Chains of Redemption (36 page)

"I'll miss you too, brat."

She let him go, turned and marched towards the ship. He watched her back as she walked away, and then ran to catch up. "RJ, wait a minute."

She stopped and turned, the look on her face saying that she hoped he was changing his mind. Her face clouded again when she felt that he hadn't.

"I have to tell you something." He looked nervously at his feet, then losing his nerve looked up and blurted out, "I am your father, Luke."

RJ laughed and hugged him again. She whispered in his ear, "I'll always remember you just like this, old man . . . Crazy."

He nodded, suddenly very sober. "Super heroes . . . they always wound up alone, RJ. They always wound up alone because in reality the writers realized that people so different would always be on the outside. You and I, we have corporeal lives, we feel and are felt, our actions have consequences, and yet we're never really quite part of it, are we?"

RJ closed the bay doors as she walked in and headed for the bridge. She took her seat beside Poley silently.

"Where is Topaz?" Poley asked.

"He has decided to stay," RJ said.

Poley's eyebrows arched. "And you let him do that?"

"I could have made him leave, kicking and screaming the whole way I suppose, but he promised to make our lives a living, tormentuous hell if I did."

"That would suck," Poley said. "We're ready to lift off on your word."

RJ thought about it for only a split second. "OK, let's go," she ordered.

The ship's thrusters fired, and in mere minutes they had lifted off the surface of the moon/planet they'd called home. When they had landed there had been four of them, and now there were only two. It sort of sucked the joy out of the moment for her.

Being in space again, in flight, almost made her feel like she was already home, though from their calculations they were at least five years away from their own space. Maybe it was all the different emotions going through her head, accompanied by the myriad of noises the ship made on takeoff, but she hadn't heard him come in, and when he spoke she almost came out of her seat, belt or not.

"Wow, this is great!"

"What in hell's name are you doing here!" RJ screamed, spinning in her seat to look at the boy where he stood clinging to the doorway for dear life.

For answer he just smiled and looked lovingly at Poley, and that's when she knew. Alan wasn't a stowaway, he was a passenger. She glared at her metal brother. So this was why he'd been so hot to lift off.

Poley smiled at her and shrugged. "He wanted to come."

"And I
didn't
want him to come. I told you, Poley, I told you all the reasons why."

"But none of those were really very good reasons, RJ."

How had this happened? When had Poley started making decisions that went against hers? Was he supposed to be able to do that? She didn't think that he could. It was rather like having a toy that you thought would do one thing, and finding out that it didn't do that at all, but something completely different that wasn't nearly as cool. Still, she had to admit that in a strange way she was glad to see the boy.

"You better strap yourself in," she said with a sigh.

"I had strapped him in, in the crew's quarters," Poley said, obviously wanting RJ to know that he hadn't been at all negligent with the lad's safety, "and I've treated him for the space sickness, formulating the medicine for his specific race."

"Freaking beautiful," RJ said, as she unstrapped herself and went to get the Abornie, who was bouncing all over the bridge trying to make it to a chair. She helped him sit in one, and then strapped him in before returning to her own seat. She glared at her brother. "So, knowing I would disapprove, you stuck him in crew's quarters where I wouldn't hear or feel him till we were off the planet and I wasn't likely to make you take him back."

"Well, I'm not stupid, am I?" Poley said defensively.

"No, you aren't stupid," RJ said, thinking of the absolute irony of her being without a mate and the robot bringing his along. It was going to be a long flight. She hadn't planned to go into cryogenic sleep. The fuel core they had taken from the planet meant they had very little fear of ever running low on fuel again. She had decided that years in space would give her time to meditate and reflect. Now she wondered whether that was such a good idea, even for her.

As soon as they cleared the planet's gravitational pull all turbulence ended and the ship smoothed out. RJ breathed deeply, unbuckled her belt, and got out of her seat. She looked at Alan, then at her brother. "Should we put him in a cryogenic chamber?"

"Not unless he becomes unstable. He will keep us company," Poley said quickly, his mechanical origin being more apparent in the quality of his voice when he was annoyed or panicked. He didn't want the man to be put into cryogenic sleep. The robot was attached to him, the way he had always been attached to RJ, maybe even more.

RJ felt as if the whole universe had abandoned her. She nodded silently and left the bridge. She went to check on her plants. They were fine, nothing spilled or knocked over in takeoff. She was half disappointed—it would have been nice to have something to do. She left the "green house" and started towards her quarters. Suddenly she drew up short, stopping to stare at a picture of Topaz etched onto the wall. Gone, they were all gone now, except Poley.

RJ wound up walking up and down the hallways and into the different rooms of the ship, just looking at all of Poley's artwork. When she had first come out of cryo-sleep and seen it, she had been overwhelmed by Poley's "hobby." Then, like anything else, as she saw it every day it had just blended into the background, something she took for granted. Now she took time to really look at them again. Her father, Whitey, Sandra, Topaz, David, Mickey . . . Levits, she smiled, always screaming.

Alone. She had been alone for most of the first part of her life. Surrounded by other soldiers, but separated from them, she had to be careful they didn't find out that she was a GSH, but it hadn't been very hard to keep most of them at bay because part of her nature was obvious. She was obviously an Argy hybrid, and humans didn't want to be around someone who could read their emotions. It made them feel raw and exposed, so usually they kept their distance.

Of course occasionally one of the men would let his sexual curiosity beat down his better judgment, and he'd try to make time with her. It wasn't usually very hard to get them to back off, and if they didn't she promptly beat them to a pulp.

A picture of herself caught and held her attention. She was standing on top of a transport truck, her chain in hand, her face a picture of passionate rage as she flung her favorite weapon out at some unseen foe from some past battle. She started to just walk past and then stopped dead in her tracks. She turned slowly around and went back to look at the picture.

Where did she go?
RJ thought.
Look at me. I used to have such passion, such purpose. How long have I just been going through the motions? One day after another. I remember every word I've ever read, or heard, everything I've ever seen. But when did I change? When did I stop being that woman? I don't know, I . . . I can't put a time on it or even link it to an event. Did it happen slowly over the course of the years or all at once? Did everyone else notice and they just didn't say anything? Everyone else is gone, maybe they took little pieces of me with them when they went and left this thing that I am now
.

Suddenly she found herself running all over the ship looking just at the pictures of herself. Pictures of her smiling and radiantly happy. Crying, and obviously tattered and left in ruins by her grief, but that hadn't done it, either. Looking at the pictures she saw not who she was, but only who she had been. Not one of these pictures was who she was now.

Yet she hadn't aged, she hadn't changed, she was physically the same.

But her soul, her mind, knew that she was approaching her second century.

Knowledge, horrible, terrible knowledge had stolen away the spark of humanity she had worked so hard to acquire. There were beautiful things, wonderful things, everywhere she had ever been, but they were always dwarfed when compared with the harsh truths of life. The really good times, the happy times had been short. The agony, despair and loneliness had stretched out for year upon year, till the only happiness in her life was memories.

People you loved and put your trust in would betray, forget and abandon you just when you least expected it. They would use you as long as it served them and then forget you and toss you aside till they needed you again.

They would die. Some quickly and without warning, ripping your heart from your chest and leaving you in agony. Some died slowly in stages until their death was nothing but a huge relief. Some killed themselves to keep a secret. But they all died.

And when they were gone what had it really mattered that they had ever lived? Levits hoped to be remembered, and he would be, by her. But to the selfish Abornie that he had put so much store in, his memory would fade quickly. His face would only occasionally flash through their thoughts till eventually they wouldn't even remember his name. They would, in fact, remember her longer, because they had hated her, and people tended to remember their enemies long after they had forgotten their friends.

And somewhere along the line, in her mind, everyone had become an enemy. She had vilified the Abornie because she didn't trust them, and she didn't trust them, she realized only now, because she didn't want to. It was easier to just not trust in people, because they would always let you down in some way, shape, or form. Keep them at a distance and then they couldn't hurt you.

"No good deed goes unpunished," Topaz had been known to say. She had stayed on Abornie for Levits' sake, and Topaz had wound up staying, too. She had to wonder if they'd left twenty years ago if Topaz would have stayed. But worse than losing Topaz was what she'd lost of herself. The entire experience had done nothing but drain her spirit dry.

She hadn't realized it till now, but that was why she'd become so involved with the gardening, because it was the only thing that ever seemed to give anything back. She put out effort, and it gave back beauty and tranquility. It asked nothing of her that she couldn't easily give.

Everything else she had ever put her effort into had left her emotionally bankrupt. She had given huge amounts of herself to any number of people, a multitude of causes, and what had she received for all her trouble? What had been the big payoff for her?

She'd sacrificed her own happiness for others more than once, and though a million theologians, poets and scholars would try to tell you otherwise, there simply was no reward. You gave everything you had, and people gave back only what they felt like giving, with little or no thought to your needs. Eventually you wound up like she had, with nothing left to give anyone, not even yourself.

She suddenly felt like a puppet whose strings had been dropped; she went with the feeling and dropped to the floor in a pile.
And what are you doing now, freak? Going back to what? To finish what you started. For what reason? What purpose? Will it make you feel better? Will it make you happy? Do you even remember how to be happy? Do you really believe anyone will care?

She had landed in a sitting position, but found that even that wasn't giving her the "worthless puddle of goo" sensation she suddenly wanted to imitate, so she lay all the way down and stared up at the ceiling, where Poley had carved a picture of Stewart.

How appropriate.

Was he to blame for having created her? Was this horrible empty feeling something that happened to everyone, or was it something that only happened to her because of what she was?

She wasn't immortal, but she was damn close. She didn't fear death, at times she would have welcomed it, but maybe that was because somewhere deep down inside her she knew that unless she was willing to actually work at the whole dying thing it wasn't really an option. She had only ever come close to dying twice; once Whitey had saved her, and once Levits had. Now they were both dead, and she was not only still alive, but physically she was as healthy now as she had ever been.

Almost dying had made her vulnerable for a moment, made her almost human. When she hadn't died, when she had in fact made a full recovery—as good as new—it had left her feeling . . . What?

She thought about it a good long moment and had her answer. It had made her feel separated from the others. More different than ever. She was a GSH, and GSH's had been created for one thing and for one thing only, to serve humans. RJ wasn't like other GSH's, of course, because she hadn't been programmed. Because all her emotions were fully, painfully intact, and she had no expiration date. Yet with all this free will what had she done?

All the things I did, everything I've ever done, so little of it was actually just for me. Why? I enjoyed fighting, admittedly, even fighting for the Reliance. It made me feel important, alive. I enjoyed all the planning and strategizing that went into our attacks on the Reliance, but all that changed when Alsterase was attacked. I changed then, but even then I wasn't the useless shell I am now. Something made me worse.