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Authors: Jean Johnson

Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty (43 page)

BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
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“Once the parapsychologists and I figured out how best to work through my nightmares . . . yes. And I do mean work through them,” Ia added, knowing she had to turn the session to her advantage.
“Please, explain,” Bennie urged, gesturing with her free hand.
“I’m good at helping people. Because of the things I saw as a child, I developed the urge to help others. But I’m also good at fighting. Combining the two, helping people, fighting to defend others, striving to stop other people from being violent . . . these things soothe my psyche. I’m stable in combat because I know I’m helping save innocent lives. Put me behind a desk . . . and, well,” Ia shrugged, “. . . the memories start to eat at my soul. I cannot
not
help people.”
“You saw . . . things . . . as a child, but combat as an adult doesn’t bother you?” Bennie asked. “The blood, the gore, the screams of the dying?”
Ia gave the chaplain a level look. “I never said it
doesn’t
bother me. I said I figured out how to work past all that. For the record, it
does
bother me. I want to make it stop. More than that, I want to make it stop happening to other people. And it makes me want to try harder the next time. My reflexes, my skills, my grasp of tactics, these things make me a natural warrior. My will to place these things between innocent lives and whatever threatens them,
that
makes me a natural soldier.”
Her claim to natural warrior skills was a lie; she had forced herself to work hard at training everything for over two years before joining the Marines. By now, the habits were ingrained into her muscles, but it hadn’t been easy, let alone natural, at the beginning.
“I have certain abilities which the average person does not,” Ia continued. That statement was the absolute truth, counterbalance to her lie. “It would be wasteful if I didn’t use them, particularly if I could help others,” Ia pointed out. “Someone has to stand between the innocents of the world and anything that might try to harm them. To not use these abilities when I know I can, and I know I should . . .
that
would be the real nightmare.”
Absolute truth.
Bennie considered her words. She mulled them over, sipping at her caf’. Ia sipped at her water, letting the silence stretch between them. Eventually, the chaplain nodded, coming to whatever conclusion was in her thoughts. “And if you fail to save someone?”
If she failed to save the
future
, which might and could turn on the saving of a single life, that was a nightmare Ia didn’t ever want to have to face. Far more rode on the outcome of her actions than this one woman could even dream existed. But the question demanded a reply. Setting her mug in the clip on the end table next to her, Ia shrugged. “Then I’ll acknowledge my failures, make whatever reparations I can, and try even harder the next time. It’s called maturity. Taking responsibility for your actions. I’ll be more cautious. I’ll develop better skills. I’ll work smarter, and harder, so I won’t fail the next time.”
“And if you still fail?” Bennie asked quietly.
Ia met her gaze levelly. “Then I’ll have died trying.”
“And the people around you?” the chaplain asked her next. “While you’re so busy trying so hard that you die?”
She braced her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands, staring at a spot somewhere past nowhere. Not quite onto the timeplains, but definitely seeing the faces of the lives that surrounded her. “They’re the people I’m trying to save.”
“Save them from what?”
Ia looked up, mouth twisting in a lopsided, wry smile. “Wrong question.”
The chaplain arched one of her reddish gold brows. “Is it, now?”
“It’s easy to find something to fight
against
, sir. I’m sure you’ve seen that time and again, as a chaplain. Warriors who get so caught up in the fighting and the dying, the hatred and the misery, they can see nothing but the wounds scarring their bodies, the blood coating their floor. What a soldier needs is something worth fighting
for
. A goal. Something beyond the war . . . because all wars come to an end, one way or another,” Ia told her. “It’s what comes after that you have to focus on, that you have to pull through the mud, and the blood, and the gore.”
Bennie lifted her chin at Ia. “So, tell me. What comes after? What are
you
fighting for?”
Ia looked down at her clasped hands. “It’s not words. It’s a moment. Dusk. On my homeworld, in the summertime. The evening lightning storms are flickering off to the east, bluish white against the deep purple of the mountains. Off to the west . . . sunset over the ocean in the distance, and the deep oranges and reds of the fading light. The barking of a stubbie—that’s a kind of heavyworld-adapted dog,” she added in explanation. “The laughter of the children as they play in the sandpit, happy and content . . .”
Her words filled the quiet of the chaplain’s office, painting the picture found in her heart.
“. . . The sleepy chirps of the rauela perched in the trees, their rainbow hues subdued in the shadows. The spicy-sweet scent of the plimka bushes in bloom, and the buzzing of fritteries as they feed on the sap. The crisp, hunger-inducing scent of fried topadoes, blue and bright, and the seared sweetness of sunsalmon imported from the planet Scadia, all of it still lingering in the air. A father calling out to his children to come eat their dessert. A mother pouring glasses of milk. A hovercar humming past, skimming on its way to who knows where. The soft bounce of the plexcrete underfoot as you walk up the path to your home.”
Pain welled up inside of her, forcing her to close her eyes and calm herself, or risk crying for what she could not have. Bennie waited patiently. As soon as she felt safe enough, Ia concluded the scene with the truth, with the deepest longing in her heart.
“Just . . . one moment of peace.”
Silence filled the room once more. Ia sat back and waited for the results of her honesty. Bennie studied her for a few moments more, then nodded slowly.
“I think we’ve talked enough for one day. I’d like to chat with you after your next few combats as well—and you can come to me at any time in between and talk about anything. But you’re stable enough to go on, for now. It’s also just about your platoon’s bedtime, isn’t it?” she asked the younger woman.
Ia nodded, relieved the future wasn’t mucked up too badly. She had found mostly the right words. This time. Following the future wasn’t always like following a script; sometimes there were just too many just-good-enough options to pick out the absolute best. “I know I can come here, sir.”
The chaplain smiled wryly. “Bennie, please. The only reason I have bars on my collar is so I can officially sit on the
un
stable members of my flock, and legally get away with it.”
Ia smiled back. “I’ll try. Sir.”
Bennie grinned at the teasing, and gently shooed her out of the cabin. Ia grateful retreated with a lighter feeling held inside than when she had entered. Not truly light—not a moment of peace—but lighter.
 
“Hhheww will die, Hhewmanss!”
Frantically, Ia reached out with her mind, but nothing happened. She flung her hand down as well, as if she could crush the grenade in the alien’s pseudopodic hand several meters away, but it hurled through the air at her anyway. She ducked and twisted, diving out of the way, but couldn’t avoid it. The grenade exploded, ripping her apart in pain-filled chunks that splattered all over her unshielded face as she stood there, facing the hate-filled alien, paralyzed with the need to get
out
of the way—and the grenade hit her a second time, this time with the exact same impact as landing face-first on the floor with a jarring, wakening
thud
.
“—Whuh?” On the bunk next to her, Estes shot up quickly. So quickly, she smacked her head on the bottom of the upper bed.
“Ow!”
Glad the cabin had only lightworlder gravity, Ia rolled over onto her back, nursing her battered nose and shoulder. She covered the former with the hand of her uninjured arm, then quickly covered her face as well when Estes hit the switch for the cabin lights.
“Ia? What are you doing on the
floor
?” Estes demanded.
Several options raced through her mind. The pain in the bridge of her nose made it hard to think. Ia rolled away from the bed, facing the lockers. Grabbing her nose, she pulled, resetting the bone with a gasp. Her psi countered with a flood of numb heat. She couldn’t heal as fast as some biokinetics—not without a source of energy to feed upon—but her nose would look more or less normal by morning. No questions would be asked, provided she kept her back to the other corporal.
“Ia? Are you alright?” Estes asked.
With the numbness soothing the pain, Ia could think. A quick skim of the immediate future showed her a little humanity would go a long way. “Nothing . . . just a nightmare.”
“Nightmare?” her teammate asked. Ia could hear her sitting up more cautiously this time. “About what?”
Ia pushed herself upright and gestured vaguely with one hand. “You know . . . the fight, today.” Opening her locker, she pulled out her writing equipment. “I can’t get back to sleep, right now. I’ll go do something in the front room until I’m tired again, so I don’t disturb you. Only one of us needs to be awake right now.”
“If you want to talk about it . . .” Estes offered.
“Yeah, I know; I can go see Bennie,” she quipped, stacking papers and equipment in her arms.
“I meant you could talk with
me
.”
The soft chiding touched Ia. It was an offering of friendship. One she didn’t dare accept too closely. She knew what would happen to the other woman in the most probable futures ahead of them. Everything that
had
to happen hurt too much as it was. Nodding, keeping her gaze averted, Ia closed the locker and headed for the door. “Thanks . . . but I think another time. I need to get my mind off of it and onto something more useful right now. Sleep well. Or at least better than me.”
Sealing the door between them, she padded through the near-dark of the room, lit only by the faint yellow and green glows of various indicator lights. Flicking on the lamp by her desk, Ia set up the portable writer and bent her mind away from splatters of red and blue.
If I can’t sleep, I can’t afford to waste my wakefulness.
Hands hovering over the keys, she cleared her mind firmly, focusing down and in to get onto the timeplains.
I have everything in the near immediate future covered for most of the galaxy . . . but I have too many things to write out for my homeworld. And far fewer years to guide its future than to guide everyone else’s.
So . . . let’s find the next locutus in the streams I need to dig around and guide just right . . .
As horrific as the possible futures would be if she failed, they at least were concrete possibilities, potential chances she could work with. Nightmares were nebulous horrors she felt powerless to prevent. She hadn’t lied to Chaplain Benjamin about what kept her sane, of how she needed to help others to work through the pains and horrors of each day.
Frowning in concentration at the keyboard, she caressed it with her fingers, but didn’t type; instead, Ia stimulated the circuits with her mind. She picked out a seemingly innocent message, one which would actually affect her own lifetime, and began composing it electrokinetically.
ATTENTION:
AFASO SENIOR MASTER KILLA JAMBE’A. YOU’LL BE ON YOUR WAY TO TERRA VERDE. YOU’RE THE CLOSEST PERSON WHO CAN HELP ME WITH THIS MATTER.
 
 
DATE:
TERRAN STANDARD 2491.01.03,
Parker’s Gate
STATION LOCAL TIME 13:50 +/- 5 MINUTES
 
LOCATION:
PARKER’S WORLD,
Parker’s Gate
STATION, SECTION C, 15TH DECK, A DIVE OF A BAR NAMED JINN’S LAST STAND. ORDER A BOTTLE OF K’VASSA, UNOPENED, BUT DON’T DRINK IT OR ANYTHING ELSE. YOUR STOMACH WON’T HANDLE IT.
 
TARGET:
DREK THE MERCILESS. HUMAN, DARK HAIR, GRIZZLED BEARD, BLACK VEST, RINGS WITH SPIKES ON HIS FINGERS, AND A NOSE-RING CONNECTED BY A CHAIN TO HIS LEFT EAR. METALS SHOULD BE MOSTLY SILVER OR STEEL. HE WILL GO UP TO THE BAR AND ORDER A DRINK. ORDER YOURS AT THAT MOMENT, TOO.
 
MESSAGE, TO BE DELIVERED MURMURED IN HIS EAR WITHOUT LOOKING AT HIM, WHILE THE BARTENDER IS BUSY FETCHING THE DRINKS:
“A CERTAIN, SPECIAL SOMEONE SENDS HER REGARDS. SHE RESPECTFULLY SUGGESTS YOU PICK YOUR MENU CHOICES FROM COLUMN B INSTEAD OF COLUMN A, NEXT TIME YOU’RE IN CHAN’S. SHE ALSO SENDS A REMINDER. YOU OWE HER QUITE A DEBT BY NOW. BE READY TO REPAY IT ONE DAY.”
 
ACTION:
ACCEPT YOUR BOTTLE FROM THE BARTENDER AND LEAVE. GIVE THE UNOPENED BOTTLE TO THE CRESTED TLASSIAN JUST OUTSIDE. HE’LL TAKE CARE OF ANY FOLLOWERS. JUST MAKE YOUR WAY BACK TO YOUR SHIP, AND CONTINUE ON YOUR JOURNEY. THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP IN THIS MATTER.
BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
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