Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing Page 4
Nodding, John gave the peacekeeper officer Olu’s comm-code. While Loj notified Olu of the situation, John went back to removing the bandages. Kesip watched with ghoulish fascination as John’s black hair came into view.
“You know, I’ve never understood why Junians find my hair so fascinating. I mean, you’ve seen aliens with black hair before. Right? Most of the Zerraxi I’ve met have black hair.”
Kesip shrugged. “They look like Zerraxi, they don’t look like Junians.”
John snorted and carded his fingers through the tangle of his hair. The casual motion prompted a shudder from the trainee peacekeeper.
“Your hair really doesn’t feel anything, does it?” said Kesip.
“No, not a thing.”
Loj rejoined them. “I’ve notified your friends, Mr. Epcott. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
John nodded and reached for his cloak. The clothes he had been wearing during the attack had been turned over to the peacekeepers for forensic examination, but Olu had brought him replacements. Dressed in a sheer red tunic and flowing blue trousers, John pulled on the metallic orange cloak. He tugged the hood up, over his distinctive hair.
“Lead the way.”
The corridors were quiet, as the trio made their way up the gently rising ramp that worked its way around the hospital’s gallery core. They passed several people, but no one seemed to pay them any attention. Nevertheless, John kept his head lowered.
Eventually, they reached the roof. It was a fine morning, the sun was shining and two of the moons, Momi and Towis, were still visible in the west. The peacekeepers’ aircar was a nondescript gray lozenge that could have belonged to any civic agency. Its doors slid open as the trio approached.
To John’s surprise, Kesip slid into the pilot’s seat, while Loj joined him in the rear. The doors hissed shut. After Kesip confirmed they were strapped in, he switched on the antigravity field and impellers. The car rose, gently, into the morning sky.
As they floated up, John looked out the window. The hospital was part of the interconnected complex of buildings that comprised Ted Dov’s city center. He could see that the elevated walkways leading to it appeared crowded. He shook his head.
“That is so . . . crazy.”
Loj, seated across from him, smiled. “Most of them are very young and in their lifechange.”
“So they really aren’t in their right minds?” asked John, amused.
The peacekeeper chuckled. “You could say that.”
John glanced out the window again. “It’s strange. Back home, the only people who had this kind of celebrity were entertainers and politicians.” He glanced at Loj. “Why am I famous? Because I survived.”
Loj frowned. She looked as if she wanted to lean forward and touch his hands, to offer the sympathy of contact, but she hesitated. “Do you miss it? Your home?”
John frowned. “Sometimes. There are nights that I dream about it, the way it was, before the plague. I wake up and I think it’s all been a dream. A strange dream.” He shut his eyes. “Then I remember it’s not a dream.”
He felt the seat shift, opened his eyes to find Loj sitting next to him. Tentatively, she took his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know,” said John. He squeezed the peacekeeper’s hand. “You were just curious. It’s natural.”
“If it helps,” said Loj, quietly, “I know a little of what it feels like, to lose your world.”
“Oh?”
“I wasn’t born on Juni. My family immigrated to Nesup Colony before I was born. I grew up there.” Loj smiled, her gaze far away. “Running through fields of cisep as high as my head. Swimming in Lake Sem. Playing with my house-sisters.”
“What happened?” asked John.
“There was a solar event,” said Loj. “The planet was irradiated. The only people who survived were the ones who could reach the emergency shelters in time. Fifty-five people survived out of a colony of almost three-thousand.”
“I’m sorry,” said John. “Your family?”
“My mother survived. So did two of my house-sisters. Afterwards, we moved to Juni, but it wasn’t the same. Everyone was very kind, but Juni wasn’t home. In the heart of my soul, that will always be Nesup Colony.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “So I understand a little of what you must feel, Mr. Epcott.”
John nodded.
* * * * *
Kesip brought the aircar down in a wide, spiral pattern and landed on a peacekeeper substation’s roof. They were well outside the city center and Loj assured John that he shouldn’t have any problems with enthusiastic well-wishers.
“Gathering spontaneously in the city center is one thing,” said the peacekeeper. “There’s no law against that. But it’s quite a different matter to do something like that in a residential district, and only the most addlebrained group would even contemplate it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said John.
Inside the substation, Olu and Vesu were waiting. Grinning, Vesu welcomed John with a powerful hug, while Olu held his hand and squeezed his fingers so tightly that John feared she might cut off his circulation.
“We’ve got a groundcar waiting,” said Vesu. “And the house is set for full privacy.”
“So you won’t need to worry about the newsmakers,” said Olu, firmly. “If anyone breaches privacy, we’ll report them to the peacekeepers and demand judgment.”
Loj looked impressed. “Well, I can see you’re going to be in good hands, Mr. Epcott.” She produced a slip of paper and handed it to him. “My personal comm-code,” she said, quietly. “If you ever want to talk.”
John nodded, touched her hands and slipped the paper into a pocket. “Thank you, Officer Loj.”
“Call me Musin,” she said.
Olu and Vesu bundled John out of the substation, into the waiting groundcar. Vesu set the dome to mirror-mode and the two academics pressed close to John. They didn’t make a fuss, just succumbed to their Junian impulses, letting their close presence reassure him.
At the house, the three of them settled in the kitchen. John took off his comm and considered it.
“Is there something the matter?” asked Vesu.
“I’m not sure,” said John. “The peacekeepers thought my comm had been compromised.”
“Really?” Vesu looked scandalized.
“Yes, I’m just wondering if it’s all right to use it now.”
Olu set cups of yellow tea before them, and settled herself at the table. “You should check it.”
“How?”
“Contact the Communications Authority,” said Vesu. “Ask them to run an integrity check on your personal comm.”
John slid his comm back on and tapped it. It trilled softly. “Device ready.”
“Contact Communications Authority,” said John.
A synthesized voice responded. “This is the Communications Authority. How may we assist you?”
“I’d like to run an integrity check on my personal comm.”
“Please provide your comm-code.”
“Epcott-593103829.”
“Checking....checking....checking. Integrity check complete. Personal comm Epcott-593103829 was compromised on 58.18608 at 0914 hours. Integrity restored on 58.18608 at 0930 hours. Integrity compromise reported to Ted Dov Peacekeepers on 58.18608 at 0935 hours. Personal comm Epcott-593103829 is secure. Do you require further assistance?”
“No,” said John. “Disconnect.”
His comm warbled. “Disconnect confirmed. Please note that you have seven-hundred-thirty-seven messages awaiting your review.”
John blinked. “Repeat that.”
The comm repeated its last message and John shook his head.
“What is it?” asked Vesu.
“I’ve got over seven hundred messages waiting for me.”
“Most of them are probably from complete strangers,” said Olu. “Like the well-wishers who gathered outside the hospital this morning.”
“I’ll probably have to see about filtering them. Some of them might be from people I actually know.”
“You can do that later,” said Olu, firmly. “For now, you will relax.”
“I slept for four days, Olu. I think I’m pretty relaxed.”
“No,” she said, “you were in a coma for four days. That isn’t the same thing.”
He covered her hand with his own. “Olu, I’m fine.”
“You had a violent confrontation, John. I’ve studied enough human psychology to know that you may experience a delayed reaction to those events.”
“It was just a fight,” said John. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Were all humans so accustomed to violence?” asked Vesu.
John’s eyebrows shot up. “I wouldn’t say that I’m accustomed to violence. That makes it sound like I treat it as something casual. Trust me, I don’t.”
“My apologies, John. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You haven’t,” said John. He patted Vesu’s hand. “But this wasn’t my first fight. I’ve been in others.”
“Really?” said Olu. Her expression wavered between intrigue and shock.
“Ignoring playground scuffles, I didn’t always live in the nicest neighborhoods. When I was seventeen I was beaten so badly that I went to the hospital with cracked ribs and a broken wrist.”
“How awful!” said Olu, her eyes wide with shock.
“Was your attacker brought to judgment?” asked Vesu.
“No,” said John. “It was my word against theirs and I had no witnesses or evidence to prove my claim.”
“There was more than one?” asked Olu.
“There were four of them.”
“Why did they attack you?”
John shrugged. “They were drunk and thought I insulted them.”
“That must have been traumatic,” said Olu.
“It wasn’t pleasant,” admitted John. “I had nightmares for weeks afterward and didn’t want to leave the house at all.” He grinned at Olu. “You worry about me not socializing enough now, you should have seen me then! I was jumping at my own shadow.”
“What did you do?” asked Vesu.
John shrugged. “I got tired of being frightened, so I took a self-defense course. It did wonders for my confidence.”
Olu chuckled. “Apparently.”
“So you see,” said John, “this encounter with the Zerraxi isn’t the worst fight I’ve ever been in.” He squeezed Olu’s hand. “And it certainly isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
* * * * *
In his bedroom, later that afternoon, John tapped his comm.
“Device ready.”
“Access archived messages, please.”
“Accessing archived messages.”
“How many of those messages were received prior to calendar date 58.18208?”
“None,” reported the comm.
“All right,” said John. “How many archived messages are from comm-codes I’ve exchanged messages with prior to calendar date 58.18208?”
“Nine messages match that criterion.”
“Play these messages.”
Two of the messages were from Olu, asking him where he was. There was a message from Vesu asking much the same. The other six messages were from people John had some contact with, wishing him well after the incident with the Zerraxi or inquiring after his health. John recorded a blanket message for the academics, thanking them for their concern and well wishes and apologizing for the generic nature of his response, explaining that he had several hundred messages to review.
“Are any of the remaining messages from comms that are not designated as personal?”
“Three archived messages match that criteria,” replied the comm.
“Identify senders, please.”
“Mercantile comm, Taiaxa-554685040. Municipal comm, Ted Dov Health Authority-434446327. Diplomatic comm, Zerraxi Embassy-404564416.”
John frowned at the last. “Play the message from the Zerraxi Embassy.”
The comm warbled as it complied.
“This is Ambassador Zaquo of Zerrax,” said a tremulous, male voice. “I wish to extend a formal apology for the behavior of our citizens to you, John Epcott. Their actions will not go unpunished.” There was a brief pause. “And, on a more personal level, I wish to extend my apologies for the shameful behavior of my son, Katis. He has shown poor judgment in his choice of companions and brought shame upon himself, his family and his tribe. Let me assure you, sir, that his punishment will be no less severe than that of the others.”
The message from Taiaxa was blunt and to the point, berating the three Zerraxi criminals, and assuring John that the local Zerraxi community was appalled. She ended by wishing him a swift recovery and hoping that he would return to the restaurant.
John fired off a response, assuring Taiaxa that he would definitely be returning to the restaurant. “After all,” he said, “where else around here can you get a great steak, and enjoy it in such agreeable company?”
The third message, from the Ted Dov Health Authority, was from a Counselor Wen. She invited him to attend the group counseling sessions arranged for the attack victims. John did not even bother to respond, just deleted the message. The last thing he wanted to do was take part in group therapy.
“Delete the remaining messages, please.”
The comm chirped. “Are you certain you wish to do that? Deleted messages cannot be recovered.”
“Yes,” said John. “Delete the remaining messages.”
“Messages deleted.”
John nodded. “Device off.”
The comm warbled at him, indicating its compliance.
* * * * *
Vesu was seated in the daychamber, when John came downstairs. He sat with his feet propped on a stool and his hands folded across his belly. His dayrobe was dark purple with yellow piping around the cuffs and hem. The wall in front of him was displaying a popular entertainment program, Tej Femi’s Assembly.
As John sat next to Vesu, Tej Femi was introducing a musical act. Four young women wearing matching outfits began to play a collection of woodwinds and harps.
“They’re good.”
Vesu nodded. “They’re the Tiwi Sisters. Olu and I saw them perform at the civic center in Golden Beach, last year. They were amazing.”
“Where is Olu?”
“Gossiping with her sisters on the comm,” said Vesu. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
John grinned. “My lips are sealed.”
Vesu glanced at him. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m . . . not sure.”
Vesu froze the program. “Tell me.”
“I had a message from the Zerraxi Ambassador, apologizing for what happened.”
“That bothers you?”
John frowned. “The ambassador’s son is very young. He’s not an adult, more like a Junian going through the lifechange.”
“You’ve been watching the newscasts.”
“I had to after I got the message,” admitted John. “The ambassador sounded very . . . fragile.”
“This will probably be the end of his diplomatic career.”
“It shouldn’t be,” said John. “I read some of the other victim reports. None of the descriptions of their assailants matches Katis’s.”
Vesu scratched his chin. “I’m not sure that’ll matter to a Zerraxi court.”
“It ought to.”
“You should talk to Imiro Lewij, at the Institute,” said Vesu. “She’s an expert on the Zerraxi. She could answer your questions about them better than I could.”
“I should. It’s been a while since I spoke with her.”
John remembered Imiro Lewij fondly. When he had first arrived on Juni, she had given him a crash course in Junian customs and culture. A petite, fair-skinned woman in her fifth decade with long, yellow hair, Lewis s
tood out in John’s memory for the kind regard she had shown him. Also, for her wardrobe. Imiro Lewij was the only Junian he had met whose wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of shimmering gray robes. Later, he’d learned that was because she was a member of a religious group, the Devotees of Oba.
“I’ll comm her tomorrow,” said John. He yawned and blinked. “But right now, I think I’m off to bed. Say goodnight to Olu for me, will you?”
Vesu touched John’s wrist. “John, would you do something for me?”
“Of course, Vesu. Anything.”
“Would you sleep with us tonight?” He lowered his voice. “Olu’s been worried sick about you. If you’re in the other room, I know she’ll be up half a dozen times to check on you.”
“Sure,” said John.
Vesu smiled. “Thank you.”
“Does she still take all the covers?”
“Like a Sewkari bandit,” said Vesu, chuckling.
* * * * *
It was raining the next morning, one of the gentle showers that were becoming less frequent as Juni began its seasonal transition, from Rainsky to Clearsky. Olu and Vesu had left for the university, after Olu had made John promise to comm them if he left the house. John had solemnly promised. Checking his comm, John found that more messages had been archived for his review. Sighing, he waded through them. Four were from news agencies, requesting interviews. There was a flirty response from Taiaxa to his previous message, and a few messages from friends on the Undaunted Spirit.
John spent most of the morning responding to these messages and then setting up a filter to route the comms from well-meaning strangers to a separate archive. By the time he was finished, the gentle shower had transformed into a torrential downpour. John walked to the house’s rear door, which overlooked the lush gardens held in common with the neighboring homes. For a while, he stood in the open doorway, breathing in the warm, damp air. During weather like this, John had noticed he was prone to fits of melancholy. He often found himself thinking of Earth, of thunderstorms from his Georgia childhood and the terrible storms he’d witnessed while traveling across the prairie, after the plague.
The clouds, he recalled, would come out of nowhere. They would swarm, piling on top of each other, turning day to night. The air would become hot and charged. Lightening would stab at the ground, repeatedly.