Flashback

women strong—was moving across the border into New Mexico with more than 200,000 men and women in the Republic of Texas Sam Houston Army.

The armored forces were tasked with clearing out the last of the “foreign presence” in the once and future states of New Mexico, Arizona, and southern California. Then the armored divisions would sweep south, at least as far as Monterrey and Torreon and Culiacan. They would decide about Ciudad de Mexico later.

To those who cried “Imperialism!”—and there were many of those kind left in what were now being called the Timid States of America—the answer was “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of your neighbor’s kitchen.”

The last e-mail was from Dr. Linda Alvarez, a woman Nick had met at a Christmas party on the Riverwalk and with whom he’d spent quite a lot of time since New Year’s. He would open that e-mail later.

I’ll tell you more about her later, Dara.

When he’d been using flashback, Nick had never sent mental e-mails to Dara. He hadn’t really thought about her much in those days. He hadn’t needed to, since he was reliving hours and days with her constantly. But those were frozen memories. Now, without flashback, his thoughts turned to Dara often—even as the immediacy of her touch and look faded for him—and he sent her a daily mental e-mail. They were brief, but not as brief as Val’s two-sentence notes.

We have to learn to accept our losses. It was not a pseudo-profound thought that Nick was generating, but something Major Trevors had said in the Company D briefing the day before. The losses for the Texas Rangers should not be too dear—they were following the army as a civilian infrastructure and police force.

But one never knew.

In three weeks, Omura’s troops—Sato’s commandos plus the California and Washington State National Guards—would be going into Canada to face the Caliphate militias assembled there. That might be fierce fighting with many losses to face. Nick rather wished he’d be part of it… but not all that much. Not when he was spending time with Dr. Linda Alvarez. Or when reading a good book. Or watching one of his old movies. Or waiting for one of Val’s rare overnight layovers.

We have to learn to accept our losses.

Nick was ready. He’d already learned the hard part, he thought.

He set a towel on the counter. Then he flicked the scalpel-sharp switchblade open and dipped the slender blade in alcohol. He leaned on the kitchen counter, the city coming alive with morning light outside his window, the Alamo glowing—today was some sort of anniversary for it, he’d heard—and then Nick drew the blade across his forearm until blood welled up and flowed in rivulets down his forearm and soaked in red butterflies into the towel.

Nick dug the knife blade in deeper, clenching his teeth as he moved the blade into his flesh. He’d cut to the bone if he had to.

But no, this pain was enough. It was a sharp, real, undeniable pain. It was precisely the sort of pain that Flashback-two would never allow in its dreams. Never.

Nick withdrew the blade, treated the wound, then quickly bandaged it. There would be a scar there but it would soon join the dozens of others in the small spiderweb of scars.

For this Nick Bottom had learned from his Dream—from his years of drugged dreaming—Being alive means suffering pain. Being willing to suffer pain.

Nick finished tidying up, cleaned and put away the knife, tossed the towel in the tub to soak, and put water and coffee into the coffeemaker. What the hell—he was going to make a big breakfast today: eggs, bacon, toast, the whole nine yards. Muster wasn’t until 0900, but it was going to be a long day and he didn’t know when he’d eat again.

You can’t have life without pain, Nick now understood. You can’t have a future without pain. Being alive means having the strength to face pain and loss and to find something real through it and beyond it.

Anything less is just flashback.

Acknowledgments

The author would like to thank his agent, Richard Curtis; his editor, Reagan Arthur; and his publisher, Michael Pietsch, for understanding what the novel Flashback was really about and for helping him shepherd it to publication. The author acknowledges the unique and important contributions of all three of these good people.

The author would also like to thank Dr. Dan Peterson both for the gift of the Wisdom ballcap—from a bar in Wisdom, Montana, it turns out—which almost certainly added wisdom to the author’s efforts, and for the gift of the various homemade jazz-mix CDs which the author played all during the writing of Flashback. Unbeknownst to most readers, almost every novel has its own secret soundtrack that the author will always associate with the many months of work on a particular book. Dr. Peterson knows the beautiful Flashback soundtrack well because he created it. The author thanks him for that and doffs his Wisdom cap in Dr. Dan’s direction.

The author would like to thank Deborah Jacobs both for her outstanding level of effort, professional expertise, and insight in copyediting the manuscript of Flashback and for suggesting the Proust epigraph that was perfect for this book. The author and Marcel P. both bow to her in sincere gratitude.

Finally, the author needs to acknowledge and thank his wife, Karen, who was always there with the calm insight, important suggestions, and quiet confidence that have helped steer this author through twenty-eight published books. The author also wishes to acknowledge his daughter, Jane, whose energy and joy during the hard writing period for Flashback helped make the seemingly impossible more than possible. The author thanks his wife and daughter for being the fixed stars for him to steer by in a rich and beautiful and otherwise ever-changing Hawaiian night sky.

About the Author

Dan Simmons is the award-winning author of several novels, including the New York Times bestsellers Olympos, The Terror, and Drood. He lives in Colorado. For more information about Dan Simmons, visit www.DanSimmons.com.

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