Breathing Space

by S. J. Higbee

  The robes didn’t seem to be slowing her down, as the material billowed in a tumbling train, somehow blurring her movements. My eyes kept tracking the rippling folds, despite having been trained to watch an assailant’s body for clues as to her intentions.

  “I unpacked the gowns after seeing this.” Eileen gestured to the dancing figure. “There’s a whole lot more material in them than you’d think.”

  “We’re gonna need to practise moving about in them. Starting tomorrow,” the words fell out of my mouth as I realised what I was watching and how that would affect us. “We start stumbling over those hems while wandering about Hawking, our cover will be blown in no time flat.”

  Eileen’s face cleared as she nodded. “Sarge reckons he can drill us so by the time we dock, we’ll leastways be able to handle one of those staffs without losing a finger or tripping ourselves up with the dregging things.”

  I cleared my throat. “Don’t s’pose you know if the Gaiasts generally pad about barefoot, or only kick off their shoes while they’re drilling with those sticks of theirs?”

  Eileen sighed. “Found a long rant from some hairy-toed priest telling us that if only we’d throw away our shoes, we’d be more in touch with our surroundings and do less damage to the living world around us.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Well that figures. We weren’t going to catch a break anytime soon, were we?

  “I’m really sorry, Chief.” Eileen bit her lip, looking like she was about to be spaced. “This was a putrid idea. I should’ve checked it out a whole lot more thoroughly before bouncing you into the middle of it.”

  “It was the best notion on the table.” I waved my hand in the direction of the Gaiast priestess, still spinning on the holo-mu. “We just gotta work round it, is all. I’ll drop a team brief on everyone’s eardrop. We’ll meet up at 0700 hours, work out a training strategy and start wearing those robes.”

  Relief poured off Eileen as she saluted me.

  Need to put a stop to that, too.

  She headed for the door, shoulders back, crackling with military snap. Another habit she’d need to shed at warp speed.

  As the priestess executed a spinning leap, gracefully manoeuvring her staff, her robes flowing around her, I shifted. So long as no one breaks their neck trying to get the hang of those moves. “Holo off!” A jaw-cracking yawn overtook me, with the realisation that I was far too tired to worry about a single thing this side of a good night’s sleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  You need to blueshift your lazy carcass outta here – you’re running late.

  I sat up, struggling to haul my scattered wits together and wishing Jessica further. From the moment my head had touched the pillow the previous night, I’d not stirred. Not so much as a troubling dream had disturbed me. Was I feeling shinier? Nope.

  I staggered to my feet, scaldingly aware that I’d been due in the Wardroom half an hour earlier, feeling like I’d spent the previous evening propping up the bar and matching the Sarge drink for drink. Never a good idea. P’s legend had it that when he’d engaged Axil in a drinking competition, he’d actually walked away from the table, leaving Axil poleaxed and puking on the floor.

  I stumbled into the facilities and grabbed a wetwipe, trying to scrub away the thickheaded fatigue weighting my body. Even checked my aug to see if we’d added a couple of grav points overnight. We hadn’t. Though I now smelt vaguely flowery and my skin tingled, the wetwipe hadn’t woken me up. So I wasn’t at my shiny best when confronted with the Gaiast robe, neatly folded in my clothing bin.

  Instead of the thick fabric dirtsiders usually favoured, the robe was as slickly soft as any spacer’s coveralls. However instead of snugging against the skin, the material rippled with every movement such that it was a battle to keep my legs from tangling in the billowing folds.

  Meantime I needed to warp out of here before my team came looking to see if I’d died in the night. After giving my combat boots a longing look, I tried to feel connected to the chilly flooring as I stumbled barefoot into the corridor, still fighting the robe. Then jerked to a sudden stop. While shutting behind me, the door had trapped a chunk of the material trailing in my wake. Cursing under my breath, I wasted time I didn’t have re-opening the door and pulling the robe free. I tried bunching it up in my hands and running down the corridor, but the material turned thick and heavy around my legs. I took a deep breath, not wanting to arrive at the wardroom a sweaty wreck. The moment I let go of the drab brown cloth, it changed colour and texture, once more dancing around my knees as if caught in a breeze.

  I reckon you’re better off in your P’s overalls.

  Though tempted by Jessica’s suggestion, we were out of options. Thanks to that wretched clip of me singing at her funeral and all the interviews I’d recently given, my face was far too well-known. And there wasn’t time to alter that, either. Nope. We were stuck with these Gaiast robes. Thank Mother Earth no one is here to see me hobbled by a sodding piece of cloth.

  Which was when Wynn sauntered into view carrying a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes sparkling as he loosed his grin at me. The one that knocked the breath from my lungs and weakened my knees. He looked like some olden-time saint, maybe Francis, with his sun-bright hair down to his shoulders, like the first time I’d seen him. And his robe…

  “How in holed heavens have you managed to get yours to do that?” I stabbed an accusing finger at the layers of material moving gently around his tall, lanky figure as he wandered up the corridor.

  “Morning. Thought to bring you a coffee.”

  “Uh. Thank you.” Allowing my concentration to stray from negotiating the robe was a mistake. I tripped. Straight into his arms, which were distractingly well muscled, no doubt from all that farmering he’d been doing on Ceres.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, hauling myself upright and stepping into a puddle of hot coffee. A string of swear words fell out of my mouth as I hopped clear of the spilt drink, my garment alternately bunching and billowing around my legs, thrashing as if we were caught in a hurricane. It didn’t help that Wynn was still holding my arm, which was when I noticed that his robe was also now swirling around his legs.

  “Relax. You smooth it down and this thing…” he gestured to the skirts flaring out from both of us, “…will quieten, too.”

  “I can’t! I overslept. Sarge’ll have more than enough to say about that. He hates it when anyone is late…ˮ

  Wynn’s grin was long gone. “None of ʼem will give it a mench. And it’s past time you stopped trying to act like you really are the Sector Two Saviour.”

  The label, coined over a couple of years ago by a journo derisively contemptuous of my attempts to unite the Sector to deal with Eddy, had been recently resurrected without the sneering overtones after the Justice Federation had formed. I don’t!

  “They know you need some downtime – and if they don’t, I’ll make sure they do.” His tone was grim, which set his robe off. Unlike mine, it didn’t alternately billow and cling to his legs. Instead, it shifted in small jerking movements, as if invisible fingers were clinging onto the hem.

  “Ah, thank you,” I croaked, sidling away. I want to rest my head against his chest and breathe in his scent… I came to an abrupt stop. Looking down, my robe was wrapped around Wynn’s legs.

  Lizzy! What’re you playing at?

  My face flamed as I tugged at the dregging thing which steadily tightened, pulling Wynn towards me. “I’m sorry…” Trying to prise the material apart with both hands, I couldn’t even tear it. He was hauled ever closer towards me. Another foot and we’d be in a full clinch.

  He put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me upright. “Look at me,” his voice was soft.

  I gazed up at him, trying not to get lost in those Earth-blue eyes.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had such a putrid time of it.”

  I nodded. My heart was still hammering with the nearness of him.

  “You and me, though… our time has gone. I…
never was a hero. Your soldierboys may be able to grow back limbs like lizards resprouting tails… I-I can’t. My feelings for you died way back then, in a mess of pain and fury that I’d gotten myself pulled so close to Norman’s orbit when I could’ve stayed free.”

  I just have to breathe. I’m the Chief. I’m not going to cry. Not ever. Not over this. I twisted free of his grasp as I ducked back down to deal with the sodding robe. “Of course. The whole notion is absurd. We’re now different people. As for this… My apologies... It’s been a difficult few weeks and this stupid robe clearly is...” I continued desperately trying to lever the prodding material from around Wynn’s legs, my hands sticky with humiliation and sweat.

  Lizzy…

  Right now, I needed Jessica’s input like I needed a staled airpac. Not now! And I swear if you so much as snigger—

  Let go, girl. Put your hands to your side and give me some headspace – I can get this robe to obey us. My word…

  Wynn’s hands were warm as they closed over my frantic attempts to free the cloth coiling around his legs. “I’m so sorry, Lizzy. Can’t say the last few years have been a walk inna park – and I know you’ve had it worse…” The pity on his face was unbearable.

  I tried to zone out his warm, calloused hands as they gripped mine.

  “I reckon you clung onto what we had like some dream when it all got too much. And,” bitterness roughened his voice, “only reason we didn’t flood it up was cos we never had the chance. Trust me, I would’ve properly messed things up if we’d got married.”

  “Of course.” I snatched my hands away, wishing my voice didn’t sound so high. So unsteady. “I’m not some know-nothing! Stop treating me as if I was and help me get free of this mess!”

  I can… I will, if you’ll let me, Lizzy. Trust me…

  “If you prone down. Relax...”

  I wanted to smack that kind expression off his face so much, my hand tingled. I closed my eyes, wishing I was elsewhere. Anywhere…

  Yeah… that’s right. Take yourself elsewhere. Make room for me…

  “That’s right… Well done. You’re doing a great job. Steady does it…” Wynn kept yammering stupid platitudes at me. As if anything that now fell out’ve his mouth could make up for shredding my heart. I wanted him gone, with his dregging sympathy. Pointless to squander my precious time on such a waste of skin and oxygen.

  Utterly trapped, with my eyes still closed so I didn’t have to look at him, I focused on Jessica. Even my resident ghost had to be preferable to listening to him telling me how he couldn’t be bothered to care for me on account of having to grow his legs back. Oh, and how I needed to relax and not to bother my stupid self about it all…

  You need to focus on what matters. Why’re you here? Cos of Eddy! Of what he’ll surely do to your family if we don’t stop him. All this stuff with Wynn is so much static you don’t need. And all this babble about relaxing – you just gotta clear your head and let your muscle memory take over. Like on BalanceJoust, remember…

  Coldness trickled through my body as I rolled onto the balls of my feet and altered my breathing. Blanking my mind and getting in the zone, ready to react. Slightly light-headed, I caught a whiff of familiar perfume. My eyes flew open. Jessica?

  Yeah. If you’ll permit me – I’ll take care of this garment. There… She sounded so close, I looked over my shoulder to see if she was actually there. And then, turning back to Wynn, realised my robes were now moving perfectly normally around my feet.

  C’mon, Lizzy. Let’s not keep everyone waiting any longer, eh?

  I didn’t bother replying. There didn’t seem any point. I started up the corridor, distantly aware that Wynn was scurrying along beside me.

  “Lizzy? Well done, you got your robe tamer’n a botdog. You solid? You’re looking a tad maggoty. Here. Have a hi-cal bar.” He shoved one under my nose.

  I took it, peeled off the wrapper and bit into it, chewing each mouthful slowly. It seemed a very long time since I’d eaten anything. I was slightly disappointed when it was finished. Perhaps there would be more food in the wardroom. I increased my pace, dimly conscious I was hungry. And thirsty.

  “Here, let me.” Wynn scampered ahead towards the door, suddenly graceless as his robes jerked and skidded around his feet.

  I leaned across him and opened the door as he struggled to keep his balance.

  “You’re freezing!” he yelped.

  Concern struggled to surface. It was difficult to think clearly. Am I solid, Jessica?

  Yeah. I’ll take care of all of it.

  No! I gasped, suddenly feeling as if I’d travelled a very long way. Just the robe. No more than that. Or we’re done.

  Of course! I never pulled this stunt before and it’s tricky, alright?

  My robes fluttered around my legs, a mere ripple. But I wasn’t feeling quite so numb and thinking was… easier. Can you hold it there?

  She sighed. I got the impression that she would’ve liked… more. And if I hadn’t been very used to having her thumping through my head at all sorts of inconvenient times, I could’ve lost my grip. Given up too much space to her ghostly self. Yet although I often tranced off at odd times, it was never for more than a handful of nanosecs. I’d had far too much practice at keeping track of my thoughts for her to be able to take over now – and we both knew it.

  Thanks. I was grateful she hadn’t made a serious attempt to get control of my body. It would’ve probably been embarrassing and messy, given that I was wearing this disturbing, haptic version of emo-clothing.

  No worries… Under her off-hand reply, I sensed real pleasure that – at last – she was able to do something concrete to help.

  “Chief?” Eileen stared at me when I marched into the room.

  “Morning all. Sorry to keep you waiting.” I turned to Eileen. “And you need to shed that habit, for starters. I’m not the Chief anymore. How is a Gaiast priestess addressed, d’you know?” I crossed the room and joined them at the table, littered with the remains of their breakfast.

  “You got the hang of moving around in these sodding things in no time flat. Or was it practising that made you so late?” Sarge was clearly in a foul mood. The reason became apparent as he stood up and his robe began flailing around his legs.

  “Just tired.”

  Chris was watching me with pent attention that would’ve bothered me if I’d cared. “You look unwell,” he suddenly announced.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll get you some brekkie.” Wynn was standing uncomfortably close to my chair, his robes twitching slightly.

  I avoided looking at him. “Thank you.” I turned back to the others, relieved when he left the room. “If you can’t get control of these robes, then we’ll have to shed this plan. Come up with another strategy.”

  “Well, you and Goldilocks seem to have sorted it,” Chris’s grumpy tone and his thrashing robe showed he hadn’t.

  I shrugged.

  “So what do we know about this outfit?” Chris shifted, clearly uncomfortable, as his robes kept billowing around him.

  “They’re a religious cult, not an outfit. Which we need to keep in mind.” Eileen’s expression was unfocused as she continued accessing her aug. “And they mostly travel in pairs. So if you two keep to the original plan, maybe the three of us travel under our own idents…”

  As she transferred an info-nugget through to my aug, my robe rippled and stirred.

  Hey, ease up. You start shoving your info-dump at me, I can’t keep hold of this robe.

  Hang on. How’s that? If I can’t process this data, I’ll be fit for nothing.

  It took a couple of minutes for Jessica and me to readjust and work around each other – fortunately the others were also engrossed in processing Eileen’s findings about the Gaiasts, so no one noticed. Though it was a disappointingly slim file. A series of pics, now projecting on the mu-screen, stretched across the wall. Mostly showing pairs of robed and veiled priests and priestesses. A couple of
clips followed, demonstrating their twirling and sparring skills with those staffs they invariably carried about. However, most info was in the form of sermons. Lots of them. Which I’d have to hear later, if we were going to continue with this sodding disguise.

  “So you’re proposing we pose as ourselves. Three ex-mercs cutting loose after a leadership change, taking their earnings and making for Homespace,” Sarge said, flipping off the images cycling across the wall for the second time.

  Wynn reappeared, carrying a tray laden with two large egg and bacon rolls, a bowl of porridge and a pot of my coffee, which he placed in front of me.

  “Thank you.” My mouth was suddenly watering.

  “You solid?” his voice was soft. As if he cared.

  I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat. It’s all a holo-hoax. I’m his ticket to Earth, so of course he wants me upright and breathing.

  I locked looks with him, relieved that I could now stare into his blue eyes without my heartrate speeding up. “Just shiny.” And let the others get on with the meeting, while I fell on my brekkie.

  “Change of plan,” Sarge informed Wynn. “While you and the Chief—ˮ

  “Sister,” Eileen said.

  Sarge glared at her. “What?”

  “You’ll need to call her Sister. That’s what priestesses are called. And you’ll have to call him…” She jerked her head in Wynn’s direction. “…Brother.”

  Sarge sucked in a deep breath as his sleeves flapped on the table like a pair of drunken birds, knocking over his coffee cup. He jumped up, ordered up a cleaner bot and turned to the rest of us. “Know what? I’m gonna change out’ve this dregging thing. Right. Now.” He fumbled with the belt, which stopped moving the moment it dropped from his hand and fell on the floor.