Kylen had set her alarm, but having slept with only moderate success, she was bleary eyed when she met McQueen at the foot of the stairs. They were out the door at 0615 , in the car, on the way to the Clinic and the pool.

Kylen had tried his workout and decided that if she didn't have to do it she wouldn't. She had sat at the edge of the pool and tried to keep McQueen talking as he crossed through the water, back and forth. The point in trying to keep him talking, Amy had explained, was to judge his level of exertion. "He should be able to speak in complete sentences. If he can't - he needs rest or to slow up."

This was not an easy thing to do. When McQueen was concentrating he generally kept his answers to one word and the work in the pool required concentration. It was far more demanding than an underwater treadmill. There was nothing to hold onto. It required balance and timing using considerably more energy. Kylen had tried to get him to recite Shakespeare but he had told her with only a patina of civility that he was not going to muddy the waters by mixing business with pleasure. She finally had to admit to him the reason for the requisite conversation before he would make an effort. Kylen had been reading up on the war and asked him about The Battle of The Belt. It had been enough to finish up the session. A strict twenty minutes. He was able to make it out of the pool unaided. All in all a success. The thing that was uncommon about the morning, if anything was uncommon, was how easy it had all been. It hadn't been work for either McQueen and Kylen. They fell into a pattern with each other without thinking and without trying.

They had breakfast in the solarium. Kylen finally screwed up the courage to ask the man what had been niggling around in the back of her mind since the day before.

"So, I see you decided to go ahead with the artificial skin," she stated.

"Huh?" McQueen had no idea where she was coming from with this.

"You let them graft the leg," She said; her tone almost but not quite making an accusation.

"It has a function, Kylen. It acts as insulation and there are temperature sensors," he explained. McQueen didn't know why but her line of conversation was beginning to set off bells in his head.

"I suppose," Kylen said dubiously. "But you let them cover it."

"I wanted them to cover it," he stressed. "Why do you care what it looks like, anyway?" She was skating close to the edge and McQueen wanted her to back off.

"Why do you worry about keeping it hidden?" Kylen asked immediately but she used the tone of voice one would use to ask if someone wanted cream and sugar in their coffee. It was a deliberate contortion to keep the conversation from becoming unpleasant.

"Celina, what in the hell are you going on about ?" The bells in his head had turned into klaxons.

"But...?" She interrupted him.

"Drop it, Kylen. Now."

The two ate in silence for a good five minutes. Unlike Amy during their marriage, Kylen, had done as McQueen had asked. Also, unlike Amy, McQueen knew instinctively that she would not ask again. Little Kylen would handle this confusion on her own or take it to her grave but she would not ask again.

Upon reflection it seemed obvious to McQueen that she had issues; that she was projecting something onto him. Something that may or may not have anything to do with him at all. But then again he had just caught himself projecting old battles with Amy onto Kylen. It took him about five seconds to weigh the balance. McQueen began a conscious process of talking himself into pursuing the conversation. He had to know. He had to understand her thought process. It would bug him. Stick in his mind. He would continue to think about it until he knew.

"OK, OK. I'll listen. Whatever it is. I'm a big boy. Let me have it ... Why does it seem to bother you?"

Kylen appraised him - gauging his sincerity. McQueen nodded once, 'Yes'. He meant it; she should say what was on her mind. She looked straight into his face. When Kylen finally spoke it was quiet but with immense intensity and she jabbed the table top with her finger for emphasis.

"I think people need to see it. Don't let them ever think that it never happened - that it was just some war story - that you weren't real. Like you should show them all: "Look, this is what they did to me. This is what you did to me. This is what I was prepared to give up. Now, you people who sit around in your little houses. You people who won't serve me or rent me a room You people who expect me to do this for you - put up or shut up"

McQueen couldn't have done it - leave the leg uncovered - it's AI technology open to view. He wouldn't even want to. Look somewhere else for a cause. Don't look at me. Deal with your own issues, Kid But McQueen could see her doing it. He sensed that there was an unbending streak inside of her. She would do it. Like the families of those guillotined during the French Revolution. She would wear the red ribbon around her neck. Let them all see and let them all face themselves in the mirror. God, I think she really would do it.

"Kylen, trust me when I tell you that there are things better left hidden. Things you don't need or want to telegraph to the world at large."

"Why should I care? It's the truth, anyhow. It happened. It's my life. It's your life. Let them deal with it. Who cares?" She remarked and it was now evident to McQueen how hard she was working to maintain a reasonable tone and expression.

"You will. Someday you will care very much. You are right. It is your life and my life. It isn't theirs. People will want to know all about what it was like to be held by the Chigs. And I don't mean people who love you and are concerned about you. And I don't mean people who need to know for the greater good. I mean perfect strangers who just want to get their rocks off. There will be a lot of those. Prurient interest, Kylen."

"Most of the Holocaust survivors kept their tattoos," she said. Kylen could see that there were, perhaps, some benefits in just putting the truth out there. That people's reactions would be tempered by the unspoken recognition of someone who had faced the unthinkable. A great number of people, probably most, would be moved. They might treat you differently. It seemed to have a positive side.

McQueen thought the exact opposite. He could easily see the negative aspects of leaving your business out in the street. People would treat you differently. He spoke with equal intensity and unconsciously copied her gestures. " And a lot of them wore long sleeved shirts. They kept the tattoos for personal reasons. The important thing is that they knew. Whether they had the tattoo removed or whether they left it alone. Whether they showed it or covered it. Whether I choose to have this leg grafted or not. It is my choice. You think that I will forget that it is there? Ever?"

McQueen had won her instantly and he knew it. Kylen paled and sat back as if she had been hit with a ton of bricks. She had built a gesture of defiance. A theoretical scenario. He had brought her back to reality with a thump. McQueen felt no sense of victory. It hadn't been an argument to be won. He chose to think of it as instruction. But he did feel a sense of relief that it was over.

"Holy shit, Kylen. You are not only one hell of a woman but sometimes, I think, you are one hell of a man," he muttered. He let her stew in her own juices for a while. McQueen knew that he had given her things to think over but he also wanted to let her know that he was not offended. McQueen had asked her to speak her mind and he was, indeed, a big boy.
He tapped his fork against her plate to get her attention.

"Have you heard from Nathan?" he asked.

Kylen raised her eyes to his face and smiled awkwardly. She realized that she hadn't been forgiven - that McQueen didn't feel that there was any offense that would require his forgiveness. She was again stuck by his generosity of spirit.

"A couple of short e-mails off of the spacenet. Marked censored so they seem stiff. They leave the personal stuff alone pretty much," she chuckled softly. McQueen could only imagine. Kylen continued. "I have to read between the lines. Is everything censored?"

"There are a few secured channels but their use is restricted - for obvious reasons," he said. McQueen was sure of one thing, however. There were certain things that the censors would not let through and West was too intelligent to try. Kylen had no idea of the hot water that the 5-8 was in. It would take a while for all of the fallout of Anvil to hit ground. McQueen was not about to tell her either.

Kylen realized that McQueen had gotten information about Vansen and Damphousse from somewhere. He either has access or has been contacted by people who do. Yes, he definitely is a Somebody. She had another thought immediately on top of that. McQueen is going to know a lot of things. Things he can't tell me.

"Colonel, please do something for me. If there is something that you can't tell me. Don't lie to me. Just tell me that you can't tell me. Please don't ever lie to me."

McQueen would have liked to have known what train of thought got her to that rather sudden change of subject. But he did, however, get the gist of her request.

"All right. But you have to remember, Kylen, not everything will be bad," he said but thought: Most things seem to be, but not everything. It's not the whole truth, but not an outright lie. A prevarication. It's the only one I'll give you.

Amy and Dale arrived at that moment, ready to start the day.

"At your usual table I see." Dale said.

"Twenty minutes and able to get out by himself," Kylen reported off to Amy who seemed pleased.

"Same tomorrow then," Amy said. She turned her gaze to McQueen. "Let's go. You are booked on the Balance Master."

"The What?" McQueen asked

"You need much more work on your balance. The Balance Master. It is as it sounds. We've got to work the ankle and toes. Subtle moves for your balance. Sorry, Kylen but this is all mine."

McQueen cringed and the two left the room for the gym.

Kylen rose and began to clear their places. " Dale - Dr. Steinbeck, may I speak with you later ... as Colonel McQueen's physician?"

"Well, my dear, it just so happens that I have some time right now. Walk with me. We'll go to my office. What's on your mind?"

Kylen had to lengthen her strides to keep up with the tall surgeon. "Well, first of all, what can you tell me?"

"Well, our McQueen did not list you as Power of Attorney nor as family and he hasn't communicated any wishes to me regarding your status. So, technically, I can tell you very little about him specifically. But we can speak in general terms about his type of injury and general recovery. I can tell you that physically he is doing very well. My star pupil, if you will."

They had reached the office and Kylen took a seat. "Well, in general terms then what can you tell me about the psychological aspects of recovery? The physical seems pretty straight forward."

"Ah yes, the Enigmatic McQueen. He does present us with a challenge. In general terms...I can tell you that on occasion one of my patients will politely but steadfastly stonewall our Psychologist. Whose experience with InVitros, I'll admit, is largely theoretical. You didn't know the Colonel prior to his injury did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"That's a bit too bad. But, then again, maybe not. You don't bring any baggage to the table," he was thinking of McQueen and Amy. Not the best of circumstances for either of them but it was good for Dale, as the physician, to have some of Amy's insights - colored as they were by personal history.

Kylen did think of something, however, that might be useful. "I can tell you though, Dr. Steinbeck... I don't want to betray his confidence." She hesitated.

Dale Steinbeck picked up her thread. "One can always speak hypothetically, Kylen."

"OK. Hypothetically. If one of your patients had a particular reason to hate Silicates. A personal and painful reason. And now to have this type of prosthetic ... no matter how marvelous.... Well, he has to loathe it on a very deep level ... to have his future depend on AI technology."

"Thank you, Kylen. In a case such as you describe...I would have to rethink about how I approach certain aspects of the process. " No, I didn't know. I knew about the torture - It's obvious. But I didn't know if it was the Nicaraguans, the CCs or the AIs. Our Colonel is well traveled and it took longer to download his considerable medical record than any I have ever seen. And a lot of it was remarkably shoddy. That's important information for me.

Steinbeck wondered why Amy had never told him. He wondered if she even knew that it had been the AIs. Dale could envision McQueen not revealing any of the particulars to Amy. It was not at all uncommon. Steinbeck was, in fact, surprised that the Colonel had shared that information with Kylen. It must have been an interesting trip home for the two of them. Steinbeck filed the information away and turned back to the business at hand.

"So, Kylen, lets begin by you telling me what you think - in general terms, of course, about rehabilitation following this type of injury," he said.

"Well, it seems like a lot of it should be common sense, but I want to get it right. I don't want to screw it up," Kylen admitted.

"The thing about common sense, Kylen, is that it is frequently and remarkably uncommon," Steinbeck said with a laugh.

"He doesn't go on about feeling like less of a man does he?" Kylen asked.

"Tyrus Cassius McQueen doesn't "go on" about anything," Dale smirked. "I think that's part of the problem - in general terms. But I'm curious about your tone. Why do you dismiss the idea that it is how people really feel about losing a limb?" Dale asked.

"Well, I do and I don't. I understand it's important how a person thinks of himself. But the leg isn't the person," she said. "A person's feelings about themselves; who they feel that they are down deep inside - That's what makes the person who they are."

Dale picked up on her train of thought. "And how they_feel_ about themselves doesn't have to do with how the world sees them? How they see themselves? Their body-image? After all, they are pretty tied together, Kylen."

Kylen was having difficulty explaining. "No, that isn't what I mean. Of course how you see yourself is very important. But ... but I guess what I mean is.... To say that missing a leg makes you feel like less than a man. Well, that is just the tip of the iceberg isn't it. A person is more than the sum of their parts, aren't they? It's a bit too facile."

"You may very well be right, Kylen, but how else can someone put it into words?" Steinbeck asked.

"I don't know. I can't explain how I feel about it and I'm not even the one affected," she admitted.

"So imagine how confused the person who is affected must feel. I believe that they fight that same argument without the benefit of distance. It has to be difficult; there must be turmoil don't you think?" he asked; then continued.

"My patients have told me about the importance not just of walking on their own, which is a pretty obvious thing, but just the ability to stand. Just to stand on their own. And this is coming from some former patients not at all given to introspection and self-exploration. They just want to be able to stand on their own. The physical act. We could go on all day about the psychological implications of that particular desire and more particularly the way that they word it. And we certainly can't ignore it. But if we focus only on these feelings I think we miss an important key. A real key. "

Kylen felt that she understood what he was driving at. "Well, isn't that how we see the world. When you have to sit down all the time, the way you see everything is changed. The physical way you see things. Just having to look up to speak with people; that must translate into a person's internal life as well."

"And the way other people see you changes," Steinbeck rejoined. He continued. "The process is complex enough as it is. We don't need to add anything else to it. I mean to say, that if we can take care of the something - then we should do it. Keep things direct and simple when we can. If a person is upset because they cannot stand - and if we can - then we need to help them to stand. The psychological aspect doesn't miraculously disappear but it does become more manageable. We have to give our patients self determination, then do whatever we can to assist them in achieving those goals. We need to have a dual focus - the concrete and the intangible."

"What is the biggest problem people face - as you see it?" she asked

"In a nutshell?" he asked, his amusement evident. "The problems are manifest and as varied as the patients. But if I had to name one thing that I see in all my patients - It's fear. Fear. I sincerely doubt that McQueen will give voice to it. Don't expect him to say anything and it isn't your job to ask - that's mine," he emphasized. "But you have to know that it is there - under the surface. It will color everything to a certain extent. "

Fear. It was something that Kylen could understand. She had been afraid for the last eighteen months. What had been upsetting was the fact that rescue did not mean the sudden absence of fear. There were still any number of things that she feared. Dale could read her understanding and elaborated.

"Fear that the prosthetic won't take or that you won't master it. That you won't be able to handle it. Fear that the people you love won't be able to handle it - that they will be turned off. That they will eventually just leave. People do that, you know. Just leave. Fear that people will find out and be curious, or repelled, or think that disability means lack of ability. Fear that people will think you can't do your job or fear that you have lost your career or the ability to live as you did. Your entire life has been changed and usually violently and without notice." Dale became aware that, in part, he could be describing Kylen's life as well, but he went on.

"But the major item is the fact that you are different. Your are different from how you were days ago but even more importantly you are now different from everybody else in an elemental and significant way. People speak to me of being disconnected. Of being alone. That they will never quite fit in again."

"The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely," Kylen recited.

Dale could see that she had grasped the concept. "And our McQueen was, I understand, exceptional even before this," he said. "Now in McQueen's case - he is faced with an ever tightening circle - becoming a smaller and smaller minority. Till there is just one. Count it down for yourself. A white male in today's global society. An InVitro. An InVitro who is still alive twenty years out of the tank. An InVitro in the military. A marine. A fighter pilot. An officer. An officer of command rank. An amputee. An artificial intelligence prosthetic." Dale Steinbeck let the list of McQueen's isolation sink in for a few seconds then, to seal the bargain he repeated, counting off on his fingers.

"Let's see. A Caucasian InVitro, over the age of thirty-five, marine fighter pilot, Colonel amputee, with an experimental artificial limb. I think we are down to the only person on the planet. A population of one. He has no peer group."

"The Peerless McQueen," Kylen said.

"The Peerless, Solitary, Exceptional, Enigmatic and Unrepentant McQueen," Dale recited. "Good luck to us all."

"Is that why he let you reupholster the leg?" she asked.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Dale responded.

"There was a rebellious part of me that wanted him not to cover it. Not to blend in. A Scarlet Letter," she admitted sheepishly.

"That is perverse Kylen. It's distasteful. Not only is it unrealistic; it is unfair. That's what you want to do. It's a statement you want to be made because you admire and want to defend him. And it's a statement about your own life you want to transfer to him. That's a battle you have no right to expect him to fight for you. McQueen is many things but don't expect him to be a poster child. He won't stand for it."

Next : Chapter Nineteen

Previous : Chapter Seventeen

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