What was I going to do? Turn her in to armed forces mental health, who probably already knew we had a relationship? The barkeep’s sweetie worked in the hospital. Once anything gets in a hospital it spreads. I wasn’t a medical worker formally, but I ought to hold to their code of ethics. No sex with clients. If I turned Marin in, I would be having a conversation with my supervisor.
I could hope that Marin was called back to active duty. Or keep having sex with her, and pretend I didn’t know she was sick. Or cut her off, though that might cause its own problems.
One day she told me the stem cells weren’t working. Her spine wasn’t healing.
“Is that a deal?” I asked. “You have the mesh.”
“That will go if I leave the armed forces. “Do you want to?”
“Yeah.”
“Can they fix the problem?”
“Maybe. The stem cells have formed a tumor. That has to go. Then they might try again.”
I had nothing to say.
A few days later I was at a field. Whiskers was there, of course. So was Marin. We stood at the field’s edge, a short distance between us, watching Whiskers run.
All at once Marin was in the field, walking toward the center. I was slow off the mark and couldn’t reach her before she was too far in. No way I was going to risk the mines. I called Whiskers and she turned, running through the maize toward Marin. God knows what she—or I—thought she could do, being a fraction of Marin’s weight.
Marin stepped on a mine, and it blew. The rat had almost reached her. The explosion put Whiskers into the air, tumbling over the maize. I couldn’t see where she landed, but I could see Marin, down on the alien soil. I walked into the field, following Marin footsteps, knowing the path made me safe.
She was lying on her back. Most of her clothing was gone, blown away. The mesh was still there, netting her dark body with silver. I figured it had protected her, but I didn’t know how much. Not entirely. One foot was gone, most likely the one she’d used to step on the mine. Blood poured from the stump. I took off my belt, knelt and used the belt to make a tourniquet, then wrapped my jacket around the stump. Then I called emergency service and gave my location. “I need search and rescue right now.”
Blood came out of Marin’s mouth. I tried to find a pulse, but couldn’t through the mesh. There might be internal injuries. She didn’t look alive. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, and I was worried about Whiskers. I hesitated, then stood and moved through the maize toward the place the rat must have landed, hoping I didn’t step on a mine.
Whiskers was there, lying on the dark soil—uninjured as far as I could tell, but unconscious. Maybe it was a mistake to pick her up, but I did and retraced my path, her small body hugged against me. I stopped at the field’s edge, one finger pressed into Whiskers’ throat. I thought I could feel a pulse, faint and uneven.
Jesus God, I didn’t want to lose her. I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t stand any longer. I folded down onto my knees. Be okay, I told Whiskers. Be okay.
S&R arrived.
I climbed onto shaky legs, still holding Whiskers in my arms. “There’s a human in the field. If you follow the footsteps you can get to her safely. But right now I want you to take me to the hospital.”
“Are you injured?”
I thought of saying no, then decided it would be smarter to say yes. The S&R van took me and Whiskers. A second van raced past us toward the field, as we turned onto the main street. That would take care of Marin.
I climbed out at Receiving and said, “I’m okay. But the rat needs attention.”
“For God’s sake,” Receiving (who was human) said, “This is a hospital. We don’t treat animals.”
I forgot to mention I usually carried a handgun, a comforting weight against my thigh. I thought of pulling it, then decided no.
“There is no vet in town,” I said. “You need to treat this rat. She’s genetically modified. The armed forces will want to keep her alive.”
Receiving frowned and hesitated, then found a doc. I stayed with him, while he examined Whiskers. “You understand I am not an expert on animals.”
“This is a mammal from Earth, a close relative, part of our evolutionary line. Do what you can.”
He ran Whiskers through a scan. “No broken bones. The organs look okay. I’m not seeing any internal bleeding.”
Around that time I heard Whiskers in my mind. A thread of a voice. What?
You took a hit from a mine, Buddy. This is the hospital.
Whiskers sniffed, taking in the hospital smell, the doctor, my fear, then asked, How is Marin?
I looked at the doc. “How is my human companion?”
He paused, listening to his comm. “I’m sorry. The trauma was too severe. She died.”
“I figured as much,” I said.
The doc looked at me funny. Was I supposed to show more grief? Marin hadn’t been a friend, only a lover. I touched Whiskers’ side gently. You did the best you could, Buddy. You couldn’t have saved her.
Didn’t like her.
I know, Bud.
That was that.
There was a vet two towns over. I took Whiskers, hitching a ride, and she was checked a second time. The vet said there might be some problems due to concussion. That caused most of the trouble with human soldiers. Time would tell.
I thank him, paid and got a receipt. The armed forces ought to pay.
Then I went home, had a few beers, went to bed and had nightmares. I was with my unit, and Marin was there as well, walking beside me, then stepping on her mine. This time she wasn’t wearing the silver mesh, and she blew apart, making as big a mess as Lopez had. Jesus, I was covered with blood.
I woke, shaking and sweaty. Whiskers said, Bad dream.
Yeah. After that I couldn’t sleep.
I touched base with my supervisor the next day. Marin had seemed fine to me, I told him. Whiskers hadn’t reported any problems. Maybe I made a mistake in getting involved with her, but she really did seem okay. My supervisor told me to be more careful in the future. I said I would.
Should I have felt more for Marin? Maybe. But I didn’t. I could say that the war effed me up, and I no longer had normal reactions. But I knew what was right. I shouldn’t have gotten in bed with someone who was obviously vulnerable, especially since Whiskers had disapproved.
I didn’t say any of this to my supervisor. Instead Whiskers and I went back to finding mines.
The war heated up. I found more mines. Robot tanks lumbered through Leesville. Once I saw a kaiju-mech robot pushing its way through the forest, knocking down trees. A heck of a sight, even at a distance. Marin had been right. War involved psychology, and the kaiju-mech bots were scary, even when they were ours.
After it was gone, I went out into the forest, following the forest road—it was safe—and found the robot’s footprints, deep depressions in the yellow moss, already full of water. The moss must be bleeding into the depressions. I could look into the nearest pond, which was full of swimming bugs. How had they gotten there so quickly? Life went on, and I really wished I could be a xenobiologist.
Hacking became more frequent. Our local systems went down, then back up, then down again. The FTL ships came less often, though none of us knew exactly what that meant. According to the ship’s crews, everything was fine back home, even though the ships no longer brought new people, only supplies. Why? Because people could tell us what was happening on Earth? Rumors said the war had spread back home, or else the governments had decided FTL was too expensive and the planet not worth fighting over.