Zero

by J. S. Collyer

  His mother, father and eldest brother looked up as he came in. Every back was straight and every face was tight. The only clear emotion that Hugo could pin down was relief that they weren't in uniform.

  “Kale,” Giles eventually broke the silence that had been ballooning out of control, frown heavy. “Is that really you?”

  “Yes, it's me,” he said, coughed and tried again for a less defeated tone. “What do you want?”

  “What do we want?” his father said. “After everything that’s happened, that's what you have to say?”

  “You summoned me,” Hugo mumbled. “So I'm here. What do you want?”

  “What the hell's happened to you, son?” His father's face was stormy.

  “Nothing you want to hear about.”

  Giles and his father exchanged glances. His mother hung back, face blank. She hadn't moved a muscle since he came in.

  “Are you going to tell me what you want? Or are you just going to stand here staring at me?”

  “This attitude is not helping, Kaleb,” his father said,. “And don't try and tell me you didn't want to see us. Why else would you be here?”

  “My crew are trading with some reps at Service Headquarters.”

  “Are they now?”

  “I shouldn't be here...” Hugo began, shaking his head and turning away.

  “No, wait,” Giles said. “Kale, listen a moment.”

  Hugo swallowed but kept his face blank. His father shook his head but Giles just stood there, mouth working.

  “We have good news, Kaleb,” his mother said once the silence had blundered on a few more seconds. She didn't look him in the eye but rather somewhere over his head. “Your brother and I have found a unit, Earth-based, that will take you on. It will do until you have a chance to regain some of Command's trust.”

  “What rank?”

  His mother looked him in the eye now and it was like someone had dumped cold water down his neck. “Private.”

  “You want me to step down to be a dirtside private?”

  “Step down?” his mother replied after a pause.

  His father heaved a great sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Kaleb, you'll never pilot in the Space Corps again. Running your career aground with Black Dawn was bad enough. But then to... to turn to...”

  “I didn't believe it,” his mother cut in, words like pebbles dropped on marble. “I said my son would never, never countenance throwing away his life like that. Everything he'd earned and trained for and believed in, discarded like trash. Never. Not Kaleb Hugo. But it's true, isn't it?” Hugo swallowed his response with an effort. “You could have come to us,” she continued. “We could have stemmed this months ago – had you reassigned, re-trained. But what did you do?”

  He nearly told them everything. The words formed on his tongue. “I am a captain,” is all he eventually said, however.

  “Captain?” his father grunted. “Captain of a crew that's not only got a Service record as long as the central skyway but also seems to be on the wrong side of Lunar Strip fences and terrorists.”

  “I'm not going back to the Service,” Hugo said, raising his head and suddenly feeling calmer. “I don't belong there any more.”

  “Kaleb Hugo,” his mother said, voice low and lips pale. “If you do not report to your unit in Siberia for duty within a week and humbly accept this chance we have pulled out of the mire for you... then you are on your own. Totally.”

  “I already am.”

  “Son,” his father said, face softening. “It's not too late.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Kaleb,” his mother said again, high spots of colour appearing on her cheeks. “We cannot be associated with criminals and insurgents. If you make this move... you are no longer my son.”

  “Erica,” his father said, but she raised her hand.

  “This is bigger than us. Bigger than you, Kaleb. We belong to the Service. We serve the Orbit and protect it from the likes of your so-called crew.”

  “You don't even know my crew.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow. “I know enough. Make your choice, Kaleb. And make it now. But remember you won't get another.”

  “Kale,” Giles said, watching his face. “Don't be a fool…”

  “I am not a fool,” Hugo said slowly. “And I am not Service. Not any more.”

  For the briefest of moments he was sure he saw despair sweep through his mother's face. But then it was stone again and she turned and left the den without another word.

  “You're better than this, Kaleb,” his father said. “I hope you realise that before it truly is too late. But even if you do, you'll have to make your way back on your own.”

  He held his father's gaze for a moment. What he could read in the major's face was everything he knew and yet everything he could no longer understand. The older man drained the drink he'd been holding and looked away. He set his glass on the side and the door clicked closed behind him.

  Hugo stood staring after him. The anger was still hot but there was also confusion, guilt and a chilled finger of fear. But, underneath, there was something else... something stalwart. Something he thought he'd lost.

  “Here,” Giles was at his elbow holding out a glass. “You look like you need it.”

  His brother's face was more open than their parents' and all it wore was concern with a twist of confusion. He took the glass of blask and sipped it. It was the taste of the brand he had missed, earthy and sharp with the clean warmth of a quality blend, but he didn't enjoy it.

  “What the hell do you think you're doing Kale?” Giles implored. “You were always one to push at boundaries... but this? You've gone a little far just to make a point.”

  “I'm not making a point.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “This was the hand I was dealt, Giles,” he said, finding his voice calm. “I have to find my way on the path I'm on.”

  “What, smuggling and gun-running?”

  Hugo levelled his gaze at his brother. “You don't know the Zero.”

  Giles blinked at the heaviness of his tone. “Maybe I don't. But I know what people say. And that's enough to drift any remains of a future you might have left.”

  “Future is something Mother thinks about. And Father and you, Andrew and all the others. But it's not real. All I have now is who I trust and who I don't. It's honest. It's real. And it means I have the chance to choose to do the right thing, not be told what the right thing is.”

  “You're romanticising.”

  “I'm not romanticising,” Hugo growled. “It's ugly out there. Fucking ugly.”

  “I know,” his brother replied coolly. “That's why I fight for the chance to make it better.”

  “You don't understand.”

  “I'm trying to understand, Kale. Explain it to me. Make me understand what you're doing.”

  “You can't. You're on this side of it,” he waved his arm around the den with the deep carpets, strategy books, maps and trophies. “You are told what it's like, but now I've seen it. I've been there. It's made me bleed and it's in my skin. I can't go back now and pretend I don't know. Even if I could... I wouldn't. I'm... free.”

  Giles shook his head. “Not in a million years would I expect you to see law-dodging, hacking and stealing as freedom.”

  “It is.”

  “Well,” Giles said, looking him up and down. “Forgive me, Kale, but this bright, bohemian freedom of yours doesn't exactly seem to be treating you well.”

  Hugo felt his shoulders slump. He drained his glass and slumped onto the edge of a sofa, staring at the carpet. “Something happened. I...” His throat closed up. He shook his head and clutched his hair. “Something happened.”

  “You lose someone?”

  Hugo swallowed. Giles had always been able to read him. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “My commander.”

  Giles was quiet for a moment then came and sat next to him. “I assume this was a good commander?”r />
  “Yes. He was.”

  “It's a dangerous Orbit, Kale. Even without going looking for trouble. And you've jumped in the pit.”

  “I know,” Hugo growled. “Don't you think I know? It's just -”

  “It's fine,” Giles said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don't explain. I'm sorry.” Hugo stared straight ahead as Giles pulled his glass from his numb fingers and set it aside. “Is that why you came here?”

  He looked up, blinking until the room wasn't blurry any more. “I don't know. After... after that... I wasn't sure about anything. But now I'm back... ” He looked around the room again. “I know I don't belong here any more.”

  “You got lost in the woods, huh?”

  Hugo looked at his brother. He was smiling, but it was sad.

  “Goodbye, Giles,” he said, standing.

  “Kale,” Giles called just as Hugo reached the door. He sighed, rubbed his chin. “I know Mother likes to be dramatic. And, who knows, maybe she's right. Maybe the Special Commander of the Service can't afford to accept a son that's strayed so far. But if you ever need help... if you are ever really lost. Or hurt...” Giles blinked and Hugo waited. “You can count on me.”

  Even if Hugo could think of anything to say his throat was too tight to speak. He managed a nod. His brother smiled and then he left, knowing he would never make use of the offer.

  ɵ

  It reminded him of something... this... feeling. He'd felt something like it before...

  He tried to make sense of the stirring sensations. It was like being underwater. No. It was like being in zero-g. It was dark and empty and there was nothingness around him. He wasn't scared though. He knew of fear... he was vaguely aware of it ghosting around the edges of his perception. But he left it where it was.

  It was warm, here. And quiet.

  But as soon as he'd identified this thought, bits of himself began to find their way back. He was gathering more and more of himself together, like matter being sucked towards a star. The more that accumulated, the harder it was to stay lost. Mists of memory began to solidify. Feelings became more tangible. Reality started to gain substance.

  He had a name... it filtered through the fog, formed and became real and then he remembered the person that gave it to him.

  Suddenly, it was like gravity had been turned on and he felt himself fall. With a jerk he slammed into his flesh. Somewhere far away he felt himself gasp and cough. The burning sensation pulled the last remnants of his drifting self together. He dragged his breath in and out. Slowly, like a ship's systems powering up, he became aware of his head, shoulders, his back, arms, hands then torso and legs. Now he was scared. He was scared that it took him a moment to figure out what to do with them.

  After a couple more calming breaths, Webb opened his eyes. He tried to cry out as the white light stabbed into his skull but it came out dry and choked. Something clattered nearby and there was a confused noise that he couldn't figure out.

  He blinked again, more slowly. His head pounded and for an immeasurable time, there was only the thick pulsing of pain and sensations warring for attention. He kept blinking until his eyes did their job and a tiled ceiling came into focus. A steady sound nearby consolidated itself into the beeping of a heart monitor. He took a couple more breaths and the fevered bleeps slowed down.

  Now that his hearing seemed to have untangled itself from his sight and touch he lay there listening, but all there was was the monitor. He tried clenching his hands and wiggling his toes. Waves of tingling broke over every inch of his skin. He kept still until it subsided, pulling dry breaths in and out and blinking at the white ceiling. He became aware of a sharp acidic smell. It nagged at him. He'd smelt it somewhere before but the memory slipped through his fingers like sand.

  When the pins and needles had eased he pulled together his strength and got himself up on his elbows, paused whilst everything tingled and pulsed and his head span and then, finally, he sat up.

  It took another few moments for his vision to focus again but when it did he saw he was in a completely nondescript white room. A hospital, he guessed. White walls, white bed clothes and a view of some tall trees out of the window. Earth, then? The door was ajar and there was a computer panel on the floor next to an array of blinking equipment by his bed. There were wires and tubes attached to his arms, chest and head.

  As the feeling came back to him, everything started to itch furiously. His arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds but he lifted it up and pulled out the oxygen tube from his nose and a couple of the pads from his temples and rubbed at his skin.

  As he did so his hands brushed against his short hair and he froze. He swallowed then ran both hands through the cropped length. His heart monitor increased its beeping as it all came flooding back... the satellite, the death-grip the man had on his hair that loosed as he cut it off and then...

  He put a hand to his chest. He remembered the searing explosion that had cracked him open and then blackness and then... nothing. There wasn't even an ache there now. He frowned and pulled up the white medical-issue t-shirt. There was no scar, not even a mark on the skin. He stared. All his other scars were gone too. And his tattoos. He checked his arms and shoulders. All his skin was unblemished, unscarred, blank. He felt for the familiar nicks in his ears and eyebrows but they were smooth.

  What the hell...?

  The door was pushed open and a woman in a medical tunic and a man in a white coat rushed in. They stood for a moment and stared at him.

  “See, Dr. Yoshida?” the woman said. “I told you. He’s awake.”

  “It's not possible,” the man said, stepping up to his bedside and shining a lenslight in his eyes. This sent a fresh pulse of agony through his head and he cursed, but the dryness in his throat turned it into a hacking cough.

  “Where am I?” he croaked, when he had his breathing back under control. The two medics were staring at him like he'd started spitting snakes. “Hello?” he rasped. “Can you tell me where I am?”

  “It's not possible,” the man repeated, shaking his head.

  “Sorry fella,” Webb said, raising a hand. “It's not an unreasonable question. Can you tell me what the hell's going on? Is this a Service hospital?”

  “Service?” the man repeated, eyes widening further.

  “Well? Is it or isn't it?”

  The medic glanced at the woman who was picking her computer panel up from the floor, never taking her eyes off him. “Do you... know who you are?” he said.

  This started tendrils of uncertainty uncoiling under his belly. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you...” the man swallowed, started again. “What do you know?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Webb said. “Who are you?”

  The man swallowed. “Get security,” he said to the woman who scurried from the room.

  “Security?” Webb blinked as the medic backed off. Pulling out his IV, he threw the covers back and tried to stand. He stumbled against the wall, legs like jelly. “What's security for?” he growled. “Where am I?”

  “Please... you must be still,” the medic dashed around the other side of the bed and started rooting in a cupboard.

  “You better start talking,” Webb said, going for threatening even though he was having to prop himself against the wall. He made it to the door and locked it just as he heard raised voices approaching. “Tell me what the fuck's going on. Who are you people?”

  The medic was too busy filling a syringe from a vial with shaking hands to answer. The door handle started to rattle, and then there were shouts from outside. Webb pushed himself up from the wall, staggered a couple of steps and grabbed the medic by the coat. The man squeaked, terrified, and Webb used his greater weight to pin him against the wall. He clutched at the man's wrist until he yelped and dropped the syringe.

  “Help,” the medic yelled, just as a banging began on the door.

  Webb looked around. There was no other way out. He let the medic crumple into a heap by the bed
and moved to the window. He was only one storey up and the window wasn't locked. He frowned, then turned back to the medic just as he started to crawl towards the door. He grabbed him by the collar, strength returning, and hauled him back away from the door.

  “Pants,” Webb hissed. “Now.”

  The door handle rattled again and someone on the other side called for keys. Webb scowled down at the medic and the man started unbuckling his trousers. Webb shed the white medical-issue bottoms and pulled on the medic's trousers, too short and too big around the waist. “Coat too,” he snapped and the man shook himself out of it. Webb went back to the window as he pulled it on. With one look back at the room and the medic, who was sat in the floor, eyes wide and mouth open, Webb leapt.

  It wasn't a good landing. There was a car below the window and he dented the roof then rolled down the bonnet onto the ground. He lay there with the world spinning for a moment then got to his feet and ran, gravel digging into his bare feet. He threw one glance over his shoulder but it was a nondescript brick building with nothing to say what or where it was. The air was chilly and damp and the sky was grey. He took all this in in a flash then ran to the perimeter fence. There were no guard booths, no one on patrol, no alarm trips, just the wire fence and a couple of cameras. He hauled himself up and over, took one glance at the camera, and then was in the forest on the other side.

  He ran. Every breath burned, but his legs seemed to remember what they were doing and he sped away between the trees, feet not making a sound in the soft fall of pine needles. He had to stop well before he knew he should and lean against a tree and cough. Everything was trembling. What the hell is wrong with me?

  When he felt he was no longer going to retch he lifted his head and listened. There was nothing but silence. Utter silence. No whining of flyers, no roar of wheels on any nearby roads, no shouts or shots. He shook his head and pushed himself back to his feet and stumbled on.