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Kylen sat with her feet resting on an open drawer of the nightstand. She
again found herself counting McQueen's respirations. We've got to stop
meeting like this. she thought. It was a poor joke.
She had learned over the past year to lie, to steal, to swear like a
longshoreman. She could lurk, hide and blend. Kylen could help devise and
use secret codes and hand signals for The Group. She could run mining
equipment. She could sleep on stone, cold and wet. She could survive. She
could feel brief moments of laughter but she wasn't sure that she could ever
be joyful again. Kylen was now more than a little sardonic. She had learned
that "heartache" was not just a term but an actually feeling of cold and
heaviness in her chest. It was indeed physically felt and it was one step
away from despair. She had lived with this pain in her body and her spirit
for over a year. She had lost all innocence. Would she ever again be able
to describe herself as lighthearted? The pain; the weight never really went
away. It waxed and waned but it was always with her. Kylen closed her eyes
and quoted to herself: The first and the final thing you have to do in this
world is to last in it, and not be smashed by it.
Witnessing McQueen's frustration and desperation had brought all the pain
back to the forefront. It almost hurt to think. Part of her wanted to run
screaming from the room but Kylen realized that it was too late. The damage
had already been done. If she went back to her bunk she might feel less
pain.... But only slightly and she would feel lonely inside that mass of
displaced people. It might feel worse on one hand to stay where she was -
but here, at least, she didn't feel alone and there was now peace and quiet.
She could breathe here. She could think. Kylen realized that this time she
had built the bubble around McQueen..... Or at least had helped. It made her
feel accomplished and mature. She opened her eyes and found that McQueen was
watching her.
"You are going to need a new IV, " she said reasonably.
"Later," he replied wearily.
"I could probably do it." She saw the question in his face. "All of the
colonists had to have a secondary skill. Mine was medical. I'm a paramedic
and med tech. The AI's were funny about that. Sometimes they would give us
medical supplies and let me work. Then they would take the stuff away. It
had nothing to do with infractions or rewards. Just random messing with our
minds, I guess"
"Tell Major Howard," McQueen prompted softly.
"I will. I've talked to him already this morning. I'll see him again
tomorrow. Colonel, I think that he may be the one....The one to tell."
"Me too," he agreed simply.
Kylen pulled out her notebook and wrote "IV" on the first page to jog her
memory. She crossed to the door, leaned out and asked for IV supplies.
McQueen couldn't see around the door but he did see a uniformed arm give her
a basket full of the equipment. She returned and proceeded to restart his
IV. McQueen felt a little unsure but he trusted Kylen and her interest in
him more than he trusted the nurses who might be better at the task.
Truth be told, Kylen was sweating bullets. It had been months since she had
started an IV and she simultaneously cursed her promise to get it started and
prayed for the skill to get the job done. This will catch up with me if I
don't change my ways.
Kylen bent her head to the task. McQueen watched her work for a minute or two
then spoke softly. "You haven't locked my heels yet."
Without looking up she answered. " Well, McQueen, I have no idea what that
means but I can guess. Hold still, here comes the pinch." She did not look
up from her work. " What you did....I have to admit,.... it's something that
I've wanted to do more than once recently.... Though I doubt that I could be
so... Spectacular," she smirked. "Besides, 'It makes one feel rather
good deciding not to be a bitch.'"
McQueen held his breath until he saw the flash. She was pretty good after
all. She started to tape in the IV.
"That was Hemingway wasn't it?" he asked.
"I thought you might like him" Kylen quipped. "He is a masculine author."
"Masculine?" He asked.
"Don't you think so?" she encouraged. "Very male. Lots of testosterone. An
author for men."
McQueen had no concept of how to frame a response. She is a clever girl.
The IV is in and taped. She kept me occupied while she did it.
Kylen adjusted the drip and finally looked up at McQueen. She met him eye to
eye. "Colonel, 'The world breaks everyone and many are stronger at the
broken places.'"
McQueen wished that he had been able to think faster; that he would have been
able to give that quote to her. He found her earnestness, her determination
compelling.
As she put the equipment away, Kylen formed her next words carefully. If she
were to ask McQueen if he wanted her to stay he would probably say 'no,' as a
point of pride. And if she were to ask him if he wanted her to leave he
would think that she wanted to go. She finally decided not to ask a question
at all.
"Tell me when you want me to leave. I can stay as long as you like."
McQueen felt a little discomforted by her remark. It was rare for someone to
treat him with such courtesy. Military courtesy, yes, he had earned that and
expected it, but rarely personal courtesy.
"Can I get you anything, Colonel? Maybe something from your bag?" she asked.
"What bag?" he asked. McQueen thought that all his belongings were probably
packed, in storage and waiting for room on a transport off the Saratoga. The
way these things worked it would probably be months before his stuff caught
up with him.
"Your carry-on," Kylen said as she started looking through cabinets.
"Carry-on? What are you talking about?"
"This," she said as she turned to him with a triumphant look. " The Black
officer gave it to the corpsman. It has your name on it."
"Glen," he whispered. His friend, Commodore Ross, had thought to send along
a few things. He recognized the writing. Only Glen would think to do that.
As Kylen handed it to him, McQueen automatically corrected her : "It's a
musette bag not a carry-on."
"Musette," she repeated.
He began to go through the contents, removing the items and placing them on
the bed. A beret, and a cap.
"Hats?" Kylen questioned.
"In the corps they are referred to as "Covers," he corrected.
"Covers," she parroted.
McQueen shot her an unpleasant look.
Kylen tried to defend herself against 'The Look.' "I'm not being smart. I
just realized that I better start to learn all this stuff since Nathan is in
the Marines."
"Right," McQueen tentatively accepted her explanation.
"Colonel, how long will Nathan be in?" she asked her voice small and oddly
childlike at that moment.
Before he could temper his response, McQueen heard himself recite by rote :
"Duration plus six months."
Kylen was visibly moved by this remark. McQueen felt rotten having said it,
but it was the truth and there was little he could do to ease let alone
change the facts.
"Kylen, I'm sorry."
"I understand," she responded in the same small voice.
He pulled out a couple books, reading their spines before placing them on his
lap. Ross had thrown in the wedding photograph which McQueen placed to the
side. A deck of cards. His butterfly knife. There was a picture of Glen's
kids with an address and phone number on the back. Of course you jerk,
I'll call your kids, he laughed to himself. His first purple heart and
finally a few of his brushes which were, unfortunately, the worse for the
wear.
"Sumi-e or watercolor?" Kylen asked genuinely surprised. The sight of the
brushes had succeeded in breaking into her private thoughts.
McQueen felt inexplicably embarrassed but thoughtful that she would know the
differences between the disciplines, let alone the name of the form.
"Sumi-e..... Mostly," he offered rather shy at having admitted his avocation.
"These are the real thing. Not synthetic. I'm impressed," Kylen said
honestly.
Sumi-e - Calligraphy - This expression of self was a very personal thing to
McQueen. He read her face looking for any traces of sarcasm. There weren't
any. She was being truthful.
"I tried but I didn't have the self-discipline for it, I guess," she offered.
"It's the process, isn't it?....Not just the end result. The doing is what
brings the satisfaction. At least it works that way for me. Its something
that you have to get out. Doing the work is what brings the release. I
believe that people make art because they have to...not because they want to.
No one puts themselves through it if they have a choice." She was rapidly
becoming embarrassed by her self revelation. "Let me take those brushes.
These are rare and really valuable. I'll shape them up again before they get
ruined. I'll see if I can find something to protect them later."
She took the brushes to the sink, happy to be doing something. This whole
thing was more than slightly surreal after the virtual warfare that had taken
place in the room a while earlier. It was almost like the prison camp.
Surreal. Alice through the looking glass all over again. Kylen wet the
brushes and started to shape them.
McQueen had been surprised - again. Very few people caught him off guard and
Kylen had this odd capacity to keep surprising him. He had never heard anyone
explain the satisfaction of making art and the inner drive of the process as
well as she just had. He hadn't ever heard that term either - making art -
and he liked it greatly.
He watched her working on the brushes. The work was more than serviceable.
She did a pretty good job. Not as he would do it but it seemed ungracious to
make a complaint.
As if sensing his observation she looked up. "I'm sorry, these are yours.
Here, you better finish this up. Do 'em how you like 'em. I know how
artists can be about their brushes." McQueen tilted his head in the way of a
question.
"I used paint, " she said sadly. "Gave it up to go to Tellus. No room for
the stuff on the flight there. Maybe I can start again now." McQueen
nodded. He had always found civilians to be confusing. He was never sure
what they were looking for and he again couldn't think of an adequate
response.
McQueen took the brushes she was handing him and did a quick touch up on a
couple of them. He then stuck one in his mouth, pulling it through his lips
to get the shape he wanted. He gave Kylen a guilty look. She laughed openly.
"Tsk...Tsk...Tsk," she admonished. "You should see the look on your face,"
she laughed. "You raise seven sheets of hell with the nurses and then look
guilty because you get caught with a brush in your mouth. Don't worry.
McQueen, I've pulled a few brushes that way myself. I know that we aren't
supposed to do it but I don't know of an artist who doesn't on occasion. "
She laughed again, shaking her head. "OK, pick out a book and I'll get this
all packed back up for you."
Kylen began to repack the bag. She picked up the photograph.
McQueen had to admit to himself that he was enjoying her company. He was
tired but welcomed the distraction. He really didn't want to see any more
Nordic warriors in his dreams. He hoped to avoid the issue of sleep for a
while longer.
"Poker?" he asked holding up the deck.
"Don't know how," she replied. "Beside I think you should rest and be quiet
for a while. Tell me, is poker a Marine thing that I need to learn?"
"Not particularly, but it is a 5-8 thing. Either learn it or get used to
it," he warned only half joking.
"Yes, Sir."
"Kylen, Have Nathan explain the difference between "Yes, Sir " and "Aye, aye,
Sir." He handed her one of the books and the two settled in to read what was
at hand.
Howard had spent his afternoon reading the reports on the debriefings and was
spending his evening with a bourbon mulling over what he had seen pass
between Celina, Kylen and Lt. Colonel McQueen, T.C. When he had checked in to
see McQueen before dinner, Howard had found the two of them sleeping
peacefully with books open on their laps. He had greeted Kylen in the
passageway that evening. Her hair had been wet again from another shower.
It had been Howard's observation that most people actually really did have
surprising depths - strengths only hinted at. Depths which rarely had to be
called into service and also dark places that were better left hidden. These
two, however, lived in the deep end of the pool. They were part of that rare
class of individuals whose fullness of character spilled over. They walked in
the depths. These two each had their own underground source to draw from.
Well, he would see them tomorrow. He had good news for McQueen. Plus,
Howard thought, if McQueen was up for it that they would continue Kylen's
debriefing in McQueen's quarters. Howard was privy to McQueen's bombing
mission and thought that the Colonel would probably be interested in Kazbek.
There was the additional bonus that Kylen might give more information if she
felt secure. She obviously felt secure with McQueen and drew strength from
him. She was not intimidated by the man which was a rarity and a question
that Howard had yet to answer for himself.
Howard wished that his wife could meet Celina, Kylen and McQueen, Lt. Col.
T.C. She would like them very much. He had to admit that bourbon threw a
light on the sentimental side of his nature.
T O P S E C R E T
ASJIKI
TO USMC HDQRTS DEPARTMENT OF INTELLIGENCE
PERSONAL FROM MAJOR HOWARD USMC TO GENERAL RADFORD USMC.
Dear General,
1. The AIs were already on Tellus at the time of the attack and basically
took over when the survivors were all removed to Kazbek. They guarded the
POWs with only a few Chigs. The AIs evidently learned and passed on to the
Chigs that the colonists had no idea that they were entering into Chig
space. All forms of interrogation essentially stopped about 2 months after
the AI's took over. - That is about one month before they were evacuated from
Tellus to Kazbek. The AIs apparently masterminded using the POW's as forced
labor in the mines. The Chigs have serious trouble with the atmosphere and
the AIs have difficulty using Chig technology which is evidently run using
the same type of bioconducting gel we found in the Bomber.
2. The AIs found it in their best interest to keep the POW's in a relatively
good state of physical health. They appear to have been reasonably well fed.
Perhaps as a way of maintaining the edge there was a fair amount of
continued psychological abuse of a nature not seen before. Food and medical
supplies were given or taken away at random. Not related to any rewards or
infractions. There were at least three different AI 'units' that engaged in
"entertainment". They would recite TV shows and Broadway musicals while the
POWs were at forced labor. Repeating things incessantly and finally
performing their "act" using the voices of the POWs themselves. This became
profoundly unnerving to several of the group. How many times can you listen
to OKLAHOMA to begin with and then to hear it in your own voice?? What is
of supreme interest is that Celina and several others mentioned the fact that
at least one unit started reciting sitcoms(complete with canned laughter)
from the beginning of the Series. The Ben Markham Show. (Talk about
torture) What was significant is that he was reciting episodes that none of
the colonists had ever seen. Our team has confirmed that these were NEW
episodes. Which mean that the modems are hooking in to units on Earth.
We've got more rats in the woodpile than we thought.
3. We must seriously review what the loss of the POW's will have on the
mining operations on Kazbek. The AIs evidently can't do the mining and will
have a decrease in their access to Sewell Fuel and the Chigs seem to have had
a very difficult time getting it for themselves.
With respect,
Next : Chapter Ten
Previous : Chapter Eight
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