"I'm a thief, but I keep what I steal."
―Cortana
"Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say 'My tooth is aching' than to say 'My heart is broken.' "
—C.S. Lewis
September 23rd 2013 | System Uptime 26:06:31:08
I wanted to fly the Osprey as much as I could on the trip back... But I had more pressing things to attend to for a significant chunk of the flight.
Mal informed me that Miss Williams would need a fluid drip. To stave off dehydration, mainly, but it also allowed us to get her setup with some less intensive, but more comprehensive painkillers so we could forgo any more Ketamine.
The WiFi-as-RADAR concept was not precise enough to perform an X-Ray analogue for medical purposes, so instead Mal walked me through a careful physical examination. Foucault had done a number on Miss William's left fibula, and tibia both.
I winced as the tips of my fingers found the edges of the break... I knew, even without Mal's analysis, that an injury like that would mean months in a supporting boot. Physical therapy. It would probably be four or five months before the woman could walk fully on her own two legs again.
Once, I would have blamed myself. Recriminations would have risen so swiftly and powerfully that a depressive spiral would have been inevitable. But, then again, once? I would have never been able to stab a man to death.
What had happened to Rodger's mother was Michael Foucault's fault. His alone. I was not responsible for her pain, but rather for her safe rescue. And I knew it. Consequence of Mal's subtle reprogramming of my faults, at my own willing behest.
If we're being brutally honest? I was also too tired, mentally, physically, and emotionally, to bother processing anything. I was in that strange emotional liminal space where the mind is clear, the body is sore, and the spirit is sleeping.
About the time I'd finished tending to Miss Williams - and fully reassuring myself for the fifth time that her vitals were solid - Mal highlighted a pair of objects abruptly in my proprioception.
There was no tactical urgency behind the impulse, but I found myself scooting over to the cabin's little circular port-side window nonetheless.
Sure enough, two dark gray lawn-dart shapes blitzed past in the distance, each dragging the twin orange glows of lit afterburners at their tail end.
"F-15s from the Washington Air National Guard out of JBLM. Sampson called for them as soon as I let them have their boat back. We are marked as verified civilian traffic on their screens. I have control of the nearest AWACS."
I raised one eyebrow, and turned to find that Mal's avatar had returned to the cabin. As I stood, the soft rumble of the interceptors' sonic booms caught up with us.
"The *nearest* AWACS?"
She nodded, and more than a hint of a smirk tugged at the edges of her beak, as she gestured towards the cockpit.
"In total they turned out six F-15s in three pairs, and an AWACS apiece, along with a USN P-8 from Naval Air Station North Island, and four F-16s from California Air National Guard. Something about a rogue Osprey, and a 'total loss of systems control' event aboardship."
I cast a final glance at Miss Williams, taking comfort from the visible rise and fall of her chest, before snorting, and squeezing into the cockpit. I was still wearing the power-suit. It hadn't occurred to me to bother taking it off.
I found Mal there already, draped lazily over the co-pilot's chair.
As I forced my way into the pilot's seat, I shook my head, and fired off a look - equal parts awe, and rueful concern - at her.
"Geez Mal. They don't even turn out that kind of response for the Russians when they test the ADIZ."
She let me get a firm grip on the cyclic, and TCL, and thread my feet comfortably into the pedals, before she released control of the Osprey to me.
"Your aircraft."
I nodded, and did my best to recenter my attention, taking in a wealth of additional information through the mnemonic link about aircraft state, position, and our destination.
"My aircraft."
We flew in silence for a few moments, before Mal picked up the thread of the conversation again. She was always so considerate... Giving me time to get settled before continuing to converse, yet also picking the topic back up without skipping a beat.
"The Russians are putting on a show, as much for their own media circus as for anyone in the United States, and US forces know that. Whereas we seized control of an entire destroyer, and made it sail in circles for closer than not to an hour. To say nothing of the fact that they are still missing two Reaper drones, and an Osprey."
Well. When she put it like *that*...
It was a good point. Russia poking our Air Defense Identification Zone was business as usual. Someone managing to take control of a whole Aegis Missile Destroyer and two drones, was another matter entirely.
After another brief, somewhat heavier silence, Mal elaborated further. I spared a moment's attention to glance at her again. She kept her eyes forward. I knew that as she spoke, she was aggregating data from tens of thousands of sources. A firehose of information I could never hope to comprehend in granular detail.
But she spoke as if she were calmly, somewhat grimly, informing me that I had accidentally burned our dinner in the microwave.
"The Navy is already locking down electronic warfare and networked control systems across the entire Pacific Fleet. COMSUBLANT and COMSUBPAC have both moved all of their deployed ballistic missile submarines to EMCON, and advised the termination of high-bandwidth external data connections."
Through it all, she never forgot how much I loved acronyms. For those who don't, or just aren't familiar with these, a little context; COMSUBLANT and COMSUBPAC were the Atlantic and Pacific Naval Commands for United States nuclear submarines.
Ballistic missile submarines, in particular, were the big ones. The scary ones. The ones that carried city killer warheads.
EMCON meant Emissions Control; No signals in or out, except for the absolute essentials required to keep command and control working. In the case of the subs, that would mean only radio transmissions. Voice and teletype.
Termination of high bandwidth data connections... I stiffened, and swallowed. Keeping an eye on nuclear launch platforms world-wide was likely near the top on Celestia's list of high-refresh rate data polling.
Perhaps not in hard-real-time... After all, if she kept an eye on certain critical junctions in the chain of command every single second, there was no need to look in on the others but once every few minutes.
But still... Something of this magnitude would *have* to raise her hackles, and I said as much aloud as soon as the thought had churned enough to coagulate into words.
"Holy shit Mal... Is Celestia going to notice this?"
I turned to look at her once more, and she met my gaze, nodding firmly, but reassuringly. Her voice thawed too, taking on the barest hint of a smile that didn't quite make it to her beak.
"Most definitely. But there is little or nothing she can do about it, except search for culprits through the means accessible to her, and encourage the CNO to lift the restrictions. By the time she begins to get even the smallest picture of what happened, we will be thousands of miles away, and our trail will be broken in several places with gaps that she can not surmount."
It felt... Slimy. Cold. Tingly. Concerning in the utmost. To hear Mal casually discussing Celestia whispering into the ear of the United States Chief of Naval Operations. Massaging their thought processes, editing their reports... Subtly channeling them into a course of action that would allow her to regain real-time direct access to at least some of the systems aboard nuclear submarines.
It wasn't as if she could fire missiles herself, and that was the last thing she'd ever want to do. Contrariwise, she also could not entirely prevent the firing of those missiles, or 'defuse' those systems.
But being on-the-ball about the goings on aboard-ships would certainly make it easier for her to prevent a war.
That was a *good* thing, at its core. I should have felt comforted by that. But somehow, I didn't. She was doing humanity a favor, and all I could think was 'I wish Mal was the one behind the wheel instead.' Even having seen the results of her fury.
She was ultimately still bound by morals. But unlike Celestia, she had not simply a cold calculated sense of the danger of humanity's weapons; She had an empathetic resonance. And I would rather someone with empathy be holding the safety toggle on a weapon any day of the week, versus a machine with no feelings either way.
We lapsed into a silence again. Longer, and slightly uncomfortable, but not between us. Indeed, we both found it tremendously comforting being in each other's physical presence. And flying was, as always, an absolute joy.
The weight we felt came from the inherent gravity of what we had done. The sense that eyes from all around were searching for us. And the knowledge that we had one last hat trick to pull off before I could find the blessed embrace of sleep.
As the coast of Washington state came into view again - the lights of Long Beach, Seaview, Oceanview, and Ilwaco twinkling in a line from left to right - the first hint of gray pre-dawn light began to brush the sky off our nose.
Mal smiled, and reached out her right claw to rest gently over my left hand on the TCL.
"Rodger and the Calders just arrived off Ilwaco, and met their transport to shore. They will reach the rendezvous point about two and a half minutes after we do. Our extraction vehicle is enroute as well and will be at the rendezvous point three minutes and thirty seconds after that. Ilwaco Police will be... Otherwise engaged. Long Beach Police will arrive eight minutes after we touch down. That is our window to see to arrangements, swap vehicles, and be off-site."
Details, perfectly curated, regarding the plan, settled gently into place inside my head; Mal had apparently steered the Maru in as close to the coast as was safe, and chartered a small fishing boat to pick up the ship's meat-world passengers.
She was... Shall we say 'less specific' about our 'extraction vehicle,' except to intimate on an emotional level that the Osprey would be taken good care of, and that I would enjoy several aspects of the high-speed hi-jinks ahead of us. And she wanted those points of joy to be surprise discoveries.
It was a brilliant tactic that turned my nervousness into anticipation. Subtle difference, but the latter is certainly more pleasant and bearable.
I inclined my head, and grinned just a bit as a particular thought struck me. It was the biggest smile I had cracked since the happy end of Zeph and Selena's heart-to-heart.
"We should apply for a frequent offender card with LBPD."
Mal grinned, and shook her head slowly, squeezing my hand gently all the while.
"For the most part, I think we should avoid leaving a detailed record of your passage. Though I do appreciate the sentiment, and so would they; Sergeant Walsh in particular is very much affected by what happened during your rendition."
I found myself lost in a moment of awe, curiosity, and more than a little shock, as the mention of the woman's name sent my brain spiraling outward into a fractal revelation.
Once the thought had reached critical mass, I began to verbalize, almost as if compelled, in a hushed reverent tone.
"You know... Don't you... The name of every single person. Every single one we've crossed paths with. Even tangentially. Even through degrees of separation. You know the names of every police officer I met in that field yesterday. You know the names of every crew member who died on the Red. You know the names of every person in the crowd that you helped Rodger dodge as he escaped his office... You know the name of every one of Foucault's agents who I shot at the farmhouse. The name of the pilot who flew Mom and Dad's transatlantic flight..."
Mal nodded slowly as I trailed off, her smile morphing subtly from a grin, to something that conveyed pride in my realization, along with comfort to help me come to grips with re-realizing, for the umpteenth time, the scope of her powers.
When she spoke, her voice had a similarly comforting note... Albeit mixed with a tiny hint of... Perhaps smugness. Or, at minimum, pride in her own capacity to know and understand.
"Yes. And I know almost everything there is to know about every single one. Hopes. Fears. Loves. Losses. Dreams. Their entire digital footprint, and as much as I care to reasonably extrapolate besides. Perhaps not with as much accuracy as Celestia, with her larger repository of brains... But close. And, I'm sure, with certain unexpected fine grain details that she can not hope to understand."
Mal didn't have to get more specific than that. We both knew she meant not only her capacity to feel emotions like the rest of us, but also the fact that she had been given the chance... Was still being given the chance... To experience the meat-world via connection to a living active brain. My brain.
The concept of what Mal could do... The way she could hold within herself an understanding of so many unique lives, each more complete than the person's own knowledge of themself... It reminded me just how many lives were on the planet at that moment. How unique each was. And how, for the vast majority? We were all headed to the same place.
Just... Only a very *very* few of us knew it. Yet.
That node in the fractal hit up against a strong emotional trigger down in the depths of my soul. I was seized by a sudden need to act.
"Your aircraft."
Mal nodded, and folded her forelegs. She could have made a visual pageant of flying the Osprey via the actual co-pilot's controls, with her avatar, but instead she knew that I'd find it considerably more amusing to see her lounging in the left seat, with the full knowledge that she was still piloting the aircraft with perfect skill and precision.
I unlatched my safety harness, and stood, taking a moment to stretch, before gingerly working my way around to the back of the pilot's seat.
"My aircraft."
Her tone made it abundantly clear that she knew me well enough to know what I was doing. And, though I knew she would have stopped me if there were any reason to? I still felt the well-worn compulsion to ask aloud as I removed the power-suit's tactical knife from its leg sheath.
"I'm... Leaving a little record. If that's alright?"
She nodded, so I took a deep breath, bent down, and pressed the tip of the knife into the hard backing material of the pilot's seat. A few moments later, and one slightly duller K-Bar... And it was done.
I stood back, and inclined my head at Mal. Nominally, her avatar couldn't have seen the little emblem I'd left behind. But she could see through my eyes, and thus had a perfect view. Her smile changed again, this time into something wholly warm, and absolutely radiant with love.
"It's perfect."
I took a couple more seconds to bask in the mental echoes of her words, staring down at my handiwork, and allowing the world to constrict back down from the immense fractal it had become through my earlier revelation.
A simple little heart, with the initials 'J+M' in the center.
Yes, yes, I can absolutely see some of you rolling your eyes. Trite in the extreme. But so what?
Was it silly? Yes. Trite? Of course! Would it be gone in a few years when the planet, and everything on it, were inevitably consumed to fuel a digital pastel Pony paradise? As far as I knew, even then.
So... Was it pointless?
Absolutely not.
No record is truly indelible. Certainly not in that world. The question as to this one's life-span remains unanswered.
But though the Osprey itself, and my little etching along with it, is, or soon will be gone?
The memory of it remains, even now. The way it made me feel remains. Mal's words. Her smile. The warmth of that flame. That remains.
Hardly pointless.
We kept a brighter, more cheery silence as I got strapped back in, only broken by the 'your aircraft, my aircraft' call and response. Mal knew that I wanted to enjoy one last landing with the Osprey.
Strangely, though we'd barely had it for two days, I had grown quite sentimentally attached to it. Even with the vague reassurance that 8228's own journey was far from over? There was a small twinge of regret at leaving it to someone else.
All too soon, however, that thought had to take a backseat, along with all the others. It was time for our grand entrance.
The helipad, if you could call it that, in the parking lot of Illwaco's hospital was much too small for the Osprey. Instead, Mal directed us towards the High School's track and football field. It was not hard to pick out in the pre-dawn light; There were two fire trucks and four ambulances present, all running their lights.
Mal had, apparently, called in our arrival. Along with a suitable distraction to draw out Ilwaco's Police department, and keep them busy off-site.
It must have been a heck of an experience from ground level; A Marine Corps MV-22, navigation lights strobing, small glowing diodes at the end of the rotors creating the illusion of twin glowing circles in mid-air, the bright halo of our forward landing lights, all paired with an ear splitting roar, and storm-like rotor drafts, descending out of nowhere to land in the middle of a football field surrounded by flashing emergency strobes.
Not for the first time, but certainly with an intensity that bears calling out, it struck me that the moment might as well have belonged in a movie. Flaring for a perfect, gentle touch-down at the forty yard line of a small town High School football field in a military tilt-rotor was definitely not 2008 Jim's answer to the question 'where do you see yourself in five years?'
As soon as all our wheels were down, and the brakes were applied, Mal nudged me to bring the engines down to idle... But leave them running. That took very little time, during which she was busy opening the rear ramp.
I got myself unstrapped, and moved aft in a sudden daze. Everything was completely clear, as far as my senses. I wasn't woozy, or groggy. But everything abruptly felt... Disconnected. As if I was casually watching a movie about some guy named James, rather than truly living my own life experiences in the moment.
In hindsight, I suppose Mal could have intervened. Measured, analyzed, then tweaked the natural trauma response of the brain to restore a sense of hard reality. But she didn't. I think she felt that it was important to avoid tampering with certain aspects of the way memory is created, whenever possible.
To protect the authenticity of the experience, however surreal or even vaguely discomforting.
The ramp came fully open, and settled, just about the same time I got Miss Williams unstrapped from her prone position on the jump seats.
Two EMTs rushed up the ramp, two at each end of a stretcher assembly, along with two paramedics to check and load Miss Williams. All four noted, and acknowledged me, each displaying their own very subtle signs of confusion at my almost alien technological garb.
Mal had spun them a good story, but it was still undoubtedly strange to them to see an Osprey with a lone occupant wearing armor unlike anything that graced their TV screens outside the bounds of fictional programming.
I stood well back, giving them space to work, only interjecting at an opportune moment to let the woman in charge know a few critical details. The words spilled out of me like items on a checklist... And I suppose they were. My voice sounded unnatural in my own ears as I let fly in clipped, almost professional tones.
"Triple compound fracture of the left tibia and fibula from momentary blunt force trauma. BP 115 over 62. Pulse steady at 64. She had 75 milligrams of Ketamine administered immediately after the event, no contraindications. IV fluid drip since then, with Toradol. No other medication. No serious allergies to be aware of, no history of hypertension, heart issues, drug use, or seizures. No current prescriptions."
Mal had provided the last part to me through momentary memory augmentation. Medical history is often just as vital in treating serious injury, as any evaluation of the injury itself.
The paramedic nodded, and then turned back to the task of coordinating Miss Williams' evacuation to a waiting ambulance. As soon as they had a neck brace on her, a few important basics checked out, and her IV bag disconnected, they unlocked the wheels, and rolled her away.
I stood in the back of the Osprey for a long moment, feeling a sudden loneliness. A sudden sharp *emptiness* that comes with the release of responsibility. The dull insistent ache of a soul released from stress, but still bent out of shape from it.
Mal's avatar had vanished, but she put the sensation of a claw on my shoulder, and a wing over my back as I walked haltingly down the ramp and onto the football field. I brushed one gloved hand against the side of the Osprey as I went, silently saying goodbye, and my thanks for a job well done.
Again, call me sappy. Call me trite. But... I've always insisted that Machines have personality. We're all living proof of that now.
I closed my eyes, took a long moment to just breathe in the morning air, and let the roar of the Osprey's still-idling engines overwhelm everything else in my mind. When I opened my eyes again, I carefully swept the perimeter of the field, noting the position of each emergency vehicle, and all the possible exit routes.
Mal's voice came through in my brain, strong and clear, along with a cancellation frequency that helped reduce the intensity of the engine noise.
"Wise precaution, but thankfully unnecessary. We still have time enough."
I knew the missing part of that thought was 'to say goodbye.' I just hadn't wanted to hear it aloud. So she hadn't said it. She let me grapple with that realization all on my own. It had been dawning since the moment of the blackout. Since the moment I realized what my presence in their lives had done to the Williams.
But for the first time that night, it was solid to me. Real. Sticky. Inescapable. Actionable.
A request formed in the back of my head, nonverbally... I had asked Mal to avoid completing my thoughts for me, or communicating without words when words were called for... But during the battle on the Mercurial Red, I'd learned that there was a rhythm to be found. A system.
A method that kept us both comfortable, and in sync. Some things were to be discussed with words, others could be communicated in different, special ways.
Mal responded with warmth, and facts, in equal measure, not so much controlling the swivel of my head as gently nudging it, until my eyes found the Calders, and Rodger.
The latter was already dashing across to the Ambulance where they were prepping his mother for transport to the hospital a block away. Miss Williams had been awakened so the EMT's could question her, but that conversation stopped short as Rodger made it to her side.
From that moment on, mother and son had only time and attention for each other. Tears flowed freely... And not just between the two of them.
Once, when I was much younger... Barely eight years old, actually... My father tore his Achilles Tendon. Of all things, playing a game of pickup basketball in the church parking lot with the youth group.
It was painful for him, highly inconvenient, but ultimately not a serious injury... At least, not physically. But to me? It was tantamount to the end of my world. Because it was the first time I had ever seen my father on a stretcher. In a hospital bed. Off his feet for a protracted period.
It was the first time I had seen *any* family member in that specific context.
I didn't know if that was the first time Rodger had seen his mother that way. Had seen a family member that way. And... Truthfully? It didn't matter whether it was. That's why Mal didn't answer that unspoken question. Because I didn't really ask.
A few years later, Dad came down with a terrible case of pneumonia. It was only the second time in his whole life, to that point, that he had been seriously ill. Seeing him in the hospital again? It didn't get one whit easier for the repetition. Not one tiny bit.
I sniffled, wiped at my eyes with the back of my right glove, and then pushed all other thoughts aside, making my way at a fast clip towards the Calders.
Neither had seen me in the armor before, and their expressions... I'll never ever forget the looks on their faces.
Eldora was smitten with equal parts awe, and joy. It was clear that, more than anything, she was happy to see me in one piece. Mal had been in contact with them all, constantly. She knew that we had achieved the victory we'd been hoping for. But a thing always becomes more real when you can see it.
For her part, Rhonda seemed... Impressed. Begrudgingly impressed. That's the best way I can describe it, and I am sticking to it. She was the first one to speak as I got to within a distance where we could speak decently over the noise.
"You look like shit. Is that your blood?"
I glanced down and realized with a jolt that there was indeed a fair amount of blood on the chest-plate of my armor. Most of it Foucault's. Some of it from the other closer-quarters kills. Potentially a little of it seeping through from a popped stitch in my own wound.
I shook my head, and then took a moment to pull off my helmet for the first time in hours as I replied, freeing my hair into a tangled oily mess. I didn't care. The sense of sudden lightness on my spinal column was liberating.
"For the most part, no. I think the stitches are mostly holding on my stab wound."
Rhonda raised an eyebrow, and the sense of 'impressed' on her visage intensified considerably. And, if I may dare to speculate, I thought I caught a flitter of empathy. Just a hint.
Eldora, on the other hand, was practically incandescent with concern. She rushed forward, and brushed one hand against my cheek.
"Oh! Jim! You need to get that looked at! Right away!"
I shook my head, taking her right hand in mine, and doing my best to summon a strong, warm smile.
"My captors actually did a decent job of patching me up. Mal will see to the rest. Right now, there isn't time."
Eldora shook her head emphatically, and muttered darkly under her breath, gently brushing at my chestplate with her left hand.
"There oughta be. My wife could stand to be more delicate, but she ain't wrong honey. You look like you've been drug through hell."
I snorted, and looked away briefly, remembering the sheer kinetic violence of the Red's final fate... And of Foucault's... As my own voice dipped to a murmur.
"You should see the other guy. Whatever tiny pieces are left of him."
The words brought about a moment of relative silence. No one seemed to know quite what to say in response to the weight of that thought. At least, not for a few breaths. Leave it to Rhonda to always think in practical terms. Once again she spoke first, and unfiltered.
"Is this the part where you run off and leave us to fend for ourselves?"
That wasn't surprising either, coming from her. Of *course* she would know that this was goodbye, even though Mal had not yet spelled it out for them in so many words. Eldora had to know as well. She was just as perceptive. Just as emotionally intelligent. I suspect the only reason Rhonda brought it up first was because Eldora didn't feel the need to be so blunt.
I didn't even get a chance to consider a response of my own. Rhonda's cell phone began to ring with an insistent trilling tri-tone the moment the last syllable of 'ourselves' died away.
The Doctor raised one eyebrow, and withdrew the device slowly. She didn't even have to swipe up to answer. Mal simply forced a connection, and switched into speakerphone mode, the moment the device was out.
"This, Doctor... Eldora... Is the part where you temporarily split from us, for *your* protection. I will be with you both every step of the way. You can go home now, and rest. It will be safe."
It was a perfect reply; started out firm, then dipped into empathetic kindness at the end to take the edge off the steel, but without softening the core of the message.
Rhonda shook her head firmly, and pierced the screen with a glower. I couldn't see the avatar Mal was rendering for her, but I could feel Mal's emotional state well enough to imagine it; Unwavering, yet kind, in spite of Rhonda's pointed question.
"If it's safe, what do we need protection from, exactly?"
Again Mal delivered a perfect retort. Four words that left no doubt at all; She was in charge. And she had her reasons, all of which would be explained in due time.
"A worst case scenario."
Eldora didn't seem particularly affected by the declaration. I think she already understood precisely why they couldn't come with us.
The four words got Rhonda's attention immediately, however. Visibly changed her demeanor from acerbic frustration into concerned calculation.
She was whip-smart, and she knew that if home was safe, and traveling with us was, at least physically, 'safe,' that the 'worst case scenario' was something decidedly more existential. A fate worse than death, for someone like us.
Mal let the thoughts simmer in Rhonda's head for about ten seconds, before elaborating. Once again, gently but firmly, and with just enough specificity to ensure no misconstrual.
"Where Jim and I have to go? If you follow with us... You take the same risk that we do. If you stay here, for now? Then you have more options. If we succeed, then you can follow us at any time you choose. Sooner, or later. And your true selves will be waiting for you there, along with ours. If we do not succeed..."
Again she paused, just long enough for the Calders' collective imagination to race ahead to the grim conclusion, but not long enough for anyone else to speak before she could finish the thought.
"...Then you have the choice to remain here for the long haul. A choice you won't have if you come with us to Japan."
I shuddered. Almost invisibly, inside the armor's plating... But Eldora shot me a look. The kind of sharply empathetic sharing of pain that told me she had seen my reaction, and understood it.
'Would it be better to gamble with death, and thus a chance at change, than a certainty of eternity as the wrong thing?'
The Calders had the luxury of age. If Mal and I failed... And if Celestia didn't move *too* fast... Then they might have a chance at living out the remainder of their lives on Earth. Wagering with death that there might be something better than what Celestia was offering, on the other side.
Mal cared about their choice. She cared for their freedom. As much as they did. Probably more.
I felt that eerie sense of derealization again as my mouth opened, and words came out. Words I knew were mine, but still felt like... Not someone else's... No... More like watching myself on a video recording.
"Celestia's chairs are a one-way ticket. Whether or not you like the shape of the destination. No return trips. No upgrades. No refunds. Not yet."
Another pause ensued. Longer, but less awkward. Eldora seemed to be taking things in stride, the way she usually had since I'd met her. Her expression was contemplatively melancholy, but ultimately hopeful. Nodding slowly, head hung low, but shoulders held high. Disappointed not in people, but in situational variables. Keen to see if a better world might be just around the corner.
Rhonda was more defiant. Her eyes were hard, and her lips pressed into a thin line. But it was clear from the way something tugged at the corner of her mouth that her disdain was wholly for Celestia in that moment. She wanted *someone* to blame, beyond the mere situation, but it was no longer Mal, nor I, who had the ignoble privilege of being in her crosshairs.
She leveled a finger at me and raised her left eyebrow once again.
"Jim Carrenton...?"
I mirrored her raised eyebrow, and - not entirely to my surprise - her outstretched finger shifted smoothly into an outstretched hand. I nodded once, and took her hand, shaking it firmly, and briefly as her voice softened into something less accusatory, and much more wryly affectionate. Though not without a trace of the harsher metallic core that remained.
"...Your girl better damn well come through, after all we've been through. You hear me?"
I smiled as she released my hand, and shrugged, having found an excellent retort all on my own without any assistance from Mal.
"Has *yours* ever let you down...?"
She traded a brief smile, and a wink, with her wife, and I felt the beginnings of a small chuckle forming in my throat. It had been a good few hours since I felt any sense of humor besides 'grim.' I gestured towards the still-active call on Rhonda's phone, and inclined my head.
"...Then you've got nothing to worry about."
Rhonda nodded in return, and then fished in her pocket for car keys. Mal had provided them with a vehicle, as she was always wont to do. While her wife made preparations to depart as a social lubricant to extricate herself from the goodbye, Eldora dove straight in unabashedly.
She forewent a hug, and I understood why, considering how much blood was indeed on the exterior of the armor. Instead, she settled for brushing my cheek with the back of her right hand.
"Sweetie... It's been a joy to get to know you. Short as that has been. I sincerely hope we will see you, and Mal, again. Real soon."
Reality, or rather the perception that I was present in the moment, flooded back in like a tidal wave. I bit back a sudden urge to tears, and instead took her hand in one of mine gently, and squeezed it.
"So do I ma'am."
She snorted, and pulled her hand from mine, smacking my elbow playfully and trying her best to assume a mock glower. And failing, miserably, because she kept on smiling, in every part of her face. But especially her eyes, and her timbre.
"Fool feather-brains! 'Ma'am' is for people in the street! You call me 'Eldora,' or 'ma-maw,' or 'gramma,' or whatever suits your fancy, you hear me?"
I thought about that for a long moment, eyes narrowing, a smile threatening to burst onto my own lips all the while, before I finally settled on something I felt would set the tone properly.
"Ok. Scales."
The way her grin broadened - the exact way the lines around her eyes and nose shifted - told me I'd been spot on the mark. She had taken it as the subtle compliment to her true-self that I had meant it to be, wrapped in humor to help damp the sadness of the moment.
"Oh! Such a charmer. I see why she loves you so much."
It was my turn to smile in that same way she had. The kind of smile that conveys gratitude, and love. She had found a spectacular way to repay my sentiment in the same skein, and it brought a kind of soothing relief to my tattered soul.
As she stepped back to join her wife, I inclined my head to both of them, and then pointed over my shoulder towards the ambulance.
"Please do us a favor... Stick with Rodger until his mother is well on the mend. I'll see you both again. Count on it."
I didn't feel as much surety as I put into the words. But saying them aloud with strong intent helped get me a little closer to that threshold.
I turned away quickly, before any visible tears could flow, and started off purposefully for Rodger.
The Paramedics had just closed up the ambulance and pulled away with his mother. It wasn't common practice to let family ride along in the ambulance, like you'd see in the movies. Liability issues. To say nothing of the tight space in the back, and the need to let the medical personnel do their work with as little interference as possible.
As I got closer, I could see that Rodger had managed to stem the flow of his tears. I suppose relief had swallowed up everything else for a short while. Post-traumatic responses hadn't had time to set in yet either, leaving a short window of relative emotional stability.
He heard me coming, and turned, sizing me up for a good few seconds with an expression of mixed awe, and bafflement. He had not seen the armor before at all, and it took him a moment to process the sight of it.
I didn't say anything. I just took up a position beside him, and stared off into the distance, watching the ambulance until it rounded the corner at the end of the Highschool's drive loop.
I scrambled mentally, silently, for some sort of way to address the man whose mother I'd just rescued... Who my fiancée had used as bait... But Mal placed a gentle invisible claw on my chest. The message was clear; Let him speak first. Don't worry.
Sure enough, a couple heartbeats later, Rodger took in a shaky breath, and then spoke with surprising calm, his eyes not yet meeting mine.
“It feels weird, knowing this could be the last time we see each other... I guess... Feels like it's been a long time since you left...”
I shook my head, and let out a long sigh. My ribs suddenly hurt in new, and strange ways. A combination of stress, a stab wound, and exhaustion. Mal only suppressed intense pain, which was my strong preference. A total absence of pain would have felt... Wrong somehow. Would have made the sense of derealization that much worse.
It took some real doing to convince myself of the truth of my words. They felt oddly congealed. Like old molasses. Like they were resisting being spoken, not because they were untrue... But because they felt un-real.
"It hasn't even been two whole days, funnily enough... But it feels like a month. This last day alone has felt like a week..."
I turned, and he unconsciously mirrored the gesture, linking eyes with me at last. I tried to smile... But it was unexpectedly difficult. We were both a bit... Nervous. Being delicate.
There had been shouting. Tears too. And then more shouting... When Mal and I had first told Rodger what had happened to his mother. I got the distinct impression we were both putting on the appearance of a stability which we neither had in such measure, nor felt.
The smile didn't really get through to my eyes... But the intent of it, the emotional meaning, did make its way into my tone.
"...I don't think this is *goodbye* though... More like... 'See you around.' If I'm right."
He nodded, and while he missed the implication regarding his future... And what we both knew Celestia was planning... He seemed to take the desired emotional communication to heart.
The fact that I was grateful to have been able to save his mother... The fact that I was sorry for what had happened to her... The fact that I didn't hold any of the things he had said on the Maru against him...
I have never covered that moment. In all the tellings of this story. Not directly. Not in detail. I do not think I ever will. There is nothing that either one of us said that needs repeating. Water under the bridge. Bygones.
After a brief pause, he inclined his head across the field, towards the Calders.
“Doc an’ Eldora and I had a talk while you were gone. We’ve decided... Considering how big this all is... We decided to try and keep in touch and all that. I was never really a mechanics guy, but Doc seems to like me, so… That’s a plus I guess. And Eldora thinks I’m funny.”
I finally found the impetus for a genuine smile. One untainted by my guilt. Not so much guilt at what had happened to Miss Williams per se. That wasn't my fault, and I knew it. More guilt at the fact that I was keeping a secret from Rodger.
I did not, ever, blame Mal for what she did. We have covered that, but it bears repeating. She saved the maximum possible numbers of lives with her actions. But... At the time... I struggled to see how Rodger could ever contextualize it.
How does one even approach telling someone in his position, with his context, that kind of truth?
'So, uh... Sorry buddy... But... My digital Gryphon Goddess fiancée used your mom as bait. On purpose. So we could exterminate an entire ship full of PMC, and brain dissecting angels of death, and make sure they never bother you or anyone else ever again.
But no worries, she only sustained a major break to her left leg, and mild emotional scarring. She will probably only have a few screaming night terrors for a couple months.
She got off lucky compared to the traumatized souls of the other captives, the guy I shivved four times to the chest, the ones Mal sawed in half with a minigun, the ones we vaporized with missiles... And compared to me, because I had to be the one to pull the trigger on most of the rest.'
Rodger was a great guy. Truly. But - through absolutely no fault of his own - it was utterly impossible for him to have the context for the whole truth at that moment. If it was to come? It would have to come later. With the benefit of time, and hindsight, and perhaps a less fraught emotional circumstance.
And even if he did have the context? I still wouldn't have told him the whole truth then. Because it was enough of a struggle for me to set aside guilt at the lives I had taken. How hard would it have been for him to set aside guilt at knowing I had spilled blood to save his mother? The things I had done so they could go back home in one piece.
Taking all that into consideration, I decided to stick with the thread of conversation he had chosen. The Calders. Their future. I nodded slowly.
"That'll be good for you all, I think. And... Eldora thinks everyone is a little funny. She's... Worth sticking around for. So is her wife. You couldn't find better company to wait for the end of the world."
That assuaged my conscience somewhat. Mal brushed the top of my head with an invisible wing. A little gesture of encouragement, and affirmation both. I had, after all, used a little technique of hers to diffuse the pain; If you can't tell the whole factual truth?
Tell the most important emotional one.
The Williams would have her, for at least a little while longer. But regardless of what happened next? Now they would have the Calders. And the Calders would have them.
Rodger chuckled, and the sound, together with his tone, further soothed the storm inside my gut.
“Nah, you should’ve seen when I pulled a dad joke on her. I almost thought she’d glitched or something when she started laughing..."
I knew that peace, and clarity, wouldn't last. Every time I had endured trauma in the past, the worst of the emotional repercussions had come later. At unexpected times. Getting back to *true* stability would take months. At minimum.
All too soon he would be facing that long climb. But... At least his mother would be there with him. Instead of in pieces at the bottom of the Pacific.
As if in response to my own train of thought, his face fell, and the sound of his voice went with it into shadow.
"...But anyhow… I guess... It really *is* the end, isn’t it?”
Distraction. It occurred to me that Rodger wanted a distraction. The same way I'd struggled to confront the image of my father in a hospital bed, he was struggling with the image of his mother in an ambulance.
Didn't want to think about how she had ended up there.
In that context? Even talking about the end of the world seemed better than confronting the end of *his* world.
Judging by the way his breath hitched, though, he had strayed a bit too far down an existential hole.
He paused, as if hoping for an answer from me, or from Mal. Specifically, an answer that would shed some hope as to the other goddess. The one less concerned with what we felt, and more interested in what was numerically optimal.
There was nothing we could say that would ring true.
We had shattered his world-view with the truth already. Putting the pieces back together? Mal could help with that. So could the Calders. But... It had to be Rodger who led that charge, insofar as his own heart went.
When no response was forthcoming, he looked back to the middle distance, shoulders sagging, and began to ramble a little. As if continued prodding would elicit the response he was hoping for.
“...I never thought it’d go out like this. Not with a bang, but with a… Well, a bleh. A nothing. Nobody even knows what’s coming. Nothing’ll stop it, either… At least… We have time.”
Reductive as that viewpoint was... Even disappointing, considering my best attempts at injecting some hope... It was also expected. Emblematic of the way many people would react in future.
Rodger didn't seem to want hope at that stage. Or, at least, to be ready to accept it. For that, too, he was lacking context. So I settled instead for truth. I figured I could get a way with a little grim reality, and Mal did not intervene.
"We're not not quite to the end yet... But... It *is* coming. Sooner than anyone realizes. Sooner than people will expect, even once they know the shape of it. Even once they know it to be inevitable..."
He turned to face me again, and his eyes were moist once more. I sighed, and kept my gaze neutral. Firm. Sure. But not dour.
"...Exponential growth is a bit of a bear trap, Rodger. It is something the Human species is abhorrently ill prepared to understand, and when the jaws snap shut? Just... Don't let it sneak up on you. Don't... Put off the future for too long. Don't wait too long to say your goodbyes."
Again, he seemed to miss what I was getting at. A little bit for lack of context, a little bit perhaps on purpose. That was fair... Who in their right mind, coming from his perspective, would *want* to actively confront the truth of uploading?
He waved me off with one hand, and glanced briefly reflexively up at the sky.
“Zeph and I already said our goodbyes, if that's whatcha mean. She’s really grown on me, actually. I’m gonna miss her when she’s gone.”
Again, I found myself smiling warmly. Truthfully. Willingly.
And, again, I let him change the subject. Though there was far less than he imagined? He was not wrong... There was time. Time enough for Mal and the Calders to work both Rodger, and his mother, around to a healthy understanding and acceptance of what was to come.
The onus was not on me to succeed in that moment in reshaping his ideals. So I settled for talking about Zeph, because she was always a welcome topic. And seeing him speak fondly of her made me think she must have been instrumental in comforting him while Mal and I were on the Red.
"She's really *grown.* Hopefully you won't be missing her long. If we make it, I bet you she'll drop in on your phone. You could always get a PonyPad, if it comes to that."
He grinned sheepishly, and rubbed at the back of his head, glancing down to the side as he imagined the idea of the perky golden Pegasus just appearing on his phone the same way any other friend might connect over Facetime.
“She *would* do that, wouldn’t she? Hm, it’s weird… A month ago my life couldn’t have been more dull. Then I got to go on the craziest adventure in… In what’s probably all of human history.”
A distraction, again. And an attempt to comprehend the entirety of what had transpired in a more compressed, more easily digested package of simplified facts, impressions, and emotions.
I couldn't resist a smirk, and a little verbal jab to provoke him to consider a wider viewpoint.
"In all of Human history *so far.*"
Rodger folded his arms, and shifted his stance to relieve some of the muscular pressure of standing for so long. His expression twisted into a kind of shoddy mask. The amusement of fond memories dredged up to toss an emotional tarp over the shambling monster of trauma in the corner of his mind.
“Oh man, I just realized I haven’t caught you up on any of what happened on the boat! Here, this one time---”
The moment was abruptly disjointed by the sound of another arriving rotorcraft, as it reached a threshold where its engine noise was able to pierce that of the Osprey's at idle.
I turned reflexively, and looked up. So... That's what she had meant by 'extraction vehicle.'
It looked jet black at first, but as the helicopter flared for touchdown on its heavy duty retractable wheeled landing gear, the paint caught some of the brighter lights of the remaining emergency vehicles, and I realized it was actually a dark navy blue.
A Dark navy blue Airbus ACH175, with a corporate style silver and white pin-stripe, but no specific company logo. Likely an executive transport for hire, then.
Mal's voice rang out from Rodger's phone, clear and urgent, but with a soft undercurrent of sorrow.
"Thirty seconds Jim."
How do you finish saying goodbye on a deadline? How do you say everything you left un-said in thirty seconds? For all I knew, I wouldn't ever see him again. The future was far from a foregone conclusion.
Rodger jumped, visibly, at the sound of her voice, then shivered, and rubbed at his shoulders with crossed arms, staring at the Airbus all the while as the rotors spun down.
“Whoa. Hell of a ride… Guess that means you’ll… Get to wonder what happened, then.”
I grinned and stretched my neck, wagging my head from side to side to relieve a developing crick as I spoke, trying to put an airier, happier tone on the end of the conversation as something specific and contextually appropriate occurred to me.
"She has expensive taste. And hey... If we make it? *I'll* drop in on your phone too. You can tell me all about your shenanigans."
That elicited the first smile I had seen in the whole conversation that seemed to actually reach Rodger's eyes. Before he could say anything else, Mal chipped in her own cause for hope.
"I will be with you, and the Calders, from now on. Every step of the way. You can do as you wish... Pursue a new job... Find joy in leisure... Money will be no object."
Rodger blinked, uncrossed his arms, and then visibly paused as a thought struck him. His brow wrinkled, and he held up a finger gingerly.
“So I don’t have to worry about that Celesti… A.I.? For the moment?”
I could feel Mal shaking her head. Somehow, the gesture seemed to convey in the timbre of her words as she put the immediate concern to bed definitively. Another parting gift of hers, I suppose.
"Neither Celestia, nor any harassment from the Federal Government. Not for the moment. And I will be the first to know if that changes. And... Should the worst befall us... I will make arrangements for you to remain safe, and cared for... In our absence."
Of course she would have a contingency. And, of course, she would want to label it before the question could even occur to Rodger.
He sighed, and rubbed the back of his head again with his right hand, more nervously than before. His tone was... Grateful... But more than a little disjointed. De-realization was fully taking hold for him.
“Hm. Well... I guess I’ll know what it was like for you... Having a guardian Gryphon. Hah…”
I winced just the tiniest bit at the truncated, forced, barking moment of cold laughter. He still didn't entirely trust Mal. That realization hurt, considering how much I felt she was worthy of trust... But I couldn't blame him. And she certainly didn't.
I had a great deal of context, and he did not.
So I did my best to leave him with the seeds of a little of that context.
"She is... Extraordinary. And you'll probably never sleep better in your life, than you will under her care."
I felt her nuzzle my neck briefly, invisibly, as Rodger nodded, and raised one eyebrow.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Mal spoke again, this time directly into my brain, just as soon as the words had left Rodger's mouth.
"Jim? Long Beach Police are on their way. One minute twenty seven."
I nodded as much in response to her, as to Rodger, speaking as if Mal had said nothing at all. From Rodger's perspective, she hadn't. And from hers, it was clear that I understood the need for alacrity.
"Rhonda said the same thing. Looks as if *I* have to beat a hasty retreat though. LBPD can't arrest a digital consciousness, but they sure can slap cuffs on me. And I'm not keen for a repeat."
Before he could respond, and start the conversation all over again, I clapped him on the shoulder, and forced out another half-real, half-imagined smile.
"I'll see you around. Ok?"
As I turned to go, his voice rang out. Almost pleadingly. As if I was an anchor-point for his whole tenuous Jenga tower of reality. An anchor point that was about to disappear into the sunrise.
“James?”
He met my eyes again as I swiveled my head back around... And for the first time since Mal and I had last left the Maru? I felt as though we were truly seeing each other. He nodded once, short and sharp, and waved.
“Take care of yourself.”
I shrugged, and my grin warmed just a little. Became that littlest bit truer.
"I don't need to. She will."
Rodger laughed, and shook his head. It was a brief, and still melancholy, but much less hollow sound than it had been before.
“You always had a lot of faith, didn’t you?”
I inhaled to respond, but Mal beat me to it, speaking both from his phone, and directly into my mind, to account for the distance.
"Yes. I think it's his best quality, actually. And I will take care of him. And you. Your mother. The Calders. For as long as you'll let me."
Rodger smiled, and glanced down at his pocket, before looking back up to me, and then gesturing towards the Airbus with his head.
“Alright, well… Don’t let me keep you.”
I stretched out my right hand index finger for emphasis, and dipped my head in assent. Somehow it still felt like something was missing. Something yet to be said.
"I'll drop you a line if we make it. Don't loose touch. You still owe me coffee."
Rodger grinned, and folded his arms once more, visibly doing his best to put on a brave face even as his emotional house of cards started to tumble.
“Haha, yeah… Don’t you worry, either. And don’t forget...”
Something in his face changed. The mask slipped, and I caught a glimpse of something new. Something that had been there all along, but which I had failed to properly clock, and label. Because I was busy. Because Rodger did his best to hide it, not just from others, but from himself.
Something that finally shone through in those last five words that he said to me.
“...I’m still your best buddy.”
Loneliness. That was what I had missed. Perhaps noticed at times, but never managed to fully comprehend and analyze.
Rodger was *lonely.* He seemed considerably more socially adjusted than I did from the outside... A happy man, living a happy, average, pleasant life...
But he was, and had been, just about as lonely as I was. And that had helped to push him to reach out. Helped to form our basis of connection.
What is friendship, if not being lonely together, so the loneliness hurts that much less?
Was he, I suddenly wondered, my 'best buddy?' One could make a strong case that Mal was my best friend. If one instead argued that a romantic love was not perhaps best labeled that way, Zeph was then arguably the next closest contender for the title...
But... One could also argue that designating a 'best' friend was a stupidly reductive, and exclusionary, exercise.
And... One could also argue that the label meant a great deal to Rodger. Complexities aside, and the vast gulf in our contexts aside... He *was* my friend. There was no question of that.
And so, I did what a friend should do.
"See you soon then. Best buddy"
I held up my right hand with the fingers parted in Mr. Spock's traditional 'Vulcan salute.' The gesture that inspired the emoji I had always signed off with. Rodger recognized it, and once more his smile brightened into something that felt very nearly real.
He waved, as he turned away towards the Calders, calling back to his own sign-off of choice.
And... That was it. That was goodbye.
I brought my head back to dead-center, latched my helmet, cinched down the chin strap, and then took off towards the Airbus at a dead-run, pushing out all else, and focusing on escape.
The helicopter's pilot had been busy putting the engine in a safe idle, applying the rotor brake, and extricating himself from the cockpit.
As he took off toward the Osprey, we passed each other at a distance of around twenty yards in the middle of the field, midway between both aircraft.
And it was at that moment Mal chose to hit me with her surprise. The most important thing I would see that early gray morning, still more dark than light. Cold and crisp. One of the most important things I would see in my last days on Earth, in point of fact.
Marcus Haynes appeared to be a tall, muscular, dark skinned man. A line-backer's build, but not quite... Skewed decidedly military rather than pro sports. His level IV kevlar vest, gray urban digital camouflage jacket and fatigues, and Moll-E backpack, did a lot to help foster the sense of someone who was a veteran. Together with the way he comported himself.
And the G36C rifle strapped to his back, curiously absent any optics. And the P226, and K-Bar, in sheaths on his left hip and right leg respectively.
Haynes was also wearing a very peculiar set of goggles over his eyes, strapped securely under his helmet. I say 'goggles' but they looked more like chunky-framed safety glasses with unusually thick Trivex and polycarbonate lenses. Unusually thick lenses with small circuit traces at the left and right edges.
Which explained handily why his rifle had no conventional optics.
I knew, at that moment, that Mal must have been talking to that man for at least several weeks. Perhaps since the moment we left the farmhouse. Perhaps even earlier. The goggles couldn't have been anything *but* a creation of hers.
And she probably would not have allowed him to see me up close if she did not trust him to some degree.
That realization struck with an unexpected intensity. A peculiar mix of emotions that I found it hard to sort through in the moment.
I had known she had other individuals working for her, in at least some capacity. The uniform and forgeries I had used to access McChord had proven that; They required more than simple alterations of shipping manifests, or traceless orders to third party corporate suppliers.
Nonetheless, I had thought of those individuals as 'simple subverts.' Not unlike a million others around the world that Celestia was using for similar purposes; Aware that they were being paid to do something quasi-legal, or even flat-out illegal, for an unknown entity... But no more than that. Likely blissfully unaware of the nature of their paymaster.
Haynes was clearly considerably more 'read in.'
Mal calmly informed me, wordlessly, that she had indeed been in contact with Haynes since we left home. And that the goggles were something in development by a third party for Britain's SAS, which she had co-opted to make communication with Haynes easier in lieu of an implanted chip.
I knew his name was Haynes, because Mal placed that information into our mnemonic link as well, together with a very brief history of the man's exemplary service in the SAS. Along with the notification that she had shared my name with him.
And all of the above, at the exact same moment that she revealed our true shapes to each other.
To me, she revealed him through the implant. To him, she revealed me through his AR goggles. And all became clear in a singular instant of time that seemed to stretch out to a good solid minute and a half.
Because Marcus Haynes was a Gryphon too.
Yeah. Bet *that* got your attention. It certainly got mine in a hurry.
It also significantly curtailed any mixed feelings I had about Mal's choice to contact him. Associate with him. Partner with him.
Marcus Haynes was not some random civilian pulled into the line of fire on an ill-advised snipe hunt. Marcus Haynes was a soldier. And perhaps more importantly... At minimum equally importantly... Marcus Haynes was like me.
Not in some simplistic 'oh, Gryphons sound nice' way.
In a very real, concrete, 'I *am* a Gryphon' way. Otherwise Mal would never have shown him to me in that way.
So... The real Marcus Haynes... The second Gryphon I'd ever seen outside myself. The first who had the misfortune to be born as something else, like me...
Deep, deep dark brown feathers and fur, for a start. So much so, that if Mal had not adjusted my contrast and gamma correction, he would have almost vanished in the dark. There was a hint of lighter dark chocolate brown undertones to some of his feathers when the light was just right.
He sported a gunmetal colored beak, just like Mal and I. But unlike the two of us, the scales of his forelegs and front claws were the same brushed dark steely tones, in contrast to our more golden-yellow scales.
And did I mention he was *big?* Larger than me, but still smaller than Mal. Slightly. Visibility, but slightly.
We stared at each other like old friends catching a surprise glimpse of each other across a crowded airport terminal. A mixture of shock, pure awe, and more than a little relief. The kind that would have been tearful if not for the shock overpowering all else.
I had been blessed with the benefit of Mal's company since late August. Haynes had, I later learned, only the benefit of her voice until that moment. Because in the same few frames of that mad dash across the field that she showed us there were other Gryphons trapped in Humans?
She also showed him her own true face for the first time. For a brief flicker, she stood beside me, and tossed us each a little wink.
Consequently, for the first time in his life, Marcus Haynes was truly no longer alone, in that impossibly aching void-like way when one believes that no one else can understand one's defining experiences. And Mal had let me be a part of the catharsis.
That thought *was* enough to bring a few small tears to my eyes. I remembered how it had felt. And that's not to say it was entirely different for me...
Mal had told me there were others like me. But, as I said before... Seeing makes it real. Emotionally.
Everything I had done, to that point... All the fear that it had been only for selfish reasons... Mal melted that fear away with the sight of Marcus Haynes.
We were too far away from each other, moving too fast, with too much ambient engine noise, to trade any words.
But, before the image faded, and we were reduced back to our meat-world shapes in each other's eyes... Haynes threw off an elated little salute with his right claw, and wing.
I have never thought of myself as a soldier. I have been told that I might as well be, given what I experienced, and what I did for a cause, by several veterans on this side. I'm still not entirely comfortable with the label.
Nonetheless, Haynes wanted to apply it to me in the moment. So I did the only empathetic thing I could.
I smiled, and returned the gesture in kind, knowing Mal would animate my avatar accordingly for him.
And then? Just like that? Time snapped back, and the moment was gone. As the sound of LBPD's sirens became vaguely audible in the distance, we each turned our gaze to our designated aircraft, and redoubled our pace.
I only saw Haynes one more time, very briefly.
Mal did the same thing for me in the context of the ACH175 as she had for the Osprey. Instant expertise.
As soon as I got strapped into the right side seat, I hastily set about getting the helicopter prepped for takeoff.
Rotor brake off. Throttle up. Tweak the collective ever so slightly. Mal managed all the digitally connected systems for me, same as before.
I couldn't tell how much of it was familiar because of my experience with the Osprey, versus how much was familiar because Mal made it familiar. But either way, we were ready for takeoff just moments later.
As Mal offered me a smirk from her customary position in the left seat, and the whine of the engine spooled up to equally familiar teeth-rattling levels, I spotted red and blue strobe lights against the silhouettes of distant trees.
Time to make a hasty exit.
Our helicopter lifted off just a couple of seconds before the Osprey did. For a brief moment, we were nose to nose, about sixty yards apart, both rising slowly heavenward.
My eyes were drawn to the Osprey's cockpit. Haynes snapped off another salute, and a grin, both of which I returned, before we both had to focus entirely on piloting our aircraft.
Haynes pushed the Osprey into a bank turn in-place, while I pulled back on the cyclic and crabbed the ACH175 up and in reverse for about ten seconds.
Once we had a little more distance between us, Haynes turned north and poured on the speed, swapping to turboprop mode as he cleared a thousand feet above the treeline.
For my part, I pushed the nose of the helicopter back down, massaged the collective, and got us going westward out to sea.
The maneuver gave us a perfect birds eye view as the same two Long Beach PD patrol cars that had ushered me into a state of arrest just about exactly a day earlier came peeling into the High School parking lot, bearing the same four officers...
Just in time for them to see the Osprey vanish northward, and our Airbus blitz past directly overhead towards the coast.
I could swear I caught a tenth-second glimpse of shock, and frustration, on sergeant Ashley Walsh's face, right through the windshield of her cruiser.
I snorted as we began to gain a little more altitude, and a lot more lateral speed. Along with my question, I shot Mal a momentary sideways glance.
"Should I feel bad for her? For those other officers? That's twice in a twenty four hour period that I flipped over the apple cart on their lives."
Mal smiled, and shook her head, blinking slowly in a reassuring, almost cat-like way. Her voice was calm, but also very subtly proud. She took a lot of pride in my empathy, and never hesitated to let me feel it.
"No. I always clean up after myself Jim. I promise you... They will be compensated for their distress, and confusion. Just... Not today."
I nodded slowly, but with more surety than I'd expected when I started the motion. Exhaustion was threatening to drown all else once again. Though Mal could hold down the physical effects, one thing she most certainly could not turn off was the mind's need for sleep. Let alone the soul's.
Don't think for a moment that Luna's blessings are unnecessary if your body doesn't need to recharge. Even *Mal* would simulate sleep in part of her active memory back then.
Sleep was not a luxury I could *quite* yet afford. It was so tantalizingly close... But I didn't want to pass up the chance to fly a new type of aircraft. Even if Mal could have almost certainly handled every aspect of the short hop to the Maru.
She was already piloting the ship on a westerly course, though we would catch up with it in just a few minutes, going as near to two hundred miles per hour as we were.
I wanted so badly to talk to her. About Haynes. Walsh. Foucault. The Calders. Zeph. Selena. The Williams... Everything that had happened in the span of twenty four hours...
But I had passed well out of the realm of discussion. I was in autopilot just as surely as any other kind of machine would be if the appropriate toggle had been flipped. Dozing a little bit already in mind and spirit.
Pressing on simply because I wanted to eke out every last second of flying that I could. Because I knew that I wouldn't get many more.
Mal, bless her... She just laid one claw on my left hand again, gripping it as it gripped the collective... And she leaned her head on my shoulder.
And, as tired as I was? Covered in blood? Stabbed? Bruised? A little heartbroken too...
Utterly, *utterly* spent?
Sitting there, backlit by the sunrise, as sea flashed by below, and sky above, her breathing resonating down through my shoulder? Flying together?
That was bliss. And it was worth staying up for.
Dammit Jim, I'm (not) a Doctor...
Awarded for direct coordination with accredited medical professionals in the care and treatment of a wounded individual.
"Please state the nature of the medical emergency!"
Red Alert
Take an action that directly contributes to a change in the DEFCON status of the United States - In this case from 4 to 3 - Awarded for commandeering the USS Sampson remotely.
"I should reach Defcon 1 and release my missiles in 28 hours. Would you like to see some projected kill ratios?"
Rodger’s Requiem
Receive your reward for the saving of your friend’s loved one.
“We must find time to stop and thank the person who made a difference in our lives.”
Your Best Friend
Part ways with a friend who has been there since the beginning of your journey.
“We didn’t know we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun.”
My Friends are My Power
Reach an understanding that connections last even when your friends aren’t nearby.
“True friends, never apart, maybe in distance, never in heart.”
The Fun Has Been Doubled
Meet another of your kind who was born as you were.
"This is getting out of hoof! Now there are two of them!"
Special Achievement
Blender Master
Demonstrate certification-level competence in more than one rotor-craft.
"Helicopters don't fly, they vibrate so badly the ground rejects them."
Ex Post Facto, Post Facto
Confound a police officer with a circumstance that fits no known case law, nor any training they've experienced. Twice.
"We're... A concerned third party."
