okay there, jefe ?” Martinez asked, under his breath. The rest of the team were moving off ahead of us; maybe Martinez was trying to talk to me without them overhearing.
“As I ever am,” I said, quietly.
Martinez gave a gentle nod. “Maybe that extraction, you know, jarred you or something?”
“Maybe.”
Martinez didn’t quite have it right, I decided. It wasn’t the extractions that were getting worse; it was the transition into my real body. The sense of not belonging in my own skin was increasing.
“It’s been getting worse since Helios. What about you?”
“Helios changed everything,” Martinez said, pulling a concerned face but at the same time trying to keep our conversation private among a sea of people. “No shame in admitting that. You still having the dreams?”
I sighed. “Sometimes.”
“Go see the medtechs. They might be able to give you something.”
“Think I’ll do that.”
We were greeted by a fleet of security drones, and the conversation was over. These were bigger than the combat models we had used back on Maru Prime – tasked with checking biometrics and immigration status.
“Please remain still while your Alliance citizenship is confirmed,” bleated the nearest drone. “Please remain still while…”
The human flood mostly ignored them and we were no different. They did their best, weaving between bodies and lighting up exposed skin with data-sensors, but it was a losing war. I caught sight of a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. I’d been seeing them a lot, recently. Before I could make any enquiry, the faces were gone: swept along with the tide.
On aching legs I stumbled back to my quarters.
After my promotion to major, I’d been assigned a new cabin. That sounded grander than it really was: my original quarters had been reassigned while I was on Helios. Someone in Logistics had decided that I was probably KIA, that Command would shortly reach the same conclusion, and that my old quarters should be reallocated. It wasn’t a big deal – I hadn’t been particularly attached to the room – but it was another change, another indication that while I had remained the same the rest of the universe had moved on.
I swiped my palm on the entry scanner and the AI chirped: “Welcome home, Major Harris.”
The lights inside the suite were dimmed, and that subtle smell of sweat and used clothing crept into the back of my throat. Told me that there was someone else in my quarters. I dropped my bag to the floor, walked straight through to the tiny washroom. The harsh electric lighting flickered on, tracking my movements. I had three interconnecting rooms, and from the main bedroom there came the crackle of a tri-D viewer: the jangle of a commercial news-feed.
“ Today marks the sixteenth day of hostilities on the Rim – and the possible reignition of armed conflict between Alliance and Directorate forces …”
“Harris?” a female voice called, from the room.
I watched my own ageing reflection in the mirror over the sink. The damned mirror that I’d told her to get rid of—
“ …President Francis, speaking from Olympus City, Mars …”
“That you?”
I closed my eyes. For just a moment, I could imagine that it was her: that the speaker was Elena. It was a sublime self-delusion.
Maybe that’s the lie that I’m trying to live?
“ …We will not be cowed. I am in direct communication with Director-General Zhang, and I will not allow the compromising of Alliance interests …”
“It’s me,” I eventually answered.
A shadow padded up behind me, the gentle slap of bare feet on the tiled flooring.
“ Is he the man for the job? It’s an interesting question. Some commentators have suggested that Francis is too old, been in-seat for too long. His empty threats have been ignored before, after all …”
The news-feed snapped off in the background.
When I turned around, there was no one there at all.
Just a figment of my imagination.
I
“As I ever am,” I said, quietly.
Martinez gave a gentle nod. “Maybe that extraction, you know, jarred you or something?”
“Maybe.”
Martinez didn’t quite have it right, I decided. It wasn’t the extractions that were getting worse; it was the transition into my real body. The sense of not belonging in my own skin was increasing.
“It’s been getting worse since Helios. What about you?”
“Helios changed everything,” Martinez said, pulling a concerned face but at the same time trying to keep our conversation private among a sea of people. “No shame in admitting that. You still having the dreams?”
I sighed. “Sometimes.”
“Go see the medtechs. They might be able to give you something.”
“Think I’ll do that.”
We were greeted by a fleet of security drones, and the conversation was over. These were bigger than the combat models we had used back on Maru Prime – tasked with checking biometrics and immigration status.
“Please remain still while your Alliance citizenship is confirmed,” bleated the nearest drone. “Please remain still while…”
The human flood mostly ignored them and we were no different. They did their best, weaving between bodies and lighting up exposed skin with data-sensors, but it was a losing war. I caught sight of a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. I’d been seeing them a lot, recently. Before I could make any enquiry, the faces were gone: swept along with the tide.
On aching legs I stumbled back to my quarters.
After my promotion to major, I’d been assigned a new cabin. That sounded grander than it really was: my original quarters had been reassigned while I was on Helios. Someone in Logistics had decided that I was probably KIA, that Command would shortly reach the same conclusion, and that my old quarters should be reallocated. It wasn’t a big deal – I hadn’t been particularly attached to the room – but it was another change, another indication that while I had remained the same the rest of the universe had moved on.
I swiped my palm on the entry scanner and the AI chirped: “Welcome home, Major Harris.”
The lights inside the suite were dimmed, and that subtle smell of sweat and used clothing crept into the back of my throat. Told me that there was someone else in my quarters. I dropped my bag to the floor, walked straight through to the tiny washroom. The harsh electric lighting flickered on, tracking my movements. I had three interconnecting rooms, and from the main bedroom there came the crackle of a tri-D viewer: the jangle of a commercial news-feed.
“ Today marks the sixteenth day of hostilities on the Rim – and the possible reignition of armed conflict between Alliance and Directorate forces …”
“Harris?” a female voice called, from the room.
I watched my own ageing reflection in the mirror over the sink. The damned mirror that I’d told her to get rid of—
“ …President Francis, speaking from Olympus City, Mars …”
“That you?”
I closed my eyes. For just a moment, I could imagine that it was her: that the speaker was Elena. It was a sublime self-delusion.
Maybe that’s the lie that I’m trying to live?
“ …We will not be cowed. I am in direct communication with Director-General Zhang, and I will not allow the compromising of Alliance interests …”
“It’s me,” I eventually answered.
A shadow padded up behind me, the gentle slap of bare feet on the tiled flooring.
“ Is he the man for the job? It’s an interesting question. Some commentators have suggested that Francis is too old, been in-seat for too long. His empty threats have been ignored before, after all …”
The news-feed snapped off in the background.
When I turned around, there was no one there at all.
Just a figment of my imagination.
I
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