Exile, p.14
Exile, page 14
“You see why we had to call you back, Brother Colonel.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Suicide, alongside mutiny, murder, and rape, was a serious disciplinary issue and always, always reflected on the commanding officer. Ultimately Arkady, though his absence was a mitigating factor. “What about his lieutenant?”
“In lockdown. Under shock. He found him.”
“I see.” Arkady stepped closer and picked up the blanket from the man’s bunk, then spread it over the body—to cover the glassy stare, the pale bluish skin, the jagged edge of where the back of his head had been. He was still tempted to straighten the limbs, arrange the corpse, and see to it that it would be cleaned and dignified. “I assume you had a look?”
The Revisionist nodded. “It’s a suicide. There’s a note, too.” He picked up the man’s pad, unlocked it, and handed it to Arkady.
The message was short. Something about duty, about being sorry to have been such a disappointment, a request to be forgiven. His signature. But no reason. Arkady looked down at the body again and set the pad down. “Send the body to the morgue. Full examination. I’ll see his lieutenant first, then his comrades. Keep them separate. Sweep this place and his personal belongings for any indication of a reason.”
The Revisionist gave a smile. “Already in progress, Brother Colonel.” Standard operating procedure. Procedure was what kept the Doctrine forces running—when a normal person would be struck with emotion, the Doctrine carried on along the lines of procedures. Regardless, it seemed to please the Revisionist that he was following them to the letter.
“I’ll get myself ready for the questioning,” Arkady said. “Give me thirty minutes, and then bring the lieutenant to me.”
“Consider it done.”
Arkady headed to his quarters. He’d have run if that hadn’t sent the wrong message to his soldiers. Once arrived, he took the quickest of showers and put on a fresh uniform, including boots. Then he ordered tea into the meeting room and was about to head for the cross-examination of the lieutenant when he noticed a sheet of paper lying on his bed. He bent to take it and unfolded it.
Brother Colonel, upon your return, you will find me gone. I mean no disrespect; serving you has been one of the honors of my life. I’ve admired you for years. You might not be aware, but I was among the troops onboard the Fortitude, and stood with the others as your honor guard when you took control of the ship. I’ve admired you for years. I told my family often that one day I want to be as strong and dignified as you.
I applied for this posting not because I was itching to kill Tameneans. I wanted to be close to you. I never examined my motivation, or why you meant more to me than any other commanding officer I’ve served and had hoped to ever serve. Please don’t understand me wrong; serving you was the best thing I’ve ever done. And I’m truly sorry that my actions may tarnish your record. I’ve taken all precautions that I knew to take, and am anxious that I haven’t left anything out.
Over the past few weeks, as I came so much closer to you than I’d dared dream, I also realized that seeing you every day had turned into torture. Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t know this; I had no idea what it would do. All I wanted was to serve you, but then, this close, I realized I can’t carry this with me any longer. I also couldn’t bear the thought of leaving for a different posting.
I can only hope that nobody knows how much sleep I lost over you, or what I dreamed of when I finally managed to sleep. Nobody can know how much I was losing my mind over you. I was an ineffectual soldier, a shame to my unit, but I hope I haven’t disgraced you in any way. I realized that, more than fighting under your command, shielding you with my own body, dying for you if required, I wanted to hold you, touch you; I tremble writing this—kiss you. I couldn’t sleep because I wondered if there was the ghost of a chance you’d let me touch you, or spread out my soul and body for you to tread on. Anything. I’d have done anything for you.
There it is; my shame and dishonor. I can’t even decide whether I want you to laugh at this or sneer in disgust, whether you’d have considered me broken and damaged and submitted my file to re-education. I guess the most unbearable of all thoughts is that somewhere in your brilliant mind and beautiful soul, there’s a corner that I could have called mine, if not for who we are. Know this, Colonel. Knowing you has been the greatest honor of my life, and I step into darkness today knowing that if I have the heart to tell you that I’ve never loved anybody as much as I loved you—as I’d have loved you if that had been possible—then I have the heart to step into oblivion without fear.
Yours, Taras
Arkady felt his breath catch in his throat. He didn’t even remember the para among the honor guard on the Fortitude. He’d likely been too excited at having been given a brand-new ship, one without battle scars, fresh from Liberty’s own shipyards, one without history or idiosyncrasies to learn. And even on this base, he remembered only two brief exchanges with the man.
“Brother Colonel, a bunch of locals showed up outside the gate, demanding to speak to the Leader of our Warriors. Oh, he phrased it as ‘your strongest warrior.’”
“Yes, warrior-ness is ... more a spiritual concept.”
“Spiritual?”
“Brother Sergeant, I’d strongly suggest you read the primer on Tamene that I know is on your personal pad.”
“Did you expect us to respect their backward beliefs, Brother Colonel?”
“It’ll help bringing them home into the Doctrine if we speak their cultural language. Or were you looking forward to fighting Tameneans?”
“I didn’t join the paras as a cook, Brother Colonel.”
“As they say, a cubic of sweat saves twenty of blood. I’d rather shed your blood as a last resort.”
He remembered having admired the man’s strength and good looks and admonished himself that he was only a few years older than his own son. Not that age ultimately mattered as much as the difference in rank, and in this specific case, their gender.
I’d rather shed your blood as a last resort. He’d meant it lightly, as a quip, though not a disrespectful one. But to a man who was smitten with him—how had that sounded? Like a secret message? A token of affection? Or callous disregard, lumping him in with all the others?
And then that other time.
“Fuck me.”
“I’m sure one or several of them would oblige you, Brother Sergeant.”
“What!”
“An older warrior often takes a younger one as a lover and student.”
“You mean, another man?”
“Or woman. If the warrior’s female. I told you, better read the primer.”
Graces. He shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have, even lightheartedly, said it. He’d probably done it to prove to himself that he was not swayed by his own nature, that it wouldn’t have any influence over what he said or how he said it or who he said it to—however, he could never know whether another person, another man, was normal, or would actually take it as a joke.
What if the para’s horror—what he’d thought was horror—had been surprise, a moment of panic when the para suddenly found himself discussing, yes, confronting that secret that was resting in the man’s heart, and all Arkady did was quip about it—a lesson in xenoculture, something of a sick joke, an object lesson.
And yet, that third time, the para had tried to protect him when he’d been about to leave the base.
“You shouldn’t go out there alone, Brother Colonel.”
“I shouldn’t? What is the worse-case scenario you’re expecting?”
“He could attack you.”
“Worst case?”
“Kill you, Brother Colonel.”
“And then, what? You shoot him, freeze my body, ship me off to the main fleet, and I’ll come back a few weeks later because my brain functions won’t have had time to stop. In the meantime, you pour out poison gas over his tribal land, killing everybody, and begin the conquest of Tamene in all seriousness, as outlined in the Directives until the ‘savages’ beg for mercy, which they might, once you’ve killed all the warriors. Tell me again who has the most to lose when I go out there?”
“Apologies, Brother Colonel.”
“No need. Thank you for your concern.”
The man had still tried to protect him, and Arkady had put him in his place like an over-eager puppy threatening to make him stumble with its uncoordinated affections. Granted, he’d been too focused on Sturm, on what lay ahead, on trying to gauge the warrior’s responses and the threat he posed.
He lifted the letter again. How had he phrased it? I couldn’t sleep because I wondered if there was the ghost of a chance you’d let me touch you, or spread out my soul and body for you to tread on.
“Oh dear boy, that’s exactly what you did, and that’s what I did.” Arkady swallowed.
A knock on the door, and then it opened immediately. “Brother Colonel, everything is read ...” The Revisionist stopped mid-word and looked at him. He tilted his head ever so slightly. “Why are you crying?”
Arkady drew a shuddering breath and wiped over his eyes, blinked a few times to clear his vision, then focused again on the Revisionist. The man struck him as soft and delicate and strangely beautiful. It would be a long time until he’d look at another person without thinking them fragile and precious and mortal. “A moment, Brother Lieutenant, if you will.”
The Revisionist closed the door behind himself, then visibly gathered and collected himself. “I have to say, I’m surprised.”
Arkady drew another breath, swallowed what tasted like more tears, blinked his eyes clear again. The Revisionist kept watching him—he could feel the man’s attention like a coiled spring.
Enough, Arkady. Pull yourself together.
He forced himself to locate the tension in his body, felt it around the jaw and behind his eyes, constricting his lungs and his heart. He focused his attention on those muscles, and, with the next breath, increased the tension to take control of it, and then released it.
It didn’t quite work immediately—part of him didn’t want to let this go, so he did it again. He took the tension, gripped it with everything he had, then let it go, pushed it away, then, with the third breath, focused on filling his lungs, calming his heart. The tears dried up, and when he opened his eyes again, his gaze was clear.
The Revisionist nodded to him, offered a friendly smile. “That is much better.”
“Yes.” Arkady breathed out the remaining tension, felt his limbs looser and ready again. “I do apologize.”
“Oh, no need. I shouldn’t have barged in like that. I have not known you to be anything less than punctual, so I was possibly confused what would take you so long.” Smoothly told, though Arkady wasn’t sure he believed him.
“The reason is that there’s another suicide note. This one here.” He didn’t like having to hand it over, but the truth was, the para was already dead, and nothing he could do now would—could—protect him. That was the heartbreaking thing about all of his sleepers: they were defenseless against what people thought or said about them. They were now memories, which could be honored or just as easily derided.
“Can I see?” The Revisionist offered his hand, and Arkady placed the letter into his palm. The man didn’t look at the letter, but at Arkady’s eyes, but Arkady was positive that no emotion showed. The protocol was running, his emotions smooth and cool; it was like lowering an unbreakable glass wall between his feelings and his rational mind, and it removed stress from the system. His pulse was slow and steady at resting pace now.
The Revisionist flicked the letter open and read. Of course, communications on paper were generally understood to be archaic and mildly suspicious. Since the Revision had access to any and all personal correspondence sent via pads, paper letters by definition excluded them.
Arkady had to admire the Revisionist’s composure, however. Not only was he looking at the evidence of a crime, but the full anguish of another human being driven to the utmost. And all he did was slightly curl one eyebrow. Arkady had seen him respond with more emotion to the food on his plate in the mess.
“Well.” The Revisionist lowered the letter. “What do you make of it?”
“I tried to work out whether I should have seen the signs, whether I encouraged him, maybe, or whether there was any moment when I should have responded differently.”
“And? What are your conclusions?”
“Nothing, Brother. In my view, he’s been like any of the others. Possibly more eager, if anything, but that could have meant many things.”
“How do you feel about this?”
“Desperately sad at the waste of life.”
The Revisionist lifted an eyebrow again. “Desperate?”
“A figure of speech, Brother Lieutenant. Helplessly sad. I wish he’d sought help. But there is nothing I can do, except perhaps pay closer attention in case such a matter arises again.”
“Indeed.” The Revisionist shook his head. “You will go ahead questioning his lieutenant and comrades about any indication of the reason and background of the victim’s action. Keep it short, as we have the reason here.” He lifted the letter again. “This does seem very authentic to me, but we need to explore the other avenues. I’ll be present.”
“And then?”
“Well, depending on his conduct before his death—and whether anybody else is implicated, I would suggest he be booked off as a battlefield death. The first Doctrine man to fall on Tamene. His family receives the support from the state as well as any medals command and yourself see fit to award him posthumously, and we close the matter. We have much more urgent things to worry about.” The Revisionist fixed him with a long look. “Do I have your assent, Brother Colonel?”
“That’s lenient ...”
“Is it?” The Revisionist scoffed. “The brother sergeant has already judged and executed himself. There is no justice to be had, and no advantage to the state. He removed himself before doing further damage to his unit or the Doctrine—though the particulars need to be ascertained, and that will be your duty as his officer—but depending on the outcome of the investigation, and assuming he hasn’t acted in an excessively harmful manner, besides robbing the Doctrine of his own service, that is, I’d suggest we don’t make the matter bigger than strictly necessary.”
From what Arkady knew, this was still lenient. The punishment, if caught, could range from re-education to zeroing, to a full mindwipe, trying to save the body if not the personality or the mind. He’d never managed to achieve a high enough clearance to learn whether any of those methods actually worked. Stolkov had rather run than risk it, and he must have known the options as well.
At the same time, the Revisionist didn’t strike him as particularly forgiving or gentle. He was still very much correct in his application of the Doctrine. Maybe he erred on the side of softness because this was, strictly speaking, a frontier posting. Or maybe he was actually sympathetic. Or possibly, he had his eyes on bigger, more important game.
“I’ll leave that decision to you, Brother Lieutenant. But I’m sure his family will appreciate that he died a warrior, not a criminal.”
“A soldier, not a warrior. A faithful son of the Doctrine. Yes.” The Revisionist gave him a little smile. “If you’re ready, Brother Colonel, let’s take care of this administrative matter.” He opened the door. “After you.”
Chapter 17
The silence of the village was still strange after so many years on various spaceships and stations with their sounds and vibrations. While Kyle had been born and raised here, and knew the sounds of wind and waves and the whisper of vegetation, and the occasional cry of land or sea creature, this was also a space where his thoughts could grow and expand, as if his mind were somehow folded in on itself and now spread like wings to brush all the familiar things on Tamene, part in greeting, part reassuring himself they were still there.
It was with those impressions that he woke up. Expansion, a flutter of something like wings, though body-less, even shapeless.
He reached over and touched Grimm’s shoulder, but when he turned, the man was already awake, probably listening, just like him.
“What happened?”
“Arkady is back,” Grimm said. “We should go see him.” The words didn’t seem alarmed, not really urgent, but something about Grimm indicated he’d switched to his very protective self. Grimm was usually fairly laid back, compared to Winter at least, but he did have a protective streak. Grimm fully turned to him and kissed him. “Let’s go.”
They didn’t even put much on in terms of clothing. Trousers, not even shoes—it was a mild night, humid after the day’s rain had been soaked up by sun and forest. They left the village, nodded briefly to two warriors who were guarding the approach from the sea like silent statues, the tips of their spears and the tops of their shoulders reflecting the moonlight.
Grimm motioned him to follow along the beach, still in the shade of the trees lining the beach. Walking along here was much harder than along the water front, but Kyle assumed there was a reason for the added caution. He hastened his stride along with Grimm who didn’t seem to struggle nearly as much to move quickly on loose sand and hard gnarled tree roots.
After a while, a single man became visible, standing there, cutting the landscape in half, a dark shadow. Kyle knew it was Arkady before he could actually identify him with his normal senses. “Is he all right?” he whispered.
Grimm slowed and glanced at him. “Why are you asking?”
Yeah, that. The sense was that Arkady wasn’t all right. Or he wouldn’t have asked.
Arkady didn’t seem to have seen them—he was walking, very slowly, along the water line, close enough that the occasional wave licked over the top of his boots. Then, slowly, he reached toward the top of his uniform, and began opening the fastenings—the uniform cloth flaring open, his rank insignia catching the moonlight and then falling into shadow. Arkady didn’t seem conscious of what he was doing; the movements were mechanical, puppet-like.
