by Piers Platt
“True. I vote for immediate release,” Arkanian said.
“I could be convinced,” Huginot said. “Is that what you’re recommending, Ms. Locandez? What would you have us do with him?”
“I think I know exactly what to do with him,” Locandez said.
*
It was late morning, as best as Falken could tell by the height of Kanderi’s sun, but the temperature was still bitterly cold, and the planet’s perpetual wind storm showed no sign of letting up. Falken tucked his scarf into the bottom of his goggles to keep the sand spray off of his cheeks, and sighed.
I’m tired. Haven’t really slept since I got here … what? Three days ago now? Falken shook his head. Tough trying to sleep with one eye open, watching for Shep. Falken looked around warily, but the ever-present dust was all he could see in every direction. He dug his shovel into the sandy ground and then lifted it up, dumping the heavy sand out of the hole with a grunt. And I’m getting real tired of this gravity …
The old man next to him lifted another shovel-full of sand out of the hole, and tossed it onto the pile. Falken pushed his shovel back into the earth, but it smacked into something hard, the shock traveling up the wooden handle, jarring his hands.
He stopped, shaking a hand in pain. “I hit something,” he said.
The old man knelt, and brushed aside the sand. “Bedrock,” he said. “This is where we switch to picks.”
He stepped out of the hole and stuck his shovel in the pile of sand they had made, and then handed Falken a pick-axe. Next to the hole, the corpse they had carried from the facility lay wrapped in a simple bed sheet, the stark white of the linen looking curiously out of place on Kanderi’s rust-colored sand.
“If the drones handle medical care, why don’t they take care of burying the bodies, too?” Falken asked.
“They used to,” the old man said. He swung his pick, and a gouged a small chunk of rock out of the stony ground with a loud clank. “I volunteered to do it for them.”
“You volunteered?” Falken asked.
“Sure,” the man said.
“Why?” Falken asked.
“Why’d you offer to help me do it?” the man countered, pausing and looking up at Falken.
“I … I was bored,” Falken said.
“Exactly,” the man said. “Now at least I have something to do, every few days.” He swung the pick-axe again. “That’s the worst part about Kanderi, the real punishment of being sent here. It’s not the cold, or the sand, or wearing a damn mask all day long. The worst part is, there ain’t a god damn thing for us to do with ourselves.”
Falken considered this for a moment, then swung his own pick into the ground. They worked side by side for another twenty minutes, and then the old man straightened up, rubbing his lower back with a groan.
“Let’s take a break,” he said. “We’re nearly there, anyway.”
Falken climbed out of the hole, and then helped the old man do the same. To the right of them, a mound of rocks marked the grave of another inmate, and more mounds stretched into the murky gloom beyond.
“How many people are buried here?” Falken asked.
“Shit, I dunno,” the old man said. “Hundreds, thousands maybe – I never bothered counting. All of us, eventually.” He sat down on the pile of sand, took his canteen out of a pocket, slid his mask to one side, and drank. Falken took a seat next to him.
“What’d you say you were in for?” the old man asked, replacing his mask.
“Murder,” Falken said. It’s partially true. And easier than telling the full truth.
“Yup, same,” the old man agreed. He took another drink, and Falken noticed that his canteen was empty.
“I’ll refill them for us,” Falken offered, standing up.
“Thanks,” the man said, handing Falken the canteen. He pointed along the row of graves. “Follow this row back to the side of the building, and about thirty paces past that you’ll see a large tank, with a spigot. Might have to knock the ice off it, first.”
Falken nodded and took the canteen, then set off down the row of graves. He counted as he walked, out of curiosity. He reached fifty-three by the time the building appeared out of the swirling dust storm. He saw the tank in the distance and walked to it, stopping to lean against it and catch his breath.
This gravity … is a real ass-kicker.
Falken reached down and held his canteen under the spigot, but when he pushed down on the spigot’s handle, nothing happened. He frowned and leaned over, and noticed that a thick chunk of ice had formed around the base of the spigot. He punched at it with a fist, and it broke off. He held the canteen out again, but a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him look to the side. He ducked instinctively, but something brutally hard and heavy crashed into his head, slamming him into the side of the tank. The gas mask slid off his face and tumbled to the ground.
Falken fell onto his back on the sand, reeling. He’d shrugged off many punches in his life, laughing off even hard-hitting opponents with fists like iron. But he’d never been hit this hard. His vision was blurry, and he could feel himself slipping toward unconsciousness. Through the goggles he made out a figure standing over him in the storm, legs wide. The man held a pick-axe in both hands, and as Falken watched, he raised it up for another strike. Falken saw the fury in his eyes.
Shep.
Falken tried to hold his hands up to protect himself, but the world seemed to spin, and his vision went dark.
Chapter 40
Falken’s head felt strangely heavy, and his first thoughts were muddled and confused, a jumble of vague impressions and forgotten dreams. He felt as though he were trying to swim through a tangled cloud of cobwebs. His eyes fluttered open.
He was in a hospital bed, he saw – an intravenous tube ran from his right wrist over to a bag of fluid hanging above the bed. Several monitoring devices beeped softly at him, the glow of their monitors illuminating the dimly-lit room. There was a window beyond the monitors, and Falken could see a black field of stars.
Back up in orbit over Kanderi …? I figured the infirmary was in the facility, at the base of the space elevator.
Falken lifted his left hand and touched his head – he could feel thick bandages wrapping it in several layers. He turned his head, gingerly, wincing at the hot ache along the back of his skull. There was a chair next to the bed, and past it, a single door.
The door opened then, and a young man in medical scrubs entered.
“Welcome back,” the doctor said. “How do you feel?”
“Head hurts,” Falken said.
“I would think so,” the doctor said, picking up a datapad hanging over the foot of Falken’s bed, and making several annotations on it. “You got quite the bump on the noggin. Surgery went smoothly, but it’ll be a few more days before your skull finishes fusing back together.”
The doctor pulled a pen-sized flashlight out of his chest pocket, and pointed it at Falken’s eyes.
“Hm,” he grunted. “Pupils look decent. Follow the light as I move it, please.”
Falken did so. The man turned the light off and put it away.
“Your head’s gonna be sore for a while longer, but the good news is you’ve got a nice, thick skull, otherwise there could have been permanent brain damage.”
“It’s a good thing I’m thick-headed?” Falken asked.
“Right,” the doctor chuckled. He stood and crossed back over to the door. “Ma’am? You can see him now.”
The doctor stepped outside, and held the door open. Falken saw an older woman walk through the door frame.
“Mr. Falken,” she said, nodding at him.
“Ms. Locandez,” Falken said, frowning.
“You weren’t expecting me,” she said.
“No,” Falken said. “I’m surprised you came all this way to see me.”
“We have things to discuss,” she said, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. The doctor closed the door, leaving them alone.
“About Weaver?” Falken asked, sitting up.
“Yes. With the help of his daughter, we were able to verify his innocence. We’re in the process of releasing him now.”
Falken sagged back onto the pillows, sighing with relief. “Thank god.”
“I thought you would like to know,” Locandez said. “Though it doesn’t change the fact that what you did to get him released was a clear breach of Corrections Department policy, and your parole.”
“I can live with that,” Falken said. “Though I’m not sure how much longer I will live ….”
“You’re worried about the inmate who attacked you,” Locandez said.
“Shep,” Falken said. “He blames me for his brother’s death.”
“I’ve read the report from Olympus,” Locandez said. “You didn’t kill his brother, though your actions led to his death.”
“I don’t think I had much of a choice,” Falken said. “He was intent on killing me, and the other survivors of the wreck.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” Locandez said.
Falken pointed at his bandages. “The drones saved me? I thought I was dead for sure.”
Locandez nodded. “They intervened just in time. Shep has been placed in solitary confinement for nine months.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Falken said. “It just delays the inevitable. You’ll kick me out of the infirmary here, and in nine months, one or both of us will be back in here. Or dead.”
“Would you kill him, if you had to?” Locandez asked.
“If I was defending myself?” Falken frowned. “I suppose. But not unless he attacked me first. The problem is, I know he’ll try again, as soon as he gets out of solitary.”
“I doubt he’ll have much success,” Locandez said.
Falken sighed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure you’re right. He nearly killed me this time. It’s pretty easy to kill a man on Kanderi. The drones can’t be everywhere at once.”
Locandez cocked an eyebrow. “Given you’re not on Kanderi anymore, I reiterate: Shep will find it rather difficult to kill you. Look.” She pointed her chin at the viewport behind Falken.
Falken frowned, and turned, wincing as his sore head protested at the sudden movement. A blue-white orb was slowly slipping into view at the edge of the window, and for the first time, Falken noticed the distant lights of space traffic moving through the stars, their engines flaring as they maneuvered.
Earth …?
With an effort, Falken tore his gaze away from the view. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “You … you brought me back?”
“We did. And we’re releasing you.”
“I’m free again?”
“You’re free.”
Falken sighed with relief. He felt himself relax, the tension slipping out of his body.
“… but I’d like to discuss your future,” Locandez continued.
“My future,” Falken said.
Locandez nodded. “It’s my understanding that you’re currently unemployed. I’ll explain more, when you’ve had a chance to rest and recover. In the meantime, would you like to see him?”
“Who?”
“Weaver, of course,” Locandez said. “He’s been dying to see you, ever since you arrived back here.”
Falken bit his lip, and tears welled in his eyes. “Yes, I’d like to see my friend.”
Locandez stood up, and walked over to the door. She pushed it open, and beckoned, and a moment later, Falken saw Weaver step into view, leaning on a cane. He looked thinner and older, just like he had in the simulation, but he smiled when he saw Falken, and Falken could see the warmth had returned to his face, and the worries he had carried in Oz were fast melting away.
“Hi, Falken,” Weaver said.
“Hey, Weaver,” Falken said, not knowing what else to say. He wiped at his eyes, brushing away the tears.
Weaver sat in the chair, lowering himself with the cane. “Still getting used to using my real legs again,” he explained.
“I know the feeling,” Falken said, nodding.
“Everything hurts,” Weaver said.
“‘Pain is inevitable,’ ” Falken told him, cracking a wry grin.
“‘… suffering is optional.’ ” Weaver smiled back. “I realized something,” the bookkeeper said, studying Falken’s face. “Aside from that brief moment in the hallway when we first got out of Oz, we’ve never actually met, in real life.”
“I guess that’s so,” Falken agreed. He lifted a hand, holding it out over the edge of the bed. “Nice to meet you, Weaver.”
“Nice to meet you, Falken,” Weaver said, smiling and grasping Falken’s hand in his own. “I’ve missed you.”
Chapter 41
Falken stood by the shuttle hatch, waiting. The uniform felt crisp and clean against his skin – he glanced down at it self-consciously, and tugged at a stray thread hanging from the tunic. Next to him, Vina waited, too, shifting from one foot to another. Down the ship’s corridor, a hatch slid open, and Weaver appeared, walking easily, with no cane. His physical therapist followed behind him.
“Remember, keep your exercises up,” the therapist scolded him. “Every day, for the next three months. Your body’s still not back to a hundred percent.”
“I will,” Weaver said. He caught sight of Falken and Vina, and smiled.
Vina, unable to restrain herself, ran forward and hugged her father. “You look so much stronger!”
Weaver laughed. “I would hope so.” He indicated the physical therapist with a thumb. “He’s been whipping me into shape twice a day for the last month.”
“Well, you look good, Dad,” Vina said, stepping back to survey him once more.
Weaver smiled sadly. “I still can’t get over how much you’ve grown,” he said.
Vina rolled her eyes. “Next you’re going to be pinching my cheek!”
“I might,” Weaver warned her. He shook hands with the therapist, who clapped him on the back, and then disappeared back down the hallway. Then Weaver turned to Falken.
He held out a hand, and Falken took it. “I …” Weaver broke off. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. How can I ever repay you?”
Falken smiled. “Spend time with your family. Make up for lost time. Enjoy the rest of your life.”
“I certainly will,” Weaver agreed.
“And remember,” Falken said, “you saved me as much as I saved you.”
“I doubt that’s true,” Weaver said. “Besides, Vina owes you her life, too.”
“Nobody owes anybody anything here,” Falken said. “Just stay in touch.”
Weaver sighed, and then nodded. “I can do that,” he said. He turned to Vina. “Did you bring it?” he asked.
Vina nodded, and handed him a package wrapped in a thick layer of plastic. Weaver took it, and handed it to Falken. “For you.”
Falken cocked an eyebrow, taking the package and unwrapping the plastic carefully. “What is it?” he asked. Under the protective wrap, he saw a faded leather cover. “A book?”
“It’s a first edition of ‘A Tale of Two Cities,’ by Dickens,” Weaver said.
“I don’t think I’ve read it,” Falken admitted, gently touching the cover with one hand.
“You’ll like it,” Weaver said, smiling. “It’s appropriate, given the circumstances.” He squeezed Falken on the arm. “Take care, Falken.”
They shook hands again, and then Vina leaned in and hugged Falken. “Thank you,” she whispered. She stood on tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. “For everything.”
She squeezed him again, and then took her father’s hand.
“Fly safe,” Falken told them, as they made their way down the docking tube.
At the end of the tube, Weaver gave Falken a final wave, and then disappeared into the shuttle. But Vina stopped, looking back at Falken. “Will you visit us? Can you?”
&n
bsp; “No, I can’t. That would violate my parole.”
Vina’s face fell.
“… but you can come visit me any time. I’ll be right here,” Falken continued.
Vina cocked her head to one side. “How about Friday?”
“This Friday?” Falken asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “You have plans already?”
“I don’t think so,” Falken admitted.
“Good,” Vina said, flashing him a grin. “Then it’s a date.”
“A date?”
“A date,” Vina confirmed. “You just have to clear it with my father, first.”
Falken laughed aloud.
“See you Friday,” Vina said, and winked at him. The shuttle hatch slid shut behind her, and a few seconds later, the docking tube’s inner hatch closed, too. Through the nearest porthole, Falken watched the shuttle fire its maneuvering thrusters. The craft pointed its nose at the distant curve of Earth, and then the main engines lit, and it accelerated away toward the planet.
“Captain Falken?”
Falken turned to find one of the ship’s officers waiting for him. Joneis, Falken remembered.
“Yes?”
“We just received notification – the next group is scheduled for arrival via shuttle tomorrow morning, sir.” Joneis checked a datapad in front of him, reading from the screen. “I have a copy of the welcome speech for you to review in advance.”
“I better get started,” Falken said.
“Yes, sir,” the officer agreed. “But we also have a graduation today – he’s just processing through medical now, coming out of Oz.”
“Take me to him,” Falken said.
They made their way through the ship’s winding corridors, until Joneis stopped at a closed hatch.
“This is it, sir.”
Falken nodded, and pressed the door panel. It slid up into the wall. Inside the small room, an inmate sat in a hibernation chair, facing a blank vidscreen. Beyond the vidscreen, Falken could see a viewport looking out over Earth. The man looked over at Falken, and his eyes were full of confusion and disbelief.
