“You ghosted! You just entered a whole new level of—” Hopkins stopped, seeing the look on her face. “Mal, what’s wrong?”
She wiped the moisture from her eyes and said softly, “The first thing I thought was, ‘
Wait’ll I tell Jan
.’ ”
When Mallory began her day as part of a squad hunting for an Ursa, she never would have thought she’d end it in the office of the Savant.
She’d never had an encounter with the Savant before. As head of the Science Guild, he was simply not someone she’d ever cross paths with.
But because of the unexpected manifestation of Mallory’s ability to ghost, Colonel Green had brought her straight to the science hall, where she could be subjected to a battery of tests. They gave her a psychological third degree far more comprehensive than anything she’d ever endured. They asked her hundreds of questions; they showed her screens with random blots of blackness and asked her what she saw (her insistent reply of “random blots of blackness” seemed to impress nobody). They drew blood, had her urinate into a container. They did everything short of shove probes up her ass, and she worried that if they didn’t like the results of their tests, that would be next.
And when it was all over—she hoped—Colonel Green had ordered her to wait in the Savant’s office. She dutifully did as she was told. Despite Hopkins’s certainty that she
would face no disciplinary action even though she had disobeyed orders, she had still braced herself for the worst when Terelli returned with her to Ranger HQ. But Green had been waiting there for the both of them; Terelli, it turned out, had sent word on ahead. Mallory had received the equivalent of a disciplinary slap on the wrist, and Green had taken over from there.
Mallory had spent the entire day adjusting to what had happened, and yet her mind was still racing. She paced the office, right up until the door opened and the Savant entered. The Savant was remarkably tall, with sparse hair and sunken cheeks. He also had the most piercingly blue eyes that Mallory had ever seen. She’d never considered what perpetual inquisitiveness would look like, but decided it was probably what she was looking at now.
She snapped to attention the moment the Savant came in. Right behind him was Colonel Green.
“Take a seat, Ranger.” The Savant gestured to a chair facing his wide desk.
Mallory remained precisely where she was.
“She’s too well trained,” Colonel Green informed the Savant. “There’s a superior officer in the room. She won’t sit unless I give her leave to do so.”
“Well, then I would appreciate it if you did, because I’m sufficiently old-fashioned that I won’t sit while there’s a lady standing.”
A twitch of a smile crossed Green’s face. “I think the lieutenant might take exception to being described as a ‘lady.’ ” When McGuiness didn’t rise to the bait, merely stood there and awaited orders, Green said, “At ease, Lieutenant. Take a chair.”
She did as he instructed. Her back remained rigid and her hands were flat upon her lap. She waited expectantly.
“So how are you doing, Lieutenant?” said the Savant conversationally, as if they were sitting down for coffee.
“I’ve been poked and prodded within an inch of my life, sir,” she said, making no
attempt to mask her impatience. “So with all respect, rather than how I’m doing, I would prefer to know what, if anything, this intrusiveness has revealed.”
“Very well,” said the Savant. He had taken a seat and leaned forward on his desk, his fingers interlaced. “To be honest, I initially believed that the explanation for your sudden fearlessness and your clear ability to ghost—anecdotal, to be sure, but confirmed by reliable witnesses—was psychologically based. That the loss of your husband—”
“Caused me to snap? To become suicidal? To not care about my own welfare?”
“Something like that.”
That was exactly the conclusion she had feared. It would be one short step from such a diagnosis to being declared mentally unstable. No one wanted to have his or her life depend upon a Ranger who didn’t care whether she lived or died, or might actually be courting death. If it stuck, she might be put on indefinite leave. Or, even worse, handed a desk job, which would be akin to dying as far as she was concerned. “Sir”—her response was addressed to Green, not the Savant—“I assure you, I am not remotely—”
Green silenced her with a sharp gesture. “Let the man finish, Lieutenant.”
Her mouth remained open for a moment and then snapped shut with a click.
“However,” the Savant continued as if she had never interrupted, “I’m reasonably sure, based upon the psych eval we’ve done here today, that that is not the case. Especially considering that another explanation has presented itself. You see, we’ve discovered that there’ve been some fundamental, metabolic changes in both your pituitary gland and your hypothalamus. Consequently, it’s created the chemical equivalent of a modified DPD …” When he saw her blank expression, he said, “Depersonalization Disorder. At its extreme, DPD makes sufferers feel as if they are moving through a sort of waking dream. The mind feels disconnected from the world around it. In your case, thanks to the chemical imbalance, when faced with a life-threatening situation—”
“Such as an Ursa,” Green said, rather unnecessarily.
“—you enter a sort of fugue state. It’s a rather fascinating phenomenon, really. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to study it further and write a paper about it.”
“But I don’t understand.” Mallory was shaking her head in confusion. “My body’s undergone a chemical change? Why?”
“It’s actually more or less standard for a woman in your condition.”
“My what? What condition?” She looked in bewilderment from one to the other.
“Mallory,” said Green gently, “when was the last time you menstruated?”
Her face reddened with annoyance. “That’s an entirely personal question, sir, and I don’t see where your superior rank entitles you to …” Then her voice trailed off as her eyes widened.
There was dead silence in the room for a long moment.
“Oh, holy shit,” she murmured.
“Tests indicate you’re approximately two months along,” said the Savant.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
When she said nothing beyond that for a time, Green—who had remained standing, his hands draped behind his back—said, “Regulations are quite specific on this matter, Lieutenant. A pregnant Ranger may continue to serve at her discretion for as long as her commanding officer deems her physically capable of doing so. Obviously you are, at this point, still fully capable of functioning, and you have the right to do so.”
“So …” She struggled to find the words. “So you’re saying that my ability to ghost comes with an expiration date? That if the baby’s gone …” Her voice caught on that sentence, and she powered through it. “… I won’t be able to ghost anymore?”
“I wish I had an answer for that, but I simply don’t know,” the Savant admitted. “We’d have to wait and see.”
“Lieutenant,” Green said cautiously, “your phrasing was … rather specific. Are you insinuating that you may not bring the child to term?”
Slowly she got to her feet, standing at attention. She looked straight forward, but not at anything in particular. “Is the colonel implying I do not have that right?”
“Not at all,” he said.
“Or is the colonel thinking of ordering me to continue the pregnancy so that he can have another Ghost at his disposal for a—”
“Stow that right now, Lieutenant.” Green looked well and truly pissed. “I have said and done nothing, in the entirety of my career, that would remotely imply I would have such a dehumanizing attitude toward my people, and frankly I resent the hell out of what you’re saying.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said immediately, and meant it. “It’s … just a lot to take in right now. I need some time to process it.”
“I understand,” said Green. “Take all the time you need to decide upon your course of action.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You have until tomorrow.”
She paused and then nodded. “Thank you, sir.” She pivoted on her heel and headed for the door.
Just before she reached it, Green called, “Lieutenant.”
She turned back to him.
“Congratulations,” said Green.
“We’ll see about that, sir,” Mallory said, and walked out.
Mallory lay in her quarters the entire night, staring up at the ceiling. She kept resting her hand on her belly, trying to sense whatever it was that was going on within her. “Talk to me,” she whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
The small passenger did not respond.
She drifted in and out during the night, sleeping for minutes at a time. Every time she did manage to slumber, she was pelted with an unceasing barrage of images: her husband, climbing out of the grave, his arms outstretched, falling upon her and clawing at her stomach, trying to rip the infant from her.
When the first light of the twin suns of Nova Prime began to crawl over the horizon, Mallory’s eyes were red with strain. Not with tears; she felt as if she had cried herself out after Jan’s death. Instead they were red with exhaustion. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she reminded herself of something out of an ancient tale of the undead.
An hour later she was sitting on the edge of her bed. She was wearing civilian clothes and her hair was wet; obviously she had showered and dressed, but she had no recollection of doing so.
Focus. You need to focus
.
There was only one thing she could think of focusing on.
Another couple of hours later—because it took her that long to muster the will to leave her quarters—Mallory was standing at the site of her husband’s grave.
Well, at least he hasn’t crawled out of it
.
Valhalla Point was the official burial site for the honored Rangers who had fallen in the line of duty. The headstones were simple: small rectangles of rock with the name of the buried individual chiseled into them. Many preferred cremation, but others were
more traditional, and the Rangers endeavored to accommodate all preferences.
Mallory was far too practical an individual to think that Janus was “there” somehow. She knew her husband was gone. He would no more hear her at this site than any other. Ultimately it wasn’t about him. He was beyond caring about worldly concerns. It was about her voicing her problems and her inner turmoil.
“I don’t know what to do, Jan,” she said softly. “First of all, I don’t know what to do about the baby itself. You were the one who kept talking about having children. You would have been a great father. I don’t know what kind of mother I’d make, and without you …
“Besides, what kind of world would I be bringing our baby into? Monsters roam, trying to kill us. Aliens attack us from on high. We can never relax our guard, ever. A lousy mother bringing a baby into a lousy environment … why should I do that to him? Maybe it’d be better if he was never born …
“But …” She hesitated, her voice choking slightly. “How can I kill the only part of you that’s left? How can I do that to him? How can I do that to you …? Have I spent so much time focusing on killing things that I’ve totally forgotten how to worry about the living …?”
She sank to her knees in front of the grave. “And … what
about
the living? Don’t I have a responsibility to protect them? The citizens of Nova Prime are counting on me. And if I have the ability to ghost now, then don’t I have the responsibility to use it?
“But … then aren’t I putting the baby at risk? So what if an Ursa can’t see me? It could still get lucky. A random sweep of its stinger … and I die, and your baby dies …
“It doesn’t even have to be an Ursa. Maybe somewhere there’s an unexploded shell with my name on it …
“How many lives are supposed to be on my shoulders? How am I supposed to be a good mother, or any kind of mother, if it means abandoning the people who count on the Rangers? But how am I supposed to put my baby at risk? How am I—?”
She lowered her head, put her hands in her face. Her sides shook, and she heaved agonized sobs, but her cheeks remained dry.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up.
There was another woman a short distance away. Dressed in the gray uniform of someone who worked in one of the tech divisions, she was crouching in front of a grave site and laying down a batch of fresh flowers. The fair-skinned, sad-eyed woman studied Mallory with what appeared to be quiet understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?” She did not ask Mallory what specifically the “it” was. She saw an individual in pain and was clearly prepared to listen.
Mallory didn’t move from where she was. She didn’t feel comfortable approaching. She did, however, tilt her head slightly and nod toward the grave site where the other woman was standing. “Your husband?”
“My daughter,” replied the other woman quietly.
“She was a Ranger?”
The other woman nodded. “Killed by an Ursa last year.”
“I’m so sorry.” She paused and then said, “I’m Mallory.”
“Faia.”
The name was vaguely familiar to Mallory, but she couldn’t quite place it. “That’s my husband,” Mallory said, pointing at Janus’s grave. “I guess we have something in common.”
“Members of a club no one wants to belong to,” said Faia. “I’d love to tell you it gets easier as time passes. But I’d be lying. All that happens is that scar tissue builds over it. The wound still cuts just as deep.”
“I appreciate your honesty.” She was still speaking stiffly and formally, not allowing any of her inner turmoil to show.
There was an uneasy silence, and then Faia said, “Okay, well … it was a pleasure
meeting y—”
“I’m pregnant,” Mallory blurted out. “And I don’t know if I should keep doing my job.” She didn’t bring up the fact that the pregnancy apparently enabled her to ghost. She wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be classified, plus she wasn’t entirely sure that she herself accepted it yet.
“Oh … my,” said Faia slowly. “That changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” There was desperate urgency in her voice. “That’s what I keep wondering. Whose needs are more important? This … this stranger”—she gestured angrily toward her stomach. “Or the people I’m sworn to protect? One life versus countless others? What makes this one life more important than all the others?”