Shards [Book Two]

by Peter W Prellwitz

  * * * *

  Morning sunlight peeked through the clear eastern wall and into my eyes. I turned over onto my other side, putting my back to it. I found I was in bed with Susie, who was still fast asleep. For a panicky moment, I thought that she had come back, and had...

  I then remembered where we were, and panic was replaced by relief and a growing excitement. I rolled over and propped myself up on my elbows, yawning. I looked out of the wall-sized window. It was polarized to accept light, but not project it, meaning I could see out but no one could see in. And what was out there was something to see. I got carefully out of bed, so as not to disturb Susie, and walked up to the window.

  Being nestled on the southeastern edge of Thunderbird, I could see the northeastern side of the valley, past McDowell mountain range and out to the Superstitions. We were a little higher than the floor of the valley, so the view was doubly impressive. Far more impressive than the smog-choked city I had known.

  The warm sun pouring in through the powered glass made me stretch and yawn again. Since there was plenty of room, I began my limbering exercises. Five minutes of stretching left me a little flush and wide awake. I suddenly had the urge to go outside.

  I looked around for our things and found a gorgeous pine dresser. Inside were my clothes, so I grabbed a change. Susie had laid out my long nightshirt on the bed but hadn't bothered trying to get it on me, leaving me in my under things instead. I pulled it on and stepped out into the hall. The bathroom was directly across from me, so I made for it.

  I had originally planned to quickly wash, dress, and head outside for a little explore. But I exercised woman's prerogative the instant I spotted the bath. A bath! Of all the things I had tried and done as a girl, I'd never had a bath before. We obviously didn't have time for baths in the military so it was strictly group showers. I had waded through a few streams during several combat missions, but that hardly counted as a bath. The only time to get this luxury was when on leave, and this was my first.

  Excitedly, I returned to my room. On top of the dresser was my Bible, which Susie had laid out for me when she unpacked my bags last night. I snatched it up and went back to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. My anticipation building, I turned the spigots all the way on, and the tub began filling. Only it wasn't a tub per se. It was easily twice as large, but irregular in shape and very soft to the touch. I looked around the bathroom and found a glass jar of bath oil and another of bubble bath. Being new at this, I had no idea how much to put in, so I guessed. I used a little too much of the bubble bath, and bubbles started foaming up very high. I didn't care. I stripped and stepped into the tub.

  Describing a girl's bubble bath almost seems wrong. It was so fabulous, it strikes me as very personal. So I don't want to go into the incredibly ... well, trust me, it was fantastic!

  I finished up way too soon, spending only an hour soaking and reading. I could have spent three hours. But I really did want to get outside. I wanted to hike around and get the feel of the land. I also wanted to get into our hov and talk to Mike. I'd been putting him off far too long. As I toweled off and dressed, my stomach reminded me that eating breakfast should get top billing.

  Tightening my shoes—all military boots, trappings and identifications were left at the base for obvious reasons—I stood up and gathered my things. Susie was still asleep when I looked in on her, so I quietly tossed my clothes into a heap in the corner, and went to the main wing of the house.

  Our room and bathroom were an extension of the original adobe house. Also constructed of adobe, our little wing afforded us enough privacy without allowing too much. Leave was not meant just to rejuvenate us. It was also a chance to let those giving us their support have an opportunity to know us and us them. So we were given precious, wonderful privacy, but we were also members of our host family, and expected to act accordingly.

  I went into the kitchen area to scrounge some breakfast. The house was set up very simply and, in my opinion, very elegantly. There was a great room, with sections for the kitchen, dining and living areas. One hall in the back went to our bed and bath. A second hall, close on to the kitchen, went undoubtedly to the Kovins’ bed and bath.

  There were still some dirty dishes from the night before, so I quietly washed and dried them, then put them away. In doing so, I discovered their supply of hot chocolate, so I fixed myself a cup. The cooling area displayed some corn tortillas and refried beans, probably from last night's dinner that we missed. Refrigerators had gone the way of the dodo. In this age, an energy field was used to confine and chill a section of counter top that had shelves and cupboards. Since the field was flexible, it was very easy to adjust size to suit need. Many homes were cooled using the same type of field. The properties of the field made it easily penetrated by mass, yet it retained the desired temperature without affecting the outside air. I made a cold burrito, liberally sprinkling it with salsa, and headed out the door, my mug steaming with chocolate.

  The sunlight outside was brilliant. The air had just the faintest bite of cool left over from the night. I sucked in a couple lungs full of desert air, laced with the smell of mesquite and dust. I looked up into the solid blue sky, unblemished by even the tiniest cloud. Like the sky in the Sahara, it seemed to stretch on forever, and had a depth that was positively mesmerizing. The clarity was such that even with the sun risen over Camelback, I could still make out a few faint stars.

  Circling around to the back of the house, I climbed Thunderbird Mountain for a better look. Thunderbird was no Matterhorn. I doubted it was more than one hundred meters high. Yet it stood above the valley and had little to obstruct its view. I reached the top in less than ten minutes, huffing and puffing since I hurried, and sat down on the rock, eating my burrito and drinking my chocolate.

  As nice as the view was from my window, it was infinitely more breathtaking from the top of the mountain. To the north lay open desert. There were a few very small groupings of buildings, and I caught the glimmer of silver that betrayed the location of the glass road going through. But other than those, the desert could have been from a thousand years earlier. And the view south, into the valley, was even more exciting.

  For centuries, man had tried to bring the valley under his control. Tribes of nomadic peoples that had drifted into the Salt River region and shifted from hunters to planters had been the first. Other, fiercer tribes came, and pushed out the first. Then the Spanish, followed by the Americans, who had blended their culture with the Spanish—remained the longest. With time came many technological advancements which were used to press the valley into submission. Of course they were never to succeed completely. Though nothing created is infinite, the patience of the desert comes close. So it waited, knowing that failure would come. It would occasionally and briefly tire of waiting and would lash out, sending lightning fast flash floods over its sandy skin or whipping up blinding sandstorms and wicked dust devils with its heated breath, as if to show the people who tried to plant grass and grain that the desert had not submitted. But then it would return to its silent endurance, knowing time was on its side the desert would ultimately win, when man would give up.

  But man never did give up. Looking out over the warming valley, it was clear that man had learned not to fight the desert, but to live with it. The populations were nestled in the foothills, using the convection winds and vast, unending supply of solar energy to generate power. There were no longer huge tracts of cash crops—or credit corn as it was called now—but instead smaller fields of produce, using only the water supplied naturally. Over the desert floor were a number of glimmering ribbons—glassmac roads with occasional hov craft zipping up and down them—but they looked almost as much a part of the desert as the mesquite and saguaro because they had been made from the sand they covered. To all this, the desert, in my active imagination, had given its quiet approval. The scars of a careless expansion were gone, and the two, desert and man, now seemed to be content with each other.

  I looked o
ver toward the very center where the Salt River cut through. I couldn't make out the shimmer of water, but I could see the bright green of sycamore and willow trees that always marked the presence of a reliable water source. I wondered if I would get a chance to go swimming. To do that, I'd need a swimming suit. There were a few beaches that allowed nudity but I had absolutely no interest in them. So a swimming suit meant shopping first. A chance to mingle with nonmilitary types for a change! We could go to restaurants, take in the sights, oh, so much! I wanted to take Susie up into the Superstitions. And I was definitely going to spend a lot of time with the Kovins. I hoped we had enough time. A week hardly seemed adequate.

  The first thing, I decided, would be to see the city. Maybe Thomas and Rachel could give us a tour of two or three of the settlements. I wondered impatiently what time they got up, then regretted my impatience. They were our hosts, and I would adjust to their time schedules. Still, I hoped wistfully, it would be nice if they were early risers. I looked down toward the house.

  I did see movement, but it was Susie. Even from this distance, her rich, black skin made her easily identifiable. I had always admired how smooth and perfect her skin was, and wished mine could be as nice. She was holding a mug in her hand and was looking around, probably for me. When she looked up the mountain, I stood and waved, sweeping my arm back and forth. She spotted me and started walking up. I sat down to wait for her.

  As I watched her nimbly working her way toward me, my thoughts drifted to her. Susie had come to mean so much to me over the past two years that I could only begin to describe it. I loved her deeply, more than I ever thought a person could love another. She had been my mother, my sister, my best friend, my guardian, my example, and had been just the right one at just the right time. I wouldn't be the girl I was—or the woman I was going to be—without her, and I knew it. I have thought back countless times to that first morning, when I realized with horror that I was a young girl instead of the grown man I had spent my life becoming. I can't think of any other person who could have carried me through that scariest of times. The changes, the emotions, the feelings that had flooded me, threatening to drown me, were so overwhelming I could have easily succumbed had Susie not been there. I have seen several Cues who did succumb, either to sharding or because of the overwhelming change. Though no one has ever gone through my circumstances (I'm not bragging, but the fact is that of the thousands of ripes who have been rescued into new bodies, I was the only one who changed sex.), they were still overtaken by their new person, and slipped into a stunned, semi-aware state that allowed them to deny what had happened to them, refusing to enjoy and appreciate the second chance that had been given them. I owed my life to Susie, twice over. I'd owed her my first life for rescuing me and returning my soul to me. And I owed her my new life, because once I was able to come to grips with it, I have enjoyed it beyond measure. All the way from the moment I took my first steps until today while I luxuriated in my first bath. All that and more I owed to her. It was for Susie most that I was going to tear down NATech and give to her a life that she so richly deserved.

  “You're up early, young lady!” Susie said, still a little distance away. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, though."

  “You've got that right!” I exclaimed, feeling the excitement beginning to build. “We're on leave, Susie, and I don't want to miss a minute! I'm wired!” At her puzzled look, I explained. “That means, hot to trot. Loaded for bear. Java choked.” I giggled at her frustration. I got a kick out of explaining defunct expressions with other equally extinct phrases. “I'm really excited. We've got lots to do. First, though,” I patted a rock next to me, “you need to have a seat and enjoy the view."

  She obligingly sat down next to me and looked out over the valley. She inhaled sharply at the beauty. I smiled at her reaction. I loved showing off my country.

  “Pretty sweeping, huh?"

  She nodded. “This is gorgeous! I see now why you were so excited about visiting here, Abigail. It's incredible how far you can see from up here! Do you know the names of the mountains?"

  “I sure do.” I pointed out the range to the far south. “That's South Mountain. Over to the west are the White Tanks, there's the McDowells, the Superstitions, and this,” I stomped both feet on the ground, “this is Thunderbird, the runt of the litter.” I picked up my burrito and started munching on it, watching Susie as she studied the mountain ranges and enjoyed the smell of the air. She saw me watching her and smiled, then made a face when she saw my breakfast.

  “Is that a burrito? For breakfast? Abby! That's disgusting!"

  “No it's not, it's delicious! Especially with the hot chocolate. Care for a bite?” I offered her my nearly eaten burrito.

  “Please. I'd like to live to see my thirtieth birthday, and not eating that thing is one way to get there. Thanks. I had a roll a few minutes ago. I'll just finish my coffee and pretend I didn't see that."

  She got up to look on the other side of the small peak we were on, leaving her coffee. I glanced at it, feeling the temptation to try it. Maybe I would like it now. Giving in to my curiosity, I took a swig. Hot, black, and disgusting I felt my stomach churn and my face scrunch up and quickly put the cup =back down. I choked down the swallow I had taken, but washed it down with some hot chocolate, my curiosity satisfied. One of my few regrets. I had tried it once before, and it had tasted bad then. It was worse now. As John, I'd practically lived on the stuff. Oh well, a small price to pay, I kept reminding myself, a small price to pay.

  We spent the next hour on top of the mountain, talking and enjoying the warm, warm sun. We talked over our plans for the week and just generally wasted time. Susie had brought along her brush, and I had some ribbons in a skirt pocket, so we did each other's hair. Between the very warm morning and total freedom from schedules and duties and assignments, I could feel my muscles relaxing, as though I'd been given a deep, full body massage while lying in a tub full of hot water. Uh, maybe that's a little too descriptive. Sorry, but the experience of my first bath had really left an impression. I mentioned it to Susie, and she understood exactly what I meant.

  The morning was wearing on, so we picked up our empty cups and wandered down the mountain and back to the house. We had seen Thomas and Rachel moving about their property. It wasn't really a yard, for they had left the desert untouched except for some discreet clearing to allow the passage of hovs out to the glass road about two kilometers distant.

  They had spotted us as well, so by the time we had returned, they had set out several chairs under their front verandah, and Rachel had some lemonade laid out, sweat dripping down the thick glass pitcher. It was a scene that could have been from my time, yet seem timeless in both. I thought for about the twentieth time how fortunate Susie and I were to be hosted by them.

  “Pull up a chair, girls!” Thomas waved a hand to a couple of empty chairs and poured out two glasses of lemonade. We plopped down gratefully into them. It was probably no later than ten o'clock, but the cool of the morning had vanished, and the heat of the day was well under way. “I should imagine you've made plans, but there's always time for a cold drink, eh?"

  We sat and chatted quietly. Rachel kept looking at me out of the corner of her eyes. She seemed a little worried and ... and ... something else I couldn't quite place.

  “Is everything okay, Rachel? You're looking at me a little funny,” I observed with my usual tact. And, as usual, I realized immediately I had acted rudely again. I could get so frustrated with myself. All I had to do was think before opening my mouth. Sounds easy—but it was so hard!

  “No, no, dear.” At my look, she continued. “Well, all right. Susie told us a little about you last night. Did you really kill those men?"

  So that's what it was. She still couldn't get over my being a Cue. I should have anticipated this. The personnel of the Third dealt with my kind all the time, and they still got caught up on what was on the outside. Or what was on the inside. How much more difficult for those who had
rarely, if ever, experienced it. I smiled at her to reassure her. My smile, and the fact I was swinging my legs while I sat, probably didn't add a whole lot of weight to my words. No matter; I was who I was, and couldn't or wouldn't change.

  “Yes, I did, Rachel."

  Thomas leaned forward, listening intently. Rachel became very attentive, waiting to hear and perhaps a little fearful, too. And Susie became very still. She was touchy when talking about missions or me. Susie could be as protective as a mama grizzly when attention turned toward me.

  “Yes, I did,” I repeated. “In many ways, I'm like all the other dogs. I don't want to kill, and I try not to. But one of the men I killed was threatening a comrade. And the other tried to stop me from getting to his side. When I have to choose between a buddy and an enemy, there is no choice.” I paused, then gave it to them cold. “So I killed both of them, shot a third, and savagely wounded a fourth. And I would do it again."

  “But you're so—” She cut herself off, then shook her head. “You're so young was what I was going to say. But I don't know how old you really are..."

  “I'm sixteen, Rachel."

  “No, I mean, really, dear. I don't know your real age. And it's—"

  “I really am sixteen, Rachel. My memories and experiences are older, but I'm not. Not anymore."

  “Abigail?” Susie broke in, trying to deflect the conversation. “The morning's getting on. Maybe we should think about—"

  “That's okay, Susie, I don't mind. If I can answer some more questions for Thomas and Rachel, make them feel more at ease, we'll all be better for it.” I looked back at Rachel. Taking a deep breath—this wasn't going to be easy—I plunged in.

  “Rachel, I am thirty-three years old. To be more accurate, I have thirty-three years of memories and living experiences. As John Wyeth, I was born in 1995, over six and half centuries ago. I graduated from Arizona State University in 2015 at the age of nineteen. I was drafted into the army that same year and served three years as the officer of a recon platoon in the Ethiopian campaign until 2018. While serving, I was contacted by...” I stopped, to tone down my voice, which had started to become harsh with the memory. “I was contacted by NATech and became an agent for them in 2018. I was made a project leader in 2020 and was promoted to Twenty Year Project Leader in 2022. As a Twenty Year PL, I—"