“Gabi, stop it!” Kelly commanded. “You’re going to kill her!”
Kelly’s younger sister Kristen rushed to aid Marya. As Kelly dragged Gabi away kicking and screaming she was forced to hold her tight enough that Gabi found it difficult to breathe. The older Vandemark sister carried Gabi all the way up the beach to where the old sleeper pod took its crooked rest in the dunes. She then sat Gabi down less than gently, and knelt down to look her square in the eyes.
“You’re in deep trouble, little miss,” Kelly said sternly. “Now tell me why you were trying to drown Marya.”
“Because she was angry at me and I didn’t want her to hit me again,” Gabi pouted.
“What was she angry at you about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Gabi, this isn’t the time to lie to me. I need to know.”
“I’m not lying,” she insisted. “I was off playing with some crabs and when I was done she was yelling at me.”
“And you didn’t do anything to her to start this?”
“No!”
Kelly shook her head and sighed. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t like you.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Yes you did. Come on, let’s go tell your mom what happened.” Kelly stood up and offered her hand.
Gabi curled her knees to her chest and shook her head. “No. Mama will just yell at me some more. She hates me.”
For the first time, Gabi saw Kelly lose her temper. She jerked Gabi to her feet roughly by the elbow and dragged her along the path toward the village. No matter how hard Gabi dug her heels in, she could not stand against the strength of the Vandemark girl. “I don’t have time to argue with you. You’re in trouble anyway, so you don’t get a say.”
As the outlines of the village structures came into view, fear gripped Gabrielle once more.
Mama’s going to hit me again.
Calvin McLaughlin
1 May, Year of Landing, 11:51
Gabriel Colonial Cemetery, near Gabriel
He shuddered as the familiar grove of trees loomed in front of him as he walked. Though the stiff breeze and overcast skies had cooled the air, Cal knew that the shivers that ran down his spine were not those of chills, but a visceral reaction to stepping foot on the ground where his friend died just days earlier. He paused at a dark stain on the ground a few feet from the boulder that provided him protection as the bullets flew during the fatal conflict.
He heard an almost imperceptible gasp come from next to him, and Alexis pulled his arm close as she drew her other hand to her mouth and looked away.
“Sorry,” Cal said. “I shouldn’t have shown you this. I should have warned you. I just… I just had to see it one more time. Just to know the sacrifice was real.”
“I know. I can’t imagine what all you’ve been going through. I… I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
Cal sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Just when I’m starting to get used to the idea, I find out that the place he was killed is going to become the colony’s cemetery. It’s kind of a slap in the face.”
Alexis squeezed his arm gently. “I don’t think they meant it that way when they decided on it. And besides, today is about honoring him.”
“And the others.”
She nodded silently and drew him away to where a small crowd gathered at the base of the hill. Many were dressed in flight suits, with about two dozen others in civilian clothes. A few had managed to find something resembling formal wear, but most were underdressed for the occasion. Cal glanced up the hill where Lieutenant Hunter Ceretti had gathered seven other officers from the crew, to serve as an Honor Guard. Hunter himself carried the flag that he had scrounged up from storage on Michael; the red and white stripes flowed and swayed, and every single star on the blue field was visible as the breeze kept the banner from sagging.
Alexis selected a spot at the end of the human arc, where they had a clear view of four fresh graves, each marked with a carefully stacked cairn at the head. Cal closed his eyes and recalled the order in which he watched the first three bodies be interred, the day after the massacre. Alexis had begged Cal not to go, to take the time to heal and wait for the formal funeral, but he had wanted to see Cameron’s burial.
First to be placed in the ground was Major Holden Kintney. The first officer of Gabriel had been shot multiple times with his own weapon by Darius Owens after the two had a fierce struggle on the very spot that was now his grave. Cal had not broached with Darius the subject of what happened, as he had seemed quite distraught about taking a life, but rumors from other colonists painted the picture of Kintney as being a blindly loyal officer with a brutal streak a mile wide.
I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but if half of what I’ve heard is true, we’re better off without that guy. Cal shuddered.
The next victim of the massacre to be buried was Lieutenant Brandon Reid. The young man’s execution started the exchange of gunfire between Eriksen’s men and Captain Quinn. The devastation that Reid’s family endured was unimaginably deep, he thought. He cast his gaze across the circle to Saika Reid. The widow had been provided a black dress by some soul in the colony; Cal was not entirely sure whom. She dabbed her eye with a handkerchief as an older woman – her mother, he presumed – comforted her. Cal’s eyes couldn’t help but drift to her belly, knowing that she carried Lieutenant Reid’s unborn child.
So unfair. He won’t ever know his father, thanks to Eriksen.
Then the image of his friend’s burial flashed through his mind. Sergeant Cameron Drisko was the last to be laid to rest the day after the slaughter. As the sorrowful sight of the grim task passed from his psyche, he conjured other memories, the most bittersweet of which was the night that Michael had landed, and the mix of joyous and melancholy songs his friend had played on the guitar. Cameron had a knack for knowing just how to pluck the strings of the heart just as easily as those on his instrument.
It’s bad enough that your music was silenced, he thought. But what’s worse is that you’re not there. There’s a huge empty spot around the fire. No one else can fill that.
Cal’s lip quivered for a moment and he took a deep breath in a bid to force aside the profound pain of loss. He had been a mess for a couple days afterward, and yet he still forced himself during that time to watch and try to comprehend. He wasn’t sure he could, even on this day, when the fallen would be properly acknowledged in their repose.
His eyes opened and fell to the fourth grave in the newly dedicated cemetery. Beneath the mound of dirt lay Colonel Charles Eriksen. Gabriel’s commanding officer had succumbed to his injuries three days after the shootout. In what Cal believed to be another outburst of callous venom, Traci Josephson had speculated that the colonel had willed his own death so that he “wouldn’t have to give Colonel Dayton the satisfaction of winning.” It was a truly odd statement, as Cal could neither wrap his head around the concept of willing one’s own end, nor that said end would be considered a victory.
I just hope someone found out what the hell this was all about before he died. Like he said something on his death bed or something.
Not all who sustained wounds in the battle perished, however. Ex-Captain Quinn was proof of that, as his leg wound would not prevent him from delivering Lieutenant Reid’s eulogy in a few more minutes. There were also two civilians who had suffered trampling injuries when the crowd panicked during the fracas. Both were lucky to be alive, but were also expected to recover fully.
Bravo emerged from its hiding spot behind a slate-colored cloud, casting a warm glow first on the hill, then slowly down the slope as it cleared the fringe into the open. As it did so, Colonel Dayton marched slowly from behind the crowd, followed by the rhythmic click of Quinn and his crutches, then Darius Owens, whose eyes were sullen. The rear was brought up by a rather rotund fellow with a receding hair line and a black cassock, adorned with a long red stole with a single crucifix. He carried a thick, black Bible in one hand, and a pair of
glasses was folded neatly in the other.
They took their places in a neat row just a few feet from the headstone-cairns. Dayton craned his neck up the hill and nodded, which then prompted Hunter to execute his duty.
“Flight, shoulder… arms!” he barked, and each member of the detail crisply brought their M4 carbine to the precise position against their bodies. Hunter gripped the flag staff firmly and brought it to his center, holding it high and straight. “Right… face!” The maneuver was carried out with impeccable precision.
Cal watched as the flag masked and revealed Hunter’s face as it rippled. The lieutenant paused a brief moment, and for a second Cal thought that his friend might have frozen in the middle of his duty. Instead, he delivered order after order to bring the Honor Guard to its position, off to the right of Dayton and the graves. With one final command, they halted.
The silence that spanned the next minute made it feel like the planet itself had stopped. The wind died, and with it the rustle of the grove. The buzz of insects vanished. Even the birds seemed to stop calling out, as if they knew the solemnity of the occasion.
Colonel Dayton took a step forward and cleared his throat, breaking through the veil of silence.
“We are here today to honor the memory and service of four members of the sleeper ship crews. These men dedicated their lives to the safety of the men, women, and children entrusted to their care.” He paused for a moment. “It’s hard to reconcile the fact that they lost their lives fighting against each other, when their mission was the same. Whatever the investigation into the incident finds, it should not diminish what these men did for the people of Demeter.”
Dayton stepped back in line and nodded to Tyler Quinn, who then hobbled forward on his crutches. His voice wavered as he spoke. “First Lieutenant Brandon Reid was born into one of the First Families of Project Columbus. His father, Major James Reid, was the chief computer analyst for the Project from 1982 until his retirement in 2000. Brandon dreamed of serving aboard one of the ships his entire life, and the minute he was eligible to enlist in the Air Force, he did so.”
Quinn tried to smile, but it was contorted by his obvious pain. “I met him four years before launch, when he was assigned to the Project after a number of senior officers resigned. As we filled voids in our upper ranks through promotions, these fresh replacements were just coming out of their respective schools. Brandon… he stood out because of just how excited he was to be there. How determined he was to absorb knowledge and spend time in the simulators. That enthusiasm carried over into his personal life, and it was just plain impossible not to like him. And you got this feeling, when hanging around him, that everything was going to be great, no matter how dark life got.
“He finally got to live his dream of piloting one of the ships, even if it wasn’t for very long.” He turned his head slowly and looked at Saika Reid, addressing both the widow and a young, fair, blonde woman who clutched her shoulders. “Kayla, Saika… I am so sorry for your loss.”
The women broke down into tears as Quinn returned to the line. Colonel Dayton stepped out of rank again.
“Major Holden Kintney served as the first officer of Gabriel. His career with the Air Force spanned decades, and he was a decorated combat pilot before his assignment to Project Columbus,” noted Dayton. “His transfer to the Project was requested by the research staff because of his fearlessness behind the stick, and his willingness to push the envelope of aircraft capabilities. His tenacity in the simulators paved the way for the development program that trained the navigation staff of every ship in the fleet.”
The colonel returned to his place in line again. As Darius Owens prepared to deliver the next speech, Cal compared the previous two eulogies.
Weird. A friend of Reid’s gave his, and said what a great guy he was. Then Dayton steps up and lists service records for this Kintney guy? Did the guy have any friends when he was off duty?
Cal’s focus returned to Owens, who took an uncomfortably long pause before he started in.
“Colonel Charles Eriksen was the kind of man who inspired both determination and discipline,” Darius started. “Whether it was a staff briefing or taking the chair of Gabriel, he had this presence about him that just made you listen. He never shied away from commending a job well done, or providing support for a task if an extra hand was needed. His expectations were never out of line, and if you needed correction, he gave it more like a father than a drill instructor. You could always count on his vision and determination; he was possibly one of the most dependable people I know. Though we had our disagreements toward the end, I still held tremendous respect for him, and he was true to himself to the very end.”
Kind words from someone who the colonel had turned on, Cal thought. I don’t think I could have stood up there and delivered a speech like that.
Cal’s throat felt tight and he clutched Alexis a little tighter as Dayton’s emergence at the head of the line signaled the final speech. His fingers went numb, and he had to check to make sure he still had a hold on his girlfriend’s hand.
“I was a bit conflicted as to who should deliver this last eulogy,” Dayton admitted. “But in keeping with the current theme, I felt it best if a crew member took care of it. I made the mistake of offering the eulogy to Lieutenant Ceretti after requesting that he lead the Honor Guard, which he had already accepted. Ceretti takes his duties seriously, and as much as I know it pains him, he has chosen not to shirk his original assignment.
“Staff Sergeant Cameron Drisko served as the lead information technology officer on Michael. His rank and role do absolutely nothing to describe the kind of man that Drisko was, both personally and professionally. He was as talented with a guitar as he was with a computer, and he entertained his comrades both before and after the launch. He was the soul of Michael’s crew, and as much of an ambassador of goodwill around camp as anyone else I have seen. Sergeant Drisko held himself to a standard that I could only hope to match someday. And it is because of this standard that he died in the line of duty, executing his orders dutifully until his last breath. His early and tragic death is being felt deeply not only among the crew, but the colonists with whom he interacted on a daily basis.”
Cal choked back his welling emotions and wiped dry the corners of his eyes.
“Let us now honor the service of these four men,” Dayton continued. “Let us reflect and pray.” He motioned to the minister with one arm. “Reverend, if you please.”
The minister placed his glasses on his nose and opened the Bible. Cal closed his eyes and bowed his head, letting the preacher’s words sink into his soul. The prayer of final rites left him feeling oddly at ease, and he felt his anxiety and sorrow ebb from him. He relaxed somewhat, no longer constantly on guard against his emotions. When the prayer finished, he muttered a single “Amen” with the rest of the crowd, and opened his eyes.
“Flight… present, arms!” barked Hunter.
Cal stepped behind Alexis and wrapped his arms around her midsection, then turned to face the Honor Guard.
The fallen received their final salute.
Gabrielle Serrano
1 May, Year of Landing, midday
Camp Eight
James Vandemark parted the thick storm curtain at the front of the clinic. “Go,” he commanded sternly.
Gabi dragged her feet as she stepped inside the dark and humid building. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Gabi’s mother looked up slowly from the vibrant green tangle of palm fronds that was laid out in front of her. Her hands froze in midair, putting a momentary end to the task of knitting together whatever it was that she was making.
James clasped Gabi gently on the shoulders and nudged her closer in front of her mother, whose face hardened into a scowl. Gabi cast her eyes into the dirt, hoping that would somehow allow her to slip away without facing the judgment she knew was coming.
“What did she do this time?” her mom asked in a cold voice.
“Go ahead, te
ll her,” James prompted as he let go.
Gabi shook her head and threw her arms across her chest.
James sighed. “She pushed down Caleb and took his pepperine.”
“He wasn’t going to eat it,” Gabi protested, looking up at him.
James looked to Gabi’s mom for a moment, but she just shook her head and resumed her work. He cleared his throat. “That doesn’t mean you can take it without asking. And it’s not nice to push people over.”
“But…”
“No buts, Gabi.” He looked again at her mother. “Maria?”
She did not raise her head or acknowledge his request for attention; her right hand continued to move in patterns as she edged a long blade of vegetation into the weave. James shook his head and knelt in front of Gabi, and she was left to face his serious countenance and piercing brown eyes.
“You don’t hit or push anyone, okay?” he scolded.
Gabi sighed. “Okay.”
He pointed to the partition wall at the back of the clinic. “Can you wait back there while I have a talk with your mom?”
“Okay,” she growled and stomped off around the corner, trying to convey her frustration through the tantrum. She waited for one of the adults to come around the corner and give her a tongue lashing, but to her surprise, neither did.
She could hear them talking on the other side of the partition, though the low volume and the intervening structure made it difficult for her to discern much of anything.
Probably silly adult talk anyway, she guessed.
Gabi took in her surroundings. Since she and her mother had moved into their own small hut, there was little left in the clinic for her to play with. She knew better than to play with any of Dr. Petrovsky’s medical supplies; that would earn her trouble from several people, not just her mother. Pelusina was back at their home, and as much as she wanted to walk out of the clinic to go get her or find something else to do, she didn’t want to disobey James.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 80
