ARC10

Chapter 16

I've never run from anything out of fear. So this, the thing I'm doing now, the shameful walk through a field of mines, is a first. My eyes remain downcast, and I hope that this is how I normally look.

No one notices. Their eyes are fixated on PAHLMs, tubes, and terminals. I am relieved when I breathe the moist air with the hefty essence of smoke of the Rotunda.

I'm out.

But once out, I break down. I stand in place and am completely at a loss for where to go now. Can I leave the URE? Can I just go about my life, dodging the HHP, hoping they don't catch me?

Previous experience and constant reassurance have told me that they will find me. They will have their perfect record.

I think about turning around, smiling, making some joke about needing a breath of fresh air. I could do that and suck it up.

What am I afraid of now? Why can't I just get it over with?

Run.

The word loops in my mind.

Run. Leave. Don't look back.

"Captain." I hear the voice to my side and start. How does she always manage to catch me by surprise?

"General." I snap to attention.

"Your wardrobe ceases to amaze me."

My words are not in my mouth. I have nothing to say.

"Well," she encourages, "shouldn't you be at the lab, contributing to your part of the contract?"

"Apologies, General, I seem to be frozen and speechless."

Her lowered eyes look me up and down in my stiff, attentive position. "You seemed to move just fine a few moments ago."

My mouth opens, closes, opens, forms a silent half-word, and closes again.

"I have never known you to be a coward, Captain. In fact, quite the opposite. I have seen you perform incredible feats, inside and outside the battlefield, and have recommended your position with the mission based on that record. Have I been wrong all along?"

"No, General," I assert. No, no, no, no, no, she can't be questioning my integrity from this little slip, this little incident where my fingers cramped, my mind blanked, and my fear found a way to override my control. "It's not fear. I'm not afraid of the procedure," I say truthfully.

"Then what is it? If you can't handle the creation of one life, how can I trust you with the survival of two thousand?"

Her point stabs deep. "It's what happens after the procedure—juggling the roles of captain and incubator." I don't mean to make light of the situation, but I can't control the words that come out when I'm nervous.

"Incubator?" She leans back against the railing, folding her arms and looking back at me with sudden levity. "Is that how you see this?"

"Yes, General," I say with rigid formality, fearing the repercussions of my verbal diarrhea.

But her voice softens. "You are more than a machine, Captain Lorn. You are much more than a set of gears, lights, and noises to serve a purpose. You are a creature of the natural world, one of intellect and emotions. It doesn't matter what use man might have for you, because you are a spark that can easily burn out of control, as I'm sure you've recently learned."

I resist the urge to groan at the mention of the fire. Shame boils from the kinesthetic heat of each stinging word. She makes me feel like everything I've told myself has been selfish. The wafting guilt rises up my throat and turns rancid.

Why have I been fighting this?

I don't know. I can't think of a single good reason to fight this except for the inconvenience. Except for that strange mantra I'd been repeating—we don't need more people to suffer.

But that's the problem. We do need more people. And I have the ability to give it. And I have been sitting here, doing nothing. Avoiding the one little bit I could do to help the URE.

I don't realize my mouth has drifted open in my musings until I hear it snap shut.

"Our meeting begins at twenty-one-hundred hours. Don't be late." She leaves as quietly as she came.

I want to both go and stay simultaneously. I want to do it for humanity and lead us all to perdition. I want to laugh and punch the wall.

When I slink back into the clinic, the head medic greets me in the lobby with a grim, disapproving glare.

"Sorry, needed a smoke break."

"That's not funny," he says, sniffing the air of the lingering, much fainter smoke that is still wafting through the URE.

"We're going to put you under briefly, Captain Lorn. You may feel groggy for a few hours afterward. But don't worry. That's normal." He pulls the overhead lamp closer to my abdomen, and the blinding light dissipates into the room. The pimply Maroon Coat places a plastic mask over my nose and mouth and tells me to count to ten. My last thoughts are centered on the fact that it seems as if the entire Maroon platoon surrounds me with PAHLMs out like they're waiting for the show to begin. I want to curse them out, but I never get the chance. When I open my eyes again, I'm alone.