Chapter Three - Pindar
The transport was loaded with green or yellow-tagged civilians and personnel, which put it low on the priority list. They circled for a good thirty minutes before the crew was given the "ball' by traffic control. The sound and vibration of the maneuvering thrusters woke McQueen. His instincts hadn't failed him, even if he was as high as a kite. His head still ached, and his lungs burned but less - maybe. He had heard enough in his career to know what phantom pain was. He hadn't really believed it but they hadn't lied. He know that his 'leg' hurt like a bitch, but that was the thing about most pain killers - They really didn't kill the pain - They just made you not care that you felt it.
Kylen stirred at his side. He had wanted to speak with her. McQueen wasn't even sure what he had wanted to say, but he had wanted to. Civilians made him uncomfortable, and indecision irritated him. He wanted to speak with her and then be done with her. To be able to drive on with his own concerns.
Kylen had been dozing, bored, the repeated blasts of emotion and adrenaline worn off. The change in the engines had given her another short burst, and she was almost immediately awake and alert. She did a quick visual, saw the corpsman in a state of purposeful but relaxed activity, and her heart rate began to decrease. Docking. One step closer to home.
One of the corpsman arrived at the cot to do the last check of McQueen vitals. Do the IV's, check the straps, and ask about the level of pain: "On a scale of one to ten." With no sense of urgency, the preparations for the landing were moving forward with skill and efficiency.
Standing, she motioned the corpsman to her side, feeling slightly foolish, but determined. "Could I please have a piece of paper and borrow a pen?"
The corpsman looked shocked by the request and she felt that she had somehow vaguely insulted him.
"I'm sorry to ask, but I don't have anything," she explained.
It dawned on the man that she and the other survivors, indeed, only had the clothes on their backs, and those were whatever the Toga had had in stores.
"Sure." He smiled, taking a pen and a small notebook out of one of his many pockets. He opened the little book, tore out a few pages that he carefully folded and placed in another pocket. "Please, you can keep the pen and my notebook. Wish I could give you something more."
Kylen was unexpectedly touched. Blinking back tears she could barely croak out a: "Thank you." The young man awkwardly patted her on the shoulder and left.
"My God," she thought and exhaled deeply. (She hadn't known that she had been holding her breath.) "What a wonderful thing to just be treated with courtesy." She hadn't realized how much she had missed it, how stripped away they had all become. Survival was all that had mattered. Up until that moment, that particular gesture of personal goodness, it had all been about The Group - about herself and their immediate world. They hadn't really known about the war. Not really. The AI's had said a few things, but no one really believed what they said. They would lie about the weather. The hostage transfer, the air battle, Nathan's friends dying; those things had been about The Group and its survival. Now, with the simple act of easy, almost thoughtless, kindness the young corpsman had brought the enormity of the War home to her like a door slamming in her face.
The War was a reality, and it swallowed up everything else. It was huge. It was dreadful. Nathan would not follow her home anytime soon. The universe, the circumstances of life, had continued without her while she had been locked away. She had known months ago that she would never be the same - that she had been changed forever. Now she knew with granite certainty that nothing would ever be the same again, anywhere. She was going home to a foreign country.
She wanted to pray - to ask for the safety of this gentle corpsman, for Nathan, her family, herself but her mind had been opened too wide to form the words. "Please," was all she could whisper.
McQueen had watched the exchange out of boredom rather than interest. He had not anticipated her stunned reaction after the corpsman turned to his duties. She was transfixed holding the notebook like a breviary and staring at the hole in the air where the man had stood - like she had had a vision or visitation. McQueen had no idea what he had missed but wished that he had been faster on the uptake.
The landing thrusters fired and the unexpected braking knocked Kylen off of her feet. She landed backward onto her rear end with a nasty flop like a toddler losing her balance. She was level with McQueen. Her face wore the expression of a Titanic survivor. The transport detached from the wing section and the elevator begin to bring it into the loading bay.
Again they regarded one another. McQueen watched knowing he was still too drugged to comment. Years in the mines and then in The Corps had taught him one of a number of great truths: "When in doubt keep your mouth shut."
Kylen opened her mouth as if to speak, thought better of it and closed her lips tightly. McQueen watched - fascinated - as her expression shifted from shock, to fear then shifted again. He could read blame there briefly in her eyes, then it was gone. McQueen could see she was moving through things at dizzying pace and he was in no shape to keep up. All he could do was bear witness. At last, her eyes and features settled into what he could only think of as determination. Survival mode. An echo in his mind came like a benediction: 'These days that are still to come are the wisest witnesses.'
She finally shifted her gaze: "There was nothing you could have said to me" - an absolute statement of fact.
End Chapter Three
Literary Giants M.Wheels
