Requiem (53 page)

Sear motioned
for Mercer to approach from the opposite side of the room while he
circled on the left, running around the edge of the curved wall.
The Doctor remained at the threshold, gun poised on the two pilots,
asleep at the wheel.

Sear approached
one of the figures. He barely recognised her. Her head was clean
shaven. She was naked apart from a pair of black underwear. He
placed two fingers on her neck. The faint beating of a pulse. He
glanced across at Abigail then back to Seline. He waved the Doctor
over.

'She has a
pulse,' said Sear.

The Doctor
swung his gun onto his back and pulled a flash-light from his belt.
He held Seline's eyelids open and shone the light in. There was
still colour in her face. Her breathing was incredibly shallow.

He gently
placed his hand behind her neck and held her head.

'There doesn't
appear to be any severe head trauma,' he said. He looked over her
chest, arms, and legs. 'At least not severe compared to the rest of
her body. They've been cutting right into the nerves. They haven't
cut any major arteries and they've... stapled some of them shut but
from the looks of things she has lost a lot of blood. We need to
get her out of here – now. Sear, unbuckle her for me, I need to
hold her. How is the other one?' he asked, referring to
Abigail.

'She's not
breathing,' said Mercer, 'and I can't find a pulse. There's a
gunshot wound to the stomach. Severe blood loss.'

'Grab her.
We're leaving,' said Sear.

Sear unbuckled
the straps over Seline's chest and waist and helped manoeuvre her
weightless body from the chair. Led by Sear, the Doctor guided
Seline through the air back towards the docking line. Mercer
followed behind, cradling Abigail's body in his arms. They were
bought on board the cruiser and taken immediately to the infirmary.
The docking line was retracted and a course was set for
Saranture.

Sear hated the
smell of the med-bay. It reminded him of disease. Flashes of
make-shift medical tents in the dusty refugee camps of Vale passed
through his mind. Open wounds infected with gangrene. Maggots and
worms threading through black flakes of skin, separated from dark
chunks of meat, clinging desperately to thin, deprived skeletons.
He opened his eyes but the images wouldn't leave. His steps slowed
and his breath grew shallow. He made his way to the operating room
at the end of the hall. He didn't enter. He stood outside, looking
at his reflection in the opacity of the large glass window. He
knocked on the glass.

'Who is it?'
came the Doctor's voice.

'Sear.'

'I didn't think
you'd want to see her like this,' said the Doctor. There was
silence for a moment. 'But I'm sure you know what you want.'

The darkness of
the glass diminished. Seline lay naked on the table. The Doctor
stood over her, pliers in hand, working at the side of her leg.
Sear could see the gashes running along her legs and the
lacerations etched over her skin. The Doctor raised the pliers in
the air above a small metal basin. There was a chinking of metal as
he dropped a staple into it. Sear stepped closer to the glass.

'Is she
stable?'

'Yes.'

'How bad is
it?'

'It is
considerable. There are dozens of fractures in this leg alone.
These staples are the only things holding her skin together.' He
pulled out another staple. 'The lacerations cover most of her body.
Her right knee cap is shattered. That will take most of my time to
fix.' Another staple clinked in the tray. 'As to the psychological
damage, I cannot say. There were traces of sodium thiopental and
levetiracetam in her blood. They were trying to force her into
remembering the memory for the blackbox. That will flush out in
time but until she regains consciousness, it will be impossible to
say what her state of mind is.'

Sear shifted
his weight onto one foot then back again to the other. 'Is there
anything you need?' he asked.

'No. Once these
staples are removed I will begin repairing the fractures. The
medical bots will be all the assistance I require.' Another clink
of metal. Sear continued to watch in silence.

'You're making
me nervous, standing there like that, Sear.' The Doctor looked up
from his work. 'Seline is in safe hands, I assure you.'

Sear swallowed.
'Where is Abigail?'

'The morgue.
Nothing could be done for her.'

Sear looked
away at the scalpels and blades sitting on the bench. There was a
small pool of blood collected at one end of the tray.

'We will have
to decide what to do with Abigail's body at some point,' said the
Doctor.

'I would like
to leave that to Seline when she wakes up.'

The Doctor said
nothing.

'When will she
wake up?' asked Sear.

'Could be days.
Could be weeks.' He looked up from his work. 'She
will
wake
up, but perhaps it would be best for us to arrange for Abigail's
body to be seen to as soon as possible.'

'… I'll speak
to Belameir' said Sear.

He remained
there, staring into the glass cubicle while the Doctor worked. He
was helpless. Again. She was a small girl, dying, alone in the
rubble of a collapsed building that he didn't have the strength to
lift. His hands were bloody from trying to clear through the
concrete. He'd searched for days but found nothing more than dust
and dirt and wreckage.

He wanted to
break that glass, grab a hold of her shoulders and shake her. He
wanted to scream at her. Surely that would wake her. He wanted to
tell her to not go alone. He wanted to tell her he missed her.

'I believe
Belameir is on the bridge,' said the Doctor.

Sear almost
started at the words. His lips moved as if to speak but nothing
came. He simply thanked the Doctor and left towards the bridge.

He found
Belameir standing behind Therin, quietly watching her work.

Belameir looked
up at Sear like a lost child, expecting to be found but
disappointed once again. The look was not so estranged, only more
pronounced, more discernible than it had ever been.

'What are we
going to do with Abigail?' asked Belameir. There was trepidation in
his voice but it remained calm and even.

'That's
actually what I wanted to talk to you about.'

Therin remained
silent, shifting her hands across the holographic displays,
seemingly oblivious to their presence.

'Is there any
way we can put this off until Seline is better?' asked
Belameir.

'We don't know
when that will be. So no.'

'She will get
better though?'

'The Doctor is
confident.'

Belameir sat
back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. He took a
heavy breath. 'I've only been to one funeral in my life. On Earth.
When I was a kid. I forget who it was for. A friend of a friend, I
think. They buried the body. It was miserable.'

'Burying the
body. That is the human tradition. Perhaps that would be best.'

'Bury her
where?'

'On
Saranture.'

'Yeah... Sel
liked...
likes
Saranture.' He thought for a moment. 'I don't
know what your policies are but could we get her buried near the
forest? The one we visited by the ruins?'

'That could be
arranged.'

Belameir gave a
weak smile. He looked at the toe on his foot. Blood had clotted
beneath the nail.

'How long until
we arrive?' he asked.

'Less than a
day. Will you wish to say anything?'

'At the
funeral?'

'Yes.'

'I dunno.
Should I?'

'It is your
choice.'

'Who will be
there?'

'Almost no
one.'

He touched his
lip. Words – fragments of cliché in the form of broken eulogies
flitted through his mind. He wondered where this pressure had come
from.

'I dunno,' he
finally said. 'I'll think about it.'

Sear
nodded.

Arrival had
been difficult. Deliberately slow to ensure the descent to
Saranture's surface would not impact Seline's condition. She was
immediately transferred to the Ondur General Hospital for Recovery
& Rehabilitation near the heart of the city.

On the tenth
story, in a small, mostly featureless room was a single hospital
bed. A personal night-stand was welded to the wall next to the
bed-head. A small black box was sitting on the second shelf. A door
led into the toilet and shower. Another door led into the hallway
of the recovery wing. The large screen windows were tinted to
complete darkness to keep out the sunlight. Two chairs had been
placed on the opposite wall for visitors. One was currently
occupied. The doctors and nurses had since left Seline to sleep. An
IV drip was feeding into her arm.

She stirred.
Sear watched her carefully. Grunts and whimpers accompanied
occasional twitches of her arm and feet. Sear rose from his seat
and approached the bedside. He watched her face. Her expression
contorted with some strange sense of concern. There was movement
behind her eyelids. Her eyes looked like they were trying to open,
as if she were learning how to use them for the first time. They
opened – barely. Sear looked into the sliver of her pale iris.

Her mouth moved
but she said nothing. Sear held himself close, watching her lips
and listening for a fragile voice. Suddenly, he understood. He sat
back and looked into her eyes.

'… Abigail?' he
said.

She nodded –
barely.

Sear shook his
head. 'I'm sorry, Seline.'

She closed her
eyes but didn't open them again. Sear sat close by in case she
did.

She was a lot
closer to the ground. Her head felt heavy, balancing on a thin,
spindly neck. She looked down. Her legs were short like her arms.
Light was shining through the window, bright against the white
floral patterns on her dress. Thin metal wires were being tweaked
and strummed. A woman sitting on the couch. It was mother. It was
the first and only guitar Seline ever saw. It was black and faded
heavily where the pick guard should have been. The edges were
scuffed. The metallic strings stretched down its neck, traces of
dirt were caught in their tiny spirals. Seline was always afraid
the strings would break if she touched them. Mother was sitting on
the couch, the guitar perched on her knee. Seline sat on the
carpet, kneading the thick, green fibres between her toes. The sun
coming through the two big windows on either side of the couch
where mother was sitting.

Mother was
saying something but there weren't any words. It was warm. Seline's
cheeks reddened and the cotton of her singlet itched against her
back but she ignored it. Seline wrapped her arms around her raised
knees. The guitar was singing. The heavy notes filled the room,
almost slurring together and sinking through the floor.

Seline had
memorised the words, words she had heard from a song she'd never
hear again. Mother smiled and bowed her head and rocked slowly to
the movements of her fingers as they played on the strings. Seline
could hear herself singing. Even in her own head her voice was so
small. But she liked it this way.

'If IIII were
brave

Could you be
saved?'

The colour
yellow. Her mother's dress. The notes bent and weaved through the
room.

'Was it myyy
fear

That leeefft
you here?'

Mum's long,
thick hair hung over her face. Her head swayed to the rhythm. The
little voice pushed on, holding on to the words and stretching them
like the dirtied strings of mum's guitar.

'I seeeaarch
for shelter above the tide

But can't
decide where weeee should hide

I'm so far
now, beloooww the ground

I'll face the
dark without you

Somehow.'

The whole room
flickered, disappeared into darkness then reappeared – changed. The
guitar was resting against the side of the couch. Its deep mustard
finish seemed to absorb and radiate with the light of the sun.
Mother was sitting on the opposite end, her legs crossed and a
glass half filled with wine propped up between delicate fingers.
Mother let Seline drink wine once. It tasted metallic like how you
imagine the smell of copper would taste.

Even the sun
couldn't dilute the darkness in mum's hair or dim the hazel in her
eyes. Seline lay stretched out on her side, still on the carpet,
and looked up at the gentle curve at the end of her mother's lips.
It was not the last time she saw her mother but it was the last
time she saw her smile. It was subtle. It was the last time Seline
had felt safe.

How did I let
myself forget it?

The light from
the windows began to dim. Seline's eyes strained in the
disappearing light. The image of her mother seated on that worn and
faded old couch was drowning beneath the coming night. Seline
raised her hand, reached out. She wasn't ready to leave. She
crawled blindly along the floor towards the couch. The gentle
warmth of a hand upon her cheek and lips pressing against her
forehead. No perfume but a haunting familiarity in the scent. It
washed over her before dissipating in the light. A white noise
rushed past her ears, enveloping the little room.

Seline woke in
the darkness of the hospital room, unsure of where she was. Her
skin was saturated with sweat and sticking to the blanket that came
up to her neck. Her head was aching. There was a thought somewhere
in her mind like a splinter stuck between a memory and a dream. It
was screaming at her. She sat up. It hurt. The pain registered,
sharp and howling. She fell back into the mattress, breathing
heavily, swearing under her breath before realising the pain was in
her throat, in her legs, in her ribs – everywhere.