Author's Note: This is a follow-up story to "Resurrection". I recommend you take the time to read that first, then "Ashes to Ashes". Otherwise, you're going to be sorely confused about some of the characters. Thanks!
Author's Note II: A few cosmetic changes, but no plot changes. Thanks! (9 Jun 06)
Chapter 1
Dreams were a dangerous thing. Jon hated them. He felt out of control as the world took an even more surreal turn than it had in real life. Monsters rose up out of the ashes to attack him, to kill him and those around him. He was always defenseless. No matter the nightmare, he always lacked that which he relied on in the real world – his armor. He was vulnerable flesh and bone to the likes of Dread, his flesh easily pierced by whatever weapon his mind conjured.
The others in his dream were without protection, too. The team he had come to know as family was target fodder for the enemy or whatever monstrosity his imagination feared. They screamed in pain and bled until dead on so many nights that began taking Jon a few moments upon waking to orient himself to what was real.
The dreams, themselves, made no sense. They were of nothing more than senseless destruction. He had taken the time to analyze them and knew they were the product of what he saw every day. Still, he could not shake the fact that the faces he saw nightly belonged to people he cared about on his team and in the world. It seemed that whatever had affected him that day would worm its way into his subconscious that night, all completely out of his control. As much as he expected what he would see when his mind finally slipped over into the dreamscape of the mind, he simply had no control and was bound to experience the same horrors over and over again.
He awoke from just such a dream, his heart racing. He opened his eyes to utter darkness. It took a moment for him to realize where he was. Only after a moment did he remember Haven and its relative safety. With the door closed to his room, no light entered, enveloping him in darkness. He had no idea the time. Part of him did not care. No matter the hour, the war was still raging as it had been for years against Dread . . . except, he realized, it might not be. He turned on his side in the bunk, pulling up the blanket and curling into it. He thought about Dread. No one really knew the dictator's fate following what Jon considered a heroic act by Tobias. She had, in his opinion, given her life to save them all. At least, that was how Jon saw it. Hawk was no so convinced, and Jon knew better than to try to change the major's mind about the issue. Tobias had been a war criminal. The evidence of her crimes was an intense montage of bodies that had been mutilated and tortured in an effort to further Dread's empire. Jon could hardly argue the facts. Tobias was no help, admitting her guilt on several occasions in front of them all.
He sat up on the edge of the bed, suddenly wide awake. He reached for his chronometer on the bed stand. He toggled the light on the side. It was nearly four in the morning. He knew he should have been tired, only having slept six hours after all they had been through the day before, but he felt wired. His limbs twitched for activity. He stood and stretched, feeling blindly for the replacement dungarees Haven had provided him on their return. The long sleeved shirt was warm against the cold underground air. His feet slid softly into a pair of slippers, the comfort of which seemed foreign to him. Haven enjoyed luxuries he had not had in a long time. He felt guilt over using the amenities it provided when so many on the surface were barely staying alive.
Jon opened the door to his room. The halls were quiet. In the distance, he heard the mechanical thump of the legs of Mason and Dixon, Tobias' workhorses for Haven. She had customized them to take care of things while important work was being done. They did everything from take out the garbage to serve meals. It was still disconcerting to see them on the loose inside the secure facility, but no one seemed to mind their programmed meanderings through the base. They went about with hardly a notice from the human contingent they served. He passed by them in the hall, making way for their passage by pressing himself closely to the wall. They would have waited for him if he had kept moving forward. They were programmed to do just that – respect the authority and value of human life. It was such a contrast to what he was used to seeing with mechs. The mechs of the empire were programmed to be brutal, to kill and destroy on command. He supposed Mason and Dixon still possessed the same ability, but he trusted Tobias when she said the programming of these two had been changed. If there was anyone who would have known, Tobias was the one.
There was a small galley at the end of the hall. He passed by it, returning to it on a second thought. It had been so long since he had had a cup of coffee. Coffee, it seemed, was the lifeblood of Haven. It might as well have been – the ones who originally stocked the place had cached enough of it to supply a small town with a caffeine high for a year. Again, he had to push away the guilt as he poured a cup of it. It smelled wonderful. Hot and steaming, he breathed in the aroma with a deep inhalation. He took nothing in it, just enjoying the unadulterated taste of the liquid his father had lived on when researching late into the night.
Jon was in the hall again, walking without disruption. He headed for the medical ward, needing to check on his people and those entrusted to him by Tobias on the mission. Scout had been released a day earlier and was resting in his own quarters, though the medical staff had to invoke the chain of command through Jon to get the sergeant to rest. Kasich was still in critical condition, and the young fighter was using every excuse to be near her when he needed his own rest to recover. Jon understood Robert's need, for he shared them when it came to Pilot, but he also had to show Haven his ability to command and lead. He had worked too hard to sit back with complacency that it was someone else's turn. As long as there was a threat to humanity's survival, he would do what was necessary to secure the future of an entire race. He would command not only his people but those of Haven if a clear chain of command was not established soon.
He found himself at the door to Jennifer's room in the medical ward. He entered quietly, closing the door. He expected her to be asleep, but she turned and looked at him as he walked toward the bed.
"You should be sleeping," she said, her voice scratchy and weak. Her eyes looked tired, but as though they had seen too much sleep.
"So should you," he said quietly, a smile forming. He sat down in the chair next to the bed.
"Slept enough," she said.
"How are you feeling?" Jon asked, knowing the answer she would give would be a lie.
She turned gingerly in the bed to face him better. "Better than the first time. What time is it?"
"A little after four."
She said nothing for a moment. He could see the sadness in her eyes.
"I'm sorry about Doctor Tobias," he said.
Jennifer's head seemed to sink further into the pillow as Tobias' name was mentioned. "I couldn't do anything to stop her, Jon. I tried, but I just couldn't."
He took hold of her hand to comfort her in her grief. "I know. She saved our lives."
"She changed mine," she said, closing her eyes. "I would never have left the Dread Youth without her."
"Sure, you would have," he said, believing it.
"No," Jennifer countered, opening her eyes again and looking at him. "She taught me to look with both eyes. That's something I had been raised my entire life to never do. She taught me to ask questions, to think for myself."
"She did a good job of it." Jon could see that it did little to comfort her in her loss. "It wasn't your fault," he said, looking deep into her eyes.
Her eyes closed again. "I should have known she was going to do it."
"I learned in a very short time that she had a mind of her own. She was a very determined woman," he said, trying to say the words with admiration.
Finally, a fond smile formed with Jennifer. When she opened her eyes, they held a brim of wetness. She looked up at the ceiling to keep it at bay. "You have no idea."
"I would imagine that's why Dread had such a problem with her."
"She really knew how to get on his nerves," she said, the tiniest laugh escaping her. "I didn't realize it so much when I was younger. But looking back on it now, she really drove him up a wall."
Jon smiled, too. "We should all be so lucky."
She became quiet and serious once more. "I never got a chance to thank you and the guys."
"Don't," he said, trying to ward off what he knew was coming.
"Jon," she said, "I would be dead if you hadn't come back for me."
He felt his face turning flush. His heart suddenly felt like a heavy weight in his chest. His mind raced back to the entire scene. "You don't understand." His head dropped. "I thought you were. We found you by accident."
"Then why did you come back?"
"Because . . ." He had difficulty finding his own voice. Then, he gained the courage to look at her once more. "Because I didn't want that to be your grave. I wanted to find something to bury far away from there, where it was still beautiful and that Dread hadn't touched."
"I don't think there's any place like that anymore."
"I would have found one," he vowed. "But now I don't need to. We have you back." Tell her, his mind chanted over and over. Tell her the truth. "I have you back."
His words caught her off guard. Jennifer's eyes began to glisten. The startling blue shimmered in the dim light of the lamp. "Jon, don't do this to yourself."
"I didn't know what you wanted to talk about before we left, but I think I know now."
"Jon, it's more complicated than that. I don't even know what I'm feeling. All of this is so new to me. I'm afraid I'm feeling the wrong things."
"Feelings aren't wrong. They just are."
"For you, yes. For me, I'm finding out there's so much more in this world. I don't understand most of it."
"No one's expecting you to get it all. Even people who weren't under Dread's control have a hard time figuring it all out."
Her frustration welled. "Not like this. I was brought up with a lifetime of being told that to care about someone other than the machine empire was wrong. I was told people like you were expendable, something that stood in the way of the ultimate way of the machines."
He was not sure exactly how to answer her claim, because it was true. He had heard enough to know the brainwashing Dread had done with the human beings in his service. The dichotomy was egregious at best.
"There was a time when it wasn't like this," he said. "People were free to think for themselves. We still are, even if Dread wants to believe we aren't."
"That's just it – I feel all these things and I think all these things, and I don't know what it all means."
"It means you're human," Jon said strongly. "You're among other human beings. You're not a part of Dread's world anymore. You were brought into our fold without a manual. There's no rulebook that tells you how all this is supposed to go."
She gave an ironic, sad smile. "As much as I hate to say it, it was easier to have to go by the rules of the Dread Youth. It all made so much sense at the time. Then Doctor Tobias blew it all away."
"She really had an influence on you, didn't she?"
"She opened my eyes, Jon. She made me see the truth."
"And what was that?"
"That life is precious, that the Dread Youth was a lie." Her voice trailed off as she finished.
"Yes, it is," he said, gently gripping her hand. "And I'm so thankful she showed you the way out of there."
She returned the gesture. "It was the easiest and most difficult thing I've ever done. I was never so afraid in all my life. Once I made the decision to leave, I knew there was no going back."
"Do you ever regret it – leaving, that is?"
She gave it a moment of thought. "Some mornings I wake up and expect to see my barracks in Volcania. It takes me a minute to realize where I am and who I am. I get afraid sometimes that I'll want to go back."
"I don't think you'd ever do that."
"How can you be so sure? I mean, what if there's something inside me that suddenly decides that Dread was right?"
"Because you've realized what it means to be a human being and not a machine," he said. "People are not objects. They have stories. They love and live. They rejoice and they grieve. A machine doesn't do that."
He wanted her to hear his words, to absorb the truth. He wanted to allay her fears, but the conversation was interrupted by the sound of alarms sounding down the hall. They both jumped at the signal. Medical alerts were ringing out in the hall.
His heart began hammering in his chest as he rose from the chair and headed for the door. The hall that had been quiet before was now occupied by a nurse and corpsman who rushed toward Meredith Kasich's room. He glanced back at Jennifer, who was craning toward the door for a better look.
"I'll be back," he promised. Then he, too, was making fast headway toward the room down the hall.
When he got there, he found that Kasich's bed had been laid flat. The nurse seemed calm but determined in her efforts in tending to the sergeant. The monitors continued to wail. Jon looked at the readings and knew what was happening. While machines were still breathing for the sergeant, the rest of her body had quit functioning.
Meredith Kasich was dying.
"Starting compressions," the nurse said to the corpsman. "Get Holcomb in here."
The corpsman did as ordered, turning on heel and nearly running Jon down in his efforts to get the doctor. Jon tried to recall the nurse's name. The name "Kilbeggan" came to mind as he stood there watching her work. She placed one hand on top of another and began pushing down on Kasich's sternum in an attempt to keep a dead heart moving blood.
"Anything I can do?" Jon asked tentatively from the doorway.
"Just stay out of the way," she said, though it was not with terseness. She said it matter-of-factly, as though it was Jon's only option to assist. Her concentration on Kasich was intense.
Kasich's thin frame shuddered, as though under assault by Kilbeggan's efforts. Her body shuddered with every compression by the nurse's hands. The monitors registered each push, the readouts spiking wildly as Kilbeggan pressed down on her patient's chest in a rhythmic count.
Jon watched, mesmerized, until Holcomb brushed past him and strode into the room with purpose.
"What do we have?" the doctor asked quickly.
"Pressure bombed," Kilbeggan reported as she continued the compressions. "She's been down two minutes."
"All right, hold up for a second. Let's see what we have," Holcomb ordered. They all looked at the monitors intently. "She's v-fib. Let's cardiovert and see what we get."
Jon moved deeper into the room, unable to tear his eyes away from the drama unfolding before him.
Kilbeggan tugged on Kasich's gown, pulling it down as Holcomb prepared one of Tobias' Dread gadgets. What Jon saw was shocking. Kasich's upper body was covered in streaks of scars. He knew immediately what they evidenced – torture. Her torso was covered in lines of skin that had healed without the help of medical aid. The violent scars crisscrossed in a sadistic pattern. At the curve of her back, he saw the medical applications Holcomb had employed following surgery to repair internal damage.
Holcomb leaned over her, placing a thin silver flexible disc on Kasich's chest, in the center. He activated the control panel on the surface of the disc. Tiny lights gave a reading, reiterating the signal on the monitors.
"Stand clear," Holcomb announced.
Kilbeggan held up her hands to show no contact with Kasich's body.
"Cardiovert, two-hundred," Holcomb ordered the device.
There were three beeping sounds from the disc. Then the device emitted a tiny snap. Kasich's body flinched as an electric shock was delivered. Holcomb intently watched the monitor.
"Nothing. Let's go again," he said. "Cardiovert, two-fifty."
Again, three beeps sounded. Kasich's upper body contracted as another impulse was sent through her. The respirator continued its work, pushing air into her lungs as Holcomb worked to bring her back to them. The monitor still showed no response.
"Dammit," he hissed. His hands covered the disc. He began pressing down as Kilbeggan had earlier. "Push the epinephrine," he ordered.
Kilbeggan complied, inserting a tiny vial into the device on Kasich's neck that matched the one that had saved Jennifer's life.
"Don't do this to me, Meredith," he encouraged quietly, continuing the compressions. "I've done too much work on you to quit now."
Jon saw the compassionate look on Kilbeggan's face as she watched the doctor try with passion to revive Kasich. She looked as though she shared his pain at Kasich's plight.
"Stand clear again," Holcomb ordered after viewing the monitors once more. Again, Kilbeggan backed away from the bed. "Cardiovert, three-hundred."
Kasich shuddered again, but there was a response this time on the monitors. It was slow at first, resisting Holcomb's efforts to bring her back among the living. Her heart rate dragged on the readout.
"Come on, Meredith," he said, adamantly, "you can do better than that."
Jon watched as the doctor put his hand to her head, stroking it with a gentle encouragement.
"Come back to us," Holcomb whispered. His thumb repeatedly grazed her temple, as though that was something he believed would allow her to hear his words.
Jon stood there, transfixed on the scene, seeing a different side of those who had run Haven. He saw Holcomb suddenly thrust into the role of lead doctor, replacing Tobias as suddenly as she was taken from their midst. It was entirely possible Holcomb had been capable of it all along, but Jon doubted it from what he had been told. Holcomb had stepped up to the plate to save one of his own. Kasich's vital continued to improve with his words and touch, as if there was something about his ways that was transcended modern medicine.
Holcomb's eyes closed in relief as Kasich's vitals improved with each passing second. What had been a death scene suddenly turned to a fight for life as she seemed to heed his words and grew stronger according to the monitor's readings. The doctor's head drooped in exhaustion of the moment. Kilbeggan moved in to remove the disc from Kasich's chest.
"Leave it," Holcomb ordered quietly. "We may need it later."
Kilbeggan backed off but pulled the gown carefully back in place on Kasich's body, once again covering the sergeant's secret past. To Jon, Holcomb looked like a man who had run a race. A thin sheen of sweat covered the big man's skin with the stress of the moment.
For the first time, Holcomb looked at Jon, almost as if for approval. Jon returned the look with admiration at the doctor's accomplishment, giving him a nod of congratulation. Power looked at Kasich again, seeing her worn body surviving with the help of machine technology, the very thing they fought against so vehemently. She had suddenly aged in a matter of minutes in Jon's eyes. Her youth seemed to be siphoned away by the ordeal. She suddenly showed her experience in the war, her trials and stress. Jon had envisioned her as a veteran of the war against the machines, but never so much so as how he saw her at that moment. This was not the first time she had experienced the pain of war. She had paid the ultimate price for the freedom of humanity. She had seen more than most, even those digitized by the likes of Soaron and Blastarr. Kasich had paid her dues but had continued the fight against impossible odds.
Holcomb stepped back from the bed, giving a few orders for tests to Kilbeggan. Then he neared Jon.
His gave the captain an almost curious look. "I didn't expect you to be in here."
Jon gave half a shrug. "I was in the neighborhood. I thought you said she was going to be okay?"
Holcomb looked back at his patient. A disappointed look crawled on his face. "She's always been a fighter, but I don't know if she has the drive in her this time." He turned to Power once more. "I'm not sure that I can keep her holding on, and frankly, I'm not so sure it's the right thing to do."
"What do you mean?"
Holcomb directed Jon out into the hall and closed Kasich's door. "I mean she's been through the wringer, Captain. You saw her – those scars are only on the surface. Her insides look like a reconstructive nightmare."
"She was tortured, wasn't she?"
Holcomb's jaw tightened with anger. "That's putting it mildly." His lips seemed to pull together more tightly as he recounted the incident. "It went on for days," he said almost in a whisper. "Dread tried everything he had on her, but she didn't break."
"I'm sorry," Jon said. "I didn't know."
"Look," Holcomb said with a sigh, "I have to get back in there. I'll catch up with you this morning, and we can talk about all this. Right now, I need to get her stabilized again and out of the red zone."
Jon nodded. "Understood. That was good work just now."
Holcomb looked solemn. "Unfortunately, I'm getting too much practice at it lately." He inhaled deeply, stifling a yawn. "Good night, Captain." With that, Holcomb shuffled back into Kasich's room.
Jon turned back toward Jennifer's room, wholly expecting her to be asleep. He found her wide awake, though. She was sitting up, waiting for him to return with news on Kasich.
"It was Kasich," he said, answering her unspoken question.
"Was it bad?"
He sat down in the chair next to the bed once more. "Yeah," he said. "She's holding on, though. Holcomb brought her back."
She hesitated. Her eyes had a fearful look in them. "When is this all going to end, Jon?"
"When we make it end," he said. "And then, we'll start over. We'll start rebuilding."
"I don't think we'll ever be able to stop it."
He disagreed. "We don't even know if Dread's alive."
She laid her head back on the pillow. "If there's a way, he is. Dread doesn't do anything without a failsafe plan."
"Doctor Tobias seemed to think he would die if the connection was severed."
She shook her head. "Until we have a body to bury, I won't believe it."
"No argument there," he said quietly. He waited a moment, wanting to carefully broach what was on his mind. "Jennifer," he said, taking her hand again, "what was it you wanted to talk to me about? Before we left on the last mission, you said it could wait."
"It's not important," she answered, dismissing his question. Her words echoed what she had said to him once already.
"I think it is," Jon pressed.
"Everything has changed, Jon," she said with a hint of desperation. "I have some things to work through before I know for sure now."
He wanted her to have her space, for it was only right. Still, he wished he had taken the time when she had first approached him. Now, he might never know what she wanted to say. It was a moment he had missed, an opportunity he had blown. She had reverted to her old ways, shutting down and keeping it to herself. He silently damned Dread's influence on the young woman who lay wounded in the bed.
Jon knew no words would be the right ones. "I want to help you. I want to be there for you when you need me, Jennifer."
"Just be there for the team and these people, Jon. They need you. They need a leader, now more than ever."
He had no idea how to rebut her dodge of his question.
Her eyes looked heavy. "I'm getting tired. I think I had better try to sleep." She gently squeezed his hand, effectively putting an end to the conversation.
He did not argue. He felt weariness settling in on his body, as well. He looked at her tired eyes and could only imagine how she felt in body and spirit. She may have been awake, but she was still in a hospital bed, recovering from a near-death state only three days earlier.
"I'll be down the hall if you need me," he promised.
She nodded in understanding. Jennifer turned her head away from him and settled down into the bed, grimacing against the soreness of movement until she found a comfortable position. He lingered for a minute until she was quiet. He backed away from the bed quietly, heading for the door. He looked back one last time at her, in hope that she had changed her mind. She remained facing away from him, though.
He stepped out into the hall and carefully closed the door, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to wait to know what she wanted to say to him. He would be patient. He would wait for as long as it took to learn what he missed when the first opportunity had presented itself. Jon vowed he would never again miss the chance to listen to her again. He had her back, and he did not intend to lose her ever again.