The last of the fall leaves swirled around Cadet Sven Holgersson's boots as he walked across the Academy grounds. There was a promise of snow in the wind, but the Norwegian pushed his sleeves up, laughing softly at the idea of this being "cold weather."
Other cadets hurried here and there, anxious to get to their Halloween parties. Sven, though, had no thoughts for anything but his bed. The day had been rough, with practical exams in both unarmed combat and dogfighting. His bruises had bruises, and he was counting the minutes to a hot shower, a quick snack, and an early sleep. Lance he knew had gone to a party, and, he suspected, had dragged Keith with him, so the room would be quiet.
When the fog rolled in, Sven didn't notice. Fog was a part of the landscape in New San Francisco, and he had long ago learned to find his way around campus blind. It surprised him, therefore, to look up and find himself in one of the oldest parts of the Academy, a historic site that preserved the original buildings of the ancient Presidio, a military base nearly 500 years old. Sighing, he turned to walk back across campus to where his dorm was . . . only to hesitate as his neck prickled. Most people didn't know Sven was psychic. To be more precise, only Keith and Lance knew he was psychic. And now there was something unearthly in the air around him. "Vhat is dere?" he asked softly. "Show yourself!"
Slow footsteps echoed in the fog, which parted to reveal a man about Sven's age, pale, one arm in a sling, dressed in what Sven knew to be an antique American uniform from the Second World War. "Hey, buddy, can you help me? I've been wandering for hours; can't seem to find Colonel Manning's house. Came home to see my Barbara; she moved in with her folks when I shipped out. .. "
Barbara, Colonel Manning. . . the names were vaguely familiar to Sven, and he prided himself on never forgetting anything. As he sifted through his memories, a story, legend really, drifted up from his first days at the Academy. "You. . . you are Dennis Veathers, aren't you?" The man nodded slowly, and Sven sighed. "And you do not know. . . .come over here, let me talk to you for a vhile."
Dennis, impossibly, got paler. "No. . .she's dead, isn't she? She's dead, and they didn't notify me. . ." He slumped to the bench, burying his head in his hands. "What am I going to do? She's my world. . "
Sven sat next to him, doing his best to ignore the fact that Dennis was drifting through the bench. "Ja, she's gone, has been for a long time," the Norwegian said softly. "But. . . so haf you." The ghost glanced at him, startled; Sven nodded and continued, "Tell me; vhat year is it?"
"1944, of course." Dennis eyed him warily.
"No." Sven sighed. "Dis is 2357; you and Barbara haf been dead for over 400 years." He crossed his right ankle over his left knee, looking off into the fog. "I vas told Barbara's story vhen I first came here; she vas here vit her parents, vaiting for you, vhen she got a telegram dat you vere missing in action, presumed dead." He glanced at the ghostly soldier. "De story says she did not take de news vell; she collapsed and vasted avay, dying about two veeks after de telegram came, supposedly of a broken heart."
"So I've lost her forever," the ghost whispered. "How. . . what do I do now?"
Sven thought for a minute. "Come vit me; you may not haf lost her." He got to his feet, heading deeper into the ruins; Dennis drifted beside him. "Ve haf alvays been told dat her spirit is still here, vaiting for you to come home. If dat is true. . .I can call her to you."
"You. . .can, can't you?" Dennis gave him a long look. "I feel. . .a pull from you. That's why. . .you saw me."
"Ja, exactly." The Norwegian continued walking until he came to the center of the site, to what a sign announced had once been the base commander's home. As he suspected, he immediately felt the presence of another spirit, even stronger than the one next to him. Carefully he stepped into the ruined house and called softly. "Barbara? Barbara Manning Veathers? If you are here, show yourself!"
After a few minutes, a light appeared in front of him, resolving into the translucent figure of a dark-haired, sad-eyed woman in mid-20th century dress. "Who are you?" She looked Sven up and down, taking in his uniform. "Do you have any news of my Dennis? Please, it's been so long. . ."
"Barbara. . .sweetheart. . . " Before Sven could say anything, Dennis' ghost stepped from behind him.
"Dennis!" she cried, rushing forward and embracing the young man. "At last, I've found you, thanks to. . ."her voice trailed off and she glanced at the Norwegian.
"My name is Sven, and I am glad I could help you bot," he said quietly. "Can you find your vay now?"
They both nodded. "It's calling us," Dennis said, stepping forward and putting his hand on Sven's shoulder. "Thank you, Sven. You've made us both very happy." Barbara came and pressed an icy kiss to his cheek, then went to Dennis' side. His arm went around her, and a brilliant light surrounded them as they waved to Sven. It flared too bright to look at; when he could see again, they and it were gone.
"Keit and Lance vill never belief dis," he muttered, turning to head for his dorm. On the wind, all but lost in the sharpness of coming snow, he caught traces of a jasmine perfume, and mingled male and female laughter. "But den, perhaps I vill not tell dem." He walked out of the ruins as the first snowflakes fell, the faintest smile on his face.