Imperial Guard (18 page)

“I don’t blame you, John.” Brogan scrubbed his face, trying to wipe away the feelings that were beginning to show. “It’s just . . . I miss her. I wish I could have seen her again.” He looked down in silence, mastering his emotions.

“You know, she guessed I was going to leave home those seven years ago,” he continued. “But she never told Pa. She was waiting for me the night I left. I’ve often wondered how long she waited and what must have been going through her mind. I think she knew that she would never see me again. But she didn’t try to stop me. And she said something that I’ve never forgotten: ‘Things change, Son. And you can never really return to the things you leave behind.’

“She was right, and it must have been real hard for her to let me find that out for myself. The worst of it is that I was so consumed with what
I
wanted, with
my
dreams, that I cared little for how she felt. And now it’s too late.”

Brogan stopped and coughed, struggling to bring his feelings under control. “Well, I didn’t read it much, but at least I still have the Bible she gave me that night and the scan she sent before . . .”

John reached over and touched Brogan’s hand. “You know she’s in a far better place now. And let me tell you something else,” John continued, taking back his hand and straightening up in his chair. “Ma was proud of you. We’re all proud of you. Ma could never fully approve of your military occupation, but she made all of us pray for you every night. And she was grateful more than words could tell for the way you sent so much money home—even though we were never able to use it.”

“What?” Brogan’s head snapped up and his eyes flared, holding steady on his brother’s, waiting for an explanation.

John held both hands in front of himself. “Now before you get upset, Pa always felt that what you sent home was blood money and wasn’t fit to be used by God-fearing people. You lived around him as long as any of us. You should have guessed how he’d react.”

Brogan shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose so.” But shoving his chair back abruptly, he stood up and paced away. Turning around, he brought his hand down emphatically and exclaimed, “But I meant it to help Ma and you kids, to make life easier for you!”

“Lord knows we could have used it often enough. But Pa said the only way the blood could be cleansed from it was to give it to the church.”

“The church?” Brogan exploded. He grabbed the back of the chair with his one hand and brought the biopack down hard on it with a resounding smack.

John leaned back and erupted in a big belly laugh. Brogan’s jaw sagged, and the fight went out of him.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded. “You think it’s funny that Ma worked herself to death and you guys ran around in rags while my hard-earned Imperial credits went into the coffers of the church?”

John stifled his chuckles long enough to say, “You don’t have to go far to find your money, Tim. You’re sitting right on top of it!” He burst into guffaws again, and this time Brogan joined in.

“What do you mean, you big shyster,” Brogan gasped out between chuckles.

“Why, this farm and this land are all yours. In fact, you’re one of the biggest landowners in the province. You see, Ma was one smart cookie. She went secretly to the elders of the church soon after you started sending the money. She asked them to put your money into a separate account and manage it for you in exchange for 15 percent off the top for their offworld missionary work and a percentage of any proceeds from investments. They bought land with your money, Tim, and paid off indentures. Your money has helped educate several of our people, including Matthias.”

“When are the surprises going to end?” Brogan sat down heavily as he shook his head in wonder.

“Don’t expect it too soon. The rest of the clan ought to be here any time. They wanted to give me a chance to break things to you alone first. I sure hope they’re not much longer. I’m getting hungry! We’re going to have a real family dinner tonight,” John said as he got up and slapped Brogan on the back.

*

Brogan jiggled the fly unenthusiastically on the surface of the clear mountain stream, which was running with cold abandon to the flatlands below. He sat on a portable recliner, his bare feet resting on the pebbly bottom of the icy stream. He breathed deeply of the peacefulness that gently wafted on the summer breeze. Memories of youth came unbidden, and he thought of the infrequent fishing trips to these same mountains, squeezed in between the weeks of hard work and harsh discipline.

He realized suddenly that the drudgery and starkness of life served only to accentuate its beauty, love, and joy. His brothers and sisters, the strangers who were so much a part of his life, were happy and contented. Life was fresh and vital for them in spite of the hard work and discipline.

“What a fool I was to trade all this for the fading excitement of adventure,” Brogan murmured to the flowing stream. Excitement, he had to admit, even when found, did not last, and it did not satisfy. Each thrill required a larger dose until the foolish thrill seeker overbalanced the knife edge and fell into the abyss.

Brogan turned his thoughts toward John.
He seems to see life much more clearly than I. What was it he said last night? “You’ve got to remember that Pa always tried to do for us the best he knew how.”

It was easy to forget how hard life had been for Amos Brogan. John had reminded him how Pa had never been able to be a boy, had had to take on adult responsibility too early. But he took his responsibilities seriously, and that had been to the benefit of his children.

“Sure things were hard,” John had said. “But thanks to you, things will be a lot better for us. I know you blame Pa for a lot of things,” John continued. “But Pa never forced Ma to work hard. That was her decision. How many times did you fall asleep hearing Ma singing hymns while she worked or humming tunes to herself? She gave of herself out of love for her family, and she more than deserves the reward she’s having now.

“I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I feel more sorry for Pa. I’m sure he blames himself for Ma’s death, for you running away, and for the rest of us not following his reformed church. He’s just got to work his feelings out. If we all keep praying for him, he’ll come around.”

Brogan came back to the present and nodded to himself. “John, maybe one day I’ll be able to love him like you do,” he said out loud to the stream.

He looked at the sun lowering in the west and realized that it was time to pack up and go. He had to say his good-byes and catch the midnight shuttle. He got up and stretched, relieved that he had no fish to take back with him. He felt better than he had in months.

He folded up his chair and collected his things, then made his way over rocks and around shrubs and bushes back to the flyer. After stowing his gear, he straightened up and looked around one more time. The grass sparkled and moved in the breeze. The green undergrowth and trees massaged his senses.

He promised himself that he would take time to enjoy the solitude of nature more often. He had been too busy just responding to life. He needed to take time to really see what was around him. He couldn’t remember appreciating a single flower on Peru II. He stooped and picked a tiny mountain violet, and he wondered that its beauty was so easily missed.

Brogan climbed into the flyer, started the engine, and rose above the treetops. Then he sped down the slope and onto the plain, just as happy to be soaring over the flatland he instinctively loved. Back at the house, Brogan assembled and packed his few belongings for the last leg of the trip to Earth.

He grinned as he realized how completely he had forgotten the problems that awaited him there these last few days.
But I’ll have to be sure to spend lots of time thinking and preparing once I’m back on board,
he admonished himself.

Right now Brogan had enough to do trying to pack and dress with only one hand. Being one-handed certainly made a person appreciate two. He made a mental note to work out daily on the trip to Earth so that, just in case he needed it, he would at least be somewhat competent in one-armed combat.

Brogan was fumbling with the fastening to his kit when a knock sounded at the bedroom door. “Just a sec, John. I’m almost done packing.”

But when he turned, it was not John he saw but a middle-aged, nervous-looking couple. They were dressed as members of the Mennonite community, and they were plainly anxious about something. They exchanged glances at each other out of faces creased with concern.

“Oh, hello. I thought you were John.” Brogan tried to sound relaxed and natural. “Do I know you folks? It’s been so long . . .”

“No, no. I don’t think we’ve met,” the man said as he clutched his hat in front of him. He was obviously grasping for words as well. “I . . . we,” motioning to his wife, “don’t want to intrude, but . . .”

He turned the hat in a circular motion with his hands, looking down at it. Finally, fixing Brogan with a pleading stare, he said, “Major Brogan, Adriel mentioned you in her scans, and you two being friends and all, I thought you should know. We thought you might be able to help, you going to Earth and all. We just learned that Adriel is in terrible trouble.”

Adriel darted past a corner of the building and sagged against it, her heart pounding and her lungs sucking air furiously. The two men with her, Dugan and Kincaid, appraised her with concern.

“That was too close,” Kincaid rasped between his teeth.

“Yeah. If that gang had spotted us, we would’ve been in a bad way,” agreed Dugan. He fixed his eyes on Adriel and made his point. “Next time, Adriel, you’ve got to leave before dark or stay the night. This is needlessly dangerous.”

Adriel was recovering from the sprint, her hands on her knees and her backside against the wall. “I’m sorry,” she replied at last, embarrassed by her folly. “It won’t happen again.”

Kincaid edged to the corner of the building and glanced furtively up the street. In a few seconds, he stole back to the others and hissed, “I don’t see anybody, but we’d better not go that way. Come on, we’ll take another route. The more time we waste, the more danger we’re in.”

Kincaid led out, and Adriel and Dugan fell in behind. They moved quietly and cautiously but steadily, making as good a time as they could without drawing attention to themselves. They went from alley to street and back to alley again. At the end of one alley they heard some commotion some distance down the street. They paused until it died out. Then they darted across and continued on their way.

Adriel was grateful for the help of her two friends. But she felt like a fool, having jeopardized their safety in this way.
Maybe there’s some way I can make it up to them,
she silently hoped as she crept along behind Kincaid.

She nervously pushed a wisp of hair out of her face. She had never been so frightened in her life, unless it was when the base was attacked on Peru II. She didn’t like it. And yet in a strange way the danger and the fear made her feel alive, like she was doing something significant. Nevertheless, she couldn’t wait until she was safely home. She didn’t like the prospects of falling prey to one of the roving street gangs.

Kincaid stopped suddenly, and Adriel, unprepared for it, bumped into him. Kincaid turned his head and grinned. “Hey, you don’t have to get fresh with me.”

“Kincaid!” She knew Kincaid was interested in her, but she just could not seem to get romantic about anyone
—not since Peru II and the trial upon arrival on Earth.

“Only kidding. Settle down. We’re here.”

Adriel gave him a relieved hug from behind.

“Now you’re really getting fresh. But save it until we’re inside. Come on.”

*

The room occupied by Willum had once been part of a busy subway terminal. But, long years before, someone had decided that this section of the city, rapidly becoming part of the lower levels, did not rate public transit anymore, so the station was shut down. Today the structure had become the quarters of the classless society, which was composed of criminals, the poor, the irresponsible, the unfortunate, and others who had lost their citizenship.

In this world no one dared venture out alone. That was a practice reserved for the foolish or uninformed. Money or favor were the only means of escape from these lower levels. For some, this meant preying on the upper levels or on their fellow denizens of the lower levels. For others, it meant that the future held no hope.

The mission’s medical personnel on Peru II had hoped that they would be treated as noncombatants when the Imperial troops captured their hospital. But they had all known the risks and were aware that they might be made examples of, which is in fact what happened. Once back on Earth, the entire team had been tried before a war tribunal and been found guilty of conspiracy against the Empire. Their citizenships had been revoked, their implants removed, and their persons and belongings dumped in one of the lower levels.

Earth’s lower levels were not always lower in elevation than the upper levels. But they were always “lower” in status, significance, and value. Lower-level dwellers were nonentities, the despised, the rejected, the punished. They were outside the pale of civilization. Such was Willum now . . . and Adriel Swartz.

Willum would have been pacing up and down the room with his hands clasped behind his back. But as it was, he was quietly seated. It was not that the room was not large enough. It was enormous. Its high, vaulted ceilings hid the decades of accumulated dust and dirt, and a certain elegance still persisted. The room had once been grand and impressive. Now it only housed the indigents of the medical team and their meager effects, along with members of the Society of Man and some of those attracted to their way of life. But even the worldly goods of destitute people can take up a lot of space, and this was the reason Willum was not able to pace as he would like. But Willum wanted to because he was worried.

Curfew had almost arrived, and still Adriel was not back. Willum knew the dangers of the lower levels. He had been set upon by thugs when he first ventured into the lower levels as a teenager. The villains had maimed him because he had only a few copper coins. Sometimes when life was not so hard, he was thankful for those few coins, because they had saved his life. Other times, it was hard to be thankful. Had it not been for the Society of Man, Willum may not have lived. For that he was always grateful.

The Society of Man was an organization committed to restoring citizenship to those who were unjustly deprived of it
—one person at a time. Through the collective efforts of its members, it was able to find work for some and pool its resources so that a few were able to regain citizenship and escape the lower levels. Many who did escape worked in the upper levels to find jobs that would make it possible for others to make the transition as well. They also interceded with the governmental bureaucracy and other influential people.

Citizenship did not make success automatic. Earth was a crowded place. Better opportunities existed on the colony worlds, so many escapees eventually made their way to one of them. But once off Earth, they could no longer help. So the struggle continued. A few got out, but more came down, or were born, into the lower levels.

Instead of pacing, Willum fidgeted, seated on an old packing crate, a piece of castoff carpet draped over it for cushioning. Willum thought about how strictly the local police monitored the nighttime curfew in an attempt to enforce at least some semblance of order in the lower levels. He stood up in a rush of anxiety as the curfew klaxons sounded. But in the very same movement, a young woman quietly entered the room.

*

“Adriel! Where have you been, woman? You’re enough to drive a man crazy! What if the police had caught you? Even worse, what if that gang of young hoodlums had spotted you?”

Adriel sighed. “Willum, you’re sweet to worry about me, but a couple of the brothers saw me home.” She looked past him thoughtfully. “They’re not going back till morning, so they won’t get into any trouble. I got them settled in already.”

“Good thinking. But, Adriel, it wasn’t good thinking to stay out so late. You shouldn’t be taking such risks,” Willum scolded. “You’ve been through enough. There’s no sense tempting the Lord to send you to an early reward.”

Adriel frowned and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “You know better than that, Willum! I’m not out to get myself killed. But you’re right. I will be more careful”

Willum waved her off. “OK, I’ll quit fussing at you. But listen, Adriel.” The big man’s face softened. “I’ve been waiting here to talk to you. I want you to let the Society pay your passage back home . . . or at least off Earth.”

Adriel gave him an impatient look, but Willum didn’t give her time to object. “Don’t look at me that way. I know we’ve been over this before, but you’ve got to face facts
—this is no place for you. We’ve managed to get two of the other nurses out already. Now it’s your turn.”

“Is this a place for
you,
then?” Adriel retorted hotly. “Is it a place for the others who have been here so much longer than I? Or for the rest of the medical team? My skills are needed here. I am useful to the Society.”

“You can use your skills and compassion anywhere!” Willum shot back. “You don’t belong here. You’ll dry up and collapse like brown and brittle corn in a prolonged drought. Do you really feel you can do the most good here, or are you just being stubborn?” Willum was beginning to feel frustrated as he thought about how many times he had had this conversation before.

Adriel dropped her eyes in an effort to shield her uncertainty.

“What is the real reason you insist on staying here, Adriel?”

“I told you, Willum. People here need my help.” She did not think she sounded convincing, but she hoped that Willum thought so.

“The Society can make out just fine without you, Adriel. Come, tell me the real reason.”

“I told you already!”

“No, you haven’t! But you’re going to tell me this time, or I’ll keep you up all night till you do!”

“OK, OK!” she blurted out with passion. “I’d be ashamed to go home, OK? I can’t just abandon the rest of the team and run home like a scared rabbit!”

Adriel sat down abruptly, and Willum looked down on her with sympathetic eyes.

“Here I am,” Adriel continued, throwing up her hands and letting them flop down on her lap, “totally helpless, at the lowest point in my life.” Her eyes began to water in spite of her resolve, and she shook her head violently as if that would dry them off. Making her hand into a fist as if she were about to attack an invisible enemy, she blurted, “This is when I’ve got to be strong! This is when I’ve got to be faithful!”

Willum allowed silence to envelop them for a few moments as he sat shaking his head, collecting his thoughts. “Being a masochist is not the same thing as being faithful.”

He said it quietly and gently, but the message hit home with jarring force. Adriel’s head snapped up, her mouth open and her eyes wide with surprise. The color began to rise in her cheeks, and she opened her mouth to make an angry retort. Then abruptly she snapped it shut.

Willum continued. “Maybe it’s time to go home for a while. Maybe you need a rest. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’ve learned a lot these past few years. Give it time to sink in. Let it make you stronger.”

Adriel stood up and looked at the ceiling. She was silent for a time. Then she said, “Maybe I have been looking at this the wrong way.” Suddenly she turned toward Willum and grinned. “God doesn’t expect me to be a superwoman, does he?”

Willum smiled back.

“Well, I’ve got to get some sleep. Good night, Willum. And thanks.”

Adriel walked across the dark-blue marble floor laced with white and pushed aside a hanging sheet that enclosed her private space. Blankets, packing material, and other items cushioned her makeshift bed. She sank to the blankets and closed her eyes.

Her thoughts returned unbidden to the terrible experience of the War Tribunal. She and the med team had been treated like common criminals. Her face burned with the memory.

“The defendants will rise.”

The medical team rose to face the verdict and sentence of the War tribunal. But they were not cowed. They were solemn and resigned but not intimidated.

“This War Tribunal,” dispassionately intoned the official, “finds you guilty of the charge of conspiracy in a theater of war. The sentence of this court is that you be deprived of your citizenship status forthwith and deposited with others of your kind in a location to be determined. This Tribunal is adjourned.”

Adriel turned and in distress hugged one of the other nurses. They would need the support of each other now more than ever.

The state-provided and largely ineffective defense attorney quickly packed up his papers and scurried from the chamber. Then the security personnel herded the med team together and ushered them out a side door.

The ride to their present location had been Adriel’s last contact with civilization as she knew it. She felt that she had been locked up inside some hideous nightmare—one from which she wanted to wake up but could not.

Now Willum was offering the chance to wake up into the warm and beautiful world she once knew. Adriel opened her eyes and reached for her cherished scan of inspirational poetry to look for a poem that she suddenly remembered. Turning on her stomach and propped on her elbows, she searched for a few seconds until she stopped at a poem entitled “By the Hand.” She read it quietly to herself:

How remarkable is your leading, Lord,

Into the realms unknown,

Through misty places of dark decisions

Where many have been thrown

Into confusion, doubt, or still despair

In pondering their way.

How unknowable is your plan for us

Past each succeeding day.

How you lead us is a mystery, Lord,

Through valleys dim and drear;

How intangible it is to grasp,

Yet unmistakably clear.

You have a way of taking hold our hand

Softly, yet quite firmly;

And though we fall in going on our way,

You lift us high to victory.

Then how vivid the excitement is

To wonder what you’ve planned!

Yet quick we are to tie the knot,