by M. R. Forbes
The problem was that neither General Cave or Councilwoman Rouse would let them know the full extent of the truth. He wondered if the rest of the Council even knew what decisions were being made without them.
The thoughts fueled him as he reached the loop station. He was happy to discover there were no guards nearby. Would Cave go through the trouble of calling them in for emergency duty just to grab him? The General may not have liked being told to go to Hell, but he didn't think so.
A pod arrived a minute later. Gabriel climbed in, taking the short ride to Residential. His mind was still a maelstrom of emotion as he hurried through a quiet concourse and up to his father's apartment. He had half-expected to find an MP waiting for him there, but the area was still clear. If Cave wanted him that badly, he would send someone here to look for him, which meant he didn't have a lot of time.
Sabine was asleep on the sofa. She woke with a start when his entry caused the lights to go on.
"Huh? Gabriel? Is that you?"
"Sabine? It's okay. I'm sorry. I need to talk to my father. It's important. What are you doing here?"
Sabine sat up. "Your father's sleeping. The doctor raised the doses on all of his medication. I was ordered to stay and keep an eye on him. He isn't doing well."
"Is he dying?" Gabriel asked.
The fight began draining from him in a hurry. A part of him had always believed that his father was only alive to continue the war, and that learning it was over would kill him. At the same time, the idea of it seemed like uneducated superstition. If only people had such complete control over their mortality.
Either way, he wasn't ready to lose his father. Not yet. He had run away before. Now that he knew the truth of things, he wasn't going to do it again. Not when it meant thousands of people might die.
"He's old, Gabriel. His injuries have taken a toll on him, and his will to live is fading."
"How much longer does he have?"
Sabine shook her head. "I don't know. If it was imminent they would have contacted you. A week or two?"
A chill coursed through him. He had so little time left to spend with Theodore, and he had been wasting it feeling sorry for himself.
"I'm going to talk to him anyway," he said, heading toward the bedroom. "If the Military Police or General Cave show up, can you stall them for me?"
"What? Gabriel, are you in trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle, but I need to see my father first."
He ducked into the bedroom before Sabine could answer.
Theodore St. Martin was lying in bed, eyes closed, hands out at his sides. An IV hung beside him, the end of it jabbed into his wrist, while a monitor was connected to his finger, taking his vitals and projecting them on the wall behind the bed. A blue line ran in a slow, rhythmic pattern across it, showing a currently steady pulse.
None of the equipment had been there four days earlier, and the sight of it helped return some of his anger. At that moment, he saw his father's condition as a symbol for everything he had ever believed in. Sick. Dying. On life support.
It was no way for anything or anyone to end. Especially someone like Theodore St. Martin.
"Dad," Gabriel said, sitting in the chair next to him. "Dad, wake up."
Theodore's eyes opened. He turned his head to the side, staring at Gabriel with a clarity the younger St. Martin hadn't seen in months.
"Gabriel. About damn time you got here. Thought I'd go near insane waiting for you to show and send your old man off to the bayou in the sky with the respect I deserve."
Gabriel stared at Theodore, trying to figure out what was happening. His father was supposed to be near death. Instead, he seemed full of life. He had heard that people who were sick often regained all of their faculties right before they passed on as if God gave them one last round to say their goodbyes. He felt his eyes begin to tear, realizing that his father had been waiting for him so that he could finish his journey.
"What are you choking up for, son?" Theodore asked.
"I'm sorry," Gabriel said.
"What for? Come on now, Gabe. Don't sit there blubbering like a little school girl. Spit it out."
"I should have been here more often. I should have come sooner. I should have been the one who told you about Eden."
"Yeah. Damn right you should have. You can make it up to me now by helping me get the hell out of here."
"What?" Gabriel said, his emotions swinging again. He was completely confused. "Dad, what do you mean get out of here?"
Theodore reached over with one hand and grabbed the IV, pulling it slowly from his wrist. He held it up to Gabriel. "You know what this is, son?"
"Yes. It's the medicine that's keeping you alive. Dad, I don't want you to die. Not yet."
Theodore's dry lips curled into a smile. Gabriel hadn't seen that expression since before the accident. "Who said a damn thing about dying? There ain't no meds in that there bag. It ain't nothing but saline."
"What?"
"You having trouble with your ears? You keep saying what? What? What? I need your help, son. There's trouble brewing, and we don't have a lot of people we can trust."
Gabriel started to say "what" again. He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I don't believe this is happening."
"Get your head out of your ass, Gabriel. This ain't no dream. Geez, it's a damn nightmare more like. They're spitting on her grave, son. Your mother. My bride. General Cave thinks I'm going just to sit here like a damn fool invalid while he destroys her memory? Son of a bitch tried to poison me, son." He waved the IV needle at him. "Medication? This ain't medication to help. You get me? It's control."
Gabriel couldn't believe what his father was suggesting. "You're saying Cave has been drugging you? Why?"
"To keep me quiet. I've still got a lot of pull in this colony. He doesn't want anyone interfering with his plan to get to greener pastures."
"I'm totally confused. Four days ago you were pathetic and broken."
"You ever call me that again, I'll whoop you so bad you can't sit for a week." He smiled. "I was, son. I was. Just like you, I ain't immune to it. You want to apologize to me for wallowing? No. I've been stuck in the mud for years. Ever since I lost my wheels. It took your mother's intervention for me to open my eyes."
"What do you mean, mom's intervention?"
"When you didn't stop by after the Council meeting the other day, Cave did. He told me about the message. Hell, he showed me the damn thing. I was barely lucid then, but maybe more than he was expecting. I could see the satisfaction in those eyes when he played the message you picked up from Earth."
Theodore removed the finger monitor and pushed himself to a sitting position. He wasn't wearing civilian clothes beneath the covers. He was wearing SBU fatigues.
"Grab my chair," he said.
Gabriel did, rolling it over and positioning it for Theodore. His father swung himself over and into it, looking ten years younger as he did.
"He didn't recognize General Rodriguez," Theodore continued. "I did. He was only seventeen the last time I saw him. Not Space Force. Army. Nothing but a Private back then. He was in the platoon in charge of guarding the Magellan. Stick your hand under the pillow."
Gabriel leaned forward and reached beneath Theodore's pillow. His hand landed on metal, still warm from his father's head. He pulled the gun out, turning it. It was his father's original service piece. A standard projectile pistol. Bullets, not plasma.
"Dad? Why am I holding your gun?"
"I recognized General Rodriguez," Theodore repeated. "That dog is still alive. Which means your mother might be, too."
FORTY-SIX
Donovan had one more stop to make before he went back to General Rodriguez, leaving the infirmary and heading across to the nursery.
"Hey, Mom," he said, opening the door and stepping in. He instantly found himself surrounded by toddlers, six in all between one and three years of age. Wanda Peters was sitting in the middle of them with one of the children on her lap, asleep. She looked w
eary and worried.
At least, she did until she saw him.
"Donovan," she said, a huge smile growing across her face. "You're back."
"Rodriguez didn't tell you?"
"No. When did you get here?"
"About an hour ago."
Wanda lowered the child to the floor. He didn't even seem to notice he was being moved. She got to her feet and wrapped Donovan in a hug.
"I was worried about you."
"You always worry about me. I always come back."
"Thank God. That doesn't mean you always will."
"Then I'll die happy, knowing I was trying to make a difference. Tell me you slept?"
"A little. I'm almost starting to believe you're as invincible as you do."
"You'll probably find out soon enough, but Diaz and I did it, Mom. We got into a Dread city and captured two of their weapons. We killed a Dread."
His mother nodded. "Never be proud of killing anything, Donnie. That's the road to Hell."
Donovan wasn't surprised at her statement. For all the Dread had cost them, she remained adamant that life was precious. All life. Maybe that was why she surrounded herself with it.
"Okay, Mom. I'm not as much proud of that as I am that we got the guns. If Carlson can figure out how they work, it can change the entire face of the war. We might be able to fight back."
"Good. Maybe if they see we aren't so helpless they'll decide to leave."
The door opened behind them. Donovan turned to see Matteo's head poking through it.
"Major Peters," his friend said, entering the room. Matteo Diaz was an olive-skinned, athletic god. At least, that's what most of the women on the base whispered to one another. His dimpled smile cemented the reputation. "I figured if you were done with Iwu I would find you over here."
"Matteo," Donovan said, clasping hands with him. "Your sister told you where I was?"
"Actually, it was General Rodriguez. He wanted you to go see him as soon as you were done with Doc Iwu."
Donovan was eager to find out what Rodriguez was thinking. The General's words still resonated, chilling him to the core.
"Doc Iwu?" Wanda said. "Did you get hurt?"
"No. Standard operating procedure, you know that. I've got to go."
"He leans too hard on you, Donnie," Wanda said. "You just got back, and he won't even give you time to sleep?"
"I can sleep later. Thanks for caring, Mom." He kissed his mother on the cheek.
"I'm glad you're back. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom. I'll stop by again later."
"Get some rest first. That's more important than checking in on your mother and a bunch of rugrats."
"Yes, ma'am," Donovan said, saluting.
"Get out of here," Wanda replied, slapping him on the arm.
He held back from wincing at the twinge of pain. He didn't want her to know he had been injured. She worried enough already.
He left the nursery with Matteo, heading toward the stairs.
"Renata told me you got hit."
"Yeah. Some debris buried itself in my back. We were this close to getting blown to ash." He put his thumb and forefinger together. "Iwu cleaned it out and stitched it up. It wasn't bad enough to waste meds on."
"How does it feel now?"
"As long as nothing hits it and I don't have to raise my hand, I'm fine."
"So, you know it's my birthday this weekend, right?"
Donovan laughed. "Are you serious? I almost died."
"Yeah, but you didn't. Which means you got me something, right?"
"I've got something for you. You aren't going to like it."
"Oh please, amigo. You say that every year, and every year you get me something great. Like that date with Ronnie. Man, I wanted to kiss her forever."
"I didn't have to do much to get her to go out with you. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Besides, that ended in disaster."
"Beautiful disaster."
They ascended the steps to the first floor and headed toward Rodriguez's office.
"Are you in on this?" Donovan asked.
"No. Officers only. I'm just a lowly handyman."
"This base wouldn't run at all without you and your father."
"Thanks for saying so. Which reminds me, I've got a leaky pipe I need to patch. I'll talk to you later, bro."
"Later, Teo."
They split up at the next corridor, with Donovan continuing on to Rodriguez's office.
"General Rodriguez," Donovan said, walking in. "Major Peters, reporting as requested." He saluted sharply.
"At ease, Donovan," Rodriguez said. He was standing behind his desk, a concerned look on his face.
Donovan quickly scanned the room, noting the presence of Colonel Montero, Major Sharma, and Diaz.
"Lieutenant Diaz, can you get the door?" Rodriguez asked.
"Yes, sir," Diaz replied.
"Donovan, I've already briefed Colonel Montero and Major Sharma on what you told me earlier. The reason I called you back so soon is because I have some time-sensitive information that I believe it's important to share."
Donovan glanced at Diaz, who shrugged.
"As you know, we've been in contact with other resistance bases around the globe for some time, including the installation in New York where General Parker is based. Three weeks ago a missive went out from General Parker, outlining the movements of the Dread as they had been reported in. Mexico isn't the only region that is falling under expanded enemy scrutiny, and it was reported that a number of bases around the globe were discovered and destroyed."
Rodriguez paused to let that information sink in.
"The result of this series of defeats led General Parker and his advisors to re-examine the resistance's strategy in dealing with the Dread occupation. The outcome of this is that he passed a message to every known resistance base across the globe that we were to disband at once into smaller groups and make every effort to avoid the Dread."
"What?" Diaz said, beating the rest of them to it. Donovan felt his pulse quicken, and the chill returned. Looking at the other officers, they were feeling the same thing.
"He ordered us to stop fighting and focus on survival," Rodriguez said. "He also made a special request to have me record a message informing the space forces of his decision."
Donovan shook his head. He couldn't believe it. "No. You've got to be kidding me," he said, not meaning to voice his feelings out loud.
"I'm sorry, Donovan. You're a little too good at your job. Your team delivered the message yesterday."
FORTY-SEVEN
"You're saying we told our only allies in this fight not to come back? On the same mission we recovered a weapon that can kill the alien bastards?" Diaz asked, a tremble in her voice.
"General, why didn't you tell us about General Parker's orders?" Colonel Montero asked.
"I was waiting to ensure the message was delivered. Then I was waiting to see if Major Peters and Lieutenant Diaz made it back. How could I know what they would bring back with them?"
"You couldn't, General," Major Sharma said. "None of us could."
"What's done is done," Donovan said. "We have to decide what to do about it. You said before that you hoped it wasn't too late. I think I know what you meant now."
"Thank you, Major," Rodriguez said. "I appreciate your attitude. That's why this couldn't wait."
"What do you mean?" Montero asked.
"You want to make another t-vault, don't you sir?" Donovan asked.
"Yes."
"Sir, you just told us you sent a message to the colony not to come back," Sharma said.
"I did. And it is highly likely that they will follow that directive. It's also entirely possible that they won't."
"They've been returning like clockwork for over twenty years," Donovan said. "We know they've lost ships doing it, and yet they keep coming."
"There is a chance they'll make one more trip to confirm the message. There's a chance they'll keep coming even if no
one ever replies. We stopped transmitting for months and they still came."
"We didn't tell them not to," Sharma said.
"It's foolish to assume they'll come back," Montero said. He smiled. "It's also foolish to assume they won't."
"My thought exactly," Rodriguez said. "We have to stay on schedule and make another run, to tell them what we've discovered. We have a couple of weeks. Maybe we can even uncover the secret to overcoming their shields by then."
"That's a big maybe," Diaz said.
"It is, but at the very least we can tell them we have an active weapon, we know it can hurt them, and we're working on it. We can tell them to disregard the previous message."
"What about General Parker in New York?" Donovan asked.
"We need to get a message to him, too. We have to hope just as much that it isn't too late to keep the resistance from falling apart here on Earth as we do out among the stars."
"It should be easy enough to get a message to them," Major Sharma said.
"It still takes time," Rodriguez replied.
Messages flowed from one base to another over an Internet of sorts; a collection of computers connected via a spiderweb route of cables that the Dread had so far ignored. It was all peer-to-peer, incredibly slow, and often subject to blackout. From the way Matteo had explained it, it was a miracle that the system worked at all. Fixing pipes wasn't the only thing he was handy with.
"When is the next expected match in the pattern?" Donovan asked.
The space forces always returned when the slipstream matched a specific set of wave patterns, ostensibly to keep the Dread from guessing when they would arrive. It was more than likely the Dread knew but didn't care.
"Three weeks," Rodriguez said.
"That's plenty of time for my arm to heal," Donovan said.
"We have a bigger problem than that, General," Diaz said. "Most of our team was killed during the last mission, and we lost the transmission equipment."
"Understood," Rodriguez said. "I'm going to put the word out to the base looking for volunteers for this run. As far as our chain-of-command is concerned, we aren't even supposed to be continuing operations right now. I'm not going to order you two back out there, either. There's no guarantee the space forces will return. In fact, it's more likely you'll be killed out there for nothing."
