Here we stand, p.27
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Here We Stand, page 27

 

Here We Stand
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  “Just remember Howie’s got a point,” Ingram said. “You’re going behind enemy lines.”

  “It’s white sands, turquoise sea, and friendly people. It’s not Paris.”

  “Even so.” Ingram tapped his elbow discreetly. “Come back in one piece.”

  Marc went home and found Betsy stretched out on the doorstep, which meant Howie was home from school already. Betsy got up with a grunt and went on her way like she was handing over to her relief.

  “Short day, then?” Marc asked, putting the potatoes on the breakfast bar.

  Howie was sitting at the table doing his homework. “We were going to watch a documentary on volcanoes, but the screen broke down, so Mrs Alvarez sent us home early so she could get it fixed. Dr Mangel’s teaching us tomorrow. He’s exploring a new planet with a probe and we get to see everything live. It’s the coolest thing ever.”

  Actually, it was. Even Marc could stop and marvel at that. “I’ve got a job to do tomorrow. I might be away overnight, so I’ve asked Captain Ingram to make sure you’re fed and entertained. A seat at the captain’s table. Dead posh.”

  Howie froze, his pen held over his screen. “You’re going back to Earth, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Just to see if Tev and his family want to be evacuated.”

  “That’s really dangerous.”

  “I doubt it. I won’t be long, but I don’t want you stuck here on your own. Not because you can’t look after yourself, because I know you can, but it’s not good for you. You worry. It’s just a quick trip, though, nothing dangerous at all.”

  Howie didn’t say anything and carried on with his homework. Marc started assembling his clothing and weapons for the transit. He didn’t have a lot of stuff to search through, so his rucksack was ready in ten minutes: two faded T-shirts, chinos that looked convincing to play a dropout from Sydney corporate life, sunglasses, and deck shoes. His angling vest managed to swallow up two sidearms, spare ammo, a gate locator, two knives, a length of cheese wire, a marlinspike, E&E kit, a bike chain, and an assortment of compact grenades. He imagined telling the local cops he’d come for the sport fishing.

  Tev might not have his own firearm, so Marc would have to pack a Marquis in his rucksack and swing by the armoury for some more ammo, but it wasn’t like he had to worry about getting any of this through airport security. But that could wait a while. He needed to make sure Howie was okay, or at least as okay as he could make him. Marc would take him down to the main building when he left, hand him over to Ingram, and leave her with the door key so Howie could decide where he wanted to stay. He’d make it up to the kid when he got back.

  “Okay, I’m packed,” he said, putting his rucksack on the breakfast bar. “See? Just enough for a few hours, and room for a rifle for Tev.”

  Howie was still hunched over his screen. For a moment Marc thought he was just absorbed in his homework, but then he looked up and his face was stricken.

  “Can I come with you?” he asked. “You wouldn’t look obvious if you had a kid with you. Nobody would think you were there to do military stuff.”

  “I’d rather you stayed here,” Marc said. “Just in case.”

  “You said it wasn’t dangerous. If it’s not dangerous, why do you want me to stay here? You know I won’t get in the way.”

  Howie was a regular ten-year-old who sometimes had much older moments. His child persona was perpetually upbeat, determined not to let the world that had robbed him of everything grind him down any further, but sometimes he’d sound like a grown man who’d seen too much and had had enough of it.

  “I know, mate, but like I said when I left you with Ingram when we evacuated Ainatio, I worry about you, and if I do that, my mind’s not on the job, and however safe something looks, you’ve always got to have eyes in your backside in case the unexpected happens. It’s my fault, not yours.”

  “It’s always you. You always have to do the dangerous stuff.”

  “That’s because I was special forces. I’m good at it.”

  Howie’s eyes filled up with tears. He wasn’t actually crying, but the fact that he was holding it back broke Marc’s heart again.

  “I can look ahead, you know,” Howie said. He was suddenly forty and crushed by the world again. It didn’t happen often, but that made it all the more serious. “You’ll be late and we won’t know what’s happened to you, and then it’ll be days, and then Captain Ingram will tell me not to stop hoping but you probably won’t be coming back so I’ve got to be brave. And I’ll never know what happened to you.”

  All kids went through a clingy stage, but few had Howie’s justification for it. He was very specific about what would happen, too, so there was something else he hadn’t told Marc yet. Marc felt like an utter bastard. He was never prepared for how bad this felt.

  “I’m only going to see Tev,” he said. “It’s such a big thing to tell him about the aliens and everything that I can’t do it properly over the radio. I’ll step out right where he is and I’ll step back again. I’d rather know you were here eating Ingram’s cake rations.”

  “I don’t want to be left alone again,” Howie said firmly. “I’d rather go somewhere dangerous and get killed with you than be alive without a family again.”

  That was a gut-punch. Marc understood, because he’d felt that way for years, but now Howie’s distress was his fault because he’d given the kid the illusion of being part of a family. It was exactly what he’d been afraid of. He wasn’t as good for Howie as Chris seemed to think.

  “Howie, I’m sorry. I couldn’t cope with anything bad happening to you. You know why.”

  Howie’s composure crumpled. Tears spilled down his face and he got up from the table, went into the bathroom, and shut the door quietly behind him. Marc had fucked this up badly and he knew it. He waited a couple of minutes to see if Howie would come out of his own accord and tried to see the bigger picture. Howie had every reason to worry about Marc getting killed. He’d made a pretty good point: either it wasn’t dangerous like Marc said, so he could tag along, or it was seriously risky, in which case Marc would look less conspicuous with a kid because no operator would bring a child with him.

  And boys wanted to be men. They had a natural urge to take risks.

  Marc had made his decision, but he couldn’t bear to see Howie so upset after all he’d been through. He stood outside the bathroom and tapped on the door.

  “Howie, you’re right,” he said. “It might be dangerous. I don’t know for sure. I said you had to stay here because if I get this wrong, you could end up hurt or worse. But I understand why you want to come with me, and I know you’re not doing it because you think it’ll be fun. Come on. Let’s talk.”

  It took Howie a while to open the door. He came out looking red-eyed and scared. Marc sat him down.

  “I’m never going to lie to you, Howie,” he said. “But I really am just dropping in to see Tev. We might have a beer or two. But I’m not going to Fiji to fight.”

  “I heard all the metal noises,” Howie said. “You’re taking all your guns and knives.”

  “You know what I’m like, Howie. I overdo everything because I think I’m still a real soldier.”

  “You are a real soldier, and you’re going somewhere dangerous again.”

  Marc had painted himself into a corner. He was used to leaving and trying to say reassuring things, like everything would be okay and that he’d be back soon. He’d said it to his sons far too often. Now he was saying it to Howie.

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. “I really will.”

  Howie nodded, but looked like he didn’t believe a word of it, then threw his arms around Marc. He just clung to him. It felt desperate. Marc hugged him back.

  “One day soon,” Marc said, “everything’s going to be under control, and normal, and we won’t have to worry about anything ever again. I promise. And if Tev decides to come here and brings his family, we’ll have a lot of fun. Have you finished your homework?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, crack on with that and I’ll make you some proper British chips.”

  Howie went back to the table and started writing again. Marc peeled the spuds, cut them into chips, and put them in a bowl of water to draw out the starch. He was trying to calculate exactly how many portions he’d get out of the remaining potatoes when his pocket screen chirped with a message from Solomon. Marc now had a live feed from one of the Earth probes showing him the island where Tev was holed up.

  He studied the aerial view. Well, that was the jetty, and that was the golf course. It looked easy enough. He zoomed in, identified a space between the palms right next to the road that ran along the shoreline, and marked it with his finger before sending it back to Sol with a note to insert him exactly at that point.

  The chips could have done with longer soaking, but they came up respectably crisp and fluffy. Ingram would be bowled over by a plate of these. He put a big portion on Howie’s plate and opened the bottle of ketchup for him. Howie still looked a bit down.

  “Eat like an Englishman,” Marc said. “Although personally I prefer plenty of pickled onion vinegar and salt.”

  “That sounds really foreign.”

  “Food of the gods, mate. And very good in a sandwich, too.”

  Marc sat down to eat, still feeling like a complete bastard. He almost gave in and said Howie could come with him. This was about Marc’s dread of loss, not Howie’s capacity to cope or the risk he’d be exposed to, because he must have been in worse situations while he was on the road with Chris’s convoy.

  “Tell you what,” Marc said. “When I get back, I’ll start training you for missions so you can come with me if I ever need to do stuff like that again.”

  Howie forked a chip and studied it before biting it in half. “Honest?”

  “If I promise you something, you get it.”

  “That would be nice.”

  But Howie wasn’t excited. It really was about separation and worrying what would happen to Marc. Marc had never asked Howie what had happened to his dad, although he knew the man was dead, but that whole thing about breaking bad news that someone wasn’t coming home sounded too detailed and precise to be something he’d thought up as an example on the spur of the moment.

  “I don’t want to make you sad, Howie, but do you know what happened to your dad?”

  Howie nodded and chewed thoughtfully, looking down at his plate. “He didn’t come home and Mom didn’t tell us why for ages. He was a soldier too. I mean he wasn’t one to start with but he volunteered. I don’t remember what he looked like. But he made me feel safe, I remember that.”

  Well, that was every answer Marc needed. He prayed this was as bad as it got and there wasn’t worse still bottled up inside that boy.

  “I’m so sorry, Howie,” he said. “I didn’t realise. I must be making this really hard for you.”

  “I thought all soldiers died. But when I met Chris and his friends I realised they didn’t, and that kind of made me feel better.”

  Marc was about to offer some sensible comfort about the higher odds of surviving, which was the last thing he felt like doing, but someone knocked on the door and saved him having to lie about his own reality. Yes, they died, and he was left with nothing, just like Howie.

  He opened the door. It was Chris.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were eating.” Chris clutched a small box. “Lianne Maybury asked me to drop these off. Sweet potatoes.”

  “Come in and have some chips,” Marc said.

  “Thanks. What is it with you and Maybury? I thought you were Team Ingram.”

  “I’m charming and I bribe her with mint humbugs. She doesn’t care how old they are.”

  “Women, huh? Hey Howie. How are you doing?”

  Chris took a seat at the table and looked at Howie, then at Marc. It was obvious the kid had been crying.

  “I’m good, thanks,” Howie said, ever the little man. “Have some proper English chips.”

  Marc had to offer Chris some explanation that would stop him asking more, but the guy had a pretty good radar for awkward situations. Marc put a plate of chips in front of him.

  “We were just talking about the past, Chris.”

  “Ah. I see.” Chris tucked in. He would eat anything, any time, and clear his plate. “As long as everyone’s okay.”

  “He’s going to Earth and I’m worried,” Howie said. He didn’t even blurt it out. He said it like a concerned uncle, as if Marc wasn’t there. Marc’s heart sank. Now he had no way of shaking Chris off, and he’d have to play along.

  Chris didn’t even blink. “It’s okay, Howie, I’m going with him. No need to worry. We’ll both be fine.”

  Howie actually brightened up. Marc was cornered. If he dumped Chris at the gate and went alone, which was doable with some cooperation from Sol, Howie would know anyway, and lying about it to the kid would just make it worse.

  “I suppose I’d better brief you, then,” Marc said, giving Chris his dead-eyed shark look. “Tomorrow. Pack your kit.”

  * * *

  Hangar 3, Nomad Base: October 15, OC.

  “Happy now?” Marc asked, opening the side door to the hangar. “I never knew you wanted a career in elder care. Did you remember to bring my incontinence pads?”

  Chris followed him inside. “It’s only for Howie’s benefit. I know I should have asked you first, but he needed to hear something reassuring there and then.”

  Marc grunted. “Yeah, right.”

  Chris felt bad for manoeuvring a guy like Marc. It was disrespectful given the man’s service record and the fact he could still hand Chris his ass, but everybody needed a wingman, and Chris made no apology for looking out for him.

  “Anyway, sensei, I’m going to learn from you.”

  “We’ll be eating, drinking, and catching up,” Marc said. “I don’t think you need an adqual in any of those.”

  Chris put his rucksack down and did a last-minute check. It had been a long time since he’d had to conceal weapons in light civvy clothing and his sidearm felt as conspicuous as a rocket launcher. Marc’s rucksack made glassy clinking noises when he slipped the straps off his shoulders.

  “I hesitate to ask,” Chris said.

  “It’s gin. When you visit Fijians or go into their village, you’re supposed to offer gifts.”

  “What if Tev says no after we tell him?”

  “You keep asking that.”

  “Because I still want to know the answer.”

  “I can’t force him. He’d cream me anyway. But I have to give him all the facts. I’m doing this for him. If people on Earth behave like twats and kill each other because I tell him the truth, that’s not my problem. I’m not going to feel responsible for it any longer. I’ve come to my senses.”

  “Amen.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to hear it. We’re not humanity’s mom, Marc. I don’t fight for ideals. Just people I know.”

  Marc nudged Chris’s rucksack with his foot. “Anyway, what have you got in there, then, other than the Marquis?”

  “A couple of knives and as much ammo as I could stuff in. Only what I’d take on a picnic.”

  “Have a stun grenade.”

  “Thanks, but I’m trying to quit.”

  Marc held two out to him. “Oh, go on. Spoil yourself. You’ve used them before, yeah?”

  Chris stuck the small cylinders in his ruck’s exterior pocket. “We used regular grenades. We weren’t trying to take anyone alive. Anyway, we didn’t have any.”

  “Well, you never know.”

  Solomon was overseeing the transfer with Fred. He was following Chris’s conversation on the radio.

  “I have two probes in the area, gentlemen. I’ll be monitoring activity at sea and in the air as a precaution. I’ll be ready to pull you out if necessary.”

  “Remember our robust exchange when you pulled me out of Forge Wood?” Marc asked.

  “Yes, you said never to extract you unless you requested it.”

  “That stands, Sol. Unless we’re incapacitated or actually going down, wait for our word.”

  “We’ll be okay, Sol,” Chris said. He’d also been pulled out of that same mission without warning and it had cost him the satisfaction of shoving his knife into Tim Pham’s guts. “Let’s go, guys. We’re ready.”

  Guys was Solomon and Fred, but Sol was taking over an inch at a time. It was hard to imagine Fred didn’t notice. Perhaps he didn’t care, though, and it was more about Chris’s perspective on power than Fred’s. Fred could invent a gate: Sol couldn’t. That probably gave the teerik considerable confidence.

  “Come on, do it,” Marc said.

  The familiar hazy patch of air appeared in front of Chris like a smear on a window. He’d done this so often that it felt routine, but there was always the thought at the back of his mind that he might step through the gate into something he wasn’t expecting. He patted his pocket to double-check he had his own locator and stepped forward a pace behind Marc.

  A whiff of burnt matches filled his nose as two hundred and forty-six trillion miles folded into nothing and then humid heat hit him like a sauna. He felt the odd springy sensation of slightly reduced gravity as he took his next step. They were now on one of the hundreds of small Fijian islands on a beautiful day that was shaking off recent rain, standing among palms at the edge of the golf course. It was the greenest grass and the bluest sky Chris had ever seen. The perfection was unreal. There was nobody around, not even on the greens.

  “I feel overdressed,” Chris said.

  Marc started walking. “Remember, we’re just two blokes hanging out.”

  Chris glanced to his left through the palms and saw something else that took his breath away, a view he’d only seen in photos, and they didn’t do it justice.

 
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