Momentary Stasis (The Rimes Trilogy Book 1)

by Adams, P R

  Michael anxiously looked from Rimes to Cleo. He rubbed his hands together. “He’s going to be an officer.”

  “Officer?” Cleo shook his head in disgust. “What’re you gonna make as an officer? Enough to move out of that little place you call an apartment? No. I could fit that place in my garage. How do you expect to have a family with a place like that?”

  “They’ve got one on the way,” Michael said.

  Molly leveled a dark gaze on Michael, and he lowered his eyes.

  Cleo blinked for a moment as he absorbed the news. He reached for the jelly jar with his shaking, talon-like hands and nearly knocked it over. “One on the way?” He leaned back in his chair. “Well isn’t that somethin’? Wasn’t sure you knew what you was doin’.”

  “We were going to tell you last week,” Molly said. Her smile faltered. “Things went a little crazy at Jack’s job. It was in the news.”

  “A dyin’ man doesn’t waste money on the news, sweetie.” Cleo grimaced at Molly—it was what passed as a smile for him. “So what’s this officer gig gonna pay? You gonna finally be able to afford your own car, like Steven?”

  “Steven was a pimp,” Rimes said.

  Cleo winced, and took another drink from the jar, and turned to Michael, giving him a reproachful glance. “And I expect you’ll still be tryin’ to suck them dry, huh? Even when they need to provide for their own.”

  Rimes shook his head. Cleo was just lashing out. Rimes had to get Cleo back on track. “No car. We’ll save more. When Molly finishes her degree, we’ll both be making enough to get the boys a good start.”

  Cleo raised his eyebrows. “Boys? You got twins comin’?”

  Molly smiled and kissed Rimes’s cheek. “Not twins, but Jack’s convinced we’re going to have two boys eventually. He’s already got names for them.”

  Cleo took another drink from the jelly jar. “I knew when I met Alejandra we’d have Steven.” He stared out the window for a moment, then sighed and grimaced again. “Steven was my plan. Michael and Taylor were hers." He waved the jelly jar at Rimes. "Ain't no one planned for you.”

  Rimes settled his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hooked thumbs. He didn’t want to waste time fighting with his father. Every second now seemed more precious than ever before, and he wanted to spend it with Molly.

  “Cleo.” Rimes struggled to find the words that had been so easy when he’d rehearsed them the previous afternoon, before he’d found out the old man was dying. “Things are changing. A lot of things are changing. I know you’ve never cared much for my career, but it’s my calling, and there’s not really much else out there folks can even call a career anymore.”

  Cleo snorted. “Careers ended before you were born. They were endin’ before I was born, unless you consider bein’ wealthy a career, or sellin’ your soul. If you don’t got money you can spend your life turnin’ into more money, you ain’t got many choices. All we got today is crime or law, mercenary or soldier. Not another option for someone not born to it. And one day, there's gonna be a reckoning. You hear me? A reckoning!”

  Rimes patted Molly’s hand. “Once I complete officer training, we’ll be moving. Probably to Germany to start with. Other places after that.”

  Cleo glowered at him. “I won’t be here to see your baby.”

  Rimes looked at his feet. His Army-issue sneakers were worn from miles of jogging. They were comfortable. Something about them felt every bit as right and natural as talking to Cleo felt awkward. “Cleo. I wanted to say goodbye and tell you that …” Rimes took a deep breath. “Tell you I love you.”

  Cleo looked away, his eyes watering as he drummed his fingers irritably on the chair’s arms. Finally, he wiped his eyes and said, “When I was a little younger than you, everythin’ was so different. Oh, it was changin’. Things’re always changin’. But if you looked at it hard enough, you could see it was changin’ in a whole new way, the sort of change they probably saw back in the 1930s, maybe the 2000s.

  “We’d just come off the Big One. Well, it was the Big One before this Big One. Every damn depression is the Big One. Everyone seems to want more and bigger change, so we end up with these here disasters. It was 2065, and things were boomin’, relatively speaking. No more cannibalism, least not out of necessity. Jobs were there if you had the education and will to take a contract that could feed you and your family, but not much more. The land of milk and honey, just like it used to be.”

  Cleo stared out the dirty window, at another time. Finally, he closed his eyes and sagged slightly. “But you know what the real change was? The military. The generals said they were done firing on civilians. They were done shootin’ up those who’d had enough of living like animals and wanted access to food and water the wealthy bastards had. They were done being at the beck ‘n’ call of corporations who offered them nothin’ for the favor of eliminating some starving women who were saying no more to spreadin’ their legs so they could feed their kids.

  “And do you know what that resulted in?”

  “The Corporate Security Laws,” Rimes said, again rubbing his eyes. “They were forced to shoot anyway. I’ve studied history. The military’s refusal to shoot only changed the uniform of who was pulling the trigger.”

  “Studyin’ history ain’t the same as livin’ it,” Cleo said. “They were pilin’ corpses into mass graves, like you’d see in movies about the damned Nazis.”

  “The riots had to be dealt with, Cleo.” Rimes hated discussing the military with his father, and he could see Molly was becoming upset as well. “The government felt the military was the right solution.”

  Cleo snorted and reached for his now-empty jelly jar. His hand shook in fury. “The right solution? Nazis had that term for killin’ millions a couple centuries ago.”

  “So now we’re Nazis?”

  Michael held his hands out in a sign of peace. “Dad, no need to make it ugly.”

  “Ugly,” Cleo said, indignant. “It is what it is. You kill millions, you kill thousands, you still killed your own people. And for what? To protect the wealthy? Revolution made this country from nothin’. Burning down those mansions, taking away what those people took from everyone else, maybe that’s the only way to get us back to where we were. A reckoning! I tell you right now!” Cleo coughed and scowled. He pointed through the filthy window at the sprawl of dead grass, mud puddles, and trash that marked his yard. “You think there’s a solution for what we have today? Not every problem has a solution, Son, and the military sure as hell ain’t the hammer for every nail.”

  Rimes took a heavy breath. “It’s my career, Cleo.”

  Cleo slapped his hands down on the chair’s arms. “Billions of people go their whole lives movin’ from contract to contract. And when they’re asked to do something they don’t agree with, they say no.”

  Rimes stood. “I’ve made my choice. You can’t hold me responsible for the horrible things that the military did in your time, and you can’t expect me to give up what I love out of some misplaced belief it will fix everything that’s wrong with the world.”

  Cleo’s face darkened, and he took a breath to start shouting.

  Rimes interrupted him. “We’ve got to hit the road. The rental place said this car’s sensors don’t handle darkness well, and I don’t want to do the driving myself. Not at night. Michael, we’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

  Cleo deflated. He looked away when Rimes offered his hand. “Tell Alejandra I said hello.”

  Rimes stepped outside without another word.

  Molly let him take a few steps onto the broken concrete before hugging him—out of sight from the window.

  He held Molly close as the tears flowed.

  46

  22 March 2164. Grandfield, Oklahoma.

  * * *

  Alejandra’s duplex was immaculate—brightly painted, carefully organized, and perfectly balanced between cluttered and open, if somewhat aged and yellowed.

  Rimes watched her from across
a small, aluminum folding table as she set her teacup down and patted her thin lips with a faux-cloth napkin, then folded it in half and set it on her lap. It was all very proper and dignified.

  Molly gazed into the steam rising from her cup. Rimes brushed a handful of crumbs from the urethane-coated tabletop and dumped them onto his plate.

  As usual, Alejandra had fixed a small French pastry for them, something that grated on Molly every time they visited. It could have been the way the place smelled of something freshly baked, the way Alejandra set her modest yet perfect table with china and imported tea, or the way Alejandra claimed to have baked it herself, rather than just buying whatever was on sale and heating it up before they arrived.

  Alejandra looked at him as if here were still a child. “In any organization, there are leaders and there are followers. The odds of you being a meaningful leader are much greater if you are an officer.”

  “Service is a noble cause regardless of the rank, don’t you think?” Molly said, without meeting Alejandra’s eyes.

  Alejandra smiled condescendingly at Molly. Alejandra’s face was still pretty, despite losing its color and accumulating wrinkles at an alarming pace, and it could project cruelty with frightening ease. “But it’s rank that gets you recognized.”

  She looked back at Molly, waiting for eye contact. When Molly finally looked up from her tea, glaring, Alejandra continued.

  “A leader doesn’t just tell someone else what to do, my dear. A leader does. It’s how respect is attained. When you begin your career—you’re still hoping to have a career one day, aren’t you? Well, once you begin it, you’ll see what sets people of higher status apart from the others.”

  Molly returned Alejandra’s insincere smile with a perfunctory one. When Alejandra turned her attention to Jack, Molly dropped her gaze to her tea again.

  Alejandra coughed quietly into her napkin. “You know, Jack, you could always go into politics. Get a law degree, leverage your reputation and contacts. You wouldn’t have to travel and risk your life all the time. You could help raise the family, too. Raising children isn’t easy, and not everyone is cut out for it.”

  Molly gathered up the pastry dishes and noisily set them into the sink. Alejandra turned in her chair to glare; Molly opened her eyes innocently. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? I am tired. I’m not going to be much for talking tonight, I’m afraid.” Molly rubbed her belly. “Travel and the baby have really been a strain.”

  Alejandra stood. She brought her teacup to the sink and set it carefully on the bottom without a sound. “Oh, I remember what it was like carrying Steven around. Eight months along and traveling to Texas. You know, I drove us six hours to Dallas and Cleo—he was recovering from that knee injury he suffered in his senior year—couldn’t lift a thing. What a sight I must have been, my belly out to here, carrying those suitcases up the stairs to our new apartment, and me half-asleep from the drive. You go clean up and get some rest, Dear. I’ll get this. I cleaned the guest room and put fresh linens in it this morning. You’ll sleep better than you do at home.”

  Molly glared over her shoulder at Rimes as she left the kitchen. She hated the guest room. She called it Alejandra’s trophy room. It was full of memorabilia dating back generations, but mostly focusing on Alejandra’s younger years as a star student.

  The digital awards from her career as an accomplished businesswoman could be shut off, but nothing could hide the plaques, portraits, and diplomas in the glass cases lining all four walls.

  On top of that, the bed was narrow and short, and it squeaked with the slightest move, killing any opportunity for intimacy. Rimes gritted his teeth and finished his tea. He’d known when he’d suggested the trip there would be hell to pay. There was no way around such things, though, especially with reassignment guaranteed should he pursue OCS. And with Cleo’s terminal diagnosis, it was their last chance to see him.

  Visiting one parent meant visiting the other.

  “She seems on edge,” Alejandra said loudly as she inspected the dishes Molly had set in the sink. “Cleo’s situation has her upset?”

  “There’s a lot going on right now.” Rimes carried his teacup to the sink and set it down gently but not silently. “She didn’t get into the PhD program again, the baby is coming … and I haven’t been the best husband.”

  He didn’t mean for it to slip out, but once out, it didn’t seem too painful.

  Alejandra looked up disapprovingly at the last statement. “Your father always said that when he tried to apologize for his infidelities, Jackson. Please tell me that isn’t the case with you. You were always the special one. We all expected so much from you. I can't believe you would fall into such behavior, especially given the distance between you and Cleo.”

  Rimes took a towel from the sink and ran warm water over it, squeezing out the excess. “It’s none of your business, Mother.”

  “Well.” Alejandra ran water over the dishes as Rimes wiped the table. “Some things are beyond the control of even the best of parents. At least you haven’t taken to drinking.” She glared at the wall separating the kitchen from the guest room and raised her voice. “I hope she’s not blaming her rejection on the foreign students again?”

  Rimes shook the towel out and placed it on the sink edge to dry.

  “Well, were there any American applicants accepted? If there were, then blaming foreign students is just a convenient excuse for her own inadequacies.”

  Rimes bowed his head and sighed.

  “Don’t you agree?” She sounded hurt. “It’s not as if she had the highest scores. Too much partying, too little studying, just like I warned you. The schools are simply taking the best students. Wouldn’t you want that? When I came to the United States, my scores were in the top three percent. I earned my place.”

  “Mother,” Rimes snapped.

  Alejandra jumped back from him, as if he’d raised a fist to strike her. After a moment, she turned her back to him. Her perfectly coiffed black hair danced as she angrily scrubbed the plates. “If you think I somehow unfairly took a US citizen’s place, then the advantages I gave you were also unfair.”

  “I don’t have time for the drama, Mother,” Rimes said. “I don’t have the time and I don’t have the energy. I had to tell Cleo goodbye for the last time today. Losing one parent is enough.”

  He kissed Alejandra’s cheek, then stared deep into her watery eyes. “But if you keep pushing Molly …”

  Alejandra blinked but said nothing.

  “Goodnight, Mother.” He walked out of the kitchen, certain her gaze was burning into his back.

  The guest room was empty; he gathered his toiletry bag and went to the bathroom.

  Molly was angrily brushing her teeth at the pedestal sink. She spat fiercely into the sink and watched the water rinse the foam completely away.

  She sighed, then smiled at him in the mirror.

  She leaned over, pushed the door shut behind him, and started the shower. They sneaked a long kiss and caress as they showered together.

  They settled into the old, cramped, and uncomfortable bed, back to back but touching each other. Rimes still saw hints of coldness and pain from his breach of trust in Molly’s eyes, but there was hope there, too.

  “I love you,” he told Molly.

  She grunted.

  “I’m practicing for the boys. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Jack.”

  “I love you.”

  “Fine, you love me. Go to sleep.”

  “You’re going to get sick hearing me say it to all three of you, aren’t you?”

  She groaned and put the pillow over her head.

  He pulled it back a crack. “I love you.”

  As Rimes drifted toward sleep, he thought of his childhood and the mistakes he’d sworn he wouldn’t repeat as a parent. His children would never suffer a winter without heat or a night without dinner. They would never worry they weren’t good enough.

  He smiled as images of his
sons laughing and playing with Molly came to him. It was the future he dreamed of. He wouldn’t let anything destroy that dream.

  47

  24 March 2164. Fort Sill, Oklahoma.

  * * *

  Stern, powerful men of importance looked down on Rimes from the foyer of Weatherford's office. Their mouths smiled, but their eyes brimmed with knowledge: every one of them had killed, had sent other men to their deaths.

  Leaders.

  Rimes sat on the lone wooden chair with his hands locked in front of him.

  Dark paneling, soft lighting, worn leather chairs: the office spoke to Weatherford’s appreciation of the finer things. But the pictures on the walls spoke of honor, duty.

  Weatherford’s XO stepped out of his office and nodded at Rimes. The XO made his way to the coffee pot, tried to pour himself a cup, but found it empty. He started another pot, yawning. He was a short, sturdy, dark-eyed man, probably infantry by trade, riding a desk on his slow march up the ranks.

  The coffee pot gurgled.

  “He shouldn’t be long. We’ve been swamped by all the AARs and meetings after this orbital operation. And now he’s on a call with SecDef. Called out of the blue.”

  The XO poured the first drips of coffee into a cup and took a sip, grimaced at the taste. “You did some impressive work up there. There’s already talk of building a boarding action training course off what we learned. But I doubt we’ll see those genie grenades put into the arsenal. It sounds like they’ll be doing a lot of inner hull repairs.”

  Rimes looked down at his hands. They were rough and still stained with grime.

  An entire team had died in an ambush on the Valdez, Chung was dead, and Gupta wasn’t likely to recover enough from his wounds to rejoin the unit. And they were concerned about repairing a ship.

  You can repair a ship. You can build a new one. What about Chung? What about the others?