He patted her hand. “Not to worry. I wouldn’t have expected you to, Mrs. Khrustinova. Now, then. Simon is going to need specialized recovery therapy of a kind that isn’t available on Jefferson. We don’t have nerve regeneration clinics or cellular reconstruction technologies.”
That sounded bad. Desperately so.
“As an officer of the Dinochrome Brigade, your husband is entitled, by mandate of the treaty, to emergency medical transportation and full access to the best medical care available. I would suggest,” and something in his manner shifted, subtly, taking on a subdued yet intense note of warning, “that we send him off-world immediately.” He glanced at the doorway Sar Gremian and that unholy mob of reporters had departed through, then met and held Kafari’s eyes. “There’s a Malinese freighter coming in tonight, I’m told. It’s due for departure tomorrow. I strongly recommend transferring your husband to Ziva Two’s infirmary the moment that freighter makes space-dock. We’ll send an attending physician and trauma nurse with him. What you cannot — dare not — do is wait.”
“I see,” Kafari whispered, feeling as young and scared as her daughter looked.
Then she thought of Sonny, realized with a shock of fear that a Bolo Mark XX was sitting in her back yard, at full Battle Reflex Alert, listening to this conversation and drawing its own conclusions — and it already suspected sabotage and attempted murder.
“Oh, shit—” She slapped her wrist-comm. “Sonny. Sonny, are you there? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Kafari. I have been monitoring your wrist-comm since your departure from home.”
The surgeon’s brow furrowed, then his eyes opened wide as he realized who Kafari was talking to — and why.
She cleared her throat. “Who do we need to notify? How do we notify them?”
“I have already contacted Sector Command, apprising them of my Commander’s medical status. I am filing updated VSR now, based on the medical recommendations I just heard. I am forwarding a voice copy of the conversation you just held with Simon’s attending physician. I will relay Sector’s instructions once I receive VSR from Brigade.
“I will need the registry information for the Malinese freighter, to remain in contact with my Commander and his medical team. Sector has already diverted the scoutship, which is needed elsewhere, now that Simon is incapable of transfer to Hakkor. When Simon regains consciousness, please tell him that I am at fault for having failed him. I was scanning for overt threats. Missiles, artillery, energy weapons. I did not anticipate an enemy action based on subterfuge and sabotage of his transport vehicle. That failure has nearly taken my Commander’s life. It may end the career of the finest officer it has been my privilege to serve. Please tell him I am sorry.”
Kafari was staring at her wrist-comm. She had known, at a superficial level, that Sonny was the most sophisticated psychotronic system she had ever seen, or ever would see. She had not realized, even after nearly fourteen years of interactions with him, just how complex his programming really was. The machine speaking to them via her wrist-comm had a metallic voice unlike any real person’s, yet it was full of anguish and regret.
She didn’t know what to say. Neither, evidently, did Dr. Zarek. Yalena was crying again. Kafari finally broke her silence. “Thank you, Sonny. I’ll…” She had to stop and start over. “I’ll do that, for you. I’ll tell him. That’s a promise. A vow.” In the awkward silence that followed, it occurred to Kafari to wonder who would be issuing Sonny’s orders, now. She didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was terrified by the answers occurring to her.
A Mark XX Bolo was capable of independent action. She knew that much, but somebody would have to issue instructions to Sonny. Those instructions couldn’t come from Sector, so they had to come from somebody on Jefferson. She didn’t know which was more frightening. The idea of Sonny acting on his own, at a Battle Reflex Alert that even Simon walked cautiously around, or someone like Gifre Zeloc, who took his orders directly from Vittori Santorini.
We’re in trouble. Oh, Christ, Simon, we’re in deep, horrible trouble. I need you… More than she had ever needed anyone or anything else. The lack of his arms around her, his steady voice, the absence of his rock-solid courage and strength of character were a physical ache in her flesh, more wrenching than the pain of childbirth.
Someone was saying her name. Kafari blinked against the weight of terror and focused on the surgeon’s worried face. “What?” she managed to croak.
“You’ll need to fill out a great deal of paperwork, Mrs. Khrustinova, signing as next-of-kin, authorizing us to bill the Concordiat on his behalf. No, don’t worry about money, our admissions and billing office has already determined that the Brigade will be paying for all treatment rendered. We just need signatures on the requisite forms to submit the charges to the planetary purser’s office rather than the health management plan you carry through your job at the spaceport. You’ll need to file emigration paperwork, as well, for you and Yalena.”
Kafari held her breath. Then turned to look at her daughter. Yalena shook her head. “No. I don’t want to leave Jefferson. I just can’t.”
“Your father needs medical care we can’t get here.”
“I know. But they’re sending a doctor with him. He can come home when he’s well. I won’t go live somewhere else, where I don’t have any friends or anything. You can go, Mom, I understand that, but I’m not leaving.”
Kafari’s father spoke sharply. “And just where do you intend to live?”
“POPPA will put me in a state dormitory, same as they do orphans. I can even stay in my school.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Kafari said, weary to the bone. “I want to go, Yalena, more than you can ever understand. But I won’t leave you here alone and I certainly won’t let you go live in some horrible dormitory.” She cupped her daughter’s wet cheek in one hand. “And your father would want me to stay. It’s what we’d already decided, before…” Her voice wobbled.
Yalena started crying again.
The surgeon spoke very quietly. “I’ll send the hospital volunteer with the paperwork you’ll need to sign. And I’ll let you know when he’s awake.”
She nodded and he left. The volunteer arrived a few moments later with an appalling stack of forms to fill out and sign. Kafari wondered how she could possibly face the years that lay ahead, while Simon struggled through rehabilitation alone, without anyone who loved him there to help. In the grim and ghastly silence that had fallen across the room, Kafari made a steel-cold vow to her unconscious husband.
I will stay here, Simon, as long as it takes. I’ll fight them for her. I’m sorry, my dearest love, but I can’t just leave her with the bastards who did this to you. And one day, she added, eyes narrowing with hatred she could neither deny nor contain, one day, they will regret it.
Bitterly.
PART THREE
Chapter Sixteen
I
My Commander is gone.
Nor will I have a new commander. I am stunned by the reality of it. Despite Simon’s forebodings, I did not truly believe Sector Command would totally abandon me. I am not fit for self-command. I know this, even if Sector does not.
What am I to do, without Simon?
I have not even been able to prove that the crash was deliberately engineered. The official verdict of the crash-investigation team was software failure in the aircar’s governing circuitry. Accidental cause is the official — and only provable — explanation. I remain suspicious, but cannot justify a further need for Battle Reflex Alert status, given the rendering of this verdict. The freighter carrying my last commander to the hospital complex on Vishnu has barely left spacedock at Ziva Two when I receive my first communique from President Zeloc.