There is only one bit of my personal history I can’t remember, and it had nothing to do with Noam, dead or alive. The stuff I forget these days was recent. Events from forty years ago and even further back were clear. Whole. Except for that one dark patch—and I had everyone else’s accounts to cover that.
There was one other thing I could do before I gave in to Juliyana’s paranoia. I dug out a screen emitter and set it up on the table and went through the dozen steps to log into my backdoor on the Rangers archives.
I’m not the only high-ranking officer of the Imperial Rangers Corps to build a backdoor safety net for themselves. I know that, because a senior officer taught me how to do it. There were a thousand reasons why it was a good idea, even though it was against regulations—all of them, for the very first regulation was the declaration that no Ranger ever put himself before the Corps and his fellow Rangers. All other regulations spilled down from that tenet.
Only, I don’t like the idea of an enemy locking me out of my own data. Wars are won or lost by the quality of the information used to build strategies. And if ever the archives were to fall into enemy hands, being able to sneak in where they weren’t looking and wipe the archives was the equivalent of keeping a backup gun and two spare blades under your uniform.
So I used a door I hadn’t cracked open in over fifty years.
The serial number on the document was as genuine as Juliyana had insisted it was. Without that serial number I would never have found the document on the archives. It was buried in strange files in an out-of-the-way corner of the archives. The location made no sense at all. No one would think to look there if they were searching organically or logically.
I opened the document. It looked exactly the same as Juliyana’s copy except for the chop.
G. Dalton, Major.
Gabriel Dalton. Noam’s commanding officer. Which made perfect sense.
I sat back, weak with relief. I hadn’t forgotten, after all.
But shit, damn, fuck it. That meant Juliyana was right: Noam had been working for the Imperial Shield when he died.
What the fuck had he been up to?
2
THE DREAMS WERE BAD. I should have expected that, given what was on my mind when I fell asleep in the chair not long after finishing the last of the blue tea. I woke up early, aching still, and not even close to rested.
Andrain’s message was waiting for me, as expected. I thought about breakfast, decided it was too much bother, and headed for the hospital. Juliyana was still in the sealed cot when I left.
Andrain grinned when he saw me. “I heard about last night. On your back in one blow.”
“You heard before my terminal pimped me, or after?”
He lifted my chin, turned it, and gazed at the corner of my jaw. “Some swelling. I’ll scan, just to be sure. Did she apologize?” He dropped my chin and started setting up the scan controls.
“She wanted to know if growing old hurts.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That it was none of her fucking business.”
He spared a glance. He wasn’t fooled. “How are the headaches?”
“I’m looking at one.”
He tilted his head and raised a brow.
“Still having them,” I growled.
“Severity?”
“About seven,” I lied.
“It was about six, last time,” he said.
Damn, I’d forgotten.
“They’re getting worse, then,” he concluded.
“I need one of those shots to snap in my sight,” I said. “It’s getting blurry again.”
“I’ll check to see when the last one was. You can’t have them too frequently. They’ll impact your cognition.”
“Because getting old isn’t doing that already.”
“Lie down and stay still,” he replied, his tone serene. Damn him.
He scanned, frowned at the results, then coordinated three different shots and smiled at me. “There. Feeling better?”
The ache was receding. I sat up cautiously and blinked. I could read the text on the pad in his hands. I managed to scare up a smile for him. “Yes, thank you.”
Andrain rolled his eyes. “Much better,” he agreed. “The jawbone is whole and sound. The local swelling will subside by the end of the day. If you need more analgesics, I’ve primed your printer for something a little stronger. It will make you sleep, so don’t take it if you want to stay alert.”
“Noted.” I got to my feet. Slowly. “Anything else?”
Andrain’s smile faded. I knew what was coming, but it had been a while since the last time, so I braced myself to be polite and nod.
“You know you could avoid all this if you underwent rejuvenation,” he said.
“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re only in your fourth century…there’s so much more you can do—”
I held up my hand. “I’ve had my time, doc. Discussion ended.”
“You’re being selfish.”
That got my attention. “You think?”
“I do. Longevity was the singlemost critical technology and medical breakthrough of this millennium. It allowed humans to set up very long-term projects. A single human, a single vision, could direct projects which required generations to be completed without losing focus or drive. The original vision was held intact over the lifetime of the project. Because of longevity, we can travel to distant stars and set up gates for the others. Before then, we were boxed into a single solar system and doomed, because life goes on and population pressure was killing us.”
“Is that why you accepted a contract on a family barge, Andrain? The romantic notion of finding new worlds, blah, blah, blah?”
Only he wouldn’t be distracted. He shook his head. “The human diaspora which brought us to where we are today could not have happened without longevity. It makes astonishing achievements possible. By refusing rejuvenation, you’re denying humanity your unique contributions.”
“I think I’ve contributed more than enough to humanity’s future,” I replied. “So does everyone else.”
“That’s not true,” he said quickly.
“No? Then why isn’t the empire beating on
