SCARECROWS AND SKELETONS
By
Paula Sanders
Timeline: On way to New Pacifica
Author's E-Mail: paula.sanders@shawnee.org
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This story was supposed to be a Christmas tale, it still is, I just didn't get it done on time. I got blind-sided by a bad case of bronchitis and have been worthless since sometime before Christmas. I decided that this story would hold up, anyway. And I really, really, really wanted to tell it. So, I hope you'll indulge me, and hang onto that holiday spirit just a little while longer. :-)This is kind of an "It's A Wonderful Life" G889 style and it takes place between "Better Living Through Morganitte" and "Grendlers in the Myst." Also, I am going to serialize it. Something I've never done before. So, hope for a new installment at least once a week. I say hope because I'm very unreliable when it come to writing on a tight schedule. But if I get rollin'... Woo Hoo!!
This tale is dedicated to fellow faithful RHM's everywhere. Enjoy, All!
Maxine -- Great minds think alike, wouldn't you say! ;-)
Scarecrows and Skeletons (1/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) January 1997The Biodome of the Eden Advance Crew's winter camp was alive with activity on this chilly winter afternoon, as they prepared for a celebration. A celebration of Christmas. No one could let the holiday go by without marking its passing, in some way.
Bess Martin had suggested that they have a party - with dancing, food, and music - and she wanted to decorate the Biodome till it shimmered. Yale had gathered everyone last night and begun telling them Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol", an ancient tale, which had never lost it's power to transform the spirit. Walman, Alonzo Solace, Baines, and Julia Heller had taken up the task of scrounging together what little they had in food supplies and they had gone out gathering what edible vegetation there was not hiding in the ground. Magus, John Danziger, and Yale were sifting through their stores to see what they might have in the way of decoration and what there was which might be suitable for presents. After all, what was Christmas without gifts passed around.
Bess Martin had recruited True Danziger, Uly Adair, Denner, Hugh Cameron, and Eben Synge to help her make decorations to hang around, to brighten the place up. Bess had been collecting everyone's spirolina packets for a while and now the three woman were stringing together the foil rings the children and Cameron had cut from those wrappers, to make the garlands which would soon drape from the rafters and the storage platform overhead. Cameron, Uly, and True were now cutting out shapes of angels, snowmen, stars, snowflakes, and all those things associated with Christmas back on Earth. They would hang them off of the various plants which stood in the Biodome, hoping to make things more festive.
Morgan Martin thought it was the silliest display he had ever seen, as he tromped into the main room, shaking the snow off of his collar. He sidled over to the table in the far corner of the room where the busy group was spread out, feeling a scowl tightening his brow and cheeks.
"Is all this..." he made a sweeping motion, encompassing the mess in front of him, "really necessary, Bess?" He stopped his arm as it swung around, clasping both hands behind his back.
His wife immediately stopped what she was doing, to stare up at her husband, dumb-founded. Cameron kept his head down, as did the two woman, pretending to be safely oblivious. The children stole quick, impatient glances, between each other, but tried to remain inconspicuous.
"Yes, Morgan," Bess stated simply and concisely, before turning back to her work. She was infuriating when she got like this; stubborn, immovable, absolutely, positively right on all things.
"I don't see the point of it... decorating, having a party, celebrating Christmas. I mean, it seems kind of silly to me. Why do we need to celebrate Christmas?"
"Why not?" Uly threw out, shrugging. *Just like a kid,* Morgan scoffed. Leave it to a kid to come up with an answer that idiotic.
"Yeah," True chimed in. "Why not celebrate? We haven't got anything else to do."
"Right, sure. Great. Those are all excellent reasons, I'm sure. But I sort of, kind of, would rather have a better reason than that. I mean look at this place. It's a wreck. There's still so much work to be done. Danziger already has a list as long as his arm of stuff that needs fixing."
"Oh no, don't use me as an excuse to call off this party," Danziger's voice sounded from above, where the man was on the storage loft, making Morgan jump.
"Morgan," Bess was using that I'm-going-to-reason-withthis -dimwit-and-make-him-see-my-side-even-if-it-kills-me look she did so well. "All of that work can be done tomorrow, or the next day. It's not like we're going anywhere, anytime soon. What's wrong with taking a few days to celebrate."
"Oh, this is ridiculous." He threw his arms up in the air. They were hopeless. There would be no getting through to any of them.
Just then the doors rattled and Morgan spun around to see Devon Adair enter the main room. *Oh good!* he thought. *Someone to be on my side.*
"Dev--" No sooner had he opened his mouth to say her name, than did Ms. Adair extend her arms out, and open her mouth, talking right over him.
"Bess, are these ropes what you were thinking of?" Devon stepped up to Bess a pair of climbing ropes - one purple and blue, the other orange and green - draped over her arms.
Bess stood up, pushing her chair back, to examine the ropes. "Yes! They're prefect. These should hold the lumalights securely."
Devon moved around the table and set the ropes down on the shelf behind it. "I'm glad. I wasn't sure if they were what you were thinking of."
"Oh, I can't wait to see this place all lit up," Denner exclaimed.
"These decorations are going to transform this ratty, old shack," Cameron assured her.
"Can we put them up, now?" True asked excitedly. "Sure, I guess so," Cameron answered. "Let me go get Mazatl and Baines, to help us. All right?"
"Okay, I'll get the ladder out." True bounced off her seat and hurried off, just as Cameron, smiling broadly, headed off in search of more helpers.
"So, how does this look?" Bess held up her half finished tin foil garland, Uly reached up and extended more of it, so the other could get a better look. The light glinted off the crinkled, used, and torn wrappers. Morgan squinted at it, then looked at his wife's beaming face, and then around at the little boy, Denner, Eben, Danziger, and Devon. All were smiling and giving favorable comments on how fine it looked. Morgan shook his head, frowning.
"I'm surrounded by lunatics, all of you. And me with no straightjackets, not even a padded cell, no Thorazine... hey wait..." Morgan started off in the direction of Julia's room. With his hand extended out before him, index finger pointing and head high, he called out, "Oh Julia, could I speak with you, a moment?"
"He thinks he's the sane one?" Eben muttered, at the bureaucrats retreating back. Denner burst out laughing, so out of control that she nearly fell off her chair. Uly collapsed against the table, guffawing. Bess only giggled, trying to look offended, seeing as the butt of their joke was her husband, but she was failing miserably.
"Morgan, what is wrong with you?" Bess stressed every single word carefully, afraid that her husband had somehow lost his ability to comprehend the English language.
He stared at her, as if she had suddenly gone all purple and pink and green, as they stood together in the supper line, waiting their turn for a bowl of porridge. Bess feared she _would_ turn purple and pink and green if she had to eat much more alpha-glutonate porridge.
"Nothing's wrong with me. Why?" His answer was simple, but he tacked a question on the end. That made her suspicious.
"Because you've been acting so strangely, today. You have me worried." She reached over to touch his arm; he didn't flinch away. A good sign, she thought.
"I've been acting strangely?" His eye brows rose sharply. "Just because I don't want to celebrate Christmas in this hell, you think I'm acting strangely? I'd hate to see what you consider lunatic behavior."
"Morgan, please," she breathed, glancing around at the others, who all diplomatically looked away. "Don't get carried away. I just asked a simple question."
"And I don't see that there is anything wrong with my not wanting to celebrate. I'm not in the mood. What's the big deal, anyway? It's just a stupid holiday."
"A stupid holiday!" Baines suddenly hollered. "Christmas is _not_ a stupid holiday. It's Jesus' birthday. A day to honor him and his selfless acts."
"It's a day to rejoice in all the good things in our life, for family and friends." Bess attempted to help him see their side.
"And, what exactly do we have to rejoice about?" Morgan scoffed.
Bess was too stunned by his words to find an answer, and before she could act, he had turned on his heels and was out the door. The doors banged together twice before Bess could pull herself together enough to go after her husband.
"Morgan, wait!" she called after him, the cold bite in the air stinging her lungs. The sun had disappeared behind the cliff, and soon the sky would be a brilliant indigo, illuminated by the twin moons. The temperature was gradually dropping and Bess wanted to be inside; wanted both of them inside, where it might be a little warmer and was definitely cheerier.
"Morgan! Wait up! Stop!" He finally came to a halt at the base of the slope, which lead away from camp. "Morgan, I'm sorry," she said as she reached him. His shoulders were slumped and he ducked his head. She placed her hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I didn't know you felt that way. I was just so caught up in everything. I didn't see... I didn't know... I'm sorry, Morgan."
"It's--" He almost locked gazes with her, but quickly drew his eyes away. "Remember Christmas back on the stations?" A smile began to slowly spread across her face, at the memory, she nodded. "Lavish parties, our big tree with all your homemade ornaments on it."
"A fire crackling in the fireplace. Of course it wasn't real." She winked at him.
"Of course, real fires were illegal, on the stations. We had lots of presents under the tree. A feast at the Thompson's place, on Christmas Day." His gaze shifted, upward. His face was drawn, and Bess could see the defeat in his eyes. "What have we got, here? Nothing. Snow, cold, no decent food, we're living in a tent, surrounded by creatures who keep trying to kill us, and penal colonists who might just finish the job if given half the chance. We're in the middle of nowhere, light years from those days in our unit. Why do you want to celebrate living in hell?"
"Because we're not living in hell, Morgan," Bess threw at him, hoping to shake him out of this melancholy.
"Wake up, Bess!" He advanced on her, and she stepped back. "Look around you! This God-forsaken ball of dirt is where you live! And I will not celebrate this holiday with you or anyone else. But, if it makes you feel better, you go back to your delusions. You obviously don't need me to complete them. You're doing a fine job without me."
Bess felt her chest grow tighter with every word her husband uttered. By the time he had finished she was too numb with the pain to stop him as he stormed off up the slope away from camp.
"Bess!" It was Mazatl. Bess turned around to see the man approaching, MagPro slung from his shoulder. "Is everything all right? I heard yelling."
Bess shook herself, slightly, to clear her head. "Uh, yeah. Everything's all right. Morgan's just in one of his moods." She tried unsuccessfully to trivialize what had just happened.
"Where's he going?" Mazatl asked, when he spotted Martin's dark figure ascending the hill, the tails of the man's brown overcoat flapping in the wind.
"He went to walk it off. He'll be back, soon." Mazatl nodded and wandered off, back to guard duty, leaving Bess standing alone in the cold shivering, more from worry than any chill in the air. She wrapped her arms around herself and waited until she could no longer see her husband, then she turned and slowly wandered back into the dome.
Individual stars were winking into existence as Morgan Martin walked the woods surrounding the winter camp.
"Why in hell did I take this mission? I should have known better," He grumbled, leaves crunched under his feet. "I should have listened to my better judgement. I'm no use to anyone, here. They'd all be better off without me. I just get in their way and make a mess of things. John Danziger is right. I'm a greedy, selfish, lazy, clumsy, fool. And I never do anything right. I'm no good to anyone. Bess would have been smarter not to marry me. She'd be better off without me. They all would." He kicked up some loose snow, as he went.
Morgan Martin found self-pitying thoughts easier, more comforting, in some twisted way. He fell back into them when things got tough, only making matters worse with respect to the people who were cooped up with him. Most of them were so sick of his whining that they wanted to strangle him. Then again, they weren't the easiest to get along with, either. They could be so sanctimonious. It wasn't like they never complained about life here. They had done their share of complaining. Adjusting to the pioneer life had not been easy for any of them, but Morgan the least of all.
He had gotten off on the wrong foot with every single member of the Eden Advance Crew by taking the escape pod from their advance ship, but he had done his penance for that, by tracking down that Grendler for it's saliva to save their lives. And everyday he lived with the guilt of his selfish act. And then, just when he thought he was gaining some ground, he had stepped in it, again. He should never have touched that Geolock. He knew he should have listened to Bess when she had tried to reason with him. She was correct; they had no right claiming something that wasn't theirs. He hadn't even considered that the Morganitte might be of vital importance to the Terrians. They had shown him just how important that mineral was to them when they had been prepared to kill Yale for something he had done. Morgan couldn't have let an innocent man die in his place. So, he had worked till he dropped trying to decrypt the abort code for the Geolock. When he succeeded he had felt more elated and alive than he had ever felt in his life - with a few exception, most of which involved Bess. And for a brief while he thought that things would change, for him.
Even though, he had made right the wrong he had done, few of the group gave him the least bit of slack. If something went wrong, blame it on Morgan Martin. That's the way it had been his entire life. He had always been a easy target, as a scapegoat, and he freely admitted that there were times when he deserved the blame, for at least taking part. It was easy after a lifetime of being told you're worthless to believe it.
Morgan was staring down at his feet, plowing through the brush, headless of his surrounding, until he collided with something solid, that smelled of dry, arid soil.
"Ow, goddammit! Why don't you--" He cut himself short as he followed his gaze up to meet a tall, limber, richly colored Terrian standing before him. "Uh, hi." He blew out a breath, his jaw slack. "Don't hurt me. Please. I was just up here looking around. It's a nice night, for a stroll. Don't you think? But if you don't want me up here, I could just leave. I don't have to enjoy the night in this particular spot. There are plenty of others. It's a big place, this planet, of yours. Lots of wide open spaces." He laughed uncomfortably. He was babbling and he knew it, but that knowledge didn't stop his tongue. "It doesn't matter to me where I walk. So, I'll just go, now. . . if you don't mind."
The Terrian reached out, as the man turned, stopping Morgan in his tracks, and spun him around. Then, before Morgan could protest or even let out a scream, he was dragged through the earth.
The End of Part 1....
Scarecrows and Skeletons (2/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) January 1997Morgan Martin didn't know where he was.
What he did know, was that this place, he was in, was gritty, crudely lit, and the air was stale. From the alley, which hid him, he could see the mass of people crowded into the thoroughfare. This was the Quadrant, he realized. He had only visited the Quadrant a few times, on business - most of which was conducted through VR - and after every visit he had promised himself he would never go back. The crush of people and the stale air had made him queasy.
What was he doing here? How had he gotten back to the Stations?
*I was up on the hill, above camp,* he tried to reconstruct the events just prior to finding himself here. *I was minding my own business, when a Terrian appear. Oh lord!* He groaned audibly.
As if on cue, A Terrian stepped around him and made its way smoothly out amongst the crowd. Morgan stared, slack-jawed, as the people walked right through the creatures suddenly intangible body.
"That's it," he said, in a long exhale. "I've finally gone completely crazy." His hand slowly rose to his forehead, landing there with deliberate care. "It's the cold and not enough proper food. It's fried what few brain cells I had left."
The creature trilled impatiently, and gestured for Morgan to follow, but he couldn't seem to make his feet move. A shrill, almost angry tone emitted from the Terrian and Morgan jumped; his body lurched forward and his feet hurried to keep up. And soon, Morgan found himself in the middle of the crowd, wondering how he had ended up there.
All around him fluorescent glared and neon glowed. Gaudy chrome and glass store fronts were packed with second rate merchandise. The slimy odor of the greasy spoon restaurants assaulted his nose, turning his stomach. This commercial district, with it's dime store pretension, was the most disgusting display of blatant capitalism that Morgan Martin had ever witness. He believed in doing whatever it took, within reason, to obtain and secure profit - he had never made any attempt to disguise his avarice nature - but he drew the line at swindling and picking the pockets of the poor. That went beyond the bounds of decency. And that was the only purpose of this place. It grated on every nerve in his body.
Morgan Martin had grown up in the comfortable middle class, never wanting for much, but forever mindful of how much was coming in and going out. He'd never gone hungry, never had to beg or steal. He couldn't have imagined living life never knowing where you're next meal was coming from and if it would be edible, until G889. He was surprised to find himself feeling sympathy for these people, now, instead of disdain.
He remembered Bess telling him how on Earth they had looked out for each other; trading, sharing, and lending a hand when times were rough. He had assumed a similar system was in effect in the Quadrant, but from what he was seeing, here, that wasn't so. These people kept their eyes down, and pushed their way through the crowd, as if by ignoring the squalor and despair around them, it would simply disappear. There were a few who stared, their gazes shifting quickly, looks of horrified disgust and dismay on their faces. Morgan suspected, by their actions, that these people were new to this life, and that they would soon behave like everyone else. He wondered if his face wore that same shocked expression.
He backed out of the crowd, feeling suffocated. "I said, GET OUT!"
This was the only warning Morgan received. It all happened too fast.A flurry of motion; a solid, blurred figure hurtled toward him, to collide with his body, knocking him off balance. He hit the ground hard. A scrawny girl - the flying object - hurriedly extracted herself from the tangle they had made, and stood up, brushing down her too tight and often patched, faded clothing.
"I am sorry, sir," she said, barely meeting his gaze, as she straightened her dark blond ponytail. And before Morgan could respond she had spun around, pulled herself to her full 4'11" height and proceeded to march back toward the bar, from which she had so recently been thrown out of.
An orange neon sign flashed over the door; 'Stix', it read, with two, cris-crossed pool cues blinking blue behind it. A heavy-set, scruffy, and scowling man stood at the entrance, arms folded over his massive chest. *The bouncer?* Morgan thought. He climbed clumsily to his feet, suddenly feeling protective of this stranger, who had clobbered him, and wondering why.
"I have every right to be in there," she declared emphatically, staring up at the man.
"No, you don't. I run a legitimate place and I don't serve minors." His shoulders tightened. Morgan held back. *Not the bouncer, then,* he surmised.
"I don't want to drink your liquor. I want a job." "Sorry, we ain't hirin'," he told her, in a clipped tone, and turned away.
The girl grabbed his arm, trying to stop him and Morgan's jaw fell open, slightly, his eyes going wide, at her brazen attitude. Either she was stupider than she looked or very brave. He'd choose stupid. Of course, there was also the possibility that she was just plain crazy. Morgan didn't move.
"Please, sir. I've been all over this sector and no one is hiring. I'll wash dishes, I'll mop your floors, I'll even clean the restrooms. I need the work."
The man appeared to soften, momentarily, but Morgan saw a dangerous glint flash behind his eyes. *Sleaze!* was the first thought to race into his mind. Morgan felt paralyzed. He would never forgive himself if he let this man get his hands on this little girl, but he wasn't much for pain and he didn't want to make himself a sacrificial lamb for a stranger.
*You can't just leave her, here,* an inner voice told him. *Why not? She's nobody,* he answered back, but his conscience was nagging at him; and something else flickered in his memory - something familiar in the way the girl held herself, familiar about that dark blond hair, and stubborn stance. And her sweet, yet commanding voice.
"What's your name, girl?" the man asked, a bit harshly, with an oily quality to his rough voice.
"True," she replied, omitting her last name and Morgan's heart gave a painful leap.
*Danziger?* his mind finished for her. *Oh god!* The burly man reached out a big hand toward her face and Morgan's body lurched forward of it's own free will. *He'll turn me into mince meat,* he screamed silently, but his conscience wasn't listening. The consequences would be too great.
A dirty finger traced a line down her soft, young, unblemished cheek. In the silence of that agonizing moment, Morgan could hear the buzz of the neon sign overhead.
A guttural sound forced it's way up from deep inside him. "Don't touch her!" He'd hoped it had sounded forceful, but he feared it came out more mousy. True spun around to face him, shock bright on her face.
"This is none of your business." The man advanced on Morgan, and his feet, acting on their own, took a few steps back. "So, why don't you just shove off." He gestured down the strip with his arm, an arm that had to be as thick as a TransRover tire.
Morgan snuck a peek around the man, finding True. She met his gaze, entreating. And something in Morgan snapped.
"This is my business," Morgan returned, meeting the man's gaze, forcing his feet to step forward, again.
*I'm a maniac,* his mind hollered. "Come on, True." Morgan reached a hand out toward her, never taking his eyes from the bar owner. "You don't need this job. It's not worth it."
"I can handle myself," she protested, drawing away from both men. Her timid eyes betraying her.
"Don't argue with me!" Morgan ordered. "We're getting out of here, now."
"How do I know you're not going to be just as bad?" she threw at him. "I'm not going anywhere with a stranger."
"Oh, that's brilliant," Morgan scoffed. "You'll take a job with this sleaze-bag, but you won't let me help you. Didn't your father ever teach you anything?"
"My father?" she threw back at him, her face suddenly hardened and went red with angry. "My father is dead!"
It slammed into his body, the air whooshed out of his lungs. And he suddenly realized what was happening. He swiveled around, looking for the Terrian, finding it standing behind him, a distance away. He asked a question with his eyes, and the Terrian trilled an affirmative.
Morgan remembered Yale's story from the night before, about a greedy, avarice, old miser who was shown, in one night, the good in himself and the good he could do to make a difference in people's lives, to make his life count for something. Then, he suddenly remember an old movie - two hundred and fifty years old - about a man whose despair lead him to suicide. An angel had shown this man, with painful reality, the difference his presence made in his loved ones lives. The Terrians must have somehow learned of these stories, maybe through Alonzo, and had decided to experiment with Morgan.
"Are you out for your wings?" Morgan quipped and the Terrian returned a puzzled look. "No, I don't suppose Terrians have wings."
"Oh god, this is just too much," he moaned, as he slowly turned back to True. "And on an empty stomach, to boot. Well, hey. It's not like I'm not used to it. I do everything on an empty stomach these days. So, what should that matter?"
True's brow had knitted together, her expression wary. She was probably wondering if this stranger was entirely sane.
"Your father? John Danziger?" She nodded. "He's dead?" "He died four months ago," True told him, tears shining in her eyes, the tip of her nose bright red.
"How?" he asked.
"Listen," the proprietor butted in. "It's nice that you're having this little reunion, and all. But would ya mind taken it somewhere else. And take the pip-squeak with you. I can do better than her, any day." He waved them away and turned, reentering his establishment."Well, that's just great!" True barked, stamping her foot into the ground. "You just cost me a job. The only available job in this sector."
Morgan stared at her dumb-founded and more than a little saddened, that she would be that desperate.
"True, I don't think he wanted you to wash dishes," Morgan told her.
"It meant money."
"True--"
"Would you quit calling me that!"
"It is your name, isn't it?" His eyebrows rose. "Well, yeah. So." Her hands planted on her narrow hips. "So, may I call you by your name? Or would you rather I said, 'Hey you' or what'z'er-name?" His lips quirked in an uncomfortable smile."Okay, I guess you can call me True." She lowered her hands, relaxing fractionally. "But only if you tell me your name."
Morgan stared at her stupidly for a moments, then answered, "Morgan Martin. Come on." Morgan gestured her away from the bar. "Let's get outta here. I'll take you home." She froze. "You do have a home?"
"Sort of," she replied. "I kinda live with some friends. They've been taken care of me."
"Then, we'll go there," he said. "Lead the way."
"So, True. Um... How did your dad die?"
They were walking the garishly lit hallway of one of the habitat section of this Quadrant. The steel plated walls were buffered by panels of gray-blue carpeting, against the walls and underfoot, but the carpets were old, faded and shabby, like everything else, here. The recycled air had a slightly musty quality to it that True didn't seem to take notice of. Morgan guessed she wouldn't, having lived here all her life.
He had found her begging, and couldn't leave her there; his mind kept flashing on the bright-eyed, curious, happy kid he had spent the past two months with, when he looked at this far too weary and care worn woman-child beside him. He wanted to see the spark back in her, again.
Morgan had never been a big fan of kids, and sometimes they made him anxious; he never knew what they were going to do next. He didn't like that they expected all adults to feel the same way about them; amused by them, eager to help, and happy to have them around. He knew one day, when he and Bess decided to have children he'd get over it, and as he spent more time with Uly and True he had found that it wasn't so bad. He even like them, some times.
Yet, this True was far from any kid he had ever known. In fact, she wasn't a kid, not really. She held herself with an air of importance, usually only seen in adults. And there was knowledge in her eyes, no kid should possess. *She had no mother and now has no father,* the thought drifted through his mind.
Danziger was dead. Morgan's chest felt unbelievably heavy, his feet sluggish, and his head was spinning. For all his overbearing, sanctimonious blustering, Morgan knew that Danziger was a good man; even if he did throw his weight around like a neadrathal. Morgan could not abide people like Danziger, who stormed around, oozing testosterone, using intimidation to keep people in line. Though, unlike some tyranical overlords, Danziger only used his superior height and bulk on the people he didn't trust or like; and Morgan had been the man's primary target, adding to his feelings of alienation and self-doubt.
Morgan never deluded himself about his inadequecies, they had been shoved in his face too many times to be ignored. Even so, the last thing he had needed while struggling to survive on an unknown planet was someone reminding him that he was no-good, worthless pondscum. What bothered him the most was that unconsciously he was aware that he had been trying to seek any kind of validation, even grudgingly given, from this man.
*I'm truly twisted!*
It had been the same with Bess' father, Maynard Klempt. Though he'd been afraid of Mr. Klempt, because with a word that man had the power to ruin Morgan's life, by convincing Bess that her intended was a fraud. It seemed to be a pattern. A deadly spiral of self-destruction, which had all started with his father's frequent belittling lectures.Morgan envied True the closeness she had with her father, and the respect and devotion they both had for each other, something far different from his experiences. He could only imagine how much she must be hurting, right now.
Despite his animosity toward Danziger, Morgan would never wish the man dead. He'd never wish anyone dead. Still, he was surprised by the strength of his emotions tied to this man's death, even if it wasn't really real; or was it? It sure as hell felt real.
True hadn't answer his question, right away, but gazed at her shoes, kicking, ineffectually, at the flat carpet. He was about to prompt her, when she spoke.
"It was an accident. A stupid accident." "What happened?"
Her head shot up; startled, angry, steel and sapphire eyes met his."What do you care?"
"I, uh..." Morgan fumbled. "I, um, I knew your father." "Uh-uh, no you didn't," True challenged. "I knew everyone my father knew. And I don't know you.""Trust me, True. I knew your father," he assured. His gaze turned up to the ceiling, and he halted. "John Danziger, about 35 years old, tall. . uh. . curly, blond hair, good with tools. Um... let's see... Intimidating, stubborn and damned infuriating." True actually laughed; it was a quiet giggle, but it was something. "See, I did know your father." Morgan smiled.
"Yeah, I guess you did," she returned, softening. "So, what happened to him. I'd really like to know." "When I turned eleven, he went back to doing space walks. He hadn't done many of them, but it only takes one, sometimes." Morgan nodded, with appropriate solemnity. "Those damned suits they wear. They're supposed to be so fool-proof."
"It depends on the fool," Morgan tried for levity, but it didn't work, as usual.
"Yeah, those fools who are at the controls, safe in their little cubical on the station; they screwed up and my dad died."
"Why did he do it?" Morgan asked, confused, wondering why Danziger didn't take the job with the Eden Project. It offered him exactly what he wanted - instantaneous release from his Passage-Up Debt.
"Why'd he take the space walk?" True asked for clarity. He nodded. "Why does anyone take them? It's means good pay. It's some of the highest paying work on the stations, for a drone. We needed the money. All cause he wants me to have a better life." Her head tilted back, abruptly, as her gaze penetrated the ceiling, reaching up toward the heavens, desperately. "Well, I've got news for you, Daddy. This is not a better life!" she all but shouted. Her head dipped, as her shoulders sank. "I've got no father, a two generation Passage-Up Debt and no way to pay it."
"Why didn't he take the job with Eden Project?" He had asked the question without realizing he was saying it out loud.
"The what?" True frowned at him, then her brow rose. "Oh, you mean that thing that woman, the rich one.... Oh, what's her name?"
"Devon Adair," Morgan supplied weakly. "Yeah, her. Most people said she was crazy, for leaving the stations, and taking all those sick kids half way across the galaxy. I guess she is. The Eden Project never launched. Haven't heard much of her since."
"What?!" Morgan had always thought that saying, about someone's jaw hitting the floor was pretty stupid, but not now. Now, he imagined he could feel his jaw slap the floor. "No, you've got to be wrong. I was with the Eden Project. I got stranded with my wife, Devon, you, and your Dad and about 12 other people, on G889. I remember they tried to blow up the ship, when we launched, but we made it. We escaped the stations. We've been living in tents, eating spirolina and alpha-glutonate for months."
True had begun slowly backing down the hall, away from him. "I uh... I really gotta get going. Wentworth will be wondering where I've been. It, uh.. was nice to... um... meet you, sir. Thanks for your help. Bye!" As she said the last, she had turned and was now running down the hall.
Morgan stood paralyzed, for a long moment. He was shocked out of it, by an insistent trilling beside him. And turning, he saw the Terrian standing against the wall. It tilted it's head to the side, curiously.
"Okay, what the hell is going on, here?" he demanded, stepping up to the creature.
The End of Part 2
Scarecrows and Skeletons (3/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) January 1997Author's note: EeeeOouch... but this one hurt. And it's down hill from here. I know that the first part sort of set this up with a more humorous tone, and the second one carried it over, but from here on it gets far more serious and darker. But seeing as it's Morgan we're following, there's got to be a few misplaced wisecracks, here and there. Hang in there, with me. I'm doing my best. I'm not sure exactly how many parts there will be, but it won't go on forever. I couldn't stand that, myself.
"THE Council!? Julia, those people can do terrible things!"
Morgan Martin _The Enemy Within_
Terrians have a way of appearing as inanimate as the rocks they came from, and that's exactly what this creature was playing at, now, as Morgan Martin leaned against the far wall, arms folded over his chest, waiting for an answer to his previous question. 'What the hell is going on, here?'
"So, are you going to answer my question, or not? I know you can understand me," Morgan told it. "You've communicated with us before." The creature only stared. With a sigh, he dropped his arms to his sides.
"I don't get this. True said the Eden Project never launched. But I know it did." The creature looked at him, almost as if to say 'do you?' And Morgan rethought his words. He didn't know. Honestly, at this very moment, he couldn't even be sure that his hair was brown.
"Okay, so maybe it never did, but why? I mean, Devon would never give up on her goal. Not after so much sacrifice. And she would never let Dison Blalock win. I mean, come on, this is a woman who took off from the stations without clearance and almost got us all blown to bits. She's a fanatic about that project of hers." Morgan started to pace, agitated. "What I don't understand is; what does all this have to do with me? My involvement in the Eden Project was minor. I was the government liaison, about as useful to her as food is to you." Again, that look formed on the Terrian's face, asking him if he could be so sure about that.
"You're a lot of help, you know that?" The creature didn't even flinch.
What had happened to the Eden Project? Did they red tape it to death? Did Devon lose faith? Had she come up against some obstacle that there was no getting around? There was only one thing that he knew of that could cause Devon to give up on the Eden Project. It flew into Morgan's mind, assaulting his already raw nerves - Uly.
Morgan spun away from the creature, to sprint down the hall, then halted abruptly. "Uh, how am I supposed to get around? I don't have a valid fund transfer code. And I have to use the trains. I wish I could just, sort of, flit around like you do, but I..uh.. can't."
The Terrian motioned to his pocket. "What?" Morgan lifted his arms, out of the way. "There's something in my pocket? Besides lint?" Morgan's hope of a jovial smile failed. He reached inside the coat pocket and felt a flat, plastic, square object. Hastily, he whipped it out, and found himself staring at a debit card. "Wow," he breathed. "Thanks."
The Terrian gave no response, other than disappearing before Morgan's eyes. Turning away, he shook his head, trying to clear it, then set off.
*I must be insane.*
Norwich Station had the distinction of being the oldest operational habitat station still orbiting the Earth. It's outward appearance was elegance and classic style; and inside, it housed their society's highest elite class, as well as housing the most notorious of the Quadrants. When Morgan was a kid, it had been _the_ place that he and his friends had dreamed of one day living in. Every kids dreamed of Norwich, like the golden castles in fairy tales. If you made it to Norwich, you're worries were over. And if, in your rapid climb, you happened to stumble, to miss your foot-hole, the Quadrant was there to break your fall, bitterly.
Morgan Martin had made it, he had lived in a modest unit, in Sector Twelve, when he'd first arrived. He wasn't anywhere near the elite, but he could proudly boast that he lived on Norwich.
Today, though, Morgan made his way to the nearest monorail station, slid his credit card through the slot - with no mishap - then found the number 46, which would take him to Sector Five. After that, he would ride the lift up to the number 10 car and it would leave him off in the business district of that sector, where he knew Adair Design Corp had its offices.
He made an arbitrary decision about where to sit, since the car was fairly empty, it didn't matter, and slid into one by a window, near the front. The whole trip would take him about twenty minutes, giving him plenty of time to think. That was about all there was to do. The blur of the lights outside, as the train sped along the track, were paled by the hot flourescents overhead, making it impossible to see anything beyond the murky glass. Morgan remembered taking a similar trip to work every morning and home every evening for close to ten years. It felt so different, now. Wrong somehow - confining. He shifted in his seat, drawing his coat around him.
Deputy Secretary of Interstellar Development; his assignment as the Eden Project's government liaison, had meant a huge jump in the hierarchy, for him. One he felt he deserved. He had worked his tail off for five years, with no reward, as he watched everyone else grabbing their brass rings. The Eden Project was to have been his brass ring, but it had quickly proven to be made of tin, neatly disguised. When he had reached out for it - it had crumpled against the weight of in his grasp. But, at the time, he had been too blinded by the glimmer of prospects, to see the fall he would take.
There had been rumors whispered through his office, about that fanatic Devon Adair, the wealthy socialite who was throwing it all away to organize an expedition to leave the stations and colonize on a distant planet. Along with that talk had been hushed gossiping that there were certain people who wanted to put an end to her little venture. Most of the talk had labeled Devon as crazy. No one understanding why she wanted to leave. They had everything they needed, right here. Why go looking somewhere else, for something you didn't need? Then word had filtered down about the plight of the Syndrome Children. Devon Adair, the Crusader they'd called her, after that; their tones had unkindly mocked her. And Morgan had found himself joining in. It had been easier to play along, to pretend he felt exactly as they did, when in fact his heart did go out to those dying children.
Oh, he wasn't trying to delude himself that he was a saint or anything. His main motivation for taking the assignment was pure and simple, selfish greed. If Devon Adair wanted to go to the trouble of opening the window to his opportunity he'd be happy to let her. Still, he had never fully understood how their government could turn their backs on these children; innocents who had never done them any harm. Until, he realize that in the Council's eyes, these children were a threat to them, to their ordered and safe society. They would lose control of the population, if the citizens scattered. And control meant everything to the Council.
Morgan Martin would never forget the first time he had become fully aware of what the Council was capable of. He had just made the jump to Level Two; young, eager, ready to make his mark, he had stumbled across some files marked Sanitation Systems, and thinking they had something to do with the work he'd been assigned, he had opened them. Only to find that they contained information about the Council's judicial dumping grounds. The locations were unnamed, classified for security reasons, but they did contain basic information about structure and the people the Council deemed criminal, dangerous, or heretical. They were shoving those people into cans and setting them adrift, pointed in the right direction, to eventually make planet fall, somewhere - the Council didn't care. After that revelation Morgan had kept his head low and his nose clean.
The day he'd been assigned to the Eden Project, his boss, Sasha Leonard, the Secretary of Interstellar Development had called Morgan into his office, bring out into the open the rumors of Devon Adair's Eden Project. As Secretary Leonard had explained to Morgan what his job was to be his stomach had been roiling, and his heart thundering in his ears. Was this how they did it? He remembered thinking. Was this how they got rid of their own? Sending them on dead-end assignments from which they were sure to never return. He had talked himself out of those desperate thoughts, as his boss praised the work Morgan had done for his office, and told him that his position with the Eden Project would be an important one. He was to monitor the progress of the colony, overseeing their government's interests. Since praise was a thing rare and almost foreign to Morgan he could only respond with gratitude, pushing his fears aside. His avarice had taken over, dreaming up scheme after scheme, how he was going to make his fortune at the ends of the universe. The bitter reality still stung.
Devon had treated him like an ant, from day one. He never experienced the infrequent kind words, he knew she gave some of her people. She was cold, distant, and disdainful toward him; never listening or heeding a word of advice he gave her, brushing him aside with a wave of her hand. Her dismissals had been infuriating. He had never considered himself an extremely intelligent or shrewd man, but he was far from stupid. He had studied law and passed with honors. He had worked hard to get where he was; and he understood the inner-workings of their political system infinitely better than Adair, but she wouldn't listen to him.
Ms. Adair never listened to anyone when they appeared to stand on the opposite fence from her. He found that out very quickly. He had been useless to Devon, her distrust of any politician had made his job impossible. So, why did this Terrian seem to think his lack of presence on the Eden Project would cause it to fail?
His thought had so occupied him, that he hadn't realized he was standing before Adair Design Corps' office complex, until someone bumped into him. Both mumbled apologies, as they straightened themselves, then moved on; Morgan to enter the lobby.
Morgan Martin had almost forgotten what it felt like to be somewhere that was utterly clean; after living in the desert and mountains for two months. As he entered the reception area of the office suite from which Devon Adair had worked out of, Morgan wished he had a clean change of clothes. He could feel, smell, even taste the dirt clinging to him. Every surface of this office was polished to a high gloss, and he could see the fine layer of dust he was leaving on everything he came into contact with. They would certainly throw him out before he could get much further into the office, taking him for a vagrant or an Earth Res. Despite these worries, his mind was too crowded with all the implications of what he had just learned from True Danziger, that he couldn't really think about anything else. Other thoughts darted in but disappeared just as quickly.
He kept walking.
The desk at reception was unoccupied and Morgan slipped past it, to the inner office, where he knew he would find Devon's executive assistant. A young woman, with sandy blond hair and a beak of a nose, looked up from her desk as he entered. Kate Leland's nose wrinkled, and her chin tucked up against her neck, as if her nose were retreating from something offensive.He sniffed. *Of course. It's me,* he sighed. "Hello, may I help you?" she asked, in a friendly but wary tone.
"Yes, I'm here to see Devon Adair," he told her, keeping his place. He didn't want to make her or himself feel any more uncomfortable.
"Oh, I'm sorry, she's not in," Kate told him, relaxing a bit. "I could take down your name and a place where she could reach you. If you'd like."
"I _really_ need to speak with her. It's urgent business." "Well, Mr. Harrison is in. I'm sure he'd be happy to help you with whatever problem you may have."
"Mr. who?" Morgan felt his brow begin to sweat. "Mr. Kenneth Harrison," she said carefully, staring at him, puzzled.
*Probably wondering what planet I just flew in from. If she only knew.*
"Harrison?" Morgan made a show of thinking over the name. "No, I don't believe I know him."
"The CEO of Adair Design Corp," she explained. Then, under her breath added, "Though, I don't know how much longer it'll be that."
Morgan shook his head vehemently. "No. It's Devon who's the CEO. Devon. You know, Devon Adair. Feisty woman, intimidating as hell. Dark hair. Petite. Looks as if her eyes really would shoot dagger."
"Oh, haven't you heard?" Kate returned, looking at him as she might a five year old who was wondering where his favorite, shabby toy was - the one Mommy had just thrown out. "Devon Adair is no longer the head of Adair Design."
"No longer, what?" It burst out of Morgan as he felt his knees buckle. In an instinctive movement, he staggered forward, planting his hands firmly on the desk. She leaned away from him.
"Sir, please..."
"I can't take this," he mumbled. "Devon is no longer the CEO of her own company?""She hasn't been into the office for at least a month," Kate explained.
"Why?" He could feel the tremor in his throat, over that word. He knew the answer, and wondered why he had even bothered to ask for confirmation.
Kate shrugged, her grey eyes softening into sympathy. "She hasn't been the same since her son died."
"Oh good lord," he breathed.
Morgan pushed himself off the desk, muttering, "No. This is. . . No. You've gotta be. . . Oh lord." Then he turned and fled."Sir. Sir!" Kate called. "You forgot to give me a point of contact." He was gone almost before the words were out.
Morgan stopped before the door to Devon's spacious unit, and doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Had he really run all the way? He reached up a trembling hand to press the doorbell; gaping, drawing in a large breath, one his chest was too tight to accommodate. Before the door opened he attempted to gather his wits - what he had left of them, precious little - and tried to straighten out his hair and clothing. He knew he looked like a bum, no matter what he did, but he had to make a stab at looking presentable.
After a long moment the door swung open. "May I help you, sir?" He knew that voice, the lyrical cadence. He looked up to see Yale standing in the doorway, wearing a neatly pressed, expertly tailored, cocoa brown suit. The stately man looked ashen.
"Um, yes." Morgan took a step forward. Yale did the same. *Pawn to Queen's Bishop,* Morgan thought. "I'm here to see Devon Adair."
"I'm sorry, but Devon isn't seeing anyone, today," Yale told him, then started to close the door. Morgan planted a hand in the way.
"It's really important that I see her." His chest was tight, he hadn't even been sure he could get the words out. Yale stared at him with disdain, and only a hint of pity.
"Ms. Adair doesn't give hand-outs. And she is not in the habit of hiring vagrants. Now, if you would kindly remove your hand. Good day, sir."
Morgan glanced down at his tattered, faded, and dirty clothing, then back up to Yale. He forced a weak smile, removing his hand from the door. "Oh, no. You've got it all wrong. I'm not after a hand-out, or a job. I need to speak with Devon about the Eden Project." Yale's eyes widened, panic evident in his face. He glance over his shoulder, once, into the apartment. "I used to work for her on that project."
"Then, you already know all there is to know," Yale returned, readying to slam the door in Morgan's face.
"Wait!" His hand flew up reflexively to trap the door. "Please, I need your help."
The cyborg dropped his arm, at the genuine need Morgan must have reflected.
"I'm sorry, sir. But Devon does not see anyone, these days." Yale's voice held tremendous sadness.
*Because of Uly,* Morgan thought, but didn't say. Not wanting to say it, yet.
"She'll see me. She has to see me," Morgan demanded. "Yale," the voice quivered on the name. "Who is it?" Morgan looked past Yale to see Devon Adair enter the hallway. The first thing he noticed about her was how pale her complexion was. She leaned against the door frame, dressed all in black, the light from the room shining a halo around her; strong features were masked by shadows. She could have been a ghost, for how insubstantial she appeared.
"Devon," Morgan pushed out. She stiffened, hugging the door frame.
"Who are you?"
"Devon, it's Morgan," he tried. Yale moved aside to allow him entry. "Morgan Martin." She shook her head, slightly."I don't know you." Her eyes narrowed, as he drew nearer. "Sure you do. Morgan Martin, Level Four government liaison to the Eden Project."
Devon turned to alabaster, her eyes to glass. She shook her head violently, as if the simple action would shake something - something terrible and painful - loose. Then, she darted back into the room from which she had come. Morgan started after her but Yale's hand, on his arm, stopped him.
"Please, Mr. Martin. Leave her be," he requested, in a gentle, entreating tone.
"Yale, please. Something very strange is going on, here. And I need your help to sort things out."
The older man sighed, and his shoulders relaxed their stiff posture. "What can I do for you, sir?"
"First off, you can call me Morgan." Yale nodded. "And second, you have to promise you won't think I'm insane for anything I say."
Yale stared at him quizzical, for a moment, then, recognizing the sincerity in the man before him, he said, "I endeavor to keep an open mind in all things, Morgan."
"Good," he signed. "Because this is going to sound pretty unbelievable."
"Could you wait one moment, please?" Yale requested. "Let me see to Devon first. If you will wait in the study, for a moment. Devon is distraught, and I can't leave her like this."
It wasn't long before Yale entered the formal study - it had to be formal, because it had obviously never housed any real work, with it's plush forest green carpet, antique, real mahogany furnishings, and soft lighting. Morgan rose from the stuffed chair he was sitting in, as the cyborg closed the door.
"How is she?" Morgan tried to infuse his voice with the appropriate amount of concern.
"She's fine, for now." Yale crossed the room and Morgan was fully aware, for the first time, of just how weary Yale seemed. The older man carefully lowered himself into the chair to the right of the fake fireplace and Morgan chose the one opposite. "Now, Morgan. What is it that is so important that you feel you have to barge in here and disturb Devon?"
"Listen, I know you're not going to believe this, but please try to accept it as truth." Morgan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, I'm not crazy. I didn't just escape from an institution, and I'm not on any kind of mind altering hallucinogens."
"Please, Mr. Martin." Yale made an impatient gesture for Morgan to move on.
"Okay, here's the thing. I know the Eden Project launched. I was there, in the cockpit, when we took off without authorization. I was there when we crash landed on planet G889. Uly was healed, by some creatures who live in the ground. I've been there, on that planet, for two months now, as we've struggled to survive. Then, suddenly." Morgan bounced off his seat and began to pace. "I'm walking through the woods above our winter camp and a Terrian, one of those creatures that healed Uly, grabs me and I'm back here, on the stations. And I'm being told that the Eden Project never launched, the man who should have been head of the Ops crew has died, Devon doesn't run her own company anymore, and her son is dead." Alarm was plainly evident on Yale's face, as he pressed himself against the back of his chair. "Look, you said you would keep an open mind. I told you I'm not crazy. But I'm also not stupid enough to think you'll think what I have to say is reasonable."
"Mr. Martin, you obviously believe what you are telling me. I can see it in your eyes. But, it is very difficult for me to believe."
"I know," Morgan sighed, sinking back onto the couch which stood behind him, conveniently where he had stopped pacing.
"What is it you want of me, Morgan?" Yale asked. "Tell me what happened," Morgan answered, through his hands, which were covering his face. "Everything."
"You say you were with the Eden Project?" Morgan looked up, to see Yale gazing at him dubiously. Morgan nodded. "In what capacity, then? May I ask?"
"I was, or rather should have been the government liaison. My title was Deputy Secretary of Interstellar Development." Somehow, that title seemed so far off and unimportant, in this place, at this time.
"I don't recall a Mr. Martin, but I was never up-to-date on Devon's staff. She had my ear, but she rarely used it. You say, Deputy Secretary?" Yale had an odd blank look in his eyes, and Morgan feared he was doing a database search.
All Yale's were programmed with all important Station databases, because when they were 'under the knife', so to speak, it was, as yet, unclear what their purpose was to be. As an added bonus, those databases often came in handy for teaching some lessons, as well.
"That's what my job title was," Morgan was careful with his word choice, using past tense to emphasize that, here, he was a nobody.
"I find no record of a Morgan Martin, in my files," Yale returned, with a curious frown.
Morgan shuddered, visibly. "Could we not talk about that, right now? Let's get back to the Eden Project."
"Yes, I am sorry. Where do you want me to start?" "Wherever you like," Morgan waved his hand carelessly. "Tell me about the Eden Project. What happened to it?"
The cyborg's expression hardened. "It was an ill-fated venture." The statement was flat, toneless. "_They_ never wanted her to succeed and _they_ used everything at their disposal to ensure that we remained here, on the stations."
"What did _they_ do?" Both men knew who 'they' were, there was no need to voice it. Morgan tried to will his hands to stop shaking, but it was a futile effort.
"Port Authority stalled her with botched paper work. Devon was told _they_ were having trouble convincing certain parties that her project would be beneficial. She seems to believe that _they_ were even buying off the crew she tried to hire. All that money, and they wouldn't even consider it." Yale sat forward in his chair. "But that wasn't the worst of her troubles."
"What was?"
"More like, who was," Yale corrected. "Ryan J. Kirby was the government liaison to the Project, I believe." His gaze was piercing, questioning Morgan's truth. "Yes, I remember Devon mentioned him, often. He was a shrewd man. It's because of him that _they_ were able to put an end to the project. Every move Devon made, he had a counter move. He was placed with the project for the sole purpose of making sure it never succeeded.""Ryan Kirby was the liaison to the project?" Morgan's throat was dry and painfully tight.
"Yes, he was assigned two years into the project. During its initial stages. But he didn't show his true colors until this last year."
Morgan surged to his feet, covering his mouth; feeling a scream of rage crawling up from deep inside him. Of all the people on the stations, to have Kirby assigned to the Eden Project, in his place. The man's reputation, as a first rate barracuda, was well known to anyone who work with, around, or anywhere even remotely near Ryan Kirby. Devon wouldn't have stood a chance against a man like that.
"How could Devon have been so stupid?" Morgan went rigid when he realized he'd asked the question out loud, he hadn't meant to.
"She had no choice, Mr. Martin" Yale answered, a bit harshly.
"But what about all those sick kids." Morgan swiftly changed subjects. "It's not just Devon and Uly we're talking about. Devon had two hundred and fifty families with her."
Yale nodded sadly. "Some of them have already met their fates. Uly died almost two months ago. He was so brave. He didn't cry. I remember, he smiled up at her, his little face so pale and thin. He told Devon that everything would be all right."
Morgan felt his chest tighten and his eyes began to sting at the corners. Tears glistened in the older man's eyes.
"Devon lost what little joy she had in her life, when she lost her son. Uly was the strength which held her upright. She had no fight left in her, after he died." Yale and Morgan stared at the same invisible spot on the carpet, in silence, for a long moment. Abruptly, Yale shook himself, and met the younger man's startled gaze. "Many of the children are still young. Dr, Vasquez is still determined to see to it that a cure is found. He was livid, when Devon discontinued the Eden Project. He'll never forgive her."
"Vasquez?" Morgan queried, swiveling to face the cyborg, again. "He's still fighting for the Syndrome Children?"
"Yes, he's very dedicated." Morgan noticed that Yale's eyes were dull. "But he's coming under a lot of fire. I don't think he's entirely safe."
Thoughts of Dr. Vasquez brought thoughts of another dedicated doctor, who had saved their lives many times, during their perilous journey; Dr. Julia Heller. Did she work for Vasquez in this reality, or had she been just a last minute inclusion, by the Council? He'd never been sure exactly how she had come to be with them.
"Have you heard anything about a Dr. Heller? She should be with his team."
Yale was searching, again. "No, I'm sorry. All I get are her basic bio stats. Nothing more detailed than that."
"That's okay," Morgan assure him, wilting. "I'm not sure I want to know."
"Morgan, can I get you anything?" Yale offered, standing. "No," Morgan answered falsely. "You've been a great help. Thank you but, I really should get going." Morgan already had his hand on the doorknob.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I've got the answers I came for. Thanks." He flung open the door, feeling numb; his extremities seemed to belong to someone else. Yale followed, as he hurried out the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb Devon, again."It's been interesting," Yale grimaced, but there was a hint of humor behind his eyes.
"Yeah, real," Morgan muttered, as he exited the apartment. "Thanks, Yale. And I'm really sorry, things turned out the way they did."
Morgan stood awkwardly in front of the Yale series tutor. He'd always felt uncomfortable about the social niceties, condolences and all that stuff.
"Thank you, Mr. Martin. Good luck." With that said, Yale closed the door, leaving Morgan standing alone in the hallway.
He wasn't alone for long.
"Oh, so you're back now, are you," Morgan greeted the Terrian, turning around at the sound of its song.The creature reached out for him, but Morgan pulled away, shaking his head.
"Not until you give me some idea of what this is all about." That dusky, pliable face wrinkled, angrily, and in a swift movement - too swift for any human to react - it clasped its hand around Morgan's wrist, pulling him forward.
"No. No. Please no!" Morgan pleaded, as the Terrian backup to the far wall. Suddenly, his body began to tingle, to shimmer, and he felt himself floating. "Oh god! This can't be happening!" He cried out, a sharp sound, cut off as he followed the Terrian through the wall.
Down the hall, a door opened. A tall distinguished looking man, impossibly pale, stepped out from his unit, curious about the commotion. He looked up the corridor and down. Then, seeing nothing, he shrugged and reentered his home.
The End of Part 3
Scarecrows and Skeletons (4/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) February 1997"Oh, please. Spare us the bad apple analogy. Will ya. I just can't stand that -- 'Oh, I'm just the shiny, red, misunderstood one' part."
Morgan Martin to Julia Heller _Redemption_
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....."
His eyes were tightly shut, as he waited for the unnerving tingling sensation to stop. He was weightless, intangible, without mass, as he floated through an ethereal realm. Morgan Martin was too busy panicking to noticed the sheer mystical beauty of the experience.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...."
Then, he hit something. Hard. Solid. "Ouch!" He reached for his elbow, painfully aware that he could feel his body, as something tangible, again."Ow, god. Why me?" He tried to climb to his feet - everything hurt - and he slowly opened his eyes, to see the Terrian standing over him. "Did you have to drop me that hard?"
The creature returned an impassive stare, what on a human would have passed for a scowl. Morgan shook his head, wearily. He was getting more than a little tired of this. He wanted to go home; not his home on the stations, but his home where Bess was, the winter camp on G889. Where everything was right, as it was supposed to be. Not this wacked out alternate reality where everything was off kilter. What he wanted didn't matter, though. He was stuck here.
"Okay," he began, as he straightened up. "What's next?" He sighed heavily, as he brushed down his overcoat. "I haven't seen Alonzo, or Julia, or my wife. So, whose wrecked life do I get to feel guilty over, next?"
Morgan looked around expectantly, taking in the spartan office; he stood in front of a small, chrome desk, upon which sat only a computer terminal and a portable planner. No family photographs, no knick-knacks. The room was dimly lit; the primary source of light came from the large windows, and the reflected sunlight from the Earth's globe looming outside; it cast long, deep, menacing shadows. This did not look promising.
He heard an electronic rushing sound, which always announced someone's arrival in VR, and a woman coalesced behind that desk. With careful grace, she took the seat, appearing to prepare herself for someone's arrival. She sat back in the chair casually, her classic features set to a mask of indifference. Her dark, chin length hair swung once, as she resettled herself. Her back was ram-rod straight as she sat forward, considering steepling her fingers over the desk. Then, thinking better about it she sat back, again. Morgan just watched the display, realizing that she had no idea of his presence, utterly fascinated at this opportunity to play voyeur, to her rehearsal.
"Blast it! Why did they give me this idiotic assignment?" She swung the chair around, once. She was obviously younger than her outward composure had lead him to believe. "No one cares about those sick kids anyway. And Vasquez is no threat. No matter what they think." She was facing him, again. Her onyx eyes stared at an invisible spot on the far wall. "But I must do what I must," she said, with abrupt decisiveness, and reached down to give a tug to her dark blue waistcoat.
Another rushing sound announced a new arrival and Morgan jumped as Dr. Julia Heller appeared at his side. His raw nerves screamed, and he darted away from her, to the far corner.
"Ah, Citizen Heller," the woman greeted. "Is your report ready?"
"Yes, Citizen Austin." Julia's back was stiff, as she stood before the desk. Her hair was pulled back off of her face, in a practical, easy style, and she wore a light blue, high collar shirt and navy blue trousers, over which was worn an impossibly white and rigid doctor's labcoat. The thing looked like it could stand on its own.
"Good. Please, have a seat." Julia pulled over one of the chairs which were against the wall and sat down. "Now, when you're ready to begin, tell me and I will start recording."
"Whenever you're ready," Julia replied. "All right, then. . ." The woman sat forward and reached for the terminal's keyboard. "Let's get started, shall we?" She punched a few keys, then sat back, steepling her fingers, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair. "What do you have to report, Citizen?"
"Nothing unusual, this week, Citizen," Julia replied. "No change in the children. No losses, to report, this week."
"And Dr. Vasquez?" Austin prompted. "Is he still planning his news conference for Monday morning?"
So, the Council was after Vasquez. Well, that was nothing new. After Devon Adair, Dr. Vasquez was one of their primary targets. They had not objected to his research on the Syndrome, not entirely. Publicly the Council refused to acknowledge the existence of this disease, but behind closed doors, they were not so lax as to ignore possible threats. And this Syndrome was a major threat. It was slowly and methodically wiping out their population.
Morgan did not know very much about the Syndrome, though he had learned more once he was assigned to the Eden Project. It was still something which was kept under wraps, on a need-to-know basis. Morgan had been surprised when he had learned all that the Council had done to sabotage Devon Adair's little crusade, in his reality. Had been surprised to find that they knew much more about the Syndrome, than they lead outsiders to believe. It had been common knowledge on the space stations, that the severity of this affliction was merely blown out of proportion by bleeding hearts looking for attention.
Then, he'd met Ulysses Adair, visited one of the Syndrome wards and learned first-hand how grave their situation was. He hadn't wanted to go, but Adair had insisted. She wanted all of her people to be aware of their purpose in this venture. He had been sickened, felt utterly helpless, looking into the sad and weary eyes of those children, watching them put on brave faces, pretending they were not hurting, for the benefit of their visitors. It was the first time he'd questioned the motives of his own government, but he hadn't let himself dwell on it. Those kinds of thoughts could be dangerous, to his safety. He had shut them away and reclaimed his bureaucratic indifference.
When he had first met Dr. Vasquez, on that same day, Morgan hadn't been too concerned with the man. His job was to oversee the initial planning stages of the G889 colony, until his superiors arrived with the colony ship, then he was done, and would probably have returned to the stations, on that same ship. Dr. Vasquez was no concern of his. Still, he had been surprised to find the man quiet and reserved. He had expected someone more intense, driven, and intimidating. He had wondered why the Council would find this man threatening. Yet, he knew that it was not the man they feared, but rather his work. And Morgan knew that Vasquez would never give up on his work, not easily.
Julia shifted in her seat. "He hasn't given up on it. The press conference is still set for 10 o'clock Monday morning."
"Have you done as we asked? Everything?" "Yes," Julia sighed heavily. "He's a formidable man and very determined. He wouldn't listen to me."
Austin let her hands drop to her lap, as she slowly sat forward.
"Then, maybe you aren't the right person for this job." "No, please." There was a panicked edge to Julia's voice. "I can do this. It's just going to take time."
"Time is one luxury we don't have, doctor." Austin surged to her feet, causing Julia to jump, obviously on edge. "In four days, Dr. Vasquez is going to make a speech to the population at large. To reveal his latest finding about the Syndrome. And he is planning to broadcast on Channel 13. Regrettably, we have no way to interfere with their broadcasts. And he knows it. As it stands now, the general population is blissfully ignorant about the devastating nature of this disease. We can't have one doctor's overzealousness cause mass hysteria."
"I can't believe it would really be that bad," Julia offered.
"Doctor, if you went about your life believing that the Syndrome would never touch you, and then were suddenly told that your child was just as likely to be afflicted, as the next, how would you react?" Austin was eying her as a teacher might her most hopeless student. Julia didn't answer, remaining stoic.
Having been a student of politics Morgan Martin had always been capable of seeing the Council's point of view in this matter. If the mass population learned that there was a disease which was systematically wiping them out, by attacking their children, and that this disease was directly caused by the safe and ordered society which their government had created, there *would* be mass hysteria, which would ultimately result in chaos. There were already radical groups who were campaigning, from underground, against the Council; attempting to prove, for themselves, the existence and nature of the Syndrome. The Council had made many attempts to infiltrate their ranks, but they were very resourceful, not to mention deeply paranoid. They always managed to stay one step ahead of their enemies.
"But can we just ignore these children?" Julia asked, suddenly sitting forward. "We can't ignore the Syndrome, Austin. It won't be long before it's wiped us all out. The longer we delay finding a planet suitable for resettlement--"
"I'm well aware of our dilemma, Dr. Heller. And the Council is working long and hard studying the five candidates. It's a long, tedious process, doctor. One which cannot be rushed. That is why we could not have Adair running off on some damned fool crusade, heedless of the dangers. And it's why we cannot have Dr. Vasquez creating wide-spread panic, with his idealistic propaganda speeches. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Julia replied, though reluctant. Austin sighed, her tight fists loosening at their perch on her hips. "Were you able to find out exactly what the good doctor is planning to divulge, in his speech?"
"Dr. Vasquez has not been very forthcoming with his plans," Julia answered.
"You are his assistant, is that not so?" Julia nodded. "But Vasquez has always been a very guarded man. He doesn't trust anyone. And he knows my name. He knows the reputation of my family. He couldn't help but make the connection." Austin opened her mouth, but Julia pressed on. "Yes, the cover, so far has worked well. He seemed convinced that I was genuine, when I told him I had broken faith with the Council and the Heller family name. He believes that I was so distraught over the children's plight, and the Council's treatment of them, that I could no longer follow my parents' beliefs."
"Even so, he doesn't trust you?" Austin perched on the edge of the desk.
"No, I told you he doesn't trust anyone." Julia's voice was tight. "Yes, I am his assistant, but that is all. I make sure things are in order. I see to the patients he is too busy to see to. I deal with cranky parents and guardians. And I help him with some of his experiments."
"Then you must have access to some of his records, or witnessed the results," Austin prompted hopefully.
"No, not exactly," Julia returned impatiently. "Vasquez was the only one allowed to assess the results of his experiments. I helped him set them up, but after that he keeps them secured. His lab has a security system in place and no one can get in without a pass-key."
"Is there no way you could gain access to his lab?" Austin asked.
Julia shook her heard. "If I were a mercenary, maybe." Julia slumped back into the chair. "Look, Austin. One man won't make that much difference. How many people do you think will actually watch his broadcast?" When the other woman showed no response, Julia heaved a sigh. "I'd certainly be caught. Vasquez is extremely paranoid. If my cover is blown--"
"That is beside the point, Citizen," Austin snapped. "We must look at the bigger picture." She walked to the window which overlooked their dying Earth, to punctuate her statement. "We must be willing to make the sacrifices necessary to preserve this delicate balance we've created, here."
"You're not the one making the sacrifice!" Julia threw back at her.
"Julia, we have all made sacrifices for the greater good," Austin approached her, but did not encroached on the young doctor's personal space. "Don't you think I have? You have an obligation, Heller. To your name, to your heritage. Listen to your head, doctor. Not your heart. The heart is a weak thing. And it often makes unwise decisions." Julia swallowed tightly. "You were a chromo-alt, designed to approached every situation logically, with reason. See the reason in this."
"You're asking me to make myself a sacrificial lamb!" Julia had surged to her feet, challenging Citizen Austin. The much taller woman simply stood, unaffected.
Morgan grimaced, he had always hated people like that, immovable rocks who thought they were right about every little detail of life. Austin made Julia appear so powerless. This whole scene eerily reminded him of her VR visits with Reilly, and the ones he had witnessed when she had broken faith. On G889, there had been allies, the Eden Advance group had stood behind Julia, lend her the strength she needed in order to turn her back on Reilly, on her duty to the Council.
*Spare me the bad apple analogy,* his spiteful words to Julia, after she rejoined the group, bounced back to him. He knew he should have been more charitable, but this was a woman who had spied for the Council, performed dangerous medical experiments on Uly, had attacked him, knocked him unconscious with a sedaderm and tied him to the base of a tree all night, and most of the next day. At the time, he'd felt that his anger was perfectly justifiable. Then, he had witnessed how Reilly had been manipulating Julia, and how the ex-patriot was fighting against it. And, though he was still trying to let go of his anger, for the time being it had melted away, into sympathy.
Now, that sympathy rushed back to the surface. Here she stood, again, right back where she had been. And something told Morgan, that in this place, she would find no allies, no one to pull her out of the darkness.
That realization brought thoughts of Alonzo. As much as he hated ruminated on other people's love lives, he remember how happy Julia had been with Alonzo, and how his faith and understanding had strengthened her. She was utterly alone, now.
Where was Alonzo, anyway? He wondered briefly, but was drawn away from those thoughts, by the two woman before him.
"We are not asking you to sacrifice your life," Austin assured her. "Gaining access to Dr. Vasquez's lab won't be that difficult."
Julia stiffened her back, keeping her gaze steady with Austin's. Her posture seemed to be telling the other woman she had no idea what she was talking about.
"Julia, you've always known you would one day be asked to give yourself completely over to the Council. Your parents groomed you for it. Why should it come as such a shock, now?"
"Because the Council wasn't asking me to lay down my life for a worthless cause, until now," Julia snapped.
"You tell her, Julia," Morgan heard himself whisper, as he cheered her on. Hoping that maybe, somehow, she could sense his presence.
"Julia, you must know how important this is." Austin continued to stand over Julia, intimidating. "For security's sake, we must know what Dr. Vasquez has been up to, and what he is so secretive about. You are our best hope for this. But if you don't think you can handle the job, I suppose, we'll just have to find someone else."
Morgan saw Julia's eyes grow wide. All three knew what that statement meant. Austin was effectively telling Julia that the Council would be through with her, if she refused to help them. The Council didn't waste time with citizens who were less than cooperative, but they also were very conscientious about covering their backsides from all angles. They left no threat unchecked, and no traitor or ex-patriot unpunished. She had a choice - it was an unpleasant choice, but it was there nonetheless - the chance of being caught by Vasquez and his allies, or the absolute certainty of being disavowed by the Council. Julia's fate would be sealed by the reply she chose; to remain a patriot or be branded a traitor - abandoned, forsaken.
"No, I can handle this job," Julia replied, at last. "Then, will you do as we ask?" Austin took one step back, and relaxed back onto the desktop.
Julia lifted her eyes, locking them with the other woman's. Morgan felt pain lance through his chest, as he watched the light go out of Julia. As if someone had stolen her soul, right before his eyes.
With determination, Julia nodded and Morgan felt himself sinking.
"I'll do what I must."
"Nononononono...." He muttered to himself as he felt the Terrian pulling him away, into that mystical realm.
End of Part 4
Scarecrows and Skeletons (5/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) February 1997"That's according to flyboy's interpretation, here."
Morgan Martin _Promises, Promises_All was sparks and swirls and colors jetting past him. Morgan had forgotten to shut his eyes this time, damn stupid of him. He was getting a nasty headache.
In this realm, or passage, or whatever the Terrians called it, things were noncorporeal, but the structure of Morgan's thoughts made the place into something he could understand, by dealing with the things which were familiar. The one thing he seized on were the sights, which were comforting, despite the fact that they were making him nauseatingly dizzy.
Before he could get a handle on things, he felt the physical world taking shape around him. The Terrian was more careful this time and Morgan found himself standing in a deserted passageway; almost deserted. He could hear voices, revelers, nearby. He chose to ignore them as he scanned the area for his guide. As he did so, people began to appear, from down the walkway, on both sides. Not wanting to deal with people, right now, Morgan stepped out of the center of this passageway, finding a small alcove with an empty bench. He sat down heavily on it, turning to gaze out of the expansive window behind him, which offered a spectacular view of the moon.
He missed this life, for many reasons, nearly as many reasons as he would live happily without ever seeing it, again. He missed the luxuries, the certainty of three decent meals everyday, how clean everything was, not a speck of dirt anywhere, unless you wanted it there. He missed the conveniences, the privacy, the familiarity and safety. Despite all these things, he had easily said goodbye to it, his mockery of a life on the space station. Bess was the only real things he had possessed; an island of calm amid a stormy sea of deceit and treachery. He had endeavored to shielded Bess from it all, never bringing his work home to their haven. But he knew she wasn't oblivious to it. She always seemed aware of the times he was most troubled, even when he tried his best to hide how he was really feeling.
Morgan quickly slammed a lid down on thoughts of Bess. He didn't want to think about her, didn't want to know what her fate was, in this reality. His hands were tightly clasped together, in his lap, in an attempt to keep them from shaking, palms sweaty. He knew this Terrian would force him to see Bess, eventually. There would be no fighting it. He just knew he wasn't ready for it, yet. He never would be, but at least he'd have a little time to steel himself for it. Deliberately, he turned his thoughts to his work, instead.
The Council had loomed, as a dark threat, from the time he reached adolescence; the time for him to decided his future. Politics had been his only choice; having been instilled with a strong work ethic, by his father. The only decent work was government work. Or so his father had believed, and Morgan had come to believe it, too. Or at least, to fool himself and others into thinking he believed it. He hated living his life in fear, but that was the life of a government employee working under the Council's influence. Seeing Julia, back in that VR program, powerless under the weight of her duty to her family name, reminded Morgan of what he had buried so deeply, out of fear; his wish to break free, to live his life by his rules, not someone else's. But he'd been a coward, never had the strength stand up for himself.
Well, he was through with being a sniveling fool. When he got back....
*If I get back,* he reminded himself. This reality was far too real. It might be possible that the Terrian meant to leave him here. This shattered, hellish, black hole could be his life. Perhaps this was now real, and the other merely a dream.
John Danziger dead. His daughter, True begging in the streets. Ulysses Adair dead from the Syndrome. Devon, his mother, nothing more than an empty shell, as a result. Countless children left to suffer by a government that was too frightened to give a damn. Julia Heller caught in a dark whirlwind of deceit and corruption. He didn't want to think about the rest. He didn't want to think what else there was for the Terrian to show him.
A soft, almost wistful trill sounded and Morgan looked up to see the Terrian gazing out the window at Earth's lone moon. Morgan wondered what it must be thinking. Suddenly, the creature turned its attention to the human slumped below it.
"I don't want to see anymore," Morgan pleaded. "I don't want to know anymore. I've seen enough. Take me back. Please."
The Terrian shook its head, as he had suspected it would. Slowly, Morgan stood. His legs were as heavy as lead. The creature stood impassively, in front of him. It wasn't going to let him go until this twisted experiment was completed to its satisfaction, whatever that might be. He had no other choice but to play along, for now.
"So, where to next?" Morgan asked, defeated.
"So, what am I doing, here?" Morgan asked the Terrian as he looked up at the blue on white backlit sign ahead of him. 'Gray Institute for Psychiatric Research,' it read. The unit's facade mimicked sandstone, and had two tall glass doors, which were fortified with iron bars.
Of course, the Terrian made no response, so, with a resigned sigh, Morgan screwed up his courage and entered the clinic. This did not make any sense but through process of elimination, he figured out which of the Eden Crew this had to be about. He had seen the fates of True, John, Devon, Uly, Yale, and Julia. This Terrian would save the most torturous for last, so this couldn't be about Bess. It had to be about Alonzo Solace. What the connection between a sleep jumping gigolo and a psychiatric hospital could be was beyond Morgan. Solace was, in his uneducated estimation, a relatively sane person.
Unable to think of another alternative, Morgan marched up to the main reception desk. A stout woman was moving about, frantically, behind the tall, heavy, Formica desk. It was obvious, to Morgan, within seconds that she was understaffed and overworked. Her dark hair was coming loose from its barrettes, and she didn't seem to care. Dark circles rimmed her tired grey eyes. When she spotted Morgan, after looking up from her terminal, she breathed a long, low sigh.
"Can I help you, sir?" Her tone told him, 'If you ask me to do anything, I'll have to kill you.'
"Um, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for a patient. I have reason to believe he's here."
"Do you have a name, for this patient?" she asked, violently hitting a few keys on the terminal's keyboard.
"Yes, Alonzo Solace. S-O-L-A-C-E." "Are you a relative? It's our policy not to give out patient information to just anyone." Her voice was toneless.
Morgan looked over his shoulder, feeling the Terrian's presence behind him, silently asking it, 'Now, what?' He made it a quick glance, so as not to alarm the receptionist. Wouldn't do any good to appear fruitier than a nutcake, in a place like this. He'd probably end up hugging himself, not of his own freewill, and staring at a padded wall.
"You said, Solace?" she double checked. "And you are a relative?"
"Um, yes and yes. I was sent on behalf of the family. We just got word that he had been brought here."
"Well, word doesn't travel very fast in your family, does it?" She tried to joke but was too tired for it. "Mr. Solace has been here for three months."
"Can you give me any information? Why's Alonzo here?" It wasn't a shock, he had seen this coming.
"I can't give out that kind of information, but you may see his doctor; Dr. Tobias. His office is on the fourth floor, suite eighteen. Just take the elevator, it's right there."
"Thank you," Morgan said, then turned and headed for the elevator.
"Mr. Solace, is it?" Dr. Andrew Tobias stood up from his comfortable desk chair, and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."
"A pleasure," Morgan returned, and shook the doctor's hand. So, he had lied a little bit, and told the doctor that he was a relative of Alonzo's. What could it hurt? None of the regular rules applied in this reality. It didn't matter what he said or did, because he didn't, technically, exist here. And after this was all over, this place would probably cease to exist; he hoped.
Tobias was a wiry man, probably had been good for only two things growing up, good grades and nose bleeds; Morgan could relate.
"It's always nice to find the family taking an interest in our patients," he told Morgan, as he resumed his chair. "Please, have a seat. So, often our patients are abandoned, by a family who can't cope with their eccentricities."
"We're a close family," Morgan lied. Now that he knew about lightning, he was glad there was none on the stations; he'd surely be hit by a bolt, if there were.
"I don't see, though, how Alonzo can be your close relative," Tobias challenged, Morgan shrank a little. "Seeing as he's nearly one hundred years old. And, I'm guessing, you aren't."
"We're not close relatives," Morgan admitted. "You see, I've been doing genealogy research, for our family. And when I hit on Alonzo's name, I discovered that he was still alive. So, I tracked him down, to here."
*And if you believe that, I've got some wonderful, heat giving, glowing red rocks to sell you. At a reasonable price, I might add.*
"Ah, I see. Then, you are still willing to accept him as he is?" Tobias asked guardedly.
"Yes," Morgan answered quickly.
"Good, then I suppose you'd like to know about his condition." Tobias reached for the data pad sitting on the desk in front of him."His condition?" Morgan didn't like that wording. "He was brought in here three months ago, unable to cope with day to day life. He was suffering from mild schizophrenia, severe depression, disorientation, extreme exhaustion. He didn't know where he was half the time. A friend, a woman if I recall correctly, brought him in. Haven't seen or heard from her since."
Morgan's eyes widened, as his eyebrows crept up to his hairline during the doctor's explanation. Alonzo Solace was completely and utterly insane? Why?
"What happened to him?" Morgan asked. "It's quite simple really, and rather tragic." Tobias tossed the viewer on the desk, then leaned back into his chair. "It's something I've been studying for quite some time, now. It's an affliction related to the method they use for cryosleep."
"But," Morgan tried valiantly not to stutter. "But we were always told that it's perfectly safe."
"It is. In moderation," Tobias assured him. "I've seen this many times, and it's always the same. Some thrill seeking, carefree sleep jockey can't get enough of the life, and takes far too many sleep runs. But Alonzo is an interesting case. He's been doing this for nearly one hundred years, and he's taken an inordinate number of extended sleep runs. He'd lost his ability to dream. His subconscious mind had been impaired severely, as a result."
"That can't be," Morgan sputtered. "He's perfectly sane. He...." suddenly he realized that the doctor was watching him curiously. "I've, uh, have known pilots, before. And none of them have had this problem."
"Um, hmm," Tobias agreed dubiously. "As I said, Alonzo is a special case. If he had continued to work sleep runs this problem could, quite possibly, have remained in check. Each time he went into cold sleep was like the clock being reset. But he hadn't had a job in almost a year."
"Oh." It was all Morgan could think to say. Alonzo had never flown them to G889. Never spent twenty-two years in coldsleep. The Terrians had not been there to repair his damaged subconscious, to make him whole again.
"I understand he was to have been the pilot for Devon Adair's Eden Project. On the Advance ship. But it never launched. Apparently, his affiliation with Adair has made him an outcast. He can't get a job, now. No one would hire him, he's been blacklisted, so to speak."
Morgan hung his head, staring at his linked hands. What a shankin' mess this whole thing was. And all because he had not been there, to work as the Eden Project's government liaison. Though, it was not often talked about, everyone involved with the Eden Project was aware that any person who affiliated themselves with Devon Adair, of their own freewill, could expect to be black balled by the Council. Alonzo had been a free agent, and had taken the piloting job of the Advance ship for the money, not out of any political leanings, the same as most of the crew. And his reward, for that acquisitiveness, was to be shunned and blacklisted, so that he could never work, again.
"But none of that matters, here." Tobias rose from his seat, offering Morgan a smile. "So, would you like to meet your long lost relative, sir?"
"Um, I don't know," Morgan hesitated, shifting anxiously. "I mean, yeah. I'd like to meet him."
"He's not dangerous, Mr. Solace," Tobias assured him. "He's just a little unpredictable. The medications we have him on, now, are helping."
Morgan nodded, and stood, letting the doctor lead him out of the office.
After a short journey through the halls of this institution, Morgan found himself in a reception area. The place smelled of antiseptic sprays, cleaners, and bleach. It's white walls and tile floor were scrubbed clean. There were card tables set up around the room and two patients were having a 'soothing' game of checkers, at one. Another group of three were engrossed in some television show, completely oblivious to the visitors. Morgan was about to ask the doctor where Alonzo was, when a male nurse entered the room escorting a man who was nearly half his size.
"Ah, here he his," Tobias announced, as the frail, shadow of a figure approached them. "Alonzo, I have a visitor to see you. He's eager to meet you."
No, Morgan thought, struggling against the urge to shake his head vigorously. This couldn't be Alonzo; this sallow, skinny, lifeless man barely standing on his own two feet. Alonzo had never been weak, even when his leg was broken. He might have been heartsick, then, but he was still strong and determined. He had never been like this - half dead.
"Isn't this exciting," the nurse said, cheerfully. "You never get visitors."
"Who is it?" Alonzo's speech was slurred, his eyes hardly open. "I don't know anyone who'd want ta see me."
"I do," Morgan pipped up.
"Who are you?"
"He says he's a member of your family," Tobias told Alonzo. "My family? All my family is dead," Alonzo spat lazily. "Not your immediate family. He's a descendant." "Your sister's grandson," Morgan tried. "Oh." Alonzo's eyes drooped. "Nice to meet you. I don't remember having a sister. But I don't remember much these days. Don't get to fly anymore either. If I could just fly--" his words trailed off and he drooped against the nurse.The former pilot raised drowsy eyes, which grew wider as he looked past Morgan's shoulder. Alonzo drew closer, almost leaning on Morgan's shoulder.
"I like your friend," he drawled. "Very avant-garde. But..." he lowered his voice. "Try to get him a bath, will ya." Alonzo grimaced in distaste.
Morgan spun around, as Alonzo backed away, and saw the Terrian standing just inside the door to this room. The creature let out what could only be called an anguished cry; soft and painful to hear, as it watched Alonzo. When Morgan turned back, the nurse was leading Alonzo to the couch in front of the video monitor.
Morgan had understood that the Terrians didn't possess human emotions, but what he had sensed from this creature, was the all too human emotion of grief. Maybe it was that he was perceiving a Terrian emotion in the only way he could understand it, but he was certain that grief was what he was reading. The Terrian was grieving for the loss of Alonzo, because he could do nothing to repair him.
While he didn't know much about what the Terrians had done for Alonzo, Morgan knew that they had sought out a connection with the pilot, seeing something different in him, sensing the wounds which only they could heal. They had reopened Alonzo's mind to the dreaming and helped him to come to terms with his new life planet bound. Morgan, being more closed minded about mystical matters, had given Alonzo a hard time about his connection to the Terrians, but he knew it was important to the pilot. Anyone would have to be incredibly stupid not to recognize that. Seeing this Terrian, now, Morgan knew that the connection was just as important to them. And this Terrian was feeling the bitter loss of that connection.
"Is he going to get any better?"
"I'm afraid not." Tobias sighed, with resignation. "There is no way to reverse or repair the damage done." Tobias was watching his patient, with deep concern and regret. "There ought to be some sort of legislation regulating these sleep jumpers. They take too many risks, as it is."Morgan nodded, in silent understanding. "I really should be going," he told the doctor. "Oh, yes, I guess you should," Tobias returned. "Will we see you, again?"
"Possibly," Morgan answered noncommittally. The doctor didn't seem to happy about that; Morgan couldn't care.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Solace. We hope to see you, again soon."
"Yes, thank you for your help, Dr. Tobias." They shook hands, and Morgan left, without looking back to see if the Terrian was following him.
Morgan Martin paced outside the Gray Institute, hand clapped over his mouth.
What did he care about these people? Nothing! Right? He didn't give a damn about them, because they didn't give a damn about him. *Yeah, just try to convince yourself of that.* He did care. How could he not? After spending weeks living with this small group of people, struggling, suffering, and celebrating together, how could he not care what happened to them.
He didn't want to care, dammit! It hurt too much, especially when there was nothing he could do about it.
But there was something he could do about. All he had to do was get back to his reality, to G889 and their winter camp, where things were all the way they were meant to be. Then, he could change things for the better. He'd be better, he'd work hard, make contributions to the group, and try to whine less. He had to convince this Terrian to take him home.
No, wait. He couldn't go home, yet. He had one more stop to make.
In utter silence, the Terrian appeared by his side. It trilled quietly, almost sympathetically.
"All right, let's get this over with." Morgan straightened his back and took a deep breath.
He felt the Terrian's hand curl around his upper arm, then the world began to fade around him.
The End of Part 5
Scarecrows and Skeletons (6/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) February 1997Author's Note: I apologize for the ridiculously long delay, but this part was the most difficult to get right and there were also personal/health related matters which needed my undivided attention. I hope this makes up for the wait. This is complete in 2 parts, so if you have 6.1 and 6.2 you have it all. Part 7 will be along, sooner rather than later.
Acknowledgement: I've thanked John Gegenhuber, a number of time, for his portrayal of Morgan Martin, but I have yet to give any acknowledgment to producer/writer Michael Duggan. So, here goes. In one breath-taking episode (Church of Morgan) Mr. Duggan ripped open Morgan's soul to reveal the affectionate, tender, terrified, and deeply wounded man he is. After viewing that episode I looked on Morgan and Bess Martin with more sympathetic eyes, and definitely with more interest. I wish Mr. Duggan had written more E2 episodes, he is a brilliant storyteller, IMHO. While others count "Water," "Moon Cross," and/or "Brave New Pacifica" among their favorites, mine will always remain "Church of Morgan," for its honest portrayal of Morgan, while still managing to make him sympathetic. But mostly for its sheer, simplistic beauty, and effortless flow. Thank you Mr. Duggan. Thanks to Mary Brick for helping me iron out the most difficult bits.
"Because, every day, I wait for someone to come along and burst the dream. Take away my life and tell me that I don't deserve any of it."
Morgan Martin to Mr. Klempt _CoM_The young woman stood out from the crowd of scruffy Earth Residents in the Trader's Market, like silk among gingham. Long, golden hair coiled down her back, held secure with a strip of dark cloth. Her clothing was the same well-worn and faded style as everyone else's, but even their shabby, common appearance couldn't disguise her radiance, or the regal way she carried herself. She didn't belong here, in this desolation; she was destined for great things.
Morgan's heart contracted painfully at the sight of his wife, Bess, as she walked from booth to booth, offering every vender a smile. Her easy, cheerful attitude was a blazing fire in this colorless gloom.
The scene brought rushing back to him the happy memory of the first time he had seen Bess. It had happened in this very market. He had been down planetside on contract business for the Adairs and been dragged to the Trader's Market by the man he had been sent to do business with. The stifling, humid atmosphere of the underground bunker had taken its toll on the bureaucrat and he'd become irritable and clumsy. He'd been trying to avoid a harassing family with three screaming kids, when, backing up, he'd collided with someone. He had heard her exasperated outcry, and turned around, to apologize, but had suddenly found that he couldn't breath, couldn't speak, his heart had stopped beating. The world had come to a screeching halt for what had seemed like forever, but hadn't nearly been long enough. This woman, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, knelt in front of him, gathering up her belongings, into the basket she carried. She'd turned her eyes up toward him, irritated, but that irritation had melted away, in a fraction of a second.
Then, he'd dropped to his knees, wanting to be polite and offer to help her, since he was the one who had sent her things sprawling, but also because he hadn't been able to trust his knees to continue to hold him up. He'd stuttered an apology, she'd accepted, with a smile that had sent his head reeling. Then, their hands had reached for the same bag of flour - his hand had instinctively curled around hers, and nothing else that had happened that day, prior to that moment, mattered. Bess had taken one of the worst days in history and turned it into the best. He was seeing Bess now, just as he had seen her then, and was thinking the same thing; she didn't belong here, and he had to take her away from this life.
Bess Amelia Klempt was like some sublime spirit; otherworldly among the dirty greyness of Earth's dying habitat. He remembered feeling immediately protective of her, believing, foolishly, that she might die if she were forced to stay here. Like that last wildflower incased in a glass pendant she often wore. He'd soon learned differently, as he'd come to know that her hard life had made her far stronger than anyone Morgan had ever known. She didn't _need_ to be coddled and pampered. He feared she was far too practical for that sort of thing, but he still wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her up to the stations, to the luxury where he felt she belonged.
He had been surprised when she'd revealed that she had fallen in love with him, not for his money or the fact that he could give her a life of luxury, but _him_. With all his faults and foibles, she loved him. He'd never felt stronger, more capable or more worthwhile in his life. He'd never wanted to be without her, and when she'd agreed to marry him and join him on the stations he'd felt life was finally being kind to him.
Their courtship had been short, a little over a year, both rather old-fashioned and willing to give marriage a try. Despite their willingness to commit to each other, their four year marriage contract had been a mutual agreement for individual reasons. It was common knowledge that a marriage tie to Earth could prove to be detrimental to a government employee's career. And Bess was unnerved by the idea that the fact of their marriage could jeopardize any chance of career advancement, for him. She didn't want to cause him any pain or hardship, so she wanted to give him an excuse to end the marriage, after four years if it proved too damaging to his career. As for himself; after his sham of a marriage, which only lasted a few months, Morgan was insecure about taking a contract for any longer of a duration than the minimum. He wanted Bess to feel free to leave if she was unhappy with their marriage, or if she found she didn't love him, after she discovered what he was really like. Yet, she remained, and seemed to love him more with each passing day, rather than hate him.
He had married for the right reasons, this time, because he loved Bess and wanted to share his life with her. And for the past two years they'd been the happiest couple. She'd made his bleak existence in that other reality more bearable. He missed Bess, now, and looking on this aberration only made the pain worse.
"Bess," he pushed out, barely above a whisper, not sure if she could see or hear him.
He wanted her to hear him, needed to run to her, sweep his arms around her, and forget the hell he had been witnessing. But he couldn't move, was afraid of what might happen if he did approach her. If this followed the previous pattern Bess would have no idea who he was, and might shun him. He'd die if that happened. So, he decided to skirt the area, keeping an eye on her, from a safe distance.
"There she is," he heard a man announce proudly. Morgan searched for the owner of that voice, finding an athletically built young man, solid, not unattractive, but with a hard expression. He was surrounded by three other man, of similar aspect. Morgan inhaled sharply as he followed the man's gaze, and found that they were all staring at Bess.
"Bess Amelia Klempt," the young man continued. "And she's all mine."
Morgan's heart leapt into his throat at the pronouncement. *No. God, please no!*
"You sound pretty sure of yourself, Travis," one of his friends taunted.
"It's not conceit, it's fact," Travis returned, haughtily. "She'll marry me. Bess and I will be married by the end of the month."
"Oh yeah, right," another friend scoffed. "Armstrong Klempt is the most overprotective father I've ever met. He'd never marry off his daughter to you."
"He has no choice," Travis snapped, spinning to face his friends. "He'll give Bess to me, or he'll lose his mine, and be left penniless. It's not a difficult choice."
Morgan's entire body was shaking, his knees threatened to buckle under the sudden heavy weight of his body. This neandrathal was staking a claim to Bess.
"Klempt's mine isn't producing enough revenue. So, I've given him a choice. If he wants to keep his mine operational he'll merge it with Bennington's and I get Bess in the bargain. But, I won't have to worry about Klempt. Bess would never let her beloved father suffer. She'd give herself to me freely, if it meant her father's mine was safe."
No, not Bess. Not his Bess. Not some pawn on the negotiating table. He had no right! This man couldn't force Klempt to give up Bess to him. Things didn't work that way, not any longer. Then Morgan remembered. He used to work with these people. His work on Level Three had included handling mining contracts with Earth. He knew that, politically, Earth was very different from the space stations. They had their own set of rules and laws. So long as they didn't interfere with the Council, no one much worried about them. And when it came to the mines, these people were willing to do whatever was necessary to maintain their livelihood. Armstrong Klempt was a devoted and overprotective father to Bess, but in these matters he was no different from anyone else. Minerals were scarce, and diminishing fast; many companies were already having to shut down as the supplies failed to meet demand. Klempt was probably overlooking the obvious flaws in Travis, out of his desperation to save his mine.
*Bennington?* Morgan rolled the name over in his mind. It was familiar. There were quite a few mining corporations on Earth, but only one that held a monopoly, taking advantage of the hardships of these miners, swooping in like vultures at a kill. Corporations like Bennington Incorporated were swallowing up the individual mines as they began to fail. Bennington was a large conglomeration, which held a great deal of sway in the community. They had bought out most of the remaining mining companies, but there were still some which held firm, determined to make it on their own. Morgan remembered doing business with Travis Bennington, the man had a slick, pretension to him and little conscience. All of that was quite evident, from his few dealing with the man. His conglomeration ruled this provence, like the mobs of big cities centuries ago, that he remembered reading about in his history classes. No one was safe from them, unless they were brought into the fold. And even then there were no certainties.
Travis was determined to own the monopoly in this mining provence, and he was systematically making his way through its smaller companies. It was easy for Travis to convince someone that it was in their best interest to merge their company with Bennington, especially if they were unable to sustain themselves on what they had. Klempt was one of the few able to hold out, for as long as he had. So long as his mine continued to make a reasonable profit he would remain independent. But Morgan had always suspected that one day Klempt would have to give in, as his surplus failed him. It looked like that day had finally arrived.
Morgan didn't know much of Bennington personally, but he could tell that, professionally, the man was completely unscrupulous. He was climbing to the top and he didn't care who he stepped on in his assent. All he wanted was Klempt's mine, Bess would be little more than another trophy for his mantle, a piece of property, and he would likely treat her as such. He didn't care for her, he probably couldn't care for anyone. He just wanted to say he possessed this beautiful, rare thing; an ornament. Morgan loathed the idea. Bess should never be treated like property, to be toyed with and pushed side at whim.
"What makes you so sure she'll marry you?" one of the men asked, grinning slyly.
Travis had pushed himself off the low wall he was leaning against, and started to cross the market. He half turned at the query and smirked.
"I just am." He moved off, and Morgan pushed his way through the knot of people he'd been hiding behind, to follow Travis. He wasn't going to let this man out of his sight.
"Bess!" Travis called. "Bess!" She finally turned when he opened his mouth to call to her, again.
"Travis?" She forced a welcoming smile, far from the genuine one Morgan was used to receiving from her. Bess hefted the full basket she was carrying up onto her hip awkwardly.
"Here, let me help you with that," he offered, as he drew near, and took the basket from her.
"Thank you." She gave him a wary look, as if she was unwilling to trust his solicitous attitude. "I didn't expect to see you here, today."
Morgan ducked into the shadows of a recessed doorway, where he could see without being seen, as the couple stopped in the middle of the corridor.
"I know. I rarely come to the market, but I was hoping to see you. I thought we might take a walk or have a picnic, together, this afternoon."
Again, that forced smile appeared on her face. She clasped her hands together in front of her, almost protectively. Apprehension was building in Morgan. Something was wrong, here. At first, he'd been a little relieved to see Bess, that she appeared to have been unaffected by this screwed up reality. Now, as he watched her with this man, he became anxious. And it wasn't just jealousy. He knew what that felt like; he was jealous of every man who showed even the slightest interest in Bess. This was different, more painful, more unforgiving. Bess was frightened of this man, and Morgan found himself feeling the same.
"I'm sorry, Travis. But, I don't have the time, today," Bess told him, side-stepping away from him. "My father and I are working on the books. It's a big job. It'll probably take us days to complete, thoroughly. I'm really sorry. But he needs my help."
"How is his business doing, these days?" Travis asked, politely, ulterior motive tangled in his words.
"Not good," Bess answered, gazing down at the ground. "We're not making enough of a profit to maintain. We'll lose workers soon, because we can't pay them. My father's beside himself with worry."
"Your father is very important to you, isn't he?" Travis gave her a peculiar look.
"You know he is. He's the only family I have," Bess told him.
"You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?" he queried, and she eyed him warily.
"Yes, I suppose so." Her eyebrows drew together. Morgan didn't like the path this conversation was taking. Travis was manipulating Bess, plain and simple, into giving him what he wanted - herself.
"Bess, you know the offer I've made," Travis said, shifting the basket, in order to take her hand in his. "If you marry me I can give you a comfortable life, better than what you're living now. Everything you want would be yours for the asking."
"I just don't know, Travis," Bess told him. "I don't belong in your world. I never could. I live honestly. I couldn't live with the lies you live with."
Travis glared at her. "Do you want your father to lose his mine? Because that is what will happen if you refuse. If you want to help your father you'll reconsider my offer, and accept."
She lifted her chin and set her jaw. "I can't," she told him. "And if you were any kind of man, you would help my father despite my refusal."
"You won't accept." It was not really a question, there was malice in his eyes.
"I won't."
"Fine, then watch your father's business collapse," Travis spat. "I will do nothing to aid him.""We can manage just fine on our own. We have up to now. My father doesn't need you and I certainly don't." Bess threw her word at him.
"You're a fool," Travis growled. "You'd destroy yourselves, just to spite me." He grasp her forearm, hard. "Bess, you know what happens to Independents. You make a fool out of me, you'll regret it."
The threat was blatant. It was common knowledge that the main advantage of allying oneself with Bennington was the protection they offered. So called Independents had no such protection from whatever hazards lay in wait for them. Plus, Independents left themselves vulnerable to attacks from Bennington as well, because they were considered the enemy. Bess and her father would not survive on their own, against a company as powerful and all encompassing as Bennington, they would be easily crushed.
Travis and Bess glared at each other, as he carelessly tossed her basket to the ground then, spun on his heels and marched away from Bess.
The corridor was quiet - silent save the buzzing of a large fan in the distance. Bess didn't move a muscle for so long, the food and her basket scattered on the ground at her feet; she was so still that he thought maybe the Terrian had frozen time. Morgan couldn't move either; his feet felt glued to the floor. Until, abruptly, Bess drew in a deep breath and Morgan, reflexively, did the same. Her hand raised to cover her mouth, and her body tensed as if she were trying to hold back a scream or tears, he wasn't sure which. All he could do was watch her.
She was so beautiful, but all the life had gone out of her. This Bess had been drained of the spark that his Bess shone with. He wanted to take her in his arms, to remind her of who she was, to ignite that spark, and to bask in it. He felt so cold and it was so dark.
He didn't know how long they both stood in that empty corridor in silence, but he slowly became aware that she was staring at him. He hadn't realized that he was leaning out of the doorway, in plain view. He forced a smile, she didn't return it. Then stepping forward, he assumed a non-threatening stance. *As if I could look anything but non-threatening,* he derided.
"What?" Bess snapped, very unlike herself. Morgan was stopped short.
"Uh, I'm sorry. But I couldn't help overhearing," Morgan said, taking a step closer to her. She took a step back. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Bess answered, with a hint of hostility to her voice.
Her eyes narrowed, to angry, wary slits, as she dropped to her knees to gather up the contents of the basket Travis had dumped on the floor. Morgan sank to the floor beside her, and began to help; sparing a few quick glances at her taut face, seeing that she was holding her pain in. He wanted to tell her that with him there was no need to hide. Only, how could he explain that to her. He was a stranger to this Bess. So, they remained wrapped in an uncomfortable silence.
Morgan hated to see Bess this way. She was the only person he knew who seemed in an never ending good mood. No, that made her sound like an eternal Mary Poppins. Bess had her moments but it took a lot to get her mad; True hiding that Koba and letting it sting Morgan, Danziger's unforgiving treatment of her husband, Devon using her like a servant, and Julia kidnaping him and tieing him to a tree all night, were a few of the times when she had reached her limit. Still, Bess took things in stride. She'd taken this whole disaster of the Eden Project, and living life out of a tent as if it wasn't a major hardship. Then again, he remembered Earth (was standing in a dilapidated, underground housing structure) and he had to admit that G889 was infinitely better than her life had ever been in this hellhole. She had every right to be happy there.
She'd never been very happy on the stations, though she had put on a good show of it. He had tried to convince himself he was just being paranoid, thinking she was unhappy, afraid she would leave him, but he couldn't ignore her discomfort. The social circle they kept to never made Bess feel comfortable, and though they had never told anyone where Bess had lived before their marriage, everyone seemed to knew that she was NOC.
Dammit! *How stupid do you have to be!* He snapped at himself. What an idiotic phrase, "Not Our Class, Dear." That's what he'd always said about people from Earth, because he believed it. But he never considered Bess in the same class; she was special. In a class all by herself. Also, he'd said it because he didn't want people to find out he'd married and Earth Res.
*Does it really carry that bad of a stigma?* he asked himself. The answer returned was, "Yes." Station Brats did consider the Earth Res as a lower form of life, well beneath them. It was ugly, Morgan had to admit. Prejudices were something he thought the human race had outgrown centuries ago, but they were still alive and well, for residents of the Quadrants and Earth. And Morgan had unwittingly fed the fire. He had inadvertently made Bess ashamed of where she came from, made her break all ties, even made her ashamed of who she was to the point that she put up a front to hide her Earth heritage.
He did feel occasionally guilty about having done that to her, but he knew the true Bess, and he had found that it didn't matter what went on outside the doors to their haven, just so long as they knew the truth. She let the mask drop in private, assuring Morgan that she would never truly lose herself, that was all that mattered to him. Yet, here in this reality she had lost herself, lost that brilliance which made her who she was, and if she married Travis she would surely lose the goodness he loved in her most.
Morgan spared another quick glance at Bess, as she lifted a few small bags into the basket. This woman was not his Bess, something had crushed her spirit. Travis, or the possible loss of the mine which meant life to her and her father. . . Most likely, it was both.
"Thank you," Bess offered, finally, as she got to her feet, lifting her basket to her hip.
"Your welcome," he returned, offering her a smile. "Would it be all right if I saw you home?"
"No, thank you," Bess answered. "I'll be fine. It's not far."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Morgan asked, as she was turning to go.
She nodded, but didn't speak. Her throat muscles were tight. She turned stiffly and started to walk away. As she did, Morgan felt his heart sink and his body lurched forward. "Wait!" She halted.
"I've really got to get going." Her hands were gripping the basket tightly, the muscles in her back stiffening. "My father's waiting for me."
"Bess." He couldn't help himself. He had to say her name out loud. She spun around, to face him, anger and fear flashing in her eyes.
"You know my name?"
"I heard him call to you," Morgan tried to cover his blunder. "Sorry, if I startled you. I just wanted to get your attention."Bess sighed wearily. "What do you want?" "I'm glad you told off that neandrathal," he blurted out. "Travis is scum, bottom of the barrel scum even the vermin wouldn't bother with."
He thought he saw tears begin to glisten in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. He ached with the need to take her in his arms, but her glare effectively kept him in his place.
"He was right. I am foolish, for refusing. My father will lose his mining company, if he doesn't merge with Bennington. We'll be left with nothing." Her voice was tight.
"Bess." His hands had curled around her shoulders before he even knew he had done it. His better judgement should have stopped him, but he had quit listening to better judgement. "You were absolutely right to refuse him. You can't marry him. He'd destroy you, if you did."
"Why do you care?" she spat. She tried to shake herself free, but he held onto her.
*Because you're my wife,* he wanted to scream. *Because I love you more than my life. Because I can't stand to see you hurting when there's something I can do about it.* But he couldn't say any of it. His heart was pounding so fast he thought he might explode.
"Because you don't deserve this. You're too good for him." He couldn't have stopped himself, even if he wanted to, as he reached up to caress her cheek.
Her large, luminous eyes grew wider, anxious. "Let me go. Please."
"Just promise me you won't marry Travis. Please." "What?!" She glared at him. "I can't do that. I won't do that. If I want to marry Travis that's my business."
"Bess, I know how important your father is to you. But nothing is worth a life with that bulldozer on two legs."
"Stop it!" she shouted. "Let go of me! Why are you doing this? Please, just let me go."
Bess managed to wriggle out of his grasp, before he could react, and was now racing down the hall, away from him.
As his strength flooded out of him, Morgan's knees gave out and he fold, ever so slowly, to the floor, covering his face with his hands. He stayed that way for some time. It was worse than he could have ever imagine, learning Bess' fate and having to let her walk away. He felt hot tears sting his eyes and fought them off. What good would his tears do?
"It isn't real, god dammit!" he shouted, stretching up toward the ceiling.
Beside him, the Terrian trilled. Morgan surged to his feet and rushed the creature, stopping abruptly, to stand toe to toe with it.
"Okay. All right. You've had your fun. You've tortured me enough. Now, I think it's time you took me home." The Terrian didn't budge. "Look, I played along with your little experiment. I let you drag me through this hell. It's over."
The Terrian rumbled deep in its chest, soft almost soothing. It was trying to communicate something, Morgan wasn't sure what, but he had the feeling that he wasn't going to get out of here until he figured out what it was.
"All right, so maybe you're right," he threw his arms up in concession. "Maybe I am more important in the grand scheme of things than I thought I was. If that's the lesson you wanted to teach me, then it's been taught. So, you can take me home, now."
The creature cocked his head to the side, but showed no outward emotion.
"I want to go back," Morgan pleaded. "I want to see my wife, the way she's supposed to be. I want to see the others, happy and healthy. I want my life back. Please."
With no warning given the Terrian's staff began to crackle and spark, the static charge traveled up the staff, as the creature tilted the tip toward its victim menacingly.
Instinctively, Morgan leaned away. "No, now that's not necessary. You don't have to shoot me with that. I, uh, I'm sorry, for whatever I did or said. Please don't hurt me."
The last was said in a rush, as the lightning cracked loose from the spear and shot out toward him. Electric shocks traveled through his body. He cried out, once before the world dropped away from him.
The End of Part 6
Scarecrows and Skeletons (7/7)
by Paula Sanders
(c) March 1997Author's Note: Finally this heart wrenching saga is finished. I hope it has been worth the time it's taken (From January through March) and that you all have enjoyed it. I have toned down the Christmas celebration, even though that was the original theme of this story, since that is three months old, but I couldn't ignore it.
The whole of this serialized story can be found on my Earth 2 Fanfiction page:
http://www.tmn.com/Community/paula/fanfic/e2-fanfic.htm
"It's an extraordinary new world, and survival is simply a question of whether we can reach deep enough to find the extraordinary within ourselves."
Morgan Martin (final narration)
_Better Living Through Morganitte - part 2_A wheezing, sighing, pained groan pushed its way up and out of Morgan's throat. That shock the Terrian had sent coursing through him lingered by way of a vicious headache and a disorienting buzzing throughout his entire body. Also, he couldn't seem to move; his extremities were numb. But that might not be a bad thing, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to move. There was no telling where the Terrian had dropped him, this time. He could hope it was home, but hope had failed him too many times in the past.
"He's coming around," Julia Heller announced. Confusion had taken over his tired brain during his ordeal, silencing his ability for rational thought. *The Council has me, now!* was his first panicked thought. Of course it didn't occur to him that the Council would have no way to reach him, neither would they have any use for him, even if they did manage to nab him. Panic didn't allow for that kind of logical thinking.
"Morgan? Morgan, can you hear me?"
*Bess? Bess is a spy, too? It just gets worse and worse.* He whimpered and shifted, trying to sit up, and when his head began to spin impressively, he immediately gripped the metal sides of the cot, which wobbled underneath him. *A cot? I'm stretched out on a flimsy cot?!* Now, if there was one thing Morgan Martin knew, it was that the Council didn't use cots when they restrained their prisoners. As a lawyer he'd seen enough holding cells; lots of hard metal, nothing even remotely comfortable about them. So, it was a safe bet that he was not a prisoner of the Council. He attempted to calm himself."Morgan, honey. Everything's all right. You're safe, now. I'm here." His wife's warm hand was smoothing across his brow.
"Morgan, can you answer me?" Julia asked, and he became aware of the pressure of her dia-gloved hand against his neck.
With great effort he managed to nod, but he couldn't find his voice, or the words to speak with. He felt his body tense, and Julia's hand curled around his arm.
"It's all right, Morgan. You're doing fine." She must have moved away because when she next spoke her voice was quieter, almost muffled. "Alonzo, do you know what they did to him?"
There was no answer, at least not a verbal one. Julia sighed deeply. Wanting to get up, needing to assure himself of where he was, Morgan struggled against the sleep-paralysis which held him, but its grip was too tight. Another stronger, more frustrated groan escaped his lips.
"Oh, honey, shh. You're gonna be fine. Julia says it'll probably wear off in a bit. You just have to relax. Rest, Morgan."
Hearing Bess speaking to him so lovingly. Hearing Julia hover over him and questioning Alonzo. He knew where he was. Slowly, Morgan peeled his eyelids back, still somewhat afraid of what he might find. Yet, all the sights that greeted him were familiar and reassuring. The sun glowing through the orange canvas of the medtent, what he could see of Julia's medical equipment, and Bess Martin's angelic face smiling down on him. Morgan did begin to relax, for the first time in what seemed like forever. He _was_ safe. He was home. His torment was finally over and the Terrian had brought him home.
He was home.
"Bess," he forced out.
"Hi." She smiled sweetly, as she leaned closer to him and smoothed the hair back from his forehead.Alonzo Solace leaned into his field of vision. "Welcome back to Kansas, buddy."
"Might as well call me Scarecrow. Cause that's sure what I feel like." He forced a weak smile.
"Personally," he felt the strong grip of John Danziger's hand on his arm, "I think 'Cowardly Lion' is more fitting." The smirk John wore took the sting out of his words, and Morgan felt a broad grin spread across his face, at seeing Danziger alive.
"So?" Alonzo was practically bursting with what Morgan could only suspect was curiosity. "What happened?"
Bess turned around, probably to glare at him. Her shoulders were tight. "Shouldn't we let him rest for a little while first?"
It wasn't a request, no one argued with Bess Martin when she used that tone. Even so, there was one question in Morgan's mind which would not be silenced. He had to ask it before they left him to recuperate.
"No, wait," Morgan pushed himself up onto his forearms. "Alonzo, did the Terrians tell you anything, about where I've been?"
The pilot shook his head. "No, they just said that they had you and that you were all right."
*All right!* Morgan scoffed. *All right!? Only the Terrians...* He shook his head, flopping back onto the pillow, astonished to find himself bemused, instead of spitting mad.
"We found you, early this morning, out in the cold, up on the hill." Morgan looked forward to see that Devon Adair was standing at the foot of his cot, her son Uly beside her. All he could do was stare at the little boy. His chest tightened and his eyes began to sting at the corners.
"The Terrians must have left you there, I guess," Devon added, watching Morgan anxiously.
"Morgan, honey? Are you all right?" Bess asked, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He let his gaze sweep over all of the crew; seeing True exactly where she belonged, at her father's side, Yale smiling good-naturedly, Alonzo sitting casually on the other cot next to Julia who was fussing with her equipment, Uly and Devon together, radiating the unbreakable bond and immovable wall of strength and determination only they could create together. And Bess; beautiful, angelic, Bess. Her soothing hands caressing his troubles away, amazing blue eyes projecting her concern and love for him.
A broad grin split his face. "I'm great! Everything's great!"
The Biodome of the Eden Advance Crew's winter camp was alive with activity on this chilly winter evening, as the *entire* group gathered for a celebration of Christmas. The central room glimmered and glowed with the ornaments the children and Bess had created. The punch bowl was already half empty of its dark red liquid, and their pitiful excuse for refreshments had been munched on eagerly. Presents had been shared and enjoyed. Music still played from a jerry rigged system Yale and Danziger had concocted. And the children, wired from the excitement and the punch, were careening around like maniacs. Taking Alonzo and Julia's cue, Cameron had coaxed Eben out onto the dance floor - a cleared space in the middle of the room - followed by Walman and Magus, Baines and Denner, then Yale and Devon.
Morgan Martin thought life couldn't possible get much better than this, as he sat at the table, with his wife, Bess, surveying the revelry surrounding him. Julia's orders were for him not to overexert himself. She wasn't sure what the ordeals he had been through had done to him, but she was certain that his trips through the dream plane had taxed his system unduly. Even though he couldn't actively participate in this party, it was wonderful to see everyone happy, laughing, together, enjoying their lives.
Rest was fine by him. Morgan had already used up most of his reserves when he'd told them all about his adventure, and even though he'd tried to spare them, they wouldn't let him leave any details out. To his astonishment they had believed everything, completely and without question. Well, he guessed they had seen enough on their journey to make even the most unbelievable seem perfectly rational. And his trip back to the stations wasn't all that far-fetched compared to some of the things they had witnessed.
Surrounded by so much goodwill, Morgan pushed the memory out of his mind of Devon's stricken face, when he'd told her about Uly's death and her collapse. She'd drawn her son closer to her, while grabbing for Yale's reaching hand, and they'd shared and uneasy moment in silence. Then, he remembered Julia's tight, empty mask when he'd related her fate, the fate she'd feared she would find here and narrowly escaped. Alonzo had surreptitiously slipped his hand into hers. Tears had glistened in True's eyes, when he'd gotten to the part about her father's death, and her subsequent begging. And she'd slipped up onto her dad's lap, burrowing into him. Danziger had held tight to his daughter. Alonzo had accepted his part of the tale with stoney resolve. This time Julia had been the one to give an outward show of emotion, leaned closer to Alonzo, offering him a sympathetic gaze.
Bess had been the worst, of all. For her pain had not been solely limited to herself. He could see in her eyes and by the way she squeezed his hand, that her grief was for the distress the events had caused him. She didn't seem to care that she had nearly given herself away into a loveless, deceitful marriage. He had loved her so much at that moment, for her selflessness and for how much she loved him without question or regret.
Looking over at his wife, Morgan squeezed her hand, which rested in his on the table top, and she turned to smile at him. The radiance of her smile made his heart swell. *That's mine,* he thought. *And nothing can take that away. As long as I appreciate what I have. And I do.* He lifted her small, long fingered hand to his lips, and kissed it. Then got slowly to his feet.
"May I have this dance, Mrs. Martin?" "Are you sure?" she asked, nearly destroying the romance. "Julia says you need to rest."
"I think I have the strength for just one dance with my wife," he assured her, as he pulled her to her feet.
"Just one," she said. A flirtatious smile toyed with her features and sparkling in her eyes, as she let him lead her out among the others.
Morgan Martin strolled out into the cold night, pulling his coat tightly around him. His wife Bess stepped down beside him and slipped her arm into his, snuggling against him. Together, they set off for the relative warmth and security of their tent. He sighed deeply, as his gaze lifted to the twin moons, shining against an indigo curtain.
The awesome sight reminded him of the Terrian's mournful cry, as it had looked on Earth's single moon, locked in a solitary orbit. And suddenly it all came clear. Everything had a mate; to the Terrians there were no single entities, nothing existed alone or separate. Every living thing was interconnected and had an essential function to fulfill. He also realized that during their experiment he had not been the only one with a lesson to learn. The Terrians had learned something fundamental about humans. Though they prided themselves on their individuality, humans had an undeniable need for companionship and for connectedness. And that every individual was an integral part of the whole. So, it seemed that the two species were not as different as they believed themselves to be.
They had taken a man who believe himself to be a worthless heap and shown him just how important he really was to the group. A wry smile flirted with Morgan's lips. *Of course,* he reminded himself, dropping back into self-effacement, *the reason we're all here and managed to escape the Council's iron fist is because I was out of the loop and didn't have the bloodlust to do the job I was sent to do.*
Amazingly, he didn't care. It didn't seem to matter any longer. Nothing of his life back there held any importance to him, here and now. Survival was the key here - survival of a different sort, other than watching your back for a long dagger. Team work, friendship, and trust were the key elements to success on this planet. Though he found it difficult to be accepted into this group, he was determined to make the effort. These people and their purpose here were what was really important, ultimately, and more rewarding than anything he had ever done before.
"What are you thinking about?" Bess asked, in a dreamy tone. He hadn't realized that he'd halted just outside their tent, and was gawking at the stars, while his wife stood at his side, doing the same.
"How nice it is to be back," he told her, leaning down to give her a swift kiss.
She smiled up at him, her radiance washed over him, filling him with its light. He could feel his balance being restored more and more with each passing hour he was returned.
"And I'm glad to have you back," she returned, before lifting the tent flap and leading him inside their little haven.
Morgan stopped Bess as she started to cross the tent, and slipped his arms around her middle. She snuggled closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling up at him.
"You're amazing. You know that?" She blushed, at his words, and a surge of pride and longing traveled through his body. "I know I don't tell you how much you mean to me often enough. And I can be a real jerk, sometimes. But, always remember, Bess, that you are my whole world."
"I love you, Morgan Martin," she purred, stretching up to reward him with the barest whisper of a kiss.
"You really gave me a scare," Bess admitted, dipping her eyes, obviously a bit ashamed. "When you stormed off last night, so angry--" Her cheeks flushed and her arms dropped to rest on his forearms. "I was afraid you might not come back. And then it got later and later and you didn't show up." Abruptly, she lifted her eyes, and they were flashing with anger. "Don't you ever scare me like that, again, Morgan." She swatted his arm.
He couldn't help the laugh that burst out of him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, pulling her closer. Oh, how he had missed Bess; how he had missed everything he had here. But Bess most of all. He drew in a deep breath, filling himself with her essence, letting his hand slip inside her coat to feel her softness, listening to her soft sighs, banishing the last of the gloom. Bess nuzzled his neck, her delicate fingers pulled down the tall cowl of his sweater, exposing his throat to the cold, but quickly replacing the icy blast with the warm suppleness of her lips. Morgan let out a long, shaky breath, sinking into his wife's embrace.
"You're too good for me, Bess. And I'm the luckiest man in the universe."
The morning air was clean and crisp, so unlike the stale recycled air on the space stations. After two months living on this planet, Morgan Martin had completely forgotten that nearly non-existent odor. This air carried so many smells on its breezes there was no way to identify them all.
Morgan strolled through camp, on his way to his shift at the communications equipment. The snow had stopped falling for the moment, but the sky was overcast and heavy with the promise of more. He lifted his collar, against the cold and smiled. It was good to be back.
He spotted True heading away from the Biodome, on her way to the wood tent, to help Yale and Uly. She trudged along the path, toward him.
"Good morning, True," he greeted, with a grin. "Lovely morning, isn't it."
The little girl returned the smile, slightly trepidatious, and said, "Morning. I guess so. Personally, I think it's way too early."
He laughed as she passed and continued walking, entered the Biodome and got to work. Morgan was up early, this morning, out and ready even before Bess. Everyone was either still asleep or had gone about their business, before settling down for breakfast. Even the breakfast team wasn't here yet. As he was arranging everything the way he liked it, at the work station, the door that lead to Julia's new quarters - the hut they had just finished constructing a few days ago - swung open with the cautious air of someone trying not to be noticed. Alonzo stepped through the doorway, stealthy, boots in his hand. A grin split Morgan's face.
Julia and Alonzo still tried to pretend that they weren't sharing romantic trysts. *Lovers games,* Morgan thought. Let them have their fun.
"Good morning," Morgan announced his presence, and Alonzo jumped, and his eyes widened.
"I didn't think anyone was out here," he let slip. When he relaxed a bit, he crossed the room to Morgan's side and sat down in the other chair. "Don't tell anyone, okay. Julia's kind of sensitive about this."
"Your secret it safe with me," Morgan assured the pilot. *If it were a secret, that is,* he added silently.
"Thanks. So, how're you feeling this morning?" Alonzo bent over to put his shoes on.
"Good. How're you?"
"Fine. Had anymore visits from the Terrians?" "No, thank god. How about you?" He glanced at the pilot, anxiously out of the corner of his eye."Um, yeah, sort of," Alonzo admitted, not meeting Morgan's gaze, concentrating on lacing up his boots.
"Alonzo, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, what?" the pilot replied, as he sat back in his chair. Morgan fidgeted, trying to decide how to phrase his question. He needed to find out why the Terrians had chosen him to torture. If anyone could provide the answers, he was sure that Alonzo could, because of his connection to the Terrians. After a short debate, Morgan finally deciding on the blunt approach."Do you know why the Terrians used me for their little experiment?" Alonzo's eyes widened, with surprise, but Morgan didn't give him a chance to answer. He sighed, and kept on talking. "I just don't get it. You're the one the Terrians call. You're the one they pester. I don't understand why they decided to target me. I mean, yeah, I've been in a lousy mood, but it's not like it's the first time."
Alonzo eyed him with his usual cocky, fly-boy bemusement, and to Morgan's surprise he was delighted to see it, instead of annoyed. He had always liked Alonzo. As the most easy going and accepting member of this group, Alonzo had been the only one not to threaten to string him up, on a continuous basis.
"And, you do spend a lot of time complaining, loudly, about how horrible life is here," Alonzo reminded him. "And how you wish you were back on the stations."
Morgan nodded, ducking his head. "Yeah, I know. But why now?"
"I think it might have something to do with that incident with the Morganitte. You tapped into the dream plane, directly, with nothing between you and it, when you made that connection between the rocks and the geolock. I'm not sure that's ever been done before. Usually there's an intermediary, like a single Terrian or tribe which guides us through. I did talk to a Terrian last night. I guess it was the Terrian who took you around. He made a point of showing me the sunstones and he indicated you, as well."
Morgan could only stare at Alonzo slack jawed. The pilot chuckled.
"Don't get a swelled head about it, Morgan," he gibed. "Also, after we protested Yale's death sentence, the Terrians became curious about how our 'collective' works. They can't seem to understand our concept of unity. See, the Terrians think with one mind. There's no individuality for them. So, if you take one away from their whole, no matter who the one is, your taking away a vital part. Where as we think with many minds; we're all individuals, with our own ways of thinking and our own ideas. They don't understand how, with such individuality, the absence of one life can make such a significant difference in so many lives. I guess this was there way of trying to understand us."
"They probably overheard me, yesterday, whining about how you all would be better off without me and they decided to see for themselves."
"Exactly," Alonzo replied. "They probably knew as little about what they were going to see, as you did."
Morgan shuddered, remembering the Terrians reaction to seeing Alonzo in that mental institution. He hadn't shared that bit with the pilot, feeling awkward about bringing it up among the group. He wasn't sure he was ever going to tell Alonzo. If the Terrians wanted to share that with him, they probably would.
"So, do you think they'll leave me alone, from now on?" Morgan asked, hoping the answer was yes, part of him did, anyway.
Alonzo shrugged. "You never can tell with the Terrians." With that said, Alonzo rose and left Morgan to his own thoughts, of dreams and magical creatures, demons and friends.
Later that day, Morgan wandered up to the hill top, wanting to watch the sunset, for the first time since coming to this planet. There had never, ever been anything like a sunset on the stations, and he was just now, coming to appreciate the spectacular beauty of such an awesome sight.
He left Bess back at camp, assuring her he'd run screaming if he encountered another Terrian. He wanted to be alone, for a few moments. To sort out his thoughts.
All his life he'd felt that he was a disappointment, worthless and an annoyance. He'd let himself be talked into believing these things were true, by the one person who's belief in him was supposed to be the strongest of all; his father. And he'd continually let people slap him down when he'd tried to lift himself up. If it hadn't been for Bess, and her belief in him, he would have lost himself in that misery. His journey back to that life, seeing everything that had ever meant something to him destroyed, had sent him spiraling downward, again.
G889 was to have been his big chance to prove his worth, to take a stand against all those people who had ridiculed him. So far, it hadn't turned out too bad, but he still had a long way to go, and he was willing to take every small step necessary to make his hopes and dreams a reality, for himself and for Bess. He was determined to wipe his slate clean of the wrongs he had done, and to never stick his foot in it, again. But he wasn't trying to delude himself, he knew that life on this planet continually presented them with new challenges and dangers, new temptations to fight against, and that they would all fall prey to them. And he also knew that the best they could hope for was to survive each day, live, love, show respect for their new home and it's inhabitants, and appreciate what they had been given.
A familiar sound, one which he had come to dread, joined his thoughts, to suddenly have a comforting affect on him. Morgan turned slowly to see his Terrian standing a distance away. It did not approach him, keeping a safe distance away, so as not to alarm the human. Its harmonics filled the air.
"Thank you," Morgan said, knowing the Terrian wouldn't understand his words, but hoping the creature would understand the intent behind them.
The Terrian lowered its head and disappeared through the earth. In an exit with far less of a flare for the dramatic, Morgan swiveled away and headed back down the slop, to camp, where he belonged.
-The End-
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IT'S DONE! IT'S DONE! IT'S DONE!
This text file was ran through PERL script made by Andy. Original text file is available in Andy's Earth 2 Fan Fiction Archive.