And yet, even as he sought to deny what he remembered, it rang true for him. He realized that when he stared at his arm beneath the sheet, he was expecting to see diagnostic data floating in the air above it. What he’d seen in the latter half of the battle had been unusual and even abnormal, but it had also felt right and welcoming, if not familiar.
And yet to tell him everything, to tell anyone anything about what I saw and thought I did, that would get me grounded, returned to Earth and buried in some asylum; drugged and silenced.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Yamashita, but I have no war stories.” He gave the journalist a rueful smile. “I do, however, appreciate your interest in my recovery.”
Jiro’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think for a moment I’m buying this, Captain Allen. I’m not. This isn’t you. I studied you. I know you. A leopard can’t change his spots.”
“Perhaps that’s where you’re wrong.” Greg’s smile grew. “Not about leopard, but about identifying me as one. You see, out here, I’m a tiger. I have no spots to change.”
“Really?” Jiro Yamashita arched an eyebrow and studied Greg’s face for a moment. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong question, then.”
“What would the right one be?”
“Are you any closer to figuring out why you’re here?”
Greg glanced down slipping his artificial hand from beneath the sheets. It appeared normal, but wasn’t. Maybe that’s what I am, something that appears normal, but isn’t. Maybe I’m out here so I have fewer people to hurt when I find out what I truly am.
Jiro folded arms across his chest. “Pregnant pause there, Captain Allen.”
“Just making sure I tell the truth.” Greg smiled slowly. “I don’t know exactly why I’m here, but part it would appear to be to keep some people alive. For now, that will do me just fine.”
The End
For More About the Authors
Aaron Allston: AaronAllston.com
Kevin J. Anderson: WordFire.com
Loren L. Coleman: LorenLColeman.com
B.V. Larson: BVLarson.com
Michael A. Stackpole: Stormwolf.com
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