His eyes had adjusted by then, and he raised his head to examine the other limb. A dark hump took shape where the leg should be, a foot tall and seeming to have no end. He tried to wriggle his toes, but felt nothing. Struggling up onto his elbows, he saw that the hump was a medical casing with a fuzzy digital readout on one side. Reaching for the bed’s support bars, he found a control device and began clicking buttons on and off.
The entire bed rose, so he tried different commands. The segment under his back shifted him into a sitting position, and he saw that the blankets only covered his right leg. Mortas brought the control stick up to his eyes, and identified the icon for the light switch. Ceiling panels flickered at him, gradually illuminating the room and showing him that the hump was more like a white tunnel completely covering his left leg. He dropped back against the pillows, still not certain, but reassured nonetheless. There would be no need for an instrument that size if all he had left was a stump.
After a time he sat up again, trying to identify his surroundings. The room was small, with a sealed hatch in the bulkhead to his right. He was aboard ship somewhere. That meant he’d been evacuated, but Mortas didn’t recognize the sick bay’s configuration. Having visited enough wounded Orphans on various warships, the size of the compartment left him baffled. There was only one other bed, in shadow to his left, and so he raised the lighting on his side to maximum. A figure occupied the other bunk, shocking Mortas into full consciousness.
Emile Dassa was stretched out on top of the blankets, clad in an olive flight suit. He was utterly motionless, his face pale, and Mortas couldn’t tell if he was breathing. The light reflected off of the inch-long scar over his right eyebrow, accenting his deathly pallor. A dreadful thought came to Mortas then, something he’d heard about during his first few days in the war zone. A small compartment near a warship’s sick bay, referred to as the Waiting Room, where the most severely wounded troops were quietly tucked away to die. Orphan officers always made a point of visiting the gatekeepers of the death rooms, a particularly reviled form of shipboard life known as the Triage Techs, before a mission. Led by the senior-most officer present, they would violently impress upon the techs that no one—Orphan or not—evacuated from the coming battle went to the Waiting Room.
But in the rush of the last few missions, and the confusion that had brought the brigade to this one, there had been no time to send that message.
“Sir?” Mortas tried to call out, but his vocal cords were too strained. Swallowing hard, he tried again. “Sir? Captain Dassa? Emile!”
The figure on the bed jerked into a sitting position, hands gripping the support bars. Dassa’s eyes blinked rapidly in the light, and then he saw Mortas. “Oh come on, Jan. That was the first real sleep I’ve had in a week.”
Dassa twisted on the covers and slid to the deck. “How’s the leg feeling?”
“Where are we?”
“On the flagship. This is the admiral’s personal sick bay room.” Dassa smirked. “Like anything bad would ever happen to a ship jock.”
Memories flooded back. The charge of the wolves, the rockets slamming down, the beasts swarming over his platoon.
“Where are my guys, sir?”
“The whole brigade’s been taken back up from the surface. Sam put just enough troops down there to make it interesting, so the mech guys are mopping up now. Several of your people got chewed like you did, but we were lucky—nobody died. You should see Sergeant Mecklinger’s hands; they’re three times their normal size. One of the wolves got him by the body armor, and he was punching it when we shot it off of him. Catalano and his machine gun team got pretty beat up too, but nothing permanent.”
Dassa let out a short grunt of amusement. “Your man Prevost got hit in the head with a flying rock during the final bombardment, split his helmet in half. You should have heard him. ‘Don’t take me to the sick bay! I was one of those triage assholes! They’ll kill me up there!’”
Relieved by the light casualty figures, Mortas started to laugh. He remembered meeting Prevost in a receiving bay flooded with the wounded from the disastrous battle on Fractus. Hating the job of categorizing the stricken soldiers, Prevost had volunteered for the Orphans despite having seen their heavy losses.
“Anybody else hurt, sir?”
“A few bites here and there, but nothing to take them off duty status. I’ve seen a lot of strange things out here, Jan, but an army of giant wolves beats ’em all.”
“You were there at the end. How’d you get to us so fast?”
Dassa gave him an embarrassed grin. “You really do owe me for this one, Jan. The mech battalion commander wouldn’t give me even one APC to come help you, but I’d made friends with their scout platoon leader. He doesn’t like all that rules ’n’ regulations nonsense the Tratians pull, and he’d already asked me about becoming an Orphan.
“While I was trying to get the rockets cleared for you, the scouts rolled up to the field HQ. I ran out there and told their lieutenant that he was supposed to help me rescue you. I said his colonel ordered it.” Dassa stopped, his lips pressing together. “He could have called to confirm that, but he just told me to hop in. Those scouts saved your platoon.”
“I remember seeing the gunfire, but not knowing what it was.”
“Yeah, well you had your hands full . . . or that wolf had its mouth full, I guess. Anyway, one of the scouts’ machine guns took that beast off of you.” Dassa gently placed a hand on the white tunnel covering Mortas’s leg. “God you were a mess. Blood everywhere, meat torn to the bone. We almost couldn’t get a tourniquet on you.”
They both went silent, giving Mortas time to wonder just why Dassa had been asleep in the sick bay instead of with B Company. “You in trouble, Emile?”
“Not really. Colonel Watt had to relieve me of my command, but that’s just for show. We’re transferring that scout lieutenant to the brigade, so somebody had to take the hit. It’s not a permanent demotion, especially where we’re going.”
“Celestia?”
“Can’t keep dodging it. Besides, anything’s better than being thrown into these last-minute jobs.”
Mortas pressed his palms against the sheets, trying to shift his body around. The left leg didn’t budge at all.
“Oh, cut that out, will you? You won’t be able to walk for days, and then you’ll need a brace. So forget humping a ruck, or running under a load. You’re not goin’ with us.”
“I’m an Orphan. I go with the brigade.”
“Well that’s where you’re wrong, Jan. Even if you weren’t wounded, you wouldn’t be going. Colonel Watt’s coming by to brief you himself—he wouldn’t tell me what it’s about. Apparently you’re being sent on some kind of secret mission. Top priority orders, straight from the Chairwoman’s office.”
“Fuck orders, and fuck the Chairwoman.”
“Odd choice of words, considering she was married to your father.”
“My father’s dead, and even when he was running this show I didn’t let him jerk me around.”
“Don’t get it, do you? I’ve seen these kinds of orders before. You’re going.” Dassa walked past the bed, headed for the hatch. He stopped before opening it, regarding Mortas with affection. “You’re the best platoon leader I’ve got, Jan. Go take care of whatever they want you to do, and then come back to us. Okay?”
“That scout lieutenant who saved my people? How about you give him my platoon until I get back?”
“Way ahead of you.”
“I had the honor of meeting your father once.” The admiral’s personal physician had gray hair and a kindly manner. “An extraordinary mind. I know it’s been some time, but I still hold out some hope that he’ll be found alive.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jander was sitting up, his leg still encased in the tunnel, but feeling much better after a full meal. “I was in the zone when he disappeared, so I’ve only heard what’s been officially released.”
“Well that’s just wrong. Command goes a lit
tle overboard, with their secrecy fetish.” They exchanged conspiratorial grins, and the doctor gently rapped on the leg casing. “Continuing in that vein, I’m being told you won’t be my patient much longer—and nothing else. Not that it matters; you’re already on the way to recovery. Hopefully you’ll get some home leave, and maybe even some hot chow.”
“Sir?”
“Just a little joke. When you were coming out of anesthesia, you kept asking us where the hot chow was.”
“Oh.”
The hatch opened, and the stocky figure of Colonel Watt entered. His dark skin seemed to have pulled tighter across his face during the Orphans’ nonstop deployments, but he was smiling just the same. A tall captain followed him through the hatch, and Mortas recognized the insignia of the Banshees on her fatigues.
“I wanted to thank you for taking care of Lieutenant Mortas, Doctor.” Watt shook the older man’s hand. “I kept telling him not to play with the local animals, but he just wouldn’t listen.”
“He’s going to be just fine, Colonel. I’ll let you talk.” The hatch sealed behind him.
“Hello, Jan.” The words and the hand were warm. “You did a fine job out there. Wolves. Talk about a surprise.”
“The men performed very well, sir. They all stayed cool. That’s why we were able to hold out.”
Watt squeezed his shoulder, and turned to the captain. “I understand the two of you have met.”
The Banshee wore no nametag, so Mortas looked her over. Tall, fit, strawberry blond hair cut short, brown eyes, and a thumb-sized burn scar on her right cheek. Though the skin there formed a shallow depression, the vertical mark stood out.
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, sir.”
“Sure you have.” The Banshee stepped up. “He doesn’t want to admit this, but he was stark naked and I was wearing a mask.”
The voice was familiar, and it clicked into place alongside the doctor’s comment about hot chow. Images rose up with the memories. Arriving at Glory Main on the stolen Sim shuttle, starving, injured, amazed to be alive. Greeted by a section of Banshees, anonymous inside the armored fighting suits, all commanded by a tough captain. Mortas squinted in wonder. “Captain Varick?”
“Alive and kicking.” Her eyes dropped to his leg casing. “You, on the other hand, only seem to be alive.”
“I’m doing better than the thing that tried to bite my leg off.”
“You should have seen him when he got to Glory Main, sir.” Varick smiled at Watt. “Looked like he’d been on a month-long survival trek. Bruises, burn marks, dressed in rags. Quite a sight.”
“I’ve seen him in worse condition. Fractus was his first battle.”
“I heard about that, sir.” Varick turned to Mortas. “I almost forgot to ask—did you get that knife I sent you? The one you refused to give up at Glory Main?”
“Yes, ma’am. Been carrying it ever since, although I’m not sure where it is now.”
“We’ve got all your stuff, Jan.” Watt spoke. “It’ll be going with you.”
“Where am I going, sir?”
“I don’t know—but Captain Varick does.” Although Watt tried to hide it, Mortas sensed his annoyance. “In fact, this is the last time we’ll talk until you’re done with . . . whatever this is.”
“Captain Dassa said the brigade’s going to Celestia.”
“It was bound to happen. Don’t worry about us.”
“Is Emile in trouble, sir? For rescuing us?”
“The day I let an Orphan get punished for coming to the aid of another Orphan, I’m turning in my boots. Don’t worry about us at all, Jan. Take care of that leg.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain?” Watt’s tone took on an edge.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m holding you personally responsible for whatever happens to this man. That’s the price of not telling me where he’s going.”
“Understood, sir. For the record, I was sworn to secrecy.”
“I know that.” Watt squeezed Jander’s shoulder one more time. “This is one fine officer. I expect to get him back.”
“So, Captain. Where are you taking me?”
“I’m not taking you anywhere, Lieutenant. And since you and I are the sum total of this expedition, how about we drop the ranks? My name’s Erica.”
“My name’s Jander. People call me Jan.”
“Jan, you and I are under orders to travel to Roanum.”
“The place where I did that survival trek.”
“Yes.”
“Why? There was nothing there but rocks and sand and giant snake-things in the water.”
“Your father named the planet after that mapmaker who was with you.”
“Gorman. Roan Gorman. He was a pacifist. Holy Whisper.”
“Yes. The Whisper established a small station there, shortly after our people destroyed the Sim colony.”
“So we’re on some kind of goodwill mission?”
“Not really. A couple of weeks ago, a stranger walked right out of the wilderness and into the Whisper camp. The visitor appeared to be a female human, but she told them straightaway that she isn’t human at all. She asked to speak to you.”
A high-octane cocktail of anger, resentment, and fear surged through Mortas. “No.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Varick took out a large handheld that Mortas knew was highly encrypted. She punched a long sequence of code into it while he shifted around, unable to control the torrent of emotions. When the device let her in, Varick held the screen so he could see it.
“Take a good look. The image will be completely deleted in ten seconds.”
The woman in the photo had short brown hair, and even in the familiar flight suit she was obviously athletic. She stood with her back to a pale wall, looking into the camera with blue eyes and a blank expression.
“Recognize her?” Varick asked. “I sure do.”
“It’s Amelia Trent’s face, but it’s not her.” He remembered watching that visage dissolving under powerful chemicals, just before it exploded into thousands of fluttering specks. “It’s the alien.”
Chapter 8
“I’m surprised that your young man Lee hasn’t appeared in any of your dreams, Ayliss.” Mira Teel settled deeper into her chair. Steam rose from a mug on the table next to her, and she had a multicolored shawl around her shoulders. “He was taken from you so suddenly, and under such trying circumstances.”
Ayliss pretended to consider the question. They were approaching Larkin Station after coming out of their most recent Step voyage, and she didn’t want to reveal anything that she hadn’t already shared. “I’ve wondered about that myself. But these communications are rather unpredictable, aren’t they?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Mira gave her a pleasant smile. Her latest Step experiences had restored the High Stepper’s calm, and Ayliss found she liked the woman much better this way. “So difficult to know what’s merely a drug-induced hallucination, and what’s a communication.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s like anything of value, dear. Like choosing a lover, or a home. You simply know. Not being able to explain it is one of its surest signs.”
“Is the opposite true? I’ve never felt anything special about my dreams, in or out of the Step. It’s why I’ve always doubted I was sensitive in the way you and your people are.”
“Oh, that’s just not true.” Mira shook her head while reaching for the mug. “Back at Unity, while we were shaping Olech’s plan, you shared a couple of marvelously vivid encounters with us. Your father is highly sensitive, and you are too.”
Ayliss felt blood rising in her face. This was exactly the kind of slip she’d meant to avoid. Mira didn’t sound irked by the inconsistency, but that might be an act.
“You always speak of my father in the present. Have you detected anything that suggests he may still be alive somewhere?”
“I don’t want to prejudice your experience
s, so I’m not going to share too many specifics about my own dreams. No, I haven’t felt anything that suggested his influence or his presence. But it’s the timing that intrigues me. The entities broke contact with us completely, all across the void, when your father disappeared. I can’t believe they would have done that if he’d simply died in a mechanical mishap. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“It’s been months. Even if he was somehow kept in stasis, I can’t see how he might still be alive.”
“Keep your mind—and your heart—open, Ayliss. Anything sophisticated enough to create the Step, pass it to humanity, and then use it to commune with our psyches can’t be understood in normal terms. In giving us the Step, they made it possible for us to do something we simply could not. I choose to believe they did something similar for your father.”
“I hope so.” She let that linger before moving on. “I’d like to stay overnight at Larkin once we get there. Dom Blocker is one of my oldest friends, and his recurring presence in my dreams has disturbed me.”
“Of course you can stay over. Many of our people have asked to leave the ship for a bit. Stretch their legs, pick up some personal items, get a meal not prepared in a ship galley. As for your friend Blocker, don’t be surprised if he’s just fine. The entities sometimes use the form of a non-threatening agent to communicate. He’ll probably scoff at your concern.”
“Again, I hope so.”
“Tell me more about this last dream. You encountered your brother, Jander.”
“Yes, but we didn’t converse much that I can recall. We were children again, very young, playing on a beach where the family used to vacation. No one else was there, and it was a beautiful summer day. He ran up and handed me a shell, or a stone.”
“Really?” The word was almost inaudible, and Ayliss felt she’d tripped over something important. “Which was it?”
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