Imperial Guard (17 page)

He left Brogan thinking about the myriad facts revealed to him within a few minutes’ time. At one moment his heart was warm with his anticipated homecoming. At the next he was depressed by what lay beyond. And on it all clung the dank fog of his emptiness.

*

So far, his time on the luxury liner had not done much to improve his disposition. The ship’s speaker system jammed into his thoughts like a thrusting fist into his stomach. But instead of the jarring klaxon typical of military vessels, the impending jump into hyperspace was announced in pleasant tones. The husky female voice informed the passengers that the view ports would close presently and that they should return to their cabins to prepare for the jump.

Brogan was more familiar with jump principles than most people, and though he did not understand as much as the technicians, even the technicians and theorists did not entirely comprehend what was happening during a jump into hyperspace. After nearly one hundred years of use, a great deal of speculation about hyperjumps still churned in the scientific community.

Whenever a ship entered the jump vortex, it simply vanished, then reappeared in another part of the galaxy. Travel within the vortex was virtually instantaneous, but travel from planet to planet was not, for a jump into hyperspace was not safe unless executed a certain distance from the destination planet’s sun. This varied with the gravitational forces involved.

All agreed that to enter hyperspace was to enter another dimension, an alternate universe, but one that was very unfriendly to human beings. The first successful manned jump into hyperspace was a failure in the sense that the crew returned hopelessly insane. It was determined that the visual sensations experienced during the jump permanently damaged the ability of the brain to synapse. That was the reason for mandatory shielded jumps. All ports must be closed during jumps into hyperspace.

Early space marauders had used this necessity to their advantage. Lying in wait at the predicted site of reentry into normal space, they would capture the ship while it was in the reentry vortex before the crew could reactivate the view screens. It was not long, however, before the Empire began varying the reentry locations considerably. This made such a strategy obsolete.

Since no one knew where hyperspace was, or what it was like, initially there was no way to predict where a ship would reemerge into normal space. That fact made a great discovery useless until a mathematician named Trantis advocated a mathematic charting of hyperspace navigation. It was classic—and tedious—trial and error.

A test ship’s course and speed was computed and sent into the vortex. When it reappeared in normal space, the crew recorded the reentry position. Then they repeated the experiment to make certain they ended up in the same place. They performed this procedure more than two thousand times. Each time a new course and speed was executed, the destination was duly recorded.

Once enough jumps had been completed and recorded, the computers took over. Based on the now-known jump data, the computers were able to accurately predict where certain course and speed computations would take a ship entering hyperspace. Thus, ships could travel anywhere in the galaxy almost instantly and arrive at precisely calculated destinations. Humanly speaking, it was mind-boggling, but for the computers it was no problem.

“There you are, Timmy,” crooned a soft voice from behind Brogan’s chair. “It’s not nice to hide from Darla.” Coming around the chair she grabbed Brogan’s hand and said, “Come on, sweetie. We’re having a jump party in my cabin.”

Darla was from one of the pleasure worlds and had been throwing herself at Brogan the whole voyage. Brogan’s impressive ribbons and rank piqued her interest. But what really appealed to Darla’s incessant quest for novel experiences was the biopack Brogan sported. Such an encumbrance would have been a turn off to most women. But to Darla, who was only interested in short-term relationships, it was different enough to be attractive. “No thanks, Darla. I’d rather be alone.”

Darla tossed her long, blond hair and stuck out her full lower lip. “Oh, you’re just an old grump, Timmy. I don’t know why I waste my time with you. There’s lots of other men on the ship, you know.”

“Go find them, then,” Brogan retorted good-naturedly.

Darla stamped her foot in mock annoyance. “You come on, Timmy! You need a good time for a change.”

“Oh, alright.” Brogan got up and allowed Darla to take his arm. He noticed again what a desirable woman she was and breathed deeply of her perfume. Best of all, she had the kind of legs that made a man ache inside.

Even though he knew what kind of woman Darla was, at least she was paying attention to him and trying to make him feel better. It felt good to be pampered and fussed over after all he had gone through the last few months.

“How many people are going to be at this party anyway? I’m not much in the mood for crowds, and I don’t really enjoy your friends very much.”

“Don’t be silly, Timmy,” Darla said as she looked up innocently. “This party is just for you and me.”

As she whisked him along, Brogan thought briefly of an ancient short story he had once read—something about a corrupt Bible salesman and a bitter farmer’s daughter with a wooden leg. It flickered across his memory that the Bible salesman ended up stealing the woman’s wooden leg, leaving her emotionally crushed and helpless. The resurrection of the long-forgotten story irritated him, and he mentally brushed it aside like so many obstructing and annoying cobwebs.

As they stood on the observation deck of the shuttlecraft, Brogan and Darla could see various landmarks on the planet’s surface. The luxury liner shuttlecrafts offered every convenience, including a circular observation deck completely lined with view screens. The shuttlecraft had long since swept past the cloud covering, and they were now approaching the surface of Cirrus. Brogan tried to locate the general vicinity of his home but without success. Too much had changed, and the city of Ebinezer had grown considerably.

Soon they saw that a large crowd was gathered at the shuttle dock for their arrival. Just as he was starting to recognize some of the major buildings, Darla grabbed his arm and exclaimed, “Look at the crowd, Timmy! Daddy will be so pleased! Isn’t it wonderful how people have turned out to greet their first proconsul! Daddy says that Cirrus will need a governor soon, and he fully expects to receive the appointment. It’s just too thrilling!”

Brogan had quickly learned that Darla’s physical attractiveness was superseded only by her shallow thought processes. Her garrulous nature had begun to wear on him long ago. Initially she seemed the perfect distraction to take his mind off Adriel, his military troubles, and the emptiness he felt inside. When he first saw her in the filmy, semi-transparent outfit typical of the pleasure worlds, he felt like his brain had been fried by a high-intensity mind scan. After years of Spartan existence in the Imperial Fusiliers, he could think of nothing but the startling apparition before him.

He had gladly welcomed Darla’s surprising interest in him and had allowed her to monopolize his time for the past several weeks. Her attentions did lessen Brogan’s morose condition somewhat. But now that they were about to part, Brogan couldn’t help but feel a certain relief. As Darla gushed on, Brogan resumed his topographical examination. But he did not have time to get very far. The approach of the shuttle had constricted the horizons considerably until only a small portion of the city could be seen.

“Timmy! You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying,” pouted Darla.

“Sure I have,” lied Brogan, fairly confident that she hadn’t strayed far from her original topic. “I’m happy for you and your father. I’m sure he’ll be the most successful proconsul in the Empire.”

“Oh, Timmy, you’re a dear. But I have to go now. Father is expecting a huge welcoming committee. Come by and see us at the government mansion before you have to leave for Earth.”

“I’ll try,” said Brogan. “But I have a lot of family business to catch up on and only a few days to do it. I don’t really even know what I’ll find. It’s been such a long time.” He heaved a sigh.

“Everything will be just fine.” Darla smiled at him. “Hey, I’ve had a super time on this trip, Timmy. Come by if you can.” Then in front of several amused passengers, Darla reached up, wrapped her arms around Brogan’s neck, and gave him a long, passionate kiss. “That’s so you’ll remember Darla. Bye-bye, Timmy.”

Darla waved as she slid off through the crowd to find her father. Brogan shouldered his kit full of clothing and presents and limped to the end of the queue of passengers waiting to debark. The doors opened into the customs shed to reveal noise and confusion. Brogan waited, but no one was moving. After three or four minutes he began to wonder why no one was getting on or off. Just then a flight officer pushed his way toward Brogan.

“Major Brogan? Please come with me. The crowd won’t let anyone off the shuttle until you come out.”

“What?” Brogan’s chin dropped as he gave the officer a quizzical look.

“They figure you for some kind of celebrity or something. Proconsul Tobias is having a cow. He thought everybody turned out to welcome
him
to Cirrus, though I can’t imagine why. Never did know a popular proconsul myself. Here, let me have your bag.”

The flight officer shouldered Brogan’s kit and turned toward the exit. “Make way! Make way! Major Brogan’s getting off!”

As what was happening made its stunning impact on Brogan, he began to lag behind. The flight officer turned around at the doors, waiting, and eager hands pushed Brogan forward, some out of the excitement of the moment, others due to impatience to get off. The reluctant hero was virtually propelled off the shuttle and into the cheering crowd.

People patted him on the back and moved him toward a seat of honor. Music was playing from the school band. Meanwhile, Proconsul Tobias and his daughter, scowling toward Brogan, sulked off with a small retinue, heading for the government mansion to nurse their wounds. Finally the mayor silenced the assembly and gave Brogan a brief welcoming speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen. It is a great honor to welcome our first military hero back to Cirrus and to our beautiful town of Ebinezer. Major Timothy Brogan has given us much to be proud of. He has risen to the rank of major in only two years of active duty. He has won the Purple Heart three times. He has been awarded the Navy Commendation Medal, the Imperial Cross, and the Galactic Star. He has also received two commendations of merit from the Imperial Fusiliers. So it is now my privilege to welcome Major Brogan back home and, on behalf of the people of Ebinezer, to present him with the Citizen of the Year Award!”

The mayor motioned for Brogan to come forward. Then he shook his hand and handed him a plaque. “Major Brogan, would you say a few words for us?”

Brogan blanched and tried to back up, but the mayor caught his arm. “Just a few words, Major. Please.”

Brogan swallowed hard but nodded his head and sidled up to the podium. He looked around at the friendly faces but decided that he would much rather have been addressing his men in a briefing. He cleared his throat.

“Um, I feel overwhelmed by my reception here today. It was totally unexpected. And though I don’t feel I am worthy of such recognition, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Right now I’m just glad to be home after seven long years and to be able to see my family again. After all, there’s no place like home.”

Brogan felt it was a lame way to conclude a speech, but as he stepped back and waved, the crowd erupted in a cheer. The mayor pushed his way forward again.

“Thank you, Major Brogan. I know that this welcome was entirely unexpected, but would you be so kind as to relate to us how you won one of those many medals?”

Brogan cringed.
This is going from bad to worse real fast,
he groaned inwardly. But he stepped up to the PA system.

“Like I said, I don’t really feel like I did anything special. And it’s certainly not something I would want to brag about. But I’ll briefly tell you how I won the Galactic Star.”

Brogan’s face was flushed and he fidgeted as he haltingly and awkwardly told his story. The crowd seemed to appreciate it, but Brogan was relieved to finish and let the mayor take his place.

“Before we conclude our welcome,” the mayor said to Brogan, “the city of Ebinezer would like to present you with the keys of your courtesy flyer during your stay here. It’s the red one to the left of the platform. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

Again the crowd roared, and the mayor and everyone else on the platform shook his hand as he tried to make his way to the flyer. Others came forward to slap him on the back or to shake hands. Eventually the crowd began to break up, and Brogan continued on his way to the flyer. But he had to negotiate a series of overawed young girls. He turned in awkward circles as he tried to get around them.

Before he could get into the flyer, a newsman cornered him for an interview. He answered a few questions absent-mindedly and didn’t even remember what he had said. He wanted to cut things short. He was anxious to get home. Finally he made his excuses and apologies to the newsman and climbed aboard the flyer.

Brogan’s mind was in a whirl.
This is unbelievable,
he thought.
Here I am thinking of myself as a failure, and these people treat me like a hero.
He shook his head in utter amazement as he started up the flyer.

Brogan wound his way through town with knitted brow. “So much has changed,” he remarked to himself. The familiar had been overwhelmed by the new and the strange. He felt like he had returned to an alternate, parallel universe where some things were the same but many things were different.

As the city gave way to open spaces, he increased his speed and smiled as the wind whipped through his short, curly hair. He banked right, then left, then flew in a tight circle, the centrifugal force pressing him against the side of the flyer. But remembering his desire to get home, he straightened out and flew at top speed for the farm.

As he settled down into the familiar yard, the place looked much smaller than he had remembered it. “Well,” Brogan said to himself, “when I left home, this had been my whole world. Now it’s just a small part.” He looked down thoughtfully as he turned off the ignition. “But it’s still got a big place in my heart,” he concluded.

Brogan looked around as he climbed out. Suddenly he froze.
Something’s wrong!
His mind flashed a warning. The flowerbed was neglected and overgrown. Various items were scattered about the usually impeccable yard—a hoe leaning against a tree, a milk pail overturned near the barn door, tools and machine parts strewn around a tractor. Brogan began breathing in short gasps as he strove to brace himself against what he might find.

He heard a shuffling and turned to see a stooped figure emerge from the darkness of the barn door, head down and covered with a wide-brimmed hat. He was almost on top of the flyer before he noticed it and the officer standing beside it. Slowly he raised his head, cocked it, and peered at Brogan with bloodshot eyes buried within a haggard face.

“Pa?” Brogan questioned. “Is that you, Pa?” Brogan choked back the shock. “It’s me—Timothy.”

“Timothy who?” The old man seemed to be responding from far away.

“Your son! Timothy Brogan!”

Brogan’s emotions began to churn within him. He gritted his teeth and clenched and unclenched his fists. The self-assured and dominating man who used to be his father had fled. He had been replaced by a worn out, defeated husk, cast aside as useless and hollow.

“Timothy is dead,” his father spat out. “Who are you to claim to be my son? All my children are dead.” Amos Brogan flung out his arm for emphasis, then let it fall like a rock to his side. “Dead, just like their mother. All gone. It’s God’s judgment on me for failing to raise ’em right,” he slurred.

“Mom’s dead?” Brogan questioned hollowly. He moved his unfocused eyes over the surface of the house as if he could call his mother forth as he remembered her seven years ago.

Amos Brogan cocked his head thoughtfully at Brogan, as if considering. “Who did you say you were? You do look familiar.”

“I’m your son, Tim!” Brogan’s eyes misted with regret and despair. “Where are my brothers and sisters? John, Mary, Mathias, Luke, and Rachel?”

“All gone,” his father muttered as he shook his head. “It’s God’s judgment.”

“You crazy old fool!” lashed out Brogan. “God had nothing to do with this!” He grabbed his father by one shoulder and shook him. “What have you done? Snap out of it! Tell me what’s happened!”

Amos Brogan shoved his son’s hand away roughly and backed up as if threatened. “I’ve suffered enough, you. Just go away and leave me alone.” Amos Brogan shuffled back to the barn, glancing furtively over his shoulder as he went.

Brogan heaved a sigh, bent his face to the ground, and wiped the pent-up emotion from his eyes and cheeks. With a heavy foreboding he walked slowly and evenly toward the house. He rubbed his hand across his face as he contemplated what might await him. He opened the screen door reluctantly and bent to look inside. Hesitantly he stepped into the house.

“What a mess!” Trash littered the floor. Dirty dishes were strewn on unwashed counters. He went on through the kitchen to confirm that the rest of the house looked no better. But it was empty of life, a reflection more and more of the way Brogan was feeling. Then the breeze wafted a familiar voice through the open door. Brogan stepped outside. It was his brother John. He had his arm around his father’s shoulders, leading him back to the house and speaking softly to him.

*

“Ma died about a month ago,” John said as they sat around the table in John’s comfortable kitchen. “Pa’s been this way ever since. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the farm to greet you when you arrived so I could break the news to you instead of you having to find out from Pa.” He paused in awkward silence. “If you like, I can take you to see Ma’s grave in the morning.”

Brogan stirred. “Yes. That would be fine.” He looked back down at his cup, pushing it around in a circle.

“How did she die?” he continued softly.

John shrugged, looking down at his cup. “It was some rare disease they haven’t found a cure for yet. The name’s too hard to pronounce.”

“I see.”

The silence grew heavy. “I’m sorry, Tim,” continued John. “I guess we should’ve sent you a scan. But just after the funeral we heard that you were missing in action and presumed dead. And the prospect of having two dead in the family at the same time made us feel even worse. We didn’t know you were alive until your ship came out of hyperjump in our system. We were so glad to know you were alive, we just forgot that you hadn’t heard about Ma. Then when we realized we’d have to tell you, we felt it would be better to do it in person.”