Ages in Oblivion Thrown: Book One of the Sleep Trilogy (4 page)

"Whatsa matter,
sir
?” He tried to slip in a tiny bit of
sarcastic inflection on the ‘sir’, knowing how it gave the
lieutenant the twitches. “This old beast giving you problems with
which you cannot cope?" Rikert did not prefer his own nickname, but
everyone called him by it anyway. It was a joke from the locker
rooms, taken on a life of its own. Dick glared at the mirthful CWO,
who had a wicked gleam in his eye.

"I'm giving you fair warning, Chief, you
start harassing me, and I won’t go so easy on the pitch during our
football match this week." Patrick wheeled back in mock horror.

“
If you go and break my legs, who will
keep my wife in the manner to which she’s accustomed? Just tell me
what the problem is,
sir
.” He
grinned at himself.

“
I can handle it. You have better
things to do than mollycoddle me.” Patrick sighed at the
stubbornness of the man, tossed his hands up, and shook his head
mournfully.

“
Aren’t you a bit old,
sir
, to be acting like a greenstick?
In Donegal," He glared as Dick choked back a snort of derision,
“
there are bloody sheep
with
more bloody sense. Bleeding Irish sheep, they are.” That made the
lieutenant crack a tiny smile, and he sucked in his pride to ask
for help.

“Oh all right. I would have had this behemoth up
and running an hour ago, but every time I try to access it, it goes
crazy and shuts down. I just don't get it.” Patrick closed his eyes
and muttered softly in Gaelic, leaving Dick to chew his lip
unassuredly for a brief agonizing time.

“
Begging your pardon sir, but I might
point out something that may have not occurred to you yet?
Technologists were just beginning to piece together the first
infant
artificial intelligence
systems at the point this hunk of metal was cobbled together.
You’re dealing with an antique. Don’t get caught up in trying to
make it do what you think it ought.” Patrick knew that he could be
perceived as overstepping the boundaries between the two men, or
possibly even insulting the lad. He figured that his twenty-three
years in service could justify a little scolding, at the very
least.

He watched with a careless peripheral
interest as Dick worked around the new limitations set upon him,
gently nudging wires and boards. This continued on for a quarter of
an hour. Out of the blue, the aged screens winked a sleepy eye, and
burst into a scene of animated waves crashing.

Patrick leaned forward with interest,
repressing the urge to touch the keypads. Dick was surprised enough
that he jumped up out of his seat, banging his head on the bulkhead
above. He shot Patrick a filthy look when the older man could be
heard stifling a laugh. Then he looked back to the monitor,
realizing that Patrick was pointing to it insistently.

The computer was alive, and now waiting to
be commanded.

Hokusai's waves moved around imperial Japan
in a repetitive cycle. It was what Dick did not recognize
immediately to be a screensaver, although he was familiar with the
artwork. The thing ran its diagnostics, computed the date (a few
hundred years short, which might mean something, though Dick wasn't
sure what), and immediately blipped into a program that functioned
with a number of options for input.

"I hate dinosaurs..." Dick started muttering
technological jargon under his breath, running through systems
tables and variances. He had a talent and a habit for doing that,
because of a photographic memory, and an underactive social life.
Patrick shook his head at the young man for about the hundredth
time today alone and walked off to investigate the individual
chamber controls. "Come on, passenger manifest, puh-leezz, I want
pictures, dates, favorite colors, anything!"

"Find anything?" The sudden noise snapped
whiplike through Dick, causing him to rocket to his feet, and smash
his knees into the control panel. Cursing mentally at the
throbbing, now through his head and thighs, all while fighting the
urge to fall over in pain; he turned to face the source of the
voice, and stopped dead his planned tirade.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but
I'm curious as to how well the retrieval process is coming.”
Colonel Tarkington stood immediately to their rear.

"Sorry, sir....”

"Shirk, is it?"

"Right, yes." He thought for a moment. “How
are they adjusting?”

“
Bit early to tell for sure, but they
all seem well enough.” Tark peered at the computer monitor, and
then over at the diagnostics array.

“
We’ve got access, still looking for
any files that might give us…you the information you asked for,
sir.”

Lieutenant Shirk twitched uncomfortably
under the steady scrutiny of his commanding officer. Tark smiled
inwardly and shared a knowing look with the chief. Shirk could be
no more than eighteen. His billet must have been won through sheer
brilliance….

“
Lay it on me, Lieutenant.”

۞

So-called Lieutenant Dick had piled the
technical trash high, explaining with elaborate intensity the
problems he was having trying to reconstruct the recalcitrant hunk
of silicate and metals known as their onboard computer. Not that it
was broken, at least not physically, but after nearly three hundred
years, even having been kept in optimal conditions, it had
geriatric problems. It was damned lucky that they’d found those
people when they had.

Shirk had said the onboard systems were at
failure point before he’d worked on them. Tark noticed Sa'andy
gazing at him peripherally, and he rolled his eyes gently, while
hers snapped back into place. She smiled like a guileless
schoolchild, though he suspected the affectation was designed
purely for his benefit. He already knew she was secretly so pleased
with herself she couldn’t stand it. No sense in encouraging her,
but he was strangely pleased as well.

۞

She wanted to be stronger than she was, but
weakness was stalking her like a tiger. Three weeks had gone by in
a blurry haze. She still felt exhausted and queasy. It had been
difficult to stand unassisted, let alone walk. Maeve looked down at
her body for the millionth time, willing there to be a visible
change. There’d been an infusion of some sort every few hours for
the first few days, with promises of smoothies once her body could
tolerate it. The thought of ingesting anything had not been
terribly appealing, but the sooner she improved, the better.

Sitting in bed was approximate to losing her
mind, if there was anything left at all to lose. She felt the
prickling of an active intellect protesting all the sitting still,
and went back to the only exercise she’d been able to do. One by
one, she contracted muscles, holding each one for a count of ten,
over and over. That done, she moved on to jiggling her legs as they
were, stretched out in front of her. Physical therapy was scheduled
to start soon, but she preferred to try and be ahead of
expectations.

A nurse came in, smiling at her in the
way nurses do when they’re about to tell a patient something not
fun for anyone. Indeed. It was time for a wheelchair ride, wasn’t
that a nice step forward? No. Not really. Not unless it was a ride
back
home
, back in
time
. The nurse kept up a smile,
ignoring the acerbity of her patient. Maeve sullenly allowed
herself to be manhandled into a sitting position. Then into the
chair. Then the bombshell. It was social hour. Everyone was doing
well enough to come out and say hello. Maeve wondered how many
people would be witnessing this supposed reunion.

She’d been trying to get her brain back in
working order over those three weeks, without a great deal of
success. There was still a blank hole, blocking any progress. It
was beginning to be a tiresome theme. Maybe seeing some faces would
spark a memory. This realization gave her a tiny bit of hope. There
had to be forward motion in this mess somewhere, right? She sighed
and allowed the nurse to roll her out into a common room. Five
other people sat around in roughly the same state that she was.
Well, at least there was that.

They were all wearing what she was wearing.
Standard issue shorts and tees in a lovely shade of olive green
that was familiar if nothing else. They chatted quietly as she was
wheeled in, falling silent once she was in their midst. Looks were
exchanged, and Maeve found herself thinking that this didn’t appear
to be the first time they’d been together. She was trying to think
of something to say when a lanky, unbelievably blonde man saved
them all from the awkward silence.

“
Do you remember any of us?”
Us
, she thought. Confirmation of
some sort. Nonetheless, she looked at each of them carefully. There
were no bells, no moments of unadulterated lucidity. Just one face
in the crowd stuck with her. She couldn’t have forgotten him even
if she’d tried. He saw something in her eye, a spark, and
grinned.

“
Well,” They exchanged glances laced
with familiarity. Maeve took that as further proof that they,
evidently, all had no problems with their memories. She felt as
though she should know all of them. There was sense of familiarity
that she couldn’t explain otherwise. But no path made itself clear
to her.

“
That’s okay. We’re a little hazy
ourselves.” The first woman spoke, a voice with implications of
gentility and a hint of bluegrass. Her curly blond hair was wild
and loose, hazel eyes full of mischief. She was not a very good
liar. Maeve chose not to call her on it.

“
Perhaps reintroductions would be in
order.” A simple enough sounding task, Maeve knew, but imperative
to further interaction as well. “I guess I’ll start. Maeve Howard.”
Another exchange of glances, this time tempered with relief. What
had they been worried about?
It wouldn’t
be like last time
…wait, what? She frowned, unable to
catch hold of the fleeting thought before it turned to vapor.
Closing her eyes, she felt a shudder of disorientation, fought it
down. Once she opened them again, it was to find herself being
stared at again.

“
Leif Christensen. But you knew that.”
The ginger giant spoke up, that easy, disarming smile gracing his
face.

“
That, at least, is the reason that
I’m still holding onto what little is left of my sanity. I would’ve
had to have most of my brain removed not to know you.” His smile
widened, though he did not show his teeth, nor did he speak up
again. It was best to keep moving forward.

“
Jemila Solomon.” This woman had a
wistful smile, and a musical accent, which carried a note of
homesickness in it. She had a long, narrow face, and smooth
features, like a riverworn stone. Her beauty was of the kind that
comforted and calmed; Maeve found herself staring at Jemila with
that very sensation. Another voice broke into her
reverie.

“
Josh Yi.” Maeve felt an impulse to
ask him which island of Hawaii he was from again, though she did
not act upon it, and couldn’t explain it. He smiled as if he’d
heard her thought.

“
Grace Danner.” The blonde spoke up
again. This time, in her voice Maeve heard rolls in the hay, and
white lightning.

“
Antonio Assunta” She’d had the pale
guy pegged all wrong. It should have been a name like Heinrich, or
Kristoff to come out of his mouth. He must be one of those northern
Italians that no one could really explain.

A long silence filled the room.

“
Well, this is awkward.”

۞

“
Colonel, may I have a word?” Sa’andy
was placid, unreadable.

“
Of course.” He shook his head at her,
amused. “What’s with the formality?”

“
Oh, you know. Trying to behave
professionally
.” She knew her
pronunciation of the last word always made him chuckle. A moment
later, she stopped smiling, remembering what she had to tell him.
“Can we talk in your office?”

“
Naturalment.” They walked in
together; he deliberately left the door open. The gossip mill
needed no help from him. “What’s up?”

“
Although you never said we ought, I
started trying to trace the origins of this container as soon as we
determined its purpose.” Tark made a face.

“
I know, I should have asked you right
off. I’m running a regular pirate operation as it is, though. Once
anyone catches wind of what we’ve got, those folks are going to get
turned into lab rats.”

“
Obviously.” She sighed. “I do not
question your intentions at all. However, as I have only been able
to get just so far, it implies that if I look much further, someone
will take notice.”

“
You want me to try to bring in
someone.”

“
Just some means of penetrating
records without sounding the general alarm would do.”

“
Well…that I think we can manage from
here.”

“
Excellent.”

“
Of course, I might get
court-martialed in the end.”

“
Pirates?”

“
Pirates. You bet.”

۞

They tried to make small talk for a while,
until it was obvious that Maeve needed to go back and rest. She
tried to seem a bit worse off than she was, to be honest. Being
around all of them, had proved to be more wearing than she’d
anticipated. It was primarily that she’d spent all her time trying
to get over that obstacle in her brain, to seek out the answers she
knew must surely be there. In terms of effort, it was akin to
climbing a never-ending rope.