Exodus
Page 8
PART THREE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Accept the strength offered by your fellow man
You never know when you’ll need to give it back
- Unknown
“I don’t even know where to begin.” Speaking out loud sends Marshall into a coughing fit, the sound of which turns my stomach. He recovers and continues, voice thick with disuse, but stronger.
“I’ve sent men to the brig before. Thought it was a just sentence. Solitary confinement. Now,” he sighs. The water he drank moments before spills from his eyes. “I couldn’t do that to my worst enemy, now.”
I reach for him, take his shrinking fist in mine. “I’m sure you had your reasons. Your orders.”
Marshall sighs, leaves his cold hand under mine, and continues, “Yes, of course. Following orders. Such a good, obedient soldier.” The words are heavy with hatred, at himself. His wet eyes rise to meet mine. Shimmering dark brown pools.
I can feel his thoughts through them, his regret at holding me hostage in that interrogation room. I want to comfort him, tell him that I forgive him. But I don’t. Can’t.
Won’t.
After the moment passes with nothing from me, Marshall removes his fist and wipes his eyes with it. A gray smudge crawls across his face. “I had a lot of time to think.” He nods. “Being a soldier was everything. I dedicated my life to this. And… and now.”
“And now we’re going to land on a new, wonderful planet, and it will all be worth it.” Even as the words leave my lips, the visions of that poor filthy boy being… what? Cured? I force a smile to my lips and blankness to my chip. Now’s not the time to share those images with Howie. “I saw it. When I was asleep. I saw Gliese. Saw what we’ve been able to accomplish in such a short time. It’s beautiful. Such clean blue water and so many happy people. And we’re almost there.” The last part comes out as more of a question than I meant it to. Truth is, I don’t know how close we are to landing. Harsher truth is, I know I’m not supposed to be awake right now.
Marshall doesn’t wait to receive the worried thoughts I know I’m broadcasting. His own worries overshadow them. “I don’t see how.”
We both look back at the boxes of slop. From the smell alone, I expect to see maggots crawling the floor, coming after me.
“That stuff’s not fit to eat.” Marshall almost gags on the thought. “I haven’t weighed this little since junior high. I’m surprised I’m even alive right now.”
Him and me both. It just goes to show what a strong, determined person he is. I catch myself before a laugh makes it from my lips. Just a week ago, at least in my mind, he was the enemy. And here I am, comforting and… admiring him.
He pays me no mind, lost in his thoughts. The wheels of his story already turning. “I’d eat when I had to, and spend the next two or three days paying for it.”
“At first, I tried to clean up, move all the… people. Didn’t feel right to send the rest of them through the airlock.” His eyes are dry, but far away from the here and now. “In the end, they all turned on each other. On themselves. Those… civilians… who couldn’t wait for order to be restored.”
My face warms at the way he spits the word ‘civilians’ out. I may wear his wolf’s clothing, but I’m still a sheep underneath. An outsider.
“Did you —” I start.
“Nah, they were gone when I got over there. Not sure what happened.” Marshall frowns. “Never saw em again. Never saw anyone.” He shrugs as if being alone on a doomed ship for — however long — is no biggie.
“Thank you,” I head back to the kitchen to make him another glass of water. My legs surprise me by working this time. “You saved me… again.”
“Least I could do,” is all he says, and chugs the whole glass. “Wanna play cards?” Without waiting for a response, our talk is over, as Marshall leaps to his feet and disappears down the hallway.
None too sure about the layout of the ship, I run to keep up. And run especially fast through the areas that smell the most like death. After a few zigzags, I stumble into a wide-open room. There's a table with two chairs dead center, and Marshall already seated at one. He pushes the other out with an unseen foot. “Been waiting for proper company. If I play one more hand of solitaire.” He gives me a bright smile, but which feels like it's for both our sakes. Then he smacks his deck of cards on the table and begins to shuffle.
When I reach him I almost gasp, but swallow it down. In Marshall's rough, dry hands is a deck of medication packets. Each single-use vacuum-sealed pack is cut to size, every number and face card drawn on by hand. The backs are intricately decorated with a diamond mosaic pattern. Most are red, but a couple stragglers are blue as they zip through his expert hands. All are empty.
Marshall catches me looking and says, “Drives me crazy, too. But I couldn't for the life of me find any more red pens. Didn't think it was right to go through people's personal cargo. But damn if I didn't want to some days.”
I take my seat as he deals out the first hand. I try to catch the names of the medications as I inspect my cards, but he's done a thorough job of fully covering them. I wonder, yet again, just how long I've been asleep.
“It's not what you think,” Marshall scratches his full beard, then slams the hand on the table. A thunderous boom echoes around the empty room. It’s amazing what you hear when all the other normal sounds of your world are gone. “Well, maybe it is. Hell, if anyone would understand, it's you.” He makes a concerted effort not to look at my wrists, so much so that it's obvious he wants to. I tug my sleeves down to cover them. “When you're alone… really alone… it takes forever to get crazy enough not to care. Till then, there's pills. At first, I told myself I was just taking them to sleep through it. But we both knew I didn't want to wake up.”
My eyes burn as they bore holes through my cards, refusing to meet his gaze.
“But we're here together now. Ever play crazy eights?” Marshall grins at his hand, big enough for me to notice that two of his teeth are missing. I quickly avert my eyes, not wanting to embarrass him, and they fall on his mangled hands. Chunks of flesh are just gone. He continues arranging the cards as if neither of these things register in his mind anymore. Only these seven medicine packet cards.
//Syn, help!// Howie chips before I can ask Marshall what a crazy eight is.
###
//What’s wrong?// I chip back to him, heart thumping out of my chest. The cards tremble in my hands.
//I can’t restart the I.V. It’s back in… I think, but it won’t work.//
//You’re trying to go back into hibernation?//
//No, just the food. I’m… hungry.//
//Hmm, I don’t know if it works without the whole sequence. Never thought of that. Hold on.//
“Are our pods the same as the ones on the Unity?” I ask Marshall, thought I’m already getting up from the table.
“Hey, I had a good hand!” He hurries to catch up. “What you gonna do with the pod, Ratnik?”
“I need to know if it’s the same as the Unity’s pods. Howie needs help.”
Marshall’s footsteps stop following. Then start up again after a heartbeat. “Yes, yes they’re exactly the same. One model year difference, but most of that was cosmetic. Unity’s pods were round.” His voice is tinged with so much sadness, it makes me wonder how he knows. There’s plenty of time later to find out.
We reach the STASIS room together, and I re-sync to my pod. I don’t dare climb in, but get close enough for the signals to find each other.
//Howie, let me download my schematic and walk you through it.//
//Will that work? I should have thought of that.//
//Well, if we can fix this, then we’re even. Cuz I didn’t think to use the I.V. We could really use that. Our food’s tainted, what’s left of it.//
As I download the Life Support manuals, Marshall steps back and watches me work. He’s muttering something under his breath I can’t catch. But I hear enough to know he’s teeterin
g on the edge again.
I ping the manuals to Howie. //Looks simple enough. You have to disable the sleeping gas first, override it.//
“Marshall… Marshall!” His head snaps up. Lips still moving slightly, talking to himself. “What’s your pin?”
“Uh, 7732.” His words are barely a whisper, which I have to strain to hear. The next words, unfortunately, are all too clear. “All these years,” he says with wonder.
My mind flashes to the feel of my long hair between my fingertips and I can’t breathe. How long was I asleep?
//Code?// Howie urges. //It’s flashing red. I don’t want —//
//7732,// I chip, forcing myself to focus. //Override the gas, then you’ll have to change the configuration. Disable everything but the I.V. and oxygen.//
//I smell it. I never want to smell another rose again.// Howie’s words come faster as his panic level rises.
//I can’t believe you stuck that needle in your arm.// I offer a distraction, laughing louder than necessary through our bond.
Marshall starts pacing the wall in front of me, hands on his head.
//That was one time. And we were kids.// It’s working. I can hear his ego swell.
//Kids? We were in the seventh grade. It took three nurses to hold you down.// I tease.
//And I was right, too. Wasted that shot. It was only six months before the –//
We both think ‘glitch’ but neither says it.
Marshall stumbles in the far corner as if he’s drunk. He doesn’t bother to pick himself up.
//You got this? I need to do some stuff here.// I hold my breath and concentrate on not sending an image of my surroundings to Howie. The last thing he needs is to see just how dire our situation is here. He would never accept my help if he knew I was probably dying on this ship.
//Yeah, I think I’m ready. I’ll let you know how it goes.// As if thinking the same thing, Howie’s transmission is bright and airy, with no vid link to his pod either.
//Thanks, if it works, I’m gonna do ours.// I almost close the transmission link, then hesitating, I ask, //Are you… not going out of your pod?//
Marshall is weeping openly now, laying sprawled on the floor. The dingy shirt on his back sticks to his skin. I wonder if it’s part of him now, how long it’s been since he bathed. And, is that what I looked like after the ship exploded.
Howie chips back, //That’s an adventure for another day.// His fear is palpable, but I have more pressing matters. I disconnect from my pod and go to Marshall.
His sobs drown out the words he’s whispering to the floor.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Those who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders,
Will bend to its will in the end
- Sacerdot
(excerpt from eulogy of Marcus Stone)
For all his starving, Marshall’s still too heavy for me to lift off the floor. And he’s not helping. It reminds me of dragging Comier through the halls, dead weight.
The images flashing through my mind release the grip I have on Marshall’s jacket, and he falls back to the floor with a crack. Instead of screaming in pain, or anger, he just lays there.
“Marshall!” I snap, hoping he’ll come out of whatever funk he’s in. My mind wanders to our deck of pill packet cards, and whether they’re kicking in.
Through a slick layer of blood in his mouth, Marshall says, “All this time… He’s real. All this time…” At least now, he helps me pull him off the floor. Though, he doesn’t bother to wipe the line of crimson drool from his lip.
“Yes, he’s real.” I say, “And you just helped me save his life. I owe you.”
“No!” Fire crackles under his words. He turns to me with a brief flash of clarity in his eyes. “You owe me nothing! I failed you.” And just as quickly as it flared up, it’s gone.
“Let’s get you some more water and show me how to kick your ass at this crazy eights.” My mask of cheer slides into place.
On the walk back to the cafeteria my mind swirls with too much data. Too many missing pieces. The moonset shines through an outer window as we pass and I stop to stare at it. Is it my moon? How long was I asleep? How long was Marshall alone? Just how crazy did it make him?
My stomach rumbles with my next line of worry. How bad is this food going to mess me up?
“Did he wake you up? Your… connection?” Marshall’s eyes are fixed on the empty napkin dispenser at our table. He’s been inspecting himself in its reflection for the past five minutes. The glass of water sits untouched between us.
Next to it, my silver metal plate with one ladle of gray slop sits, also untouched.
“I think so. I was watching the tour… have you seen it?”
“Yeah, I logged into the mainframe. Watched ‘em all.” He laughs. “Guess I’m overqualified now.”
“Are they true? The Unrein? The cure? Is all that stuff… real?” I pick up the fork and try again to summon enough courage to take a bite.
His response is a shrug. When I don’t break eye contact, he adds, “Seems like all the briefings centered around them. Controlling them. Culling the herd. Those experiments. At the time it all seemed worth it.” I expect to see regret, shame, in his eyes. But though his words are morose, his eyes are vacant.
I drop my fork, appetite gone. With a shuddering deep breath, I change the subject back to a more pleasant topic. “I was watching mine and all of a sudden, Howie was talking to me. I could hear him. Feel what he felt. See what he saw. We were… one.”
“A meld?” The awe in Marshall’s voice matches my own.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I think so.”
“Shit.”
“Right?”
“But, he didn’t… I mean, you were just talking to him.”
“No, he didn’t. He’s alive. But, maybe he thought he was dying and his chip reached out to me. I don’t know. But I’m glad it did. Glad I could be there for him.” I cough to mask the lump in my throat and Marshall gives me the courtesy of not noticing.
When I pick up my fork for the third time, he says almost under his breath, “That’s why I went in there.”
My eyes shoot to him.
“You were… thrashing around, making all these crazy noises. Screaming. At the end you were screaming. I thought you were dying. But I was scared to open your pod. I didn’t know what to do. So… I just… watched. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can do not to burst into tears right then and there. He’s put himself through so much. To have anything in the world to do to distract my mind, occupy my hands, I take a tentative bite. It’s not half bad. It tastes like it did that day I shared some with Comier. Who knows what it will do to me later, but for now, I can handle it.
“I wish you wouldn’t eat that.” Marshall groans.
“I shouldn’t have to eat much of it. Now that we know the pod’s Life Support System will work, we should be able to limp along with that and only eat this when necessary.”
But Marshall has stopped listening. He’s staring at himself in the napkin holder again. I wonder, not for the first time, what he’s thinking. What things haunt him that I know he’ll never share.
I risk glancing down at my side of the napkin dispenser, and instantly regret it. My hair is longer than even my fingers imagined. Unwashed, uncombed knots. I turn my head and examine the scar on my cheek. At least my fingers did that justice; it’s just as it felt. Soft and numb, probably the best I could have hoped for.
Sitting up straighter I examine the rest of me. A blurred out clown mirror image of a thin, still decidedly androgynous frame stares back. Although it’s hard to breathe in this binder, and Marshall’s the only other living soul around, I feel safer with it on.
Long after I finish my slop and clean up our dishes, Marshall still sits there alone in the booth. Still stares. Then, when I stand, about to give up and go find my sleeping quarters, he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “I won’t make it.”
“I can’t do it. It’s killing me. I won’t make it to Gliese, Synta.”
The air rushes out of me and I fall to the booth. He just used my real name.
Marshall takes my hand in his. He’s so cold and brittle. “I’m glad I got to see you again. I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am for holding you back. Taking you from your brother. Family… we’ve all lost so much and you had your family and I –”
“Stop talking like that.” I say it with as much determination and defiance I can muster and yank my hand from his. “Now come show me how to play this game.”
//I’m not feeling sorry for myself.// Marshall transmits to my back as I leave the room, and he doesn’t. //I’ve known for a long time that I wouldn’t make it to Gliese. I came to terms with it long ago.//
When I reach the rec room I flick the scene of me rifling through our deck of cards into his chip. //I’m gonna stack the deck if you don’t get your butt in here. Are eights good crazy or bad crazy? So I know whose hand to stick them in.//
//I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I’ve made my peace with it.// I can tell he hasn’t moved.
//I don’t care what peace you made. We found a way around it. Everything is fine now. You’re stuck with me for… how long do we still have?//
The image I pushed into Marshall’s head is shoved to the side, replaced by a stark white napkin, speckled with bright red phlegm. //I don’t have seven months in me.//
//You should have woken me up. We could have taken turns. Why? Stone, you’re so stubborn. How did that –// Thoughts tumble over each other in my head, too fast for them to make it out of my mouth. None of them dare to hear that he said seven months.
###
After a few minutes, Marshall finally comes to the rec room and teaches me the game. It’s more fun than I expected it to be, and I can’t stop from picturing myself teaching it to Brooks while we play hand after hand. The only problem is, I can’t quite get him right in my head. The passage of time, which I can’t estimate and Marshall refuses to tell me, makes it impossible. I finally give up and picture Bit, my cute little chubby pre-glitch baby brother. The way I want him to be.