vain attempt to quell the panic that's rising through my chest. In my years at the academy, I carried out countless simulated situations like this, but the trainers always told us that nothing could prepare us for the day when we'd eventually have to take a human life. They were right.

  "Regulation 25a," I continue, surprised by how calm I sound, "requires me to terminate any suspect whose security I cannot guarantee, and who I consider to be an immediate threat to either Supreme Command or S.E.A.S. Having determined that I cannot guarantee your guarantee, I'm forced to make a decision." I pause for a moment. "Commander Nicholas Sutter," I add, "do you have anything to say before I carry out your execution?"

  Epilogue

  Ten years ago

  "Can you open your eyes for me?"

  He waits.

  The only sound in the room comes from the machine next to the hospital bed, which monitors her breathing and introduces additional oxygen to her bloodstream when necessary. Two days after the operation, she still has significant fluctuations in terms of her ability to breathe unaided, and the machine has been left attached for much longer than would usually be the case after such operations.

  "Crizz," the psychiatrist continues, "can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes."

  "She's not responding," says the nurse, checking the nearby monitor. "I don't know why, but she seems to be stuck in her -"

  "There," the psychiatrist says suddenly. "Do you see?"

  The nurse steps over to the bed and sees that he's right. The patient's eyes are starting to flicker a little, and finally she opens them completely and stares blankly at her visitors. It's immediately clear that she has no idea where she is, and her pupils are enlarged to the point that some kind of brain injury is apparent.

  "Should we give her a shot of something?" the nurse asks.

  "Not yet," the psychiatrist replies. "I need to see how she reacts when she's lucid." He reaches out and flicks the side of the patient's face, but there's no response. "Come on," he continues, flicking her again, "you don't like that, do you? It's uncomfortable, so why don't you try to stop me?"

  He flicks her again, and this time she turns her head away.

  "That's very good, Crizz," the psychiatrist continues, reaching down and squeezing her hand. "You had a very serious accident, but you're going to be okay. Trust me."

  ***

  "What do you remember about that day?" he asks, sitting next to her bed.

  She pauses.

  "You were out on a horse," he continues. "You'd gone riding at the local school, but you'd decided to go off on your own. Your riding instructor warned you to stay where she could see you, but inevitably you rode off into the forest. Do you remember that?"

  She shakes her head.

  "When you didn't return, they sent someone out to look for you. Eventually you were found down by the creek with significant head injuries. We still don't know exactly what happened, but it seems that for some reason you were thrown from the horse and you hit your head on the side of a small wooden bridge. If you hadn't been wearing your helmet, you'd have been killed instantly. I'm told you had a tendency to go out without a helmet, so I think we can say that you're extremely lucky to have been wearing one on this occasion."

  "I don't..." She pauses. "I don't remember anything."

  "That's not a surprise," he replies. "Short-term memory is often the first thing to be damaged in this type of situation, and you might find that certain memories from immediately before the accident don't ever come back. It's more important to focus on long-term memories, and on the ability to create new memories now that you're recovering.""

  "No," she continues, interrupting him. "I mean, I don't remember anything. Before I woke up here the other day, it's like..."

  The psychiatrist sits patiently, waiting for her to continue.

  "I don't even remember my name," she adds eventually. "I don't remember my parents, or my friends, or anything I ever did. I don't even remember having ridden a horse. It's like I didn't exist before I came here."

 
"I can assure you," he replies with a smile, "you most certainly do exist. You've suffered a very serious head injury, though, and the effects on your memory can't be predicted with any great degree of certainty. The physical damage has been repaired as much as possible, but it always takes time before we can assess the long-term effects. Your personality might have undergone significant changes, and while most of your memories will probably come back, it's entirely possible that some might be gone forever. That's going to be very difficult for you, but I'm confident you'll be able to deal with it eventually. You're not the first person to sustain this type of injury."

  She stares at him, as if she can't quite believe what she's hearing.

  "Your name is Crizz Arnold," he adds. "Do you remember that?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Say it," he continues.

  "What?"

  "Say your name. Crizz Arnold. Say it."

  "Crizz... Arnold," he says hesitantly.

  "Does it seem familiar?"

  She shakes her head again.

  "It will, given time." He makes a note on his clipboard. "If all goes well, you'll hopefully be able to take up your place at the academy. I'm told that it was always your dream to join the academy and serve Supreme Command." He watches her for a moment, waiting for a hint of recognition. "Do you remember that dream, Crizz? It seems to have been something that consumed your every waking moment."

  "I don't remember anything," she replies.

  "You will," he says with a reassuring smile. "It'll all come back to you eventually."

  ***

  She sits alone in the darkened room, listening to footsteps passing her door. The footsteps stop for a moment, as if someone is about to enter, but finally they resume and head off into the distance, leaving her sitting in silence once again.

  "Crizz Arnold," she whispers.

  The name feels so strange and unfamiliar, she finds it hard to believe that it could really be hers. Two weeks after the accident, she still hasn't got many of her memories back, although the psychiatrist has been bombarding her with information in an attempt to kickstart her mind.

  "Crizz Arnold," she whispers again.

  She waits.

  Nothing.

  "The academy," she continues. "You want to join the academy. You desperately want to join the academy so you can serve Supreme Command and..."

  She waits, but nothing stirs in her heart. She's been told over and over again that her childhood ambition was always to join the academy and eventually to serve as part of Supreme Command, but if those feelings were once part of her, they're gone now. She tries to summon some enthusiasm, but the thought of serving in deep space leaves her feeling cold and empty.

  "There's something wrong with me," she says finally.

  She closes her eyes, but the tears come anyway.

  For two weeks, she's been trying every day to get her memories back, but finally she feels as if there's no point. Although the psychiatrist constantly urges caution, she's convinced that there should have at least been the first signs of progress by now. Instead, she feels emptier than ever, and even her name doesn't seem right. Whenever she looks in the mirror, she sees a stranger staring back at her, and even her voice doesn't sound familiar.

  "Crizz Arnold," she says again. "My name is Crizz Arnold. I'm..."

  She waits, desperately hoping that somehow her mind will clear, but finally she leans back in the bed and stares up at the dark ceiling. It's only 2am, which means her psychiatrist won't arrive for another eight hours. She should be sleeping, but all her dreams are about the hospital. Although she has no doubt that she had a life before the accident, she can't help wondering if those memories will ever come back.

  ***

  "Crizz," she says with a smile. "Crizz Arnold."

  "Sarah," the other girl says with a smile, shaking her hand. "Sarah Dempsey, and yeah, I know my parents saddled me with an old-fashioned name. Believe me, it's something I've brought up on several occasions. I wish it was st ill legal to change your name. I'm so jealous of people who sound more modern."

  "Sarah's a nice name," Crizz replies as they make their way down the steps from the registration hall. "Some of the older names are pretty cool."

  "Maybe we should swap," Sarah replies.

  "I actually wouldn't mind that. I like the more traditional names."

  "Yeah," Sarah continues, "but it makes me sound like I'm tied to Earth. Seriously, I've never even been there and I don't really care. I'm a Mars girl all the way. What about you? Ever been to Earth?"

  "Me?" Crizz pauses as they get to the bottom of the steps. "Yeah," she says after a moment, although the memory is a little hazy. "I think so."

  "You think so?"

  "Definitely. I've definitely been to Earth. It was just such a long time ago, I don't really remember much about it. I think I was pretty young, and my parents took me."

  "So you're a first-year, right?" Sarah continues, apparently keen to change the subject. "Me too. I guess I've got first-day nerves and all that stuff going on. Things'll settle eventually though, right? Sooner or later, we'll all be totally used to the campus and it'll be like we've been here forever." She pauses, as if she expects Crizz to agree with her. "It's kinda crazy to think we're gonna be here for almost ten years, right?" she adds. "Ten whole years. I mean, I can't even imagine it." She pauses, and finally the smile fades a little from her face. "Sorry, I'm getting all up and in your face, aren't I? I guess I was just worried about not making friends on the first day, so I'm kinda over-compensating."

  "It's fine," Crizz replies. "You wanna get a drink or something before the induction ceremony starts?"

  "Sure," Sarah says, seemingly a little shocked by the invitation. "Yeah, that'd be great! So where are you from?"

  "I grew up right here on Mars," Crizz tells her as they make their way across the lawn, heading for the cafeteria. "My parents died a few years ago, but I've basically spent my whole life here." She smiles, even though she's reciting things she's been told about her life rather than things she actually remembers. Still, she's learned to trust the information she was given at the hospital, and it no longer bothers her so much that her long-term memories are so flaky. "I've always wanted to join the academy," she adds.

  "Sorry about your parents," Sarah replies, "but yeah, I've always wanted to join too. I wanna get out there and see deep space, maybe spend some time on a station somewhere before swinging a job on a cruiser. That'd be totally the best thing ever. What about you? Where do you want to end up?"

  "Anywhere's fine," Crizz replies as they reach the cafeteria. "Right now, I'm just glad to be here at all."

  Part Seven

  Incoming

  Prologue

  Ten years ago

  He opens his eyes slowly, barely even able to remember who he is. His head hurts and after a moment he has a vague memory that he was drinking again last night. Looking across the large bed, he spots two naked, sleeping women, and he has some vague recollection that he might have seen them before. There are large red wine stains all over the place, and as he sits up he realizes that he might be about to vomit.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  "Go away!" he shouts.

  "Sir, there's an important message for you!" his assistant shouts from out in the corridor.

  "Nothing's important at this time in the morning," he mutters. "Go away!"

  "Sir, it's been given the highest priority by Supreme Command. They informed me that you personally demanded to receive this news as soon as it was available, and you yourself were adamant that nothing should delay it."

  "I said that?" he replies, genuinely shocked by the idea. He blinks a couple of times as he tries to remember the previous evening's events, but everything has faded away in a haze of wine and food.

  "I believe it was last night," his assistant replies, "before the festivities began."

  "Why the hell would I say something so foolish?" the old man asks, climbing over the naked gir
ls before getting off the bed and wandering naked toward the door. At the last moment, he grabs a gown and slips it over himself, before pulling the door open and immediately squinting as the corridor's bright light accosts his eyes. It's early, and Martian light always seems so harsh before midday.

  "I'm sorry to have woken you, Sir," his assistant continues, holding out an envelope, "but you yourself were most insistent last night. You told me that under no circumstances should I refrain from delivering this information, even if..."

  He pauses.

  "Even if what?"

  "Even if you seemed less than receptive," his assistant adds. "I believe, Sir, that you had anticipated that you might not be in a very good mood, so you impressed upon me over and over again to bring the message regardless of any other matters. You shook me repeatedly in order to make me understand, and you..." He turns his face to reveal the bruise on the side of his chin. "You were most insistent," he adds. "Most insistent."

  "Fine," the old man replies, snatching the letter from him hands. "Bring coffee, and get the doctor to prescribe something for my hangover. I'm suffering from the grapes this morning. And arrange for these women to be taken away." With that, he turns and stumbles back across the room, while tearing the envelope open. "It's a fine day," he grumbles under his breath, "when a man can't even be allowed to rest after a good night of debauchery. What are the worlds coming to when -"

  He stops suddenly as he sees the text on the card inside the envelope:

  It's done. Amanda Cole is no more.

  He stares at those seven words, reading them over and over again, convinced that there might have been some kind of mistake. After all, he has believed himself to be this close to victory so many times before, only for his hopes to have been dashed, but now he can at last dare to hope, to believe, that the corner might have been turned. He still finds it hard to be absolutely certain, so he continues to stare at the card for a few more minutes, until finally a broad smile crosses his lips.