Freehold (67 page)

"Upon being separated, I fought a close-order engagement with three enemy personnel at point E. I count three casualties by small arms fire and hand-to-hand combat. Immediately afterwards, I entered the building where the attacking force had deployed from, indicated by point 'R.'

"Inside this building, my preliminary scan indicated no personnel, large animals or tactical threats. That assessment was in error. Available evidence indicates my tac was malfunctioning. Its visual system degraded at that time. A post-mission report was filed with Regimental Maintenance.

"Tactically blind, I proceeded to remove my helmet and tac. I was attacked during this procedure by three UN personnel, all male. I cannot identify them, but post-battle analysis may be able to. Their intent seems to have been to capture a live prisoner, as they subdued me by brute force, stunning me and forcing me to the ground.

"Upon awakening, one named 'Cody' was in the process of preparing to rape me. He had lowered my pants and the others, names unknown, were holding me down. I attempted to fight, but was too weak and restrained to do so. Upon undressing me, a second one made comments that indicated they had raped other female prisoners; specifically, he noted that most Freehold women remove their pubic hair.

"My legs were forced apart, he dropped his pants and proceeded to forcibly penetrate me. Neither of the other two made any physical or verbal attempt to stop him. They argued over who would rape me next, before they left to attempt to rejoin their own forces. I stopped struggling at this point and prepared to fight once released, since their weapons were put aside. I felt certain my strength and training would have been sufficient for an effective engagement.

"At that time, five divs, sixty-seven segs, thirteen seconds by comm, militia Corporal Dak Simonsen entered the building and shot all three attackers. I redressed and we regrouped with the surviving members of my squad.

"Sworn under my own oath—break—system, time and date this damn thing." Her voice cracked as she spoke.

"Command not understood."

"System, time, date, transmit," she repeated, turning away. Rape was handled on Earth with privacy. Here it had to be splashed across the system. She understood the rationale, but that didn't make it pleasant to describe intensely personal indignities.

"Accepted. Done," the machine acknowledged.

"Fine. Fuck you."

"Command not understood."

Not everything had been looted from the house. When built, it had a small vault hidden in the foundation. Normally open, a friend of Marta's had put their swords, jewelry, civilian weapons and other valuables inside and locked it, then placed the panel back. It had not been found. It eased the anger that the two women felt, reinforced the loss of the unprotected property and made Rob's loss even worse.

Naumann called later that morning with some helpful news. "They found Rob McKay," he said without introduction.

Kendra said nothing for seconds. Finally, daring to hope, she asked, "Alive?"

"Yes, but in bad shape. You are as close as next of kin as there is. Get over and see what you can do."

"Yes, Colonel," she agreed. It wasn't an order she would need repeated.

She identified herself at the clinic and the hushed tones in response scared her. Was he in pieces in a regen tank? Missing limbs or organs? Gruesomely disfigured?

A slim doctor with major's insignia came out. "Senior Pacelli, Kendra if I may? I'm Lou Rostov."

"How is he, Sir?" she asked.

"Physically, fine. Minor abrasions and contusions, but few permanent marks." Kendra exhaled at the news.

"But he was hit by a vicious nanovirus we are still tracking," Rostov said. "He's not rational."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing yet. We just got him this morning. I'm not even sure exactly what the intended effect is," he admitted.

"Can I see him?" she asked agitatedly.

"Certainly, but you need to be aware of a few things," he cautioned, taking her arm and steering her down a corridor. He explained as they walked.

Rob was alternating rapidly between apparent rationality and violent emotion. He would switch from normal speech to gibberish and appeared to be hallucinating. "Whatever they used was tailored for total mental incapacitation and is unique enough there's nothing on file even approximating it. And
our
records made it through the war completely intact. We have several tens of casualties and most are responding to standard counters. He isn't, for some reason."

They stopped at a door. "A few more things," Rostov advised. "He was found by some steaders who recognized him as ours, but had to lock him in a shed for safety. He was locked up for six weeks. I'm reluctant to restrain him for fear of causing more trauma and don't want to trank him, both for fear of interaction and because I need to study the symptoms. You can see him, but I'll be scanning everything."

Kendra nodded, "That's fine. Let me see him." She was impatiently eager.

Rostov opened the door for her.

Rob sat in the corner of a sterile-looking room. He didn't notice her at first, so she glanced around. The room was much like a cell and had a bed, a toilet and little else. It would be hard for a disturbed patient to damage himself.

"Rob?" she said.

He looked up, grinned and jumped to his feet. "Kendra!" he shouted, walking quickly over. He gathered her in a hug, then kissed her passionately.
Seems fine to me, Doc
, she thought. Rob drew back, still holding her around the waist and seemed to freeze. He was motionless for several seconds, then started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You have fomombyse curling out of your hair."

"What?" she asked. He ignored her, slapped at something overhead and pushed past her. He felt along the wall for a seg or more, seemingly tracing cracks. Then he turned.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "Let's go." He took her hand and led her around the room.

"Go where?" she asked, nervous. Irrational behavior was scarier than violence.

"Home," he said. "I've got some supwervosid to take care of. You can help."

"What is a supwervosid?" she asked.

"I don't know. What origin is the word?" he returned. "
Oh, shit!
" he snapped and threw her down. She rolled, wondering if there was a real threat this time. There was not. "Give me your gun," he demanded.

"I'm not armed," she said.

"That's fine, give it to me," he insisted.

"I don't have one," she said again.

"Dumb ass!" he said and leapt over her. He attacked the wall, which was designed to give enough to prevent injury. She rose and made the mistake of trying to pull him away.

He turned and rocketed a fist at her face. She blocked it, started to slip sideways, then felt the other hand catch her right under the ribs, low on her right side. Breath knocked out, diaphragm too paralyzed even for chi breathing to help, she staggered backward and collapsed.

Her vision and breath returned, to see four burly orderlies holding him down. Another assisted her out the door.

"Are you okay?" Rostov asked.

"Will be," she nodded. "I should know better than to let a parallel punch get me."

"He's a friend. You couldn't expect it."

"Sorry I stirred him up," she apologized. She was nearing tears at seeing Rob so helpless.

"Don't be," Rostov said. "I'll need to review it further, but it appears that unusual occurrences, like your arrival, allow him to focus better. He responded more to you than to our staff."

"Does that help?" she asked.

"Everything helps at this point," Rostov admitted.

She went back the next day. Rob was responsive, but the intermittent laughter and shakes were unnerving. Halfway through lunch, he suddenly heaved his plate across the room. "Yucch!" he said, recoiling.

"What?" she asked.

"Worms? Dozer slugs? I'm not eating that," he protested.

"That was a sandwich," she said. "What you saw was part of a dream."

"I know," he agreed. He stood and approached the wall. "Check this out," he said, pointing.

"What is it?" she asked. The wall was featureless.

"This here," he indicated an imaginary vertical axis, "is your arrival time. The horizontal is the duration of your stay."

"Yes," she prompted.

"It shows the date!" he said. "Don't you get it?"

"No, Rob, I don't. It's another hallucination," she said.

"No, no! I'm serious about this. I can calculate the date!" he insisted.

"Why?" she asked.

"To find the exit," he said. "I've figured it out. Come on!" He took her hand and led her on a circuitous route again. She remembered him mentioning, in the distant past before the war, that his dreams frequently involved long, labyrinthine travels. It seemed to have carried over to his current affliction. She made a note to tell Rostov of it.

"You have news?" Kendra asked during her visit the next day.

"Yes," Rostov agreed. "First of all, his module was damaged by EMP. We'll need to replace it afterwards, but that's merely symptomatic. What we have is a nano that . . . well, stripped of the medical jargon, creates a permanent dream state. It is nonlethal and only affects
most
of the higher functions, so the claim of 'harmless' toxin is accurate, from a legal standpoint."

"He's
dreaming
?" she asked incredulously.

"Hallucinating, dreaming," Rostov said. "Whatever you call it, it is all controlled by the same area of the brain. This nano embeds itself and starts producing chemicals to stimulate such thoughts. All we have to do now is figure out why he's different from the others and how to counteract it. So far, we have nothing to base it on. The UN claims the lab that created it was destroyed.

"That's why I wanted to see you," he continued. "I gather the two of you are close?"

"Lovers."

"Good. We need someone close for moral support and familiar enough to not be considered a threat. It also helps to have personal information that will tell us if we are getting side effects that damage the personality. This will be a risky procedure.

"Then, of course, there's the not minor consideration of legal guardianship until we are done," he said.

"Marta and I are as close as he has to family," she said. "But we will support anything that might help."

Nodding, he said, "I'd hoped so. We'd like you to be here during most of his conscious periods to help. But I have to warn you that it will be intensely personal and embarrassing. The higher functions will be stripped away and the baser instincts—anger, lust, fear—will come out much stronger. And we will have to monitor for safety, analysis and research." He reddened slightly as he explained.

Kendra agreed and left with the news. She wasn't sure why she hadn't told Marta yet, except that it didn't seem like a good idea.

Marta was cooking when she got home; she could smell it as she entered. "I'm home!" she shouted loudly as a precaution and headed up the ramp. Marta was waiting, hand on pistol. She nodded, dropped her guard and kissed her lightly.

"Hi," she said. Marta replied and headed back to the stove.

"We've found Rob," she said, and Marta froze for a moment.

"Alive?" she asked. It was an ordinary question these days.

"Physically fine," Kendra assured her. "Affected by some tailored nano that creates hallucinations. They've been working on it."

"Can we see him?" Marta asked, anxiously.

"I've been in, but you shouldn't," she advised. "He's not coherent."

"I can handle it if you can," Marta insisted, serving up a bed of fried noodles with chicken. It was in small pieces because Marta couldn't chew properly anymore. Kendra decided to table the argument.

The food was good. Marta seemed to be on edge again. Then Kendra remembered that her therapy was to start the next day. She decided not to mention it unless Marta brought it up first.

They lit a fire after dinner and sat together. Marta drank less than her recent habitual amount, Kendra noted. She consented to being massaged and stiffened only occasionally as Kendra brushed some spot that triggered terrifying memories.

Marta was tense all night, tossing restlessly and lashing out twice. Kendra finally headed for the spare room.

Marta's first session was that morning. Doctor Wu arrived late enough for them to sleep in, had they been able to. Kendra greeted her, shaking hands. She was a small oriental, tanned almost black from living in the inner Halo. Her face looked fragile and young, but the muscles indicated heavy orbital work.

"Pleased to meet you, Kendra," she acknowledged. "I'm told you may wish to talk to me also?"

" 'Directed' would be closer," she smiled wryly, "but I guess I should."

"I would appreciate it," Wuu said, nodding in an almost bow. "I like to interview people from other cultures, to study the different perceptions of . . . incidents like this."

At Wu's request, Kendra disappeared into the yard for a div. She tried to recover some of the manicured landscaping with only a few hand tools but it was a futile task and she knew it. Still, it gave her something to do besides worry. The dirt and grime felt good. She threw herself into pulling weeds and straightening bricks and didn't notice the passage of time until Doctor Wuu called for her. She rose, aching from exertion, and went inside to wash her hands and get a glass of water. Wuu was waiting for her in the living room, seated relaxed and comfortably in the chair across from the couch. She'd pulled it a bit closer.

"Where's Marta?" she asked.

"Upstairs meditating. It went well, for a first session. She's very strong and I think she'll be fine. It also helps that she's military. For most survivors, we let them take control of the situation and make them feel secure. For military personnel, it sometimes, and in this case is, easier and faster to put them back into a disciplined system. The structure reassures them that order still exists and helps them deal with the attack as a failure of the system; anarchy, if you will.