Kaleidocide (56 page)

“So I became this ‘true peacer,' like you thought I would,” I said. “If that was my purpose and destiny, and it's done, then what now?”

“Oh, I don't think you're done yet, Michael,” the ghost said, still wearing the satisfied look. “I think you're just getting started.”

“You have more Machiavellian plans for me?”

“No, I don't, actually.” Its expression was more thoughtful and serious now. “But the higher power probably does, and it's up to you to work that out. It won't be Machiavellian, though, it will be more…” The ghost paused, searching for a word from its data banks.

“Dickensian?” I said.

“That word doesn't seem to apply. My dictionary says it means ‘pertaining to or reminiscent of the writings of Charles Dickens, especially in regard to the poor social conditions he described…,' etcetera.”

“I've heard it used in a different way: coincidental events, big and small ones, working together toward a happy ending, as if guided by an unseen hand … something like that.”

“It
does
apply, then,” the ghost said with a brisk nod. “I'll add that to my dictionary.”

“I'm not happy about the ending yet,” I said.

“I told you that you wouldn't be, if you remember. But maybe your happiness is not the most important thing in the world. Have you called Ian Charles yet?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good. You should consider hiring him at BASS.”

I didn't get a chance to respond to the ghost, because the smaller window in my glasses informed me that Lynn had woken up, and I could see that she was looking around for me. I stood up and walked back to the bedroom, focusing on the secondary view and forgetting to close the construct link until I was sitting on the edge of our bed. Then I noticed that the ghost was still looking straight ahead, with that unearthly stillness and inhuman ability to maintain an awkward silence. This reminded me to not take what it said too seriously, or worry about understanding all its enigmatic ramblings. It also made the beautiful woman on my bed seem all the more real and alive by comparison, and made me grateful that she was.

I deactivated the glasses, took them off, and leaned over toward Lynn. She was still laying down, but was wide awake now, her eyes pointed at the ceiling.

“Was that all a dream?” she asked, shaking her head slightly.

“No,” I said, touching her face and hair softly. “That only happens in the movies—and only bad ones.” She knitted her brow briefly, but otherwise ignored the comment.

“I ask because I can't remember a lot of what happened today,” she said.

“Drugs,” I said, “and traumatic shock.”

She started. “Am I okay? Is the baby okay?”

“You'd better be, for Terrey's sake. But yes, I checked you out. Everything looks okay.”

“Oh, that's why the bed feels so hard,” she said, referring to the medmat. “Can we move it, and get this coat off? I want to get under the covers.”

She rolled to her side and sat up on the edge of the bed, holding her head for a moment while I told her to take it easy. I swung my body over next to her, trundled up the mat, and put it on the floor at the foot of the bed. I braced her as she stood up, and helped her undo the buttons I had done on the front of the coat, so it would stay together while she slept. When we took it off, she noticed the dust that remained in various spots on her skin, but didn't feel strong enough to take a shower yet. So I gently brushed off as much of it as I could with my one hand, while supporting her with the other.

“This is reminding me of what I've been missing all week,” I said. “I forgot how beautiful you are.” I meant the comment to be endearing, but cringed at how the forgetting part might come across.

“I'm seven months pregnant, honey. And I just came back from the dead.”

“You're still beautiful.”

“No, what I mean is, I don't know if I'm up for what you're thinking of doing.”

“Oh, no, I'm good,” I said. “You should rest.”

“We can talk,” she said, and climbed back in bed, this time under the covers. I took off my own jacket, and my shoes, and lay down next to her, but on top of the thermal comforter.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said.

“Thank you for saving
me.
”

“No, really. I don't have to remember it all to know that you put your life on the line for me. You've had all those hair-raising adventures and narrow escapes as a soldier and a peacer, and you've sacrificed yourself for a lot of people, but that's the first time you did it for me. It feels good.”

“How good does it feel?” I said, and my playful smile was met with a playful frown.

“Pregnant and dead, remember?”

But after we had done a lot more talking, and some more gentle touching, she decided that she was able to take a shower, as long as I was in there with her to keep her from falling down.

The next hour or so was as great as Sausalito, the last time we were together, and this time the only thought I had about Tara was that my wife was so much better. We took it slow and easy, because of what Lynn had been through but also because we wanted to savor every moment. We were celebrating being alive and out of danger, at least for the time being, and more than an hour later we were resting in each other's arms, our bodies entangled on the bed. I was touching Lynn's stretched-out belly button and telling her how much I liked when she was pregnant.

“Seems to me you were saying the same thing the last time we did this,” she said, “and we were talking about your purpose in life.”

“You're my purpose in life,” I said, nuzzling her.

“Right now, maybe,” she said with a little laugh, “but not when you go back out there to work. Have you found out why you were brought here, to BASS?”

“Do you mean Saul's reasons for bringing me here, or are you talking about something bigger, like God?” Lynn wasn't a religious person, but from time to time would say things that sounded like she was, a hangover from some parts of the education she had received at the Presidio.

“If I know that old megalomaniac,” she said, “they were probably one and the same for him.”

“You're right, actually,” I said, remembering my conversation with the ghost, and surprised again at how perceptive Lynn was. “But in his defense, I get the feeling he mellowed toward the end of his life. I think his wife may have rubbed off on him.”

“Always a good thing,” Lynn joked, and then reflected for a moment. “That reminds me of something Kathryn used to say in our convocations at the orphanage. She would talk about how her mother died when she was young, and how hard it was for her. But she said that experience was why she sympathized with orphans, and that she never would have started the Presidio if it hadn't happened.”

Lynn moved my hand over and pressed it against her belly, so I could feel the baby kicking. Then she continued.

“I also remember her saying that if she had to go through all that pain just so one person could have a new life, it was worth it to her. Even though I didn't like a lot of the rules there, I was always impressed when she said things like that.”

Many
millions
of people were probably better off now because of what I had been through, but they were mostly in other parts of the world, and therefore did not provoke much emotion in me, to be honest. Plus Saul and Terrey had planned and directed those eventualities, so I couldn't easily see a “Divine hand” in them. But while Lynn was talking, I thought of a few people I had come to care about deeply, and was amazed when I realized how the impossibly coincidental circumstances of the last week had conspired to give them exactly what they needed the most. And it was true that no mere human could have plotted any of it.

 

50

HELP

Angelee and Chris were enjoying the beautiful afternoon at the pool behind the cottage. The young mother was reclining in a chair, watching her little boy splash around in the shallow water, and admiring the rich fall colors of the surrounding vineyards.

Suddenly a big holo of footage from the roof security camera appeared in the air near them, projected by the Living House from equipment inside the invisible canopy over the pool.

“Angelee,” Vera's voice said, “a BASS aerocar is approaching the house from the northeast. The identity of the driver is Michael Ares.”

While it said this, the house displayed a zoomed view of the descending car, showing Michael's face through the windshield. But Angelee and Chris barely even saw it, because she was leaping out of the chair and he was scrambling out of the pool. She took the boy in her arms and carried him through the house, to meet the man of her dreams when he landed in the front. On the way through, she stopped to look at herself in the mirror, and straightened the mesh shawl over the white swimsuit. She wished that she could shower and dress up for what she strongly felt was going to be her wedding day. Michael had come back, like he promised, and that could only mean he was ready now to take her as his wife.

Angelee rushed out of the front door, only to see the aero land farther down the driveway instead of next to the ground car that was closer to the house. This seemed unusual to her, and so did the fact that the aero let Michael out of the passenger side and took off again. But the puzzled look on her face was replaced by a bright smile when she saw him walking toward her. She ran toward him and threw her left arm around his waist, while Chris hugged his chest.

“I knew you'd come back,” she said with tears streaming down her face. “We'll be so happy together!”

The man took Chris from her arms and lifted him up so he could get a good look at the little boy. He shook his head, laughing a little as he did, and Angelee noticed that he had a tear on his cheek too. Then he swung Chris up and onto his shoulders, like the boy's father had done many times. Michael had never played that way with Chris before, and Angelee had thought it was because he never had a son. But now he seemed like an old pro at it.

They walked toward the house together, and as they passed the BASS car parked in front of it, Michael took a keycard out of his pocket and touched it to make sure it worked. The doors of the car beeped, proving that it did, and he put the card back in his pocket. As they passed into the house, the man ducked dramatically so Chris's head wouldn't hit the top of the doorway, and the little boy squealed in delight. He said that he wanted to show his new dad how well he was learning to swim, so they all went out to the pool. As he passed through the house, Angelee noticed that Michael was looking at the different parts of it with obvious admiration, as if he had never seen it before. And when he sat down outside next to the pool, she noticed from then on that he was looking at her and admiring her in the same way.

She ran inside and picked out a bottle of the expensive wine for both of them, and felt his eyes on her again while she poured it and then stood before him holding her glass. She could also feel the gentle November wind, blowing her hair back and pressing the shawl against the front of her body.

“So is it the right time now,” she asked him, “for us to become one?”

“I guess it is,” he said, and she immediately let herself go and returned his admiring stare. She studied his beautiful blue eyes, then did a double take because she had always thought they were green. But they were still beautiful, whatever color they were. And she noticed there was another thing different about his face, too.

“You're growing a beard,” she said.

“Yeah, I like beards,” he responded, then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, Angelee. I need to be sure that this is what you really want. Someone told me that I'm very broken and need a lot of help … and he's right, I do need help. You don't really know me…” He paused and was thinking about what else to say, but she interrupted him.

“That
is
what I want,” she said. “I want to help you when you need help. All I really have to know is what I believe, that we're meant to be together. And Chris and I need
your
help, too.” She looked over at the little boy playing in the pool, who waved at both of them. “So what are we waiting for? It's about time for his nap.”

He shrugged and smiled, and they clinked their glasses together.

“You never had a beard before,” she said after they tried the wine. “I like it, it looks really good on you.”

“I'm so ready to start a new life,” he said, downing the rest of the glass in a few gulps. “I might even change my name.” He watched for her reaction.

“Like I did!” she said with glee. “Yes, that would be great. I added ‘angel' to mine, and Chris is named after the hero in the pilgrim book.” She thought for a moment, and then had an idea: “You could take the first name of the man who wrote it.”

He asked what it was, and somehow knew the answer even before he heard it.

 

Acknowledgments

 

 

Thanks to my editor and first fan, Brendan Deneen. Thanks to Nathan, Calvin, Cam, Joy, Graham, Marvin, and Linda for story ideas. Thanks to Gerry for the virtual tour of the nuclear power plant in Taiwan. Thanks to Steven Mosher's book
Hegemon
for suggesting possible futures for China and its relationship with the rest of the world, and to Brian Clegg's
Upgrade Me
for helping me to make my future world seem more possible. Most of all, thanks to Jillian for allowing me the time to write the novel, and for not reading it.

 

ALSO BY DAVE SWAVELY

Silhouette

 

About the Author