by CJ East
Sully lowered his eyes realizing the increase in volume and intensity of speech. He cleared his throat, adjusted his khaki jumpsuit and started again with a calm and serious tone, “Conflict is inevitable and imminent. I need to know where you stand.”
Kinch strained to turn his head to face Sully. The right corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, “Sully, you are like family. Saint Jude himself couldn’t turn down such a hopeless cause.”
Colonel Sullivan stepped toward him and put his huge, pink hand on his shoulder, “Son, I’m proud of you. Your Grandfather will be proud of you. Don’t look at this as a lost cause, one person can always make a difference. Now, how about you sweet talking those friends of yours to roll over. You think you can make it happen?”
“I can only try. Both are culturally obedient to their teams, but we can use their position to gain intel. Switching sides won’t be possible for them until things break wide open.” Kinch paused evaluating his friends. “Chang and Venkat aren’t soldiers, so their value is information. When this hits the fan, they will be on the moral side. We’ll need a transition plan to pull them in. Chang is a black belt and Venkat is a Tamil, so they have potential.”
“Tamil?”
“Ancient warrior king heritage in the Near East. A culture without their own nation, similar to the Basque in Spain or the IRA. He has the history of a fighter, if not the skills.”
“Kinch you are a natural, a force multiplier to this team.” Sully beamed.
“Don’t nominate me for any medals yet,” Kinch deflected. “I still can’t move.”
“Yeah, well I’m sure you’ll improvise and overcome that minor problem. You know, suck it up and drive on, soldier. For now, try to get all the intel on the current situation you can gather. Curtis and I are doing our part to stand down. We are making them show themselves as the aggressors and slowing the escalation of conflict. They are actively soliciting confrontation while our numbers are low and they hold the advantage.”
“Understood, no forward movement. I need time as well. I don’t want to be stuck in this bed and miss the big dance.”
“Negative on missing the dance, Recruit. You and I will be there shoulder to shoulder.” Sully tilted his head as he turned away from the bed. “And make sure you bring your pig sticker, it’s an ugly looking thing.”
Kinch sat thunderstruck with wide, stunned eyes as he followed Sully’s buoyant stride out the door. A sudden panic gripped his chest. He stared after Sully at the empty door, frozen in time, afraid of what awaited him in the direction Sully had motioned. Unable to bare the suspense any longer, he strained his neck to the right. There, between him and the chair where Sashenka sat earlier, was a short table containing a gilded titanium dagger.
Totem
“Mother of God!” Kinch gasped as he gazed on the hilt of the dagger. An imaginary dagger which exists only as a conditioned hallucination on his Neuromorphine staging deck. He lifted a sluggish right hand to his forehead to discover his motor skills had recovered enough to fumble through a Sign of the Cross. “It is an exact replica of my totem. But how is it here on Mars? And why?”
Kinch hefted his arm towards the table, “Why would someone go through the trouble of researching my totem, stow it for a multi-million mile trip, and place it on my table without explanation?” His fingers closed on the handle and dragged it to his chest.
He held the round pommel end with his fingertips. The blade rested in the hard, calloused palm of his other hand. The wide, polished titanium blade of the Roman knife stretched the length of his forearm. The ornate golden hilt was crafted for the grip of a large hand under the cross guard.
He flipped the thick blade over and felt a rush of shock and fear. His hands began to shake as he read the inscription. “A soft word turneth away wrath” was written in the language of his Irish fathers. His heart began to race as he scanned the empty room. He dragged down the sheet and slid the pugio dagger between his side and the bed, pulling the sheet up to his neck.
He stared at the door with nervous anticipation. Kinch studied the room, attending to every detail, looking for an indication he was dreaming.
Kinch closed his eyes and gripped his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. He had dismissed the encounter with Amica as a rogue dream, an effect of the drug. Now he was forced to consider Amica and his totem as reality. The inside of his hand pressed hard on his brow as he worked both temples in a slow, forceful circle trying to concentrate.
“This is impossible!” he screamed in his mind. “No one. Not one person knows about the inscription. The quote is a riddle without an answer - how does a person face wrath with gentleness? I didn’t include the quote in my staging deck profile, and there’s no detail in my dat file.”
“Kinch, are you in pain?” Sashenka’s voice jerked him out of deep thought as he snapped his head to find her at the foot of his bed.
She jumped at his reaction. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean to startle you. Are you alright?” She laid her gentle hand on top of his. “You are cold. I’ll get Pushpa.”
“No, no, no. I’m fine. Really. You spooked me. I was miles away for a moment.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t get Pushpa? She is in the hall talking to your American.”
“My American?” Kinch seized the opportunity to move the conversation. “Sully? Why do you say that?” Kinch released a relieved exhale under a manufactured smile.
Sashenka studied his face and turned away, looking for her chair. She moved her hand from Kinch as she backed into the steel chair, taking her time to search his face. She sat down and smoothed the wrinkles from the legs of her emerald green Google team jumpsuit. Her hands glided across her thighs as she stiffened her back.
She lifted her head and looked straight ahead. “He is a brute, you must agree? If you do not we cannot be friends because you wound me with your dishonesty.”
“Whoa, slow down Sashenka. This isn’t like you. I agree Colonel Sullivan is a little rough around the edges, but his intentions are good, if not his tact.” Kinch continued his smile.
“I can see you are on his side and he can do no wrong in your view.”
“His side? What are you talking about Sashenka? What’s going on?”
Sashenka captured her tiny fidgeting hands like soothing a nervous bird. He saw an uncharacteristic conflict inside of her, bubbling over with fear and anger.
Her gaze landed on his questioning face and made a quick smile and darted to the table. “There will be time for such conversations later. I see you found your sword. Where have you put it? It made Pushpa and Grace uncomfortable.”
“It’s a dagger, and it made me a little uncomfortable too.” He struggled to lift his sheet to show the dagger wedged between the bed and his gown.
He paused and asked, “How did it get here?”
“This is our question for you. The dagger is your flight deck totem, yes? Pushpa suggested either Chang or Venkat brought it from your quarters, but they both deny the accusation. Everyone is amazed at how you smuggled an illegal item to the IMC? Every single item transported from earth had eight approval stages for use, weight, redundancy. It is impossible for this sword - my apologies - dagger, to be legitimately approved.” She kept her gaze locked to the side of his face.
Kinch listened to her words - there was no warmth in them. He agreed with the obvious conclusion to each of her points. The dagger shouldn’t be here. He raised his hand to his temple in thought.
“I am sorry Kinch. This is such a mystery. Forgive me, I talk as much as a child. You look weak and tired. I will rescue Dr. Singh from your brutish American.” She did not wait this time for a response from Kinch, but strode with purpose out of the room.
He closed his eyes and sank deep into the pillow. His mind crowded with unanswered questions.
Can I hide from this? Is this real? Is it possible the totem which only existed in my mind is right here? No, not unless this is a conspiracy planned years ago with the involvement o
f dozens of people and four governments - and what would be the motivation?
What to tell them was foremost in his mind. A cold panic ran down his spine as he heard a group of light steps coming down the hall. Excited talking was hushed as they entered the room. He laid still with his eyes closed and tried to take long, deep breaths, feigning sleep. He heard soft whispers about dimming the lights and retreating footfalls.
Kinch let out a long sigh of relief into the semi-darkness, confusion swirling around him. He retreated into swirling thoughts about his dream.
He mumbled aloud, “How can this be happening? The experience in my Neuromorphine coma with the voice of Amica - was she real?”
“Kinch,” a familiar voice spoke inside his thoughts. “I am so glad you are alive. Your mind has been closed to me for such a long time, I feared the worst.” It was Amica. The relief in her voice soothed the shock Kinch felt by her interruption.
“I was just thinking about you, wondering if you were real or a dream,” Kinch confessed.
“Yes, your thoughts built a link to me. It is a strong link, Kinch. Your new abilities are growing stronger.”
“Yes, stronger, but you are real and not imagined? How do I know that? I mean, how do I know I am not influenced by some drug damage or pressure dementia?”
“Kinch, it is said the things which are most real are felt and known to possess truth, not observed. Does dementia often present you with gifts? The unreal dagger on which you concentrated with such intensity, your totem, I gave it to you. The weapon is real, but I sense you are troubled by it?
“Yes. I mean, no,” he thought. “I’m not sure. This conversation is so incredible.”
“Kinch, please allow me to explain. This form of communication is very natural for us. Our people use telepathy and spoken language as appropriate. Telepathy is intimate, respectful and special.”
“Well it wasn’t when they stampeded through my head,” Kinch objected.
“The incident was not their intentional trespass, they meant you no harm. Our culture creates a tonic from herbs. It causes similar results to extend mental powers as does your Neuromorphine.”
“The openness is used for a rite of passage ceremony when a young man becomes a warrior and is trusted with the protection of our people. The tonic breaks down his psychic defense barriers and lays him vulnerable - his conquests, embarrassments, fears and motivations. We then fully know the man who takes the sacred oath of protection for the weakest among us.”
“Perfect,” Kinch cringed with sarcasm.
“Do not be ashamed Kinch McGrath. I understand the movement of your heart and look at you as a welcomed visitor worthy of honor. I have come to help you hone your blossoming skills. You are well on your path. You built a strong psychic defense by closing your mind portal. You created a stable telepathic link to me, this is exceptional progress.”
“So you are going to teach me how I can create knives with my mind?”
“No, the formation of objects is a special practice for more mature souls, Kinch,” Amica admonished. “I am a priestess and your gift is the fruit of the White Arts. My hope is for your totem to be a first offering of peace between our peoples.”
“Yeah, I guess since you did read my mind, picking out a gift is pretty easy. Can I learn to do it? Read minds?”
“An excellent place to start. Let us begin there,” Amica said in a professorial tone. “Defense is most important. If a mind portal is open, violence can be done - secrets taken, false memories planted, and pathways of the mind erased. A mind portal can only be opened by decision the owner, with the tonic of which I spoke, or with excessive force and violence.”
“Or with a key, remember?” Kinch interjected.
“Yes, your key is an intimate connection you exchange only with your mate.”
“That promotes honesty in a marriage, I suppose.” Kinch quipped.
“As intended by the Creator. Now, to establish a mental link with another you must compare it to a physical communication method. The strongest paths for clarity of understanding are the paths most traveled. So familiarity - for example, your trust in me - is the strongest. Then comes touch, sight, proximity, owned objects, and so on.”
“Fascinating,” Kinch breathed. “So how do I read Venkat’s mind? It would be like walking through a fun house.”
“Kinch, do not be careless with such responsibility. As I stated, this is a most intimate connection. Your Venkat may feel the link being created and an alien presence watching him in his mind. He will not understand it any more than you did. If you speak to him, he will feel your thoughts. Awakening a sleeping mind is traumatic for the sleeper. They can never be the same.”
“Understood, but how do you do it?” Kinch emphasized. “I didn’t do anything to talk to you, and here we are chatting it up.”
“Re-establishing a known bridge with a strong telepath is as simple as one person focusing and the other responding to the message. The link is a bidirectional effort, the stronger may aid the weaker.”
“With a sleeper you must work hard to visualize their portal, concentrating on their essence. You must be strong because this link is one way. When a path is established you will see the sleeper’s memories as they live. You can view them, but do not disturb. Memories are too delicate to disturb.” She paused for a moment. “I sense you are feeble Kinch. Telepathic exercise is draining on the newly awakened. You need to rest now.”
“I do,” Kinch agreed. His mind was as exhausted as his body. “I don’t believe I thanked you Amica for the gift. I appreciate you spending time with me.”
“It is your gift to me to learn about such a unique alien from another planet. You are very interesting, Kinch.” Amica laughed.
“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment, Amica,” Kinch yawned. “So how do we sign off from this channel?”
“You simply turn you focus away. Until we meet again, Kinch.” He felt her presence evaporate with the dissolving link.
The sudden departure was like a living part of himself had withered away. It left behind the familiar coldness. He now realized what Amica meant when she emphasized telepathy was reserved for intimate conversations. There was more in this form of exchange than words and thoughts. There was emotion, closeness and a joining.
Kinch closed his eyes. It was impossible the dagger was here. It was impossible Amica had given it as a gift. Yet, it was possible the Earth was at war. It had happened twice before. The question was, would war follow them here?
PART TWO
Wolf
Kinch awakened from a troubled sleep to harsh, sharp whispers hissed with the force of urgency. He was lying on his side and focused through the dim room to Sashenka, sitting stiff in her chair, glaring upwards. Kinch murmured through a drowsy haze, “Sashenka?” He followed her piercing stare to the silhouette of a tall, hulk of General Viktor Volkov.
“Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. McGrath,” General Volkov said as he stepped from the shadows. His washed-out blue eyes appeared ghostly white, like the icy gaze of a husky’s in the dim light. “Alexandra was informing me you are too weak and infirm to have visitors. I apologize for intruding on your rest when you are in such a fragile condition,” the cadence of Volkov’s accent was slow, precise and measured.
Kinch bristled at the insults as he rolled on his back. He didn’t like how the officer referred to Sashenka as Alexandra. Kinch knew Russian nicknames had complex rules, but Viktor presented the name to him like Kinch was an outsider - as if he was meeting her for the first time.
He lifted his stiff left hand with an exaggerated, frustrated expression as he slipped his right hand under his sheet and searched for the cold hilt of his dagger. “I’m not feeble, General Volkov. A misunderstanding by over-concerned medical staff. My body seems to have taken a little longer to wake up than my mind.” He drew attention to his left hand, watching it open and close as his right gripped the dagger.
“Good news indeed,” Volkov smiled as his
head slowly turned to Sashenka. “Alexandra has much concern for you. It is understandable, as Russian women are very affectionate and protective.”
Sashenka lowered the icy glare she had held on Volkov and slid back in her chair, sending a terrified look to Kinch from the corner of her eye.
Volkov stood bolt upright, his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back. His close-cropped hair glowed a silvery gray, reflecting light on what appeared to be a fresh bruise on the side of his face. He turned back to Kinch, “But enough of such distractions. I have heard your Colonel Sullivan has visited with you. This is correct?”
“Yes, during the daytime hours, but I am honored by a visit from you, no matter what the time,” Kinch shot back.
“Yes, moments after you regained consciousness, he visited you. I suspect his guilty conscience. Everyone was very worried for you when Dr. Singh blocked the Neuromorphine effects contrary to her professional judgment and your coma persisted for weeks. We all feared you would not awaken. She had warned Colonel Sullivan blocking the Neuromorphine could jeopardize your health, but he insisted. He said you would ‘fight your way back,’ were his words, I believe. We were pleased to discover you are so resilient.”
Kinch parsed through this information in an instant, he looked to Sashenka as she looked down at her hands, confirming Viktor’s account. This was the first time Viktor had ever addressed him in direct conversation. Perhaps this was an opportunity to test the limits of General Volkov’s new-found openness. “Yeah, he mentioned he thought I was taking a holiday from work,” Kinch laughed. “Colonel Sullivan is not a nurturer. I don’t think he got his share of hugs as a boy.”
“I would agree with your assessment of Colonel Sullivan,” interrupted Volkov with clipped words. “The American team has been very aggressive in their actions and statements. In fact, the remaining teams fear they are repeating their imperialist patterns here in the International Mars Colony.”
