him, that caused his blood to boil in his veins, and prepared for the final leg of his journey. He steeled himself for the frozen emptiness that awaited his soul like the river in which he had once almost lost his life.
“
The blade stopped just as its tip touched the skin of his neck, drawing a small bead of blood. It was not the cry of his name that had stopped him, for the sound of the voice was lost among the many others echoing about him. It was the feeling behind it, the wave of empathy that crashed upon him so unexpectedly, with the force of desperate love.
And there beside him, where the one who had called herself Melissa had been, knelt a woman whom he had never before seen, a stranger who was yet oddly familiar to him. She wore the black dress uniform of a Navy officer, with gold trim around her sleeves and crimson piping down the sides of her perfectly tailored pants. The almond brown eyes, caring and frightened, seemed on the verge of tears. Her face was perhaps nearly his age in human time, but somehow seemed so very, very much younger. It was as if hers was a face from the past, from a time that came to him only in odd dreams now, when he once knew her as…
“Nicole,” he breathed, the sound of her name, unspoken for so many years, startling him with its sudden familiarity.
“Yes, Reza,” Nicole whispered hoarsely as she touched his face with a trembling hand. “
As everyone watched in silent amazement, Reza let the ornately inlaid knife slide to the floor as he embraced the woman who had returned for him from the past to help him step into the future.
Twenty-Three
“This is madness, Job, sheer madness,” Senator Borge declared to his longtime friend and political rival. Ice cubes clinked in the tumbler that was now nearly empty of the expensive Scotch that President Nathan kept especially for his friend and opponent. The president’s personal living quarters, built on the site of what had once been the United Nations building in Old New York City, were sparsely but tastefully decorated with priceless original silk batiks depicting the rise, decline, and eventual rebirth of Nathan’s native Masai tribe.
Strom Borge detested the room. “It’s completely irresponsible of you as Commander-in-Chief to allow such a thing. Over twenty billion people have died in this damned war. And here you are, worried that we might be infringing on one person’s rights, for the love of All.”
Looking out the enormous pane of plastisteel that served as the room’s east wall, facing forever into the rising sun, Job Nathan sighed in resignation. He was tired of arguing, but he was not about to alter his decision. “We’ve talked about this enough, Strom. And don’t play your guilt trip scenario about war casualties, either. Believe me, my friend, as much as you might like to believe otherwise, I have felt each of those deaths as if they were members of my family. Unlike your hero of twentieth century Eurasia, Joseph Stalin, I don’t accept those figures as simple statistics; they are all human beings – every single one of them. And making Reza Gard another statistic is not going to help the war effort.” He turned away from the window, his face creased with age and the strain of leadership. “We’re losing this war, Strom, as I am sure you are well aware. It may take a number of years for that to become clear to the general populace, but the fact remains that we cannot replace our losses as fast as they are incurred. We don’t trade planets with the Kreelans; they take them from us after bloody fighting, as if there is no end to their resources, which maybe there isn’t. They never give us a chance to return the favor. And our losses have been accelerating over the last few years.”
He turned to look out the window again, his eyes taking in the ocean waters that once had been poisoned, but that had in the centuries since been restored to sufficient purity that the water once again was teeming with life. “Reza represents what may be our only chance, Strom, and our decision now must be the right one, and not simply for his sake. If I were confident that your methods were the best for the situation, I would have acted upon your suggestions and those of General Tensch. I would sacrifice one life, a thousand, a million to end this war. But that is only wishful thinking, and I will not punish someone who has committed no offense – other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time as a child – for the sake of fantasy.”
“So,” Strom said quietly, watching the president with an almost predatory gaze, “you are confident that Reza is actually going to pan out as a Marine, then?”
Nathan shrugged. “I think it will be an interesting experiment in culture shock,” he said. Borge smiled politely, but obviously was not amused. Going on in a more serious voice, the president said, “General Tsingai has taken responsibility for getting Reza prepared for Quantico and overseeing his training there, and Zhukovski’s recommendation to have Mackenzie and Carre assigned there as temporary duty instructors was accepted by L’Houillier, with my endorsement. As for how well he will adapt to his new environment – or it to him – who can say? The most important thing is that the matter is settled unless or until something untoward happens.”
Strom Borge looked at his friend with an expression that was calculated not to show his true feelings. “You realize, Job, what will happen if you’re wrong, if Tensch, the others and myself are vindicated?”
“Yes, my good senator,” Nathan replied coolly, raising his brandy snifter in a mock toast. “I will be slated for early retirement, or worse. Would you have me thrown in prison? Shot, perhaps? Then you, Strom Borge, will be the next president of this Confederation.”
Borge smiled thinly.
General Tsingai and his newly acquired special aides – Carre and Mackenzie – had done their best to prepare Reza for his introduction to the Marine Corps at Quantico. Quantico was the Confederation Marine Corps’ primary training facility, located almost five hundred light years from Earth and the North American city after which it was named. Tsingai, a veteran of many campaigns, was the post commandant. It was a far more significant assignment than it had been on Earth, for Tsingai’s domain encompassed not only the planet of Quantico, but the rest of its star system, as well.
Despite the tremendous resources at his disposal, however, Tsingai remained somewhat at a loss as to how to deal with his latest, and in many ways most significant, challenge. Reza had been among other humans for several months now, but unlike most humans who came to live in a culture different from the one into which they had been born, humanity had made virtually no cultural impression on him at all. He could speak the language well, he understood the things he was being taught, but he consistently failed to adopt anything that would have made him a bit more human. Even the best efforts of Carre and Mackenzie, who appeared to be the only two who could draw anything at all from him, failed to get him to open up to human ways and loosen his tongue about his experiences in the Empire.
“Well,” Tsingai said to both of them as they all stood watching the induction about to begin in the massive courtyard below, “I guess we’ve done what we can. Now we wait to see if he sinks or swims.”
“He will be all right,” Nicole said quietly beside him.
“Yeah,” Jodi added. “It’s the others who had better watch it.”
Tsingai grimaced inwardly. “You’re sure that he understands that he is not to act like some warlord down there? We’re risking a lot of lives by letting him keep his weapons. If he harms anyone…”
“He will harm no one who does not threaten him with death, General.” Nicole strained to see the dark figure in the crowd below, but could see nothing but a mass of bodies, slowly aligning like iron filings trapped in a
