Simon narrowed his eyes, then winced. How much damage did it take, to make that small a gesture hurt that badly? Through a body-wide nano-block? Then Simon forced his attention back to the larger issue. If Sonny thought his aircar had been sabotaged, no doubt remained in Simon’s mind, either. It bothered him, however, that he couldn’t remember the crash.
“Don’t remember,” he struggled to say.
“That’s not particularly surprising,” Dr. Zarek said with a slight frown. “The mind can blank out an event too traumatic to face, right away, just as the body can dump enough endorphins to deaden severe pain long enough to get to safety. You knew you were going down, probably knew somebody had deliberately rigged your transport, and doubtless knew that your wife and child would be left alone in the hands of a hostile regime. Given enough time, the memories will probably resurface, once your subconscious mind thinks you’re strong enough to face what’s hidden.”
That made some sense, although he found it disquieting that a portion of him, one he couldn’t control, was able to hide something that serious from his conscious memory. Then a new thought cropped up, more alarming. “Kafari! Where — ?”
“She stayed on Jefferson, Colonel. With your little girl. You’re on a Malinese freighter, headed for Vishnu.” An unhappy shadow passed across his face. “I was chief surgeon at University Hospital. I assembled a whole team of surgeons to stabilize you. We did the best we could, but I can assure you that the medical care and rehab you will need do not exist on Jefferson.”
Simon’s brows twitched as he focused on the most puzzling part of that statement. “Was?” he rasped out hoarsely.
Dr. Zarek’s gaze held his, steady and unflinching. “Colonel, I’ve been watching POPPA just about as closely as I’m sure you have and I can tell you, sir, I do not like what I see coming.” Muscles jumped in his jaw. “News of your recall by the Brigade was splashed across every newspaper, datachat, and broadcast medium on Jefferson. So was the gloating over your near-fatal crash. And I use the word gloating deliberately. They’re calling it a suicide attempt. ‘Disgraced officer tries to kill himself rather than face military tribunal.’ ”
Simon cursed. Hideously. And tried to get up.
“Easy, Colonel,” Dr. Zarek cautioned, “you can’t move, yet, and you can’t afford the physiological strain of trying.” Despite the soothing, cautionary tone, his eyes crackled with anger as he studied a monitor just out of Simon’s visual range. “That’s better. As to the rest of it… A government willing to engineer the destruction of a Dinochrome Brigade officer’s career is a government that cannot be trusted. But they weren’t content with that. They tried to kill you, as well. That suggests some very ugly things to me. I don’t know what you know, Colonel, or how big a threat that might be to Vittori Santorini and Gifre Zeloc.
“But I can tell you this, without hesitation. I have no interest in staying where that kind of government is in charge. I’m not politically acceptable, for one thing. I was a junior member of Abraham Lendan’s medical team, right after the war. My views on POPPA are widely known. If they went after you, Colonel, they’ll go after others, and their stunning success with you will breed contempt for anyone and everyone who disagrees with them. And I’m Granger bred, as well, which is starting to look like a very dangerous thing to be.
“So I pulled rank over every other physician at University Hospital and insisted on accompanying you to Vishnu. I don’t intend to return. If Vishnu won’t allow me to stay, I’ll go to Mali, instead. They need surgeons on Mali,” he added, voice bleak. His eyes were shadowed again. “I don’t have a family,” he said quietly. “They were killed in the war. The house was almost directly under the Cat’s Claw…” Memory ran through his eyes, wet and filled with anguish. “I tried — very hard, Colonel — to persuade yours to leave with us.”
Simon knew exactly why they hadn’t. Dr. Zarek merely confirmed it.
“Your daughter wouldn’t go. I have a recording from your wife, which I can play now, if you like, or I can run it later.”
“Later,” Simon whispered. He caught and held the surgeon’s eyes. “Tell me.”
Dr. Zarek didn’t insult his intelligence by asking Tell you what?
By the time he’d finished answering, Simon was profoundly grateful that nano-tech neurology blocks existed. He hadn’t realized it was possible to do that kind of damage to a human body and survive it. If the surgeries he still faced — an appalling number of them — were a success and if the nerve regeneration therapy and cellular reconstruction worked, he might be able to walk again. A year or two from now. Far worse was the knowledge that Kafari couldn’t — wouldn’t — leave, not without their child.
The only hope he could cling to was the knowledge that POPPA had spent years carefully grooming Yalena’s support, because her belief in the cause held enormous propaganda value. He had never forgotten — could never forget — the year of hell they had put Yalena through in kindergarten, followed with a deliberate and highly effective piece of social engineering, during her first-grade year. Yalena still believed that POPPA’s loving regard for everyone’s rights and welfare had rescued her from the unfair cruelty of one unfit teacher acting from personal hatred. She still believed that POPPA had acted from genuine concern for her, correcting a deep social injustice and transforming misled children from enemies into dear friends. She still didn’t understand that POPPA had engineered the hatred and abuse, as well.
It suited POPPA very well to groom Yalena into a staunchly loyal acolyte. He didn’t know, yet, what they intended to do with that loyalty or how, exactly, they intended to cash in on that propaganda. Vittori and Nassiona Santorini didn’t chart their course to power by planning what they would do during the next few months or even years. They thought in terms of decades and lifetimes. Whatever they had in mind to do with Yalena, they’d planned it out well before her entry into school. The best — the absolute best — he could hope for, lying broken to pieces in a Malinese freighter, was that POPPA’s plans for Yalena included Kafari’s survival.
III
They were being evicted.
Just like that. Kafari, home on bereavement leave from the spaceport, reread the message on her datascreen over and over while her numbed mind tried to make the words say something else. No matter how many times she reread it, the nasty little note said the same thing.
As the legal dependents of a non-Jeffersonian military officer who has been cashiered and sent off-world in disgrace, you are hereby evicted from the government-owned quarters you are no longer entitled to occupy. You have twenty-five hours from receipt of this message to remove yourself, your daughter, and your private belongings from the dwelling you currently occupy. Failure to leave within the allotted time will result in penalties, fines, and possible criminal charges for illegal occupation of a restricted military site. Personal belongings left behind will be confiscated and distributed to the needy. Removal of any government property will result in criminal charges for theft of military property.
A lengthy list of the items Kafari was not allowed to remove followed the message. It wouldn’t be difficult to pack, since virtually everything in the apartment had been classified as government property, including the extremely expensive computer system she had purchased with her own funds, to support the intensely sophisticated needs of a psychotronic programmer. Kafari was so stunned, she couldn’t even curse at the screen. She finally punched her wrist-comm.