River of Pain

by Christopher Golden

  Russ took a step back, glancing at Tim, who kept his eyes glued firmly on his tablet.

  “But they’re dead, Anne. You’re going to hate yourself later, for—”

  “For what? For being angry because they didn’t have to die?” She let out a long, shuddering, tearful breath and dropped her gaze, staring at the ground. “They didn’t have to die.”

  Russ touched her arm, slid his warm hand along her skin.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  Anne looked up at him, wiping her eyes.

  “We’re just as ambitious as they were, but we’ve never taken risks like that. We take our kids out on surveying trips, Russ. Our kids. Some of the administrators think we’re crazy, but anyone who’s ever spent time out there, surveying in the grit and the wind, knows how to figure out when the really bad storms are likely to hit.”

  “Otto just lost it, hon,” he said. “You know he’s been on edge.”

  Anne stiffened, then slowly nodded.

  “Falling apart, Russ. The guy was falling apart. I’ve been worried about him and I’ve been worried about you, ever since the two of you started spending so much time together, the past few months. Thinking dark thoughts. Wishing impossible wishes.”

  Russ winced, then shook his head, running a hand over his scruffy chin.

  “Now?” he said. “You want to do this right now?”

  Anne felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

  “I don’t ever want to do this. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend it doesn’t bother me that you and Otto have spent months convincing each other that your lives would’ve been better if you’d never come to Acheron.”

  “Wouldn’t they have?” Russ barked, throwing up his hands. “Wouldn’t things be better? For one thing, Otto and Curtis would still be alive!”

  “You don’t know that,” she countered. “Otto was never the most stable—”

  “Stop!”

  “We came here because we dreamed of a life of discovery.”

  Russ rolled his eyes. “And how’s that going for us so far?”

  “We’re on the far edge of the spread of human civilization,” Anne said. “We have a good life. Make a decent living. Every night when I lay my head down, I think of all the people who would never have the courage to do what we’ve done!”

  “None of them are stupid enough to take the risks we’ve taken.”

  “You have to take great risks to reap great rewards,” Anne said, echoing the words he’d spoken when he had persuaded her to join the colony, years ago. Russ just cocked his head, staring at her as if she had grown two extra heads.

  “When we go out on salvage runs, they control every step we take. They know where we are and what we’re doing. Even if we found some artifacts, left there by indigenous life forms, or a vein of precious stone, they’ve got controls in place to cap what we can earn from any of it. That’s not even real wildcatting… it’s just risking our necks without the safeguards we’ve got when we’re doing work for the company.

  “And in all these years, what have we found of any real value? Nothing!” He glared at her. “We’re wasting our time on this damned rock!”

  Anne felt bile rise in the back of her throat. She wanted to be sick.

  “I don’t feel like I’m wasting my time here, Russell,” she said. “I’ve got a happy little family and a circle of friends and a job that gives me the occasional surge of adrenaline. That’s a good life.”

  “I didn’t mean…” he said, then shook his head angrily. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”

  Anne glanced at Tim, hunched over his tablet. No way the little black buds in his ears kept out his father’s voice—not when Russ shouted.

  “If you want to leave the colony so badly,” she said quietly, “then do it. If you’re that unhappy—”

  “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Russ said. “Perfect timing, now that Demian fucking Brackett has arrived!”

  She glared at him. “Crap, you really are ten years old, you know that?”

  “Play it off all you want, Anne, but I know you still have feelings for him. I can tell.”

  Anne covered her mouth with a hand. She didn’t dare glance at Tim. What the hell was Russ thinking, having this conversation with their son in the room? They’d had plenty of disagreements with the kids around, but nothing like this. She only prayed that Tim was trying hard not to pay attention, that he had lost himself in whatever he was watching, reading, or playing, as he so often tended to do.

  “You should stop now,” she said.

  Russ blinked and glanced back at Tim, understanding at last, but when he turned to Anne again, the anger still reddened his face.

  “You’re upset about Otto,” she added. “So am I. Let’s talk about this later.”

  “I’m upset, yes. My friend is gone. Otto may have been unstable, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t right. This colony is a dead end for me—”

  “For you?”

  “For all of us.”

  Anne forced herself to breathe.

  “If you want to go—”

  “Fuck!” Russ shouted, throwing his arms up. He turned to storm out and they both looked at the door. Newt stood there, her mouth rimmed with a sticky red smear from her favorite popsicles. Her eyes were wide and full of pain and her lower lip trembled.

  “Daddy’s leaving?” she whispered.

  Russ clenched and unclenched his hands, face etched with regret.

  “Just for now, sweetheart,” he said. “Just for now.” Then he walked out.

  Anne and Newt and Tim all stared at the door for a long moment, and then Newt ran into the corridor after him. Russ had turned left, probably heading to the rec center, but Newt didn’t follow her father. She turned right, and vanished in an instant.

  “Newt!” Anne called.

  Tim shot up, plucking the buds from his ears and dropping his tablet onto the plush chair.

  “I’ll go after her,” he said. Then he cast a hard look at his mother. “What is wrong with you two?”

  Anne watched in silence as her son raced out into the hall in pursuit of his sister. She was left alone in the family quarters with her heart pounding in her ears.

  The smell of cooking spices had gotten into her hair and her clothes, but she had lost her appetite.

  11

  NEW FRIENDS AND OLD

  DATE: 10 JUNE, 2179

  TIME: 1932

  Brackett’s quarters at Hadley’s Hope were no more and no less than he’d expected.

  A career in the Colonial Marines meant getting used to living a spartan lifestyle. Bunk and sink, a chest of drawers, and a small closet if you were lucky. Living his life in uniform made it easier. On his off days, a plain t-shirt and regulation pants or sweatpants were all he needed, and he never had to worry about what he would be putting on—only whether or not he had clean laundry.

  He never took a lot of personal items with him when he was reassigned. He had a photo-cube, a tablet full of music and thousands of books, his mother’s dog tags, and a small wooden lion. It was a figurine carved by his father. These were the only pieces of his youth that he needed, just touchstones whose physical presence grounded him, so that even out here on the nascent edge of civilization, he was at home.

  Brackett opened and closed the cabinets in the galley kitchen, saw glasses and plates and bowls. On the counter were a coffee maker and a toaster, and the sight made him smile. No matter how many things technology changed, certain others stayed the same. A couple of centuries after its introduction, a toaster was still necessary if you wanted to make toast properly. Sure, it had been improved, but it didn’t play music for you or do research or boil your dinner—it made toast. In a strange way, he found that reassuring.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, realizing just how exhausted he was.

  Of course you’re tired, he thought. On his way to Acheron, he’d had the fanciful idea that he’d arrive and meet the squad and the staff,
settle in, have a nice meal, and just get to know everyone. Instead the day had started off ugly, and then turned deadly. He could still hear Otto Finch’s desperate pleas as he walked across the anteroom and into his bedroom.

  White sheets, white pillows, off-white walls, gray floor. A wave of familiar pleasure rolled over him and he sagged on his feet. Done. All he wanted was to put the grim day behind him and start over in the morning.

  Brackett looked longingly at the bed. He needed to transmit a report to his superiors, and a request for clarification regarding the science team’s co-opting of marine personnel, but he figured those could wait a couple of hours. He knew he ought to unpack, but what was the rush? His bags lay on the floor in the corner of the small anteroom, courtesy of Sgt. Coughlin.

  So he crumpled onto the bed, boots still on, and dragged the pillow under his head. He could feel sleep rising up around him like some magical, enfolding mist, there instantly, ready to take him away. Draper and the other two assholes were confined to quarters, and Brackett decided that for the moment, he would confine himself to quarters as well. Just for a few hours… or maybe for the night. In the back of his mind, he knew he was hungry, but hunger felt disconnected from him. Far away. His thoughts began to blur.

  A rapping came at the door.

  “Oh, come on,” Brackett groaned.

  He clung to the pillow as if it were a life preserver, while the moment of almost-sleep dissipated. He’d left Lt. Paris and Pvt. Hauer as duty officers, unable to imagine another crisis rearing its head today. But the rapping came at the door a second time, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.

  Swearing under his breath, Brackett swung his legs off the bed and rose. Stretching, he twisted his neck until he heard a satisfying crack, and then strode through the anteroom toward the door.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  “Sergeant Coughlin, sir,” came the muffled reply. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain, but you have a visitor.”

  Brackett frowned deeply. A visitor who required an escort? For a second he thought it must be one of the science team, but then he realized that Dr. Reese wouldn’t need anyone to show him where to find the commanding officer’s quarters.

  He paused with his hand on the door latch, and a smile touched his lips.

  Anne, he thought. It must be.

  Unlocking the door, he hauled it open, head cocked at a curious angle. Coughlin stood smiling in the hall and Brackett blinked in confusion when he saw that it wasn’t Anne beside him.

  It was her daughter, Newt.

  “She seemed lost,” Coughlin said. “When she told me she was looking for you, I thought you wouldn’t mind the intrusion.”

  Brackett dropped to a crouch so he could be face to face with the little girl. She still had a sticky red smear around her mouth from the freeze-pop she’d been eating earlier. She beamed at him, putting on her best smile, but Brackett could see from her red-rimmed eyes and the salty streaks on her face that she’d been crying.

  Coughlin had surely noticed as well, and kindness had driven him to disturb his CO.

  “It’s no intrusion at all,” Brackett said. “What can I do for you, Newt?”

  The little girl shrugged. “Nothing for me. It’s what I can do for you. See, I got back home and I thought to myself that you seemed like you really wanted one of those freeze-pops, and I wouldn’t mind having another one, so I thought maybe I could bring you over to meet Bronagh right now instead of tomorrow or whenever. My mom always says ‘don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today.’”

  Brackett chuckled. “Well, she’s right about that one.” He glanced up at Coughlin. “I’ll take it from here, Sergeant. Thanks for your help.”

  “Of course,” Coughlin said. Then he tipped a wink at Newt. “If Bronagh has an extra freeze-pop, you know where to find me. My favorite’s blueberry.”

  “Eeeeww,” Newt said, scrunching her nose. “But okay. Mom also says ‘don’t yuck somebody else’s yum.’”

  “That’s another good one,” Coughlin told her, before saluting Brackett and turning to head back along the corridor.

  The captain waited until the sergeant had gone before he went down on one knee, meeting Newt’s hopeful gaze.

  “I do like freeze-pops,” he said, “but I don’t think that’s why you came to see me.”

  Newt pursed her lips, her brow knitted in disapproval.

  “If you don’t want one, you can just say so.”

  “Tell you what,” Brackett said softly, “why don’t we take a rain check and do that tomorrow, and right now I’ll walk you back to your quarters. It’s dinner time. Your mother must be wondering where you’ve gotten off to.”

  Newt replied so quietly that it took him a moment to realize that she’d spoken at all.

  “They were fighting,” she said. “I don’t like it when they fight.”

  “I know what you mean,” Brackett said. “My parents used to argue all the time. Sometimes it took a while for them to make up, but they always did.” He stood up and reached for her hand. “Let me walk you back, and I bet you by the time we get there, all the fighting will be done.

  “Tell you what,” he added, “since I’m new here, you can show me around along the way.”

  Newt’s lips were still pursed and her brow still knitted, but he saw her mouth tremble and then she nodded. No words, just that nod.

  She took his hand and led the way, giving him her own little girl version of a tour of the civilian sections of the colony. Before long he knew which of the colonists had children, which of those children were bullies or babies, which air ducts made the best secret passages for hide and seek, and which of her neighbors made food that smelled disgusting. He almost reminded her of her mother’s admonition not to yuck somebody else’s yum, but decided not to tease her.

  At a junction in the corridor, they encountered Dr. Hidalgo, who had surrendered her lab coat in favor of thick blue cotton sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had a towel around her neck and her face had gone pink from exertion. The aging scientist had appeared thin when Brackett had met her, but in this ensemble, her limbs seemed almost skeletal.

  “Didja have a good workout, Dr. H?” Newt asked.

  Dr. Hidalgo smiled. “I did, sweetie.” She glanced at Brackett. “I see you’ve made a new friend.”

  “He’s an old friend, actually,” Newt said earnestly. “Of my mom’s, I mean.”

  Dr. Hidalgo gave them a lopsided smile and glanced at Brackett.

  “Small universe, isn’t it, Captain?”

  Brackett nodded. “Smaller every day. But it hasn’t run out of ways to surprise us.”

  “Let’s hope it never does.”

  Dr. Hidalgo and Newt said their farewells, and then the girl continued to lead Brackett into the civilian quarters. He glanced back at the lanky scientist as she went around a corner and out of sight, and then turned to Newt.

  “You like Dr. Hidalgo, huh?” he asked.

  She shot him a curious glance.

  “Don’t you?”

  Brackett grunted. “I guess I do,” he said, surprising himself. Dr. Reese and Dr. Mori seemed like grim, arrogant, conniving pricks, and Dr. Hidalgo worked with them every day. Whatever they were doing here on Acheron, she was fully involved. But if a sweet kid like Rebecca Jorden liked her, surely she couldn’t be all bad.

  When they stopped in front of the door to her family’s quarters, the little blond girl looked up at Brackett with her big, wise-beyond-her-years eyes, and sighed, steeling herself for whatever lay beyond the door.

  “Thanks for being my friend,” she said.

  Brackett’s grin was genuine, and so wide it hurt his grit-scoured face.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “It’s always nice to make a new friend.”

  Newt turned the latch and pushed the door open. When she stepped inside, Brackett stayed in the corridor, hesitant to intrude. He could hear Anne call her daughter’s name, her tone carrying that combin
ation of love and worry and frustration that seemed exclusive to parents.

  “You know you’re not supposed to run off alone!” she said.

  “Mom, I’m always running off alone,” Newt replied. “Even when you make Tim go along, he hardly ever sticks with me. Nothing bad’s going to happen. I know everyone.”

  A pause. In the hall, Brackett could almost picture the expression on Anne’s face. In their time together, he believed he had seen every facet of her features on display. He took a step over the threshold and saw the boy, sitting on a broad plush chair on the floor, rolling his eyes at the fussing over his sister.

  Tim noticed the movement and glanced up at Brackett.

  “Hey,” the boy said, raising a hand.

  “Hello, Tim.”

  “Who’s that?” Anne asked, and he heard her footfalls as she crossed their family room.

  Brackett stepped into their quarters, leaving the door open behind him. To have closed it would have been presumptuous. As it was, he worried that he might be overstepping his bounds, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Demian,” Anne said, blinking several times as she brought herself up short, stopping a few feet away from him.

  “Captain Brackett walked me back,” Newt said happily, taking her mother’s hand. The girl beamed proudly, as if she’d brought home an injured kitten to be nursed back to health. “I promised him I’d introduce him to Bronagh and get him a freeze-pop, but he said we should do that another day, that it must be dinner time—”

  “It’s past dinner time,” Anne said, without taking her eyes off Brackett.

  “Nuh-uh, ’cause Dad’s not back yet,” Newt said.

  The logic seemed reasonable, but Anne flinched. Newt seemed to sense her misstep, and a sadness slid over her features.

  Anne let go of her daughter’s hand.

  “Go wash up for dinner, please.”

  Newt hesitated for only a second before she thanked Brackett, promised him a freeze-pop the following day, and retreated down a short corridor to a door that must have been the bathroom.

  “You too, Tim,” Anne said, glancing at her son. Uneasy, uncertain.