Keshona Far Freedom Part 1

by Warren Merkey

eyes! He closed one eye, then the other, and there was no doubt: the infected eye was healed! He then tried to see the female person's face, anxious to understand who she was. She was dark and her expression was lost in the brightness around her. There was something above her and behind her which was not the sky.

  Samson wanted to get up, to stand up, and he felt strange doing it - it was so easy. He rushed upward and lost his balance, favoring an injured foot that was apparently no longer injured. The woman grabbed his arm to help him stabilize and the contact was electric, almost making him fall again. He couldn't remember anyone ever touching him.

  Samson looked harder at the woman as she released his arm. His eyes finally resolved the details of her face. Her brown eyes were large, her dark hair short, her cheeks smooth, her lips full. She was exotic to him, unfamiliar to his experience - not that he could know what should or should not be familiar to him. She frowned at him briefly, then lost all expression. That disturbed him, perhaps frightened him, because it seemed unfriendly, even threatening. She wore a black uniform with a form-fitting collar that covered her neck and to which was affixed star-shaped diamonds on each side. He realized what she was. Navy! Admiral! And...

  "You're an African?" Samson asked. As he asked it, his eyes focused past the person to a great machine that covered the sky above her. Now he remembered the shock of the incandescent ball falling toward him, the paralyzing force crushing him. He began to lose his balance as he relived the memory of dying, then experienced the wonder of the thing that killed him.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and reached for it reflexively as he steadied himself. The feel of her warm soft flesh surprised him and he wanted to maintain the contact even as she tried to pull her hand away. He understood nothing of his reaction or of her reaction. He only knew something was now different. The Navy woman cared about him, even if her expression remained blank. She pulled her hand gently away.

  Samson looked down at himself and saw the new clothing he now wore: shirt and short pants, shoes and socks. He noticed another person rise to his feet beyond the woman, saw the uniform he wore, similar to hers but dark blue, with golden winged emblems on the high collar. He thought he understood what was happening.

  "If you're Navy then you're a captain," Samson said to the man. "That's your ship! I'm saved!"

  "How do you feel?" the female admiral asked. "You needed several hours of treatment in the medical cocoon."

  Samson could see clearly with both eyes! He didn't feel hungry or weak! His skin felt clean. His nose wasn't runny. His muscles and joints didn't hurt. He wasn't dizzy. Even his foot was healed! "I feel wonderful!" He looked up at the admiral, smiling with gratitude.

  "You may feel good now," she said seriously, "but the treatment didn't correct everything. You shouldn't exert yourself too much."

  Samson nodded and looked again at the belly of the ship above him. "Is it a starship?" Milly had told him many stories about the Navy. They were a fearsome force, not always nice to people, but always interesting. He wondered how accurate Milly's descriptions were, wondered if he should be careful what he said to them. But they had doctored him and given him new clothes. Why couldn't he trust them?

  "It's a small starship," the admiral replied. "It nearly squashed you. It never saw you. It should have. I apologize. I know it was painful."

  "I've always wondered why no one could see me down here. There are people up there, aren't there? Don't people look at Earth anymore?"

  "Did Milly hide you?" the admiral asked.

  "Why would she do that? Did you talk to her? She's been very strange lately. I think she was upset that I was close to dying."

  "This is Milly?" The admiral held the gray tube that was his only friend.

  "I thought it was." He took the familiar device and rubbed its cleaned cylindrical surface, seeing the marks of wear that proved it was his.

  "No, I didn't talk to Milly," the admiral said. "Perhaps you can talk to her."

  Samson checked the energy charge and unrolled the device. The screen displayed the usual information as the Milly Program started. He spoke to it. "Milly? Milly, can you hear me?" There was no response. "It isn't damaged, is it?" he asked the admiral.

  "It didn't seem damaged," she replied. "I inspected it but was unable to get a response from Milly."

  Samson was worried. Milly had been his only friend in a hostile and vacant world. He had always tried to push the injuries, the pain, and the fear into the realm of the not-real, and pull Milly into the real. Thoughts and dreams and hopes and Milly were his reality; lions and flies and infection were all lies of his imagination. Even if he might no longer need Milly, he would still feel sad if her program had died.

  "Admiral," the other Navy officer spoke.

  Samson looked again at the captain and saw the man's gray eyes staring at him. Both of them, he realized, had never taken their eyes off him. Was something wrong, that they should stare so much at him?

  "Jon, this is Samson," the admiral said. "Samson, this is Jon. My name is Fidelity." She did not turn to her captain as she addressed him. She kept her gaze on Samson while she continued to speak to the captain. "When I landed the yacht near the African Space Elevator he was directly beneath. Yet the yacht's sensors didn't see him. The gravionics reported an anomaly in its pressor skirt, which forced a change in landing zone. Samson's health was very poor and the yacht further aggravated his condition. I winked him into isolation, into the medical cocoon. I questioned him after he was repaired, while he was semiconscious."

  "Why is he here, Admiral?" the captain asked. "How could he be here?"

  "He couldn't tell me, Jon," the admiral answered, still not turning to face the captain, very oddly keeping her back to him.

  Now the admiral and the captain spoke in a language Samson couldn't understand, although he was fairly sure it was Standard. He tried to find some meaning in the voices and expressions of the Navy officers but all he could detect was the subtle tension between them, expressed mainly by the admiral continuing to keep her back to the captain.

  "You must leave us for a while," the admiral finally said to Samson. "We're not abandoning you. We have some important business to discuss. We'll help you go home as soon as we can. Stay nearby, where we can find you. Call out if you need help."

  This unexpected news alarmed Samson. He didn't understand it.

  "Samson," the captain said.

  Samson looked to the captain and saw what he thought was an expression of concern, but no further words of reassurance came from his mouth and his expression turned blank. Then the admiral handed Samson his backpack.

  He knew he had been abandoned before but he had no memory of it. He didn't remember his parents. Here was a man and a woman who had magically appeared to rescue him. They were not his parents, but now he feared a second abandonment.

  He trembled as he fumbled his computer into his well-cleaned backpack. The admiral helped him shoulder it. She handed him his spear and without speaking another word, pushed him to the edge of the ship's cover. His face plunged into an invisible curtain of electric sensation which quickly parted, making him stumble forward. When he stopped and turned around, the ship was gone from sight.

  Something buzzed in his backpack. Samson pulled the pack onto one shoulder to remove the little computer from it. He unrolled it and saw words on the computer's display.

  Don't go to the elevator

  "Milly! Is that you?"

  Yes

  "You aren't imaginary?"

  I don't know

  "Then you are."

  Perhaps we each imagine the other

  "Why wouldn't you talk to the Navy officers?"

  The Navy doesn't need to know more about me

  "Why? Are you some big secret? Milly?"

  Samson waited for a reply. He walked and waited. Milly was a big secret, even from him. He hoped he was not being abandoned by the Navy. He glanced back several times at where the starship might still exist. He remembered tou
ching the admiral, how warm her hand was, how soft her brown skin. He remembered her sweet scent and how her eyes stayed on him, making him feel so alive. He missed her. Gone for a few moments and he missed her terribly. She was the first real person Samson could ever remember seeing. He still had Milly. Maybe he also had the admiral, and the captain.

  ===

  "Hello, Samson."

  Jon Horss heard the words as he stepped out of the yacht's egress elevator. Jon Horss heard the voice, her voice, and hesitated at its unexpected softness. But he was free at last! He had started to charge forward, to demand an explanation for his imprisonment, but the voice stopped him. The words stopped him. His rage, building for days, sputtered and died as he took in the scene. It was remarkable for two reasons: one, the admiral's back was to him; two, she was kneeling over a small body on the raw ground of a planet.

  The body on the ground stirred, opened its eyes and said, "Hello."

  Horss stepped carefully forward to observe. He swallowed the anger that tried to revive. He stayed far enough away from the admiral to relax his combat reflexes. The admiral raised a hand, obviously intended for him to obey as a signal to remain at a distance. Horss moved to one side, beyond close tactical range. He was bothered by the unnecessary command. He was irritated by not having the admiral's full attention. He was unsettled by the unexpected and bizarre tableau. He analyzed and tempered his responses but failed to objectify and control his situation, a