He Without Sin (35 page)

I put my belongings into one small bag for the trip home. We meet with Academy personnel for a final exit interview, get my official release, and head out into the world I left so long ago.

We don’t talk at first as we make our way. It is disorienting to see what used to be a familiar metropolis, now studded with so much that I don’t recognize. I see the occasional building I know and point, “Look!”

“Yes, but look over there. Look how tall. That one is new to me, too. Say, didn’t that used to be where the park was?” asks Jared to no one in particular.

“No, not the park. I think that’s still there in between somewhere. I can’t see it now, but not the park. Not there…” suggests Mom.

“It was close to here all right. But come on. Hurry,” and Jared picks up his pace like a schoolboy showing off a new toy, “and look here Jay. Remember this spot?”

I do remember. It seems incredible, but I do. Sometimes Jared and Tom and I would take the train and ride. Ride just for fun, going nowhere in particular. It was cheap enough public transit and we could entertain ourselves riding, looking and laughing at the people and sights. Sometimes we would come to the central terminus, near to where we are right now, and walk through the big city, looking for things to do or see.

It was in this very spot, this street between buildings where we spent many hours playing. At some point the street was closed off so that it became a dead end. No traffic at all. It was a silly game we invented here—‘curb ball’—that was it. The street seems to have shrunk during the intervening years to alley status but it is the same place all right. It’s a normal street with sidewalks and curbs but largely unused because it is so short and leads nowhere. If you loft a ball up high from one side towards the other, just so, it could hit the opposite curb when it comes down. Not just hit the curb but, if you did it just right, maybe one out of 20 tries, the ball would hit the curb at just the right spot and shoot straight back at you right along the pavement. It would bounce away from the curb staying on the ground with no vertical component at all. Not easy. I guess the frequency of good hits was just right to keep us trying to do it again. Ridiculous waste of time. But we had fun being together.

“Do you remember Tom going on about the rules? ‘Limits define everything. Everything.’ Remember that?”

I can hardly believe this dirty, dark street is still here. I look to see that Jared is watching my reaction. “This is it all right,” he says, apparently reading my mind. “See, here are our initials over here,” pointing at the blackened, scuffed wall.

“What? No. Impossible,” I respond as I move to look where he is pointing. There is nothing there but dirt and the accumulation of graffiti on top of flaking paint on top of more layers of the same. I look back at Jared; he is smiling and shaking his head.

“It was right there, I swear cuz!”

Mom seems quiet and withdrawn to me, another sign of aging no doubt. She never liked Jared that much when we were young but now she seems to be amused by his wise-cracking manner.

______

“Mom, have you been living here all alone?” I ask. Our old house is long gone but I recognize some of the knickknacks and pictures. My old footlocker, of all things, still exists. It’s filled with my stuff from before I left on the mission, undisturbed—a time capsule.

“No. Jared’s been in and out since…” she answers. I learn that Uncle Joe has passed, and Nancy too. “I get together with the girls each week.” The ‘girls’ are mission wives and mothers who have opted into the program, same as her. “I really do miss the garden. Remember the garden? The only times I got really mad at you kids were when you would get into the garden. My one little space, and you seemed attracted to it like magnets!”

For now my official address is with Mom and Jared. Jared is waiting for another assignment. He figures
one more short mission and he will join private
industry in some capacity. What capacity? He doesn’t know yet. That’s keeping his options open,
he says. Oh well, who really knows anyway? I
thought the Genetic Expansion program would be
best for me. And I thought it would help define my
career path too. But now I don’t know. It may be
post-mission lethargy, but I don’t see any clear
path for me. For now, I am content to spend time
here, catch up on what’s happened, if that’s even
possible, and get together with Carol when we can.

The inquest summons was waiting for me when we
first arrived home. Now, that’s some quick action
on the part of the mission board. It only shows my
name; I wonder if we all got one. Carol and I
decided to hold off contacting each other for now,
figuring that it’s best to try to re-accommodate to
family and all the changes without complicating
life further.

I told Mom and Jared about the planet we visited
and the unlimited space there. Wild and untamed,
and room for gardens galore. I do have pictures
and videos but put off showing them. I don’t know
why; it seems too soon.

They asked about the mission and I recounted
some of the happenings, but not all. They asked
about the accident. I gave the briefest summary I
could. Jared related some of the excitement he
experienced on his adventures too.

In my footlocker I find something new—a plain
envelope with my name hand-written on it. Inside
is the following note:

Jason,

Don’t be sorry or sad for me. I have
had a wonderful and fulfilling life. It
overflowed with marvels, more than
anyone could reasonably ask for or
expect. I certainly didn’t deserve to
have a wife as supportive as your
mother; nor could one find better sons
than you and Tom. Don’t be angry
with me for my decision, but it will
soon be time for me to go. I have
chosen to forego any more treatments
and will be happy and satisfied to end
this final chapter naturally.

Your loving and proud father.

Questions

There is little chance of seeing Carol here. I don’t know if she was summoned. We are, or were, a small crew and they probably summoned the whole lot of us. But I am here alone right now. It’s a bare, small room and the door is closed. Two men in civilian suits sit side by side at a small plain table. No insignia. I am sitting in one of two chairs facing them. Why two chairs? Do they question in pairs? There is a recording device in plain view on the table.

“What exactly were your duties?” they ask. I answer.

“And when you say ‘shipboard’, you mean you had other duties while on the surface of the planet?” I answer by explaining that I assisted David with his genetic documentation work at the bio camp. I think it’s best to answer the questions simply without too much detail. Detail will only raise more questions.

The questions and short answers go on. The inquest officials are both professional, courteous, and non-confrontational. They nod and accept everything I say which, of course, is being recorded. Only one of them speaks directly to me; occasionally they talk quietly between themselves.

“Where was Commander Means at the time of Master Brachus’ accident?”

I answer, qualifying my statement with the fact that I don’t know when the accident actually occurred.

“Switching gears for a moment—please describe what you know of the circumstances of Ensign Water’s injuries.” By this they mean Dylan. I describe what occurred as simply as I can and emphasize that we were all deeply distressed not to reach him sooner than we did. I ask what news they can share of his present condition. “None,” is their answer, they are sorry to say. “Be aware that there are some open questions about his injuries and the events leading up to them. By your admission, you were a participant in at least some of these events. While these questions and their answers are beyond the scope of our meeting today, they will be addressed in the future.”

I nod.

“What was the consensus of the crew regarding Commander Means’ style of leadership, his ability to command?” I decline to speculate on the rest of the crew’s opinions, but do offer my view of David and his ability. I choose to phrase my comments so as to highlight David’s positive attributes.

I am asked a similar question about Brachus. I answer that I had little interaction with him. “He kept mostly to himself and his team; socially we did not engage,” I add.

“What do you know of Master Brachus specifically as it relates to his accident? What was he doing at that moment?” I say that, to my knowledge, he was alone at the time of the accident and so I don’t know exactly what he was doing at that moment.

“Can you speculate?”

“Yes, I can,” I say, and for the first time I see a mild reaction from the officials. “I believe he was retrieving personal items that he wished to bring back home with him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because he told me as much.” Definite reaction this time, and I see they make eye contact with each other for an instant. I notice now for the first time that the two inquisitors could be related. They look alike in a familial way.

“What did he say?”

“I saw him carrying items to the staging area for uplift— we were preparing for imminent departure—and I asked what they were. ‘My gear,’ he said. ‘Keepsakes,’ he said.”

“Is that all?”

“A little while later I saw him, Master Brachus, heading back in the same direction from which he came when I first saw him with his load. I presumed he had more to retrieve and didn’t think any more of it. We all were packing and making ready for departure.”

“And what was the nature of the ‘keepsakes’?” they ask. I respond that I do not know.

“You do not know?”

“I do not know. I never saw the contents and he did not say. There was a small bundle recovered at the accident site which the Commander opened during a team meeting on board ship sometime after the accident. Inside that bundle were what looked to me like raw ore and crystals.”

“Are you sure of that description?”

“I am in that I did not touch them or inspect them up close.”

“What became of the bundle and contents?”

“David left it in the care of another crewmember for disposal. I never saw it again.”

“Which crew member?” they ask. I hesitate to answer.

“Jason, you realize this is not a trial. We are here to ascertain as many facts and details as we can regarding two things: first, the circumstances surrounding the tragic loss of an experienced and valuable officer and, second, a separate inquiry into the circumstances surrounding the life-threatening injury to Ensign Waters. We conduct these interviews to help make a determination whether or not the facts warrant a further action.”

“A further action?” I repeat.

“Yes.” Silence fills the room.

“David left the bundle in the hands of crewmember Bevan,” I say reluctantly, seeing no other choice. Grigor is not going to be happy. The officials speak together for a moment but I can’t hear what they say.

“It seems that an inventory of Master Brachus’ belongings removed from the ship did not reveal anything beyond ordinarily expected items.” I don’t respond even though their expressions indicate they would like me to.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, was that a question?” I ask. “It’s possible they didn’t make it up to the ship at all. As I said, I was already on board when the emergency signals were received.”

More muffled discussion between the two officials ensued.

“That will be all. Thank you.”

“I hope I was able to help. It’s a shame that an otherwise successful mission should be marred by events such as these. Dylan is a hero in my mind and Wes—I mean Master Brachus—well, I didn’t get to know him in depth, but any death is sad, especially so close to the end of our mission.”

We all three stand and shake hands politely before I turn to leave.

“Oh, one quick thing. Sorry,” the one asking the questions says before I get out the door. I stop and turn back to face the two men. “The body—it was unrecoverable?”

“Gentlemen, I believe it was unrecoverable without heroic effort and danger to other crew members. You’ve no doubt seen the images of the area; you know we had little equipment left on the ground. I don’t see how it could’ve been done.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” says the one that has been doing all the talking.

______

It’s too far to walk all the way home, but I feel the need to do something physical. I decide to skip the nearby central terminus and walk to the next one. Past the new and old buildings, the dirty dead end street, past where the park should have been, and when I had walked off the remains of my inquest mood, I took the transit home.

“Mom, did Dad ever talk about his shoveling coal?”

“Shoveling what?”

“Coal. Did he ever work in a mine or on a train shoveling coal?”

“Shoveling coal? What are you talking about, shoveling coal? Who shovels coal? Where did you hear such a thing? Shoveling coal.”

“No. Never mind, just a crazy idea.”

“Coal? On a train? Is someone playing a trick on you?”

“No. Nothing. Never mind.”

Again with the speedy decision. This can’t be good. A summons to trial came for me today, exactly one
week since the inquest. Who are they going after? David? And why? Sure David’s not a perfect leader,
but Brachus caused his own problems. And Dylan,
well he, I’m sure, would be the first to blame only
himself for his suffering. Maybe they are looking
for a fall guy, any fall guy. I like to stay out of
political intrigue but I know enough that it
sometimes works like that. There’s a dead body,
someone has to be blamed.