Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 50

"Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that."

—William Shakespeare, King Lear 

"I'm coming with you today," Marta announced the next morning. Kendra was drained from the therapy session and felt sure Marta was also.

Surprised by the comment, Kendra warily said, "Rob's not really in shape for guests."

"Why not?" Marta asked. "He knows me better than he knows you."

"Yes, but . . ." Kendra began. "He's very confused. I'm not sure we should do this. Especially since he has no control over himself. It could be bad for you."

"I'm a battlefield trauma medic. I've seen some thoroughly disgusting things. If he's merely having tracking problems, I can handle it. Really," she insisted. "Are you trying to keep me away?" she asked, a bit accusatorily.

"No," Kendra replied. But I don't want to see you get hurt. This was not good. She couldn't tell Marta why without bringing up her recent gang rape, which she didn't want to do. Nor did she want to keep her away. But there was no way to hint at the reason. She spent the rest of the trip hoping for some convenient way to call Doctor Rostov and warn him. There didn't seem to be a way.

As soon as they arrived, she insisted on checking in with Rostov. She explained in a very few sentences as she led him out for introductions. "This is Marta," she said. "She wants to visit Rob today." She hoped he'd get the hint, having heard some of Marta's story.

Frowning, Rostov shook his head and said, "I have to advise against it." He looked at Kendra and she shrugged back. Marta said, "What's the problem here? I'm as close as Kendra and I want to see him. If he's not comfortable, I'll leave. As far as me being uncomfortable, I'm a professional. Now can we stop wasting time?"

Rostov reluctantly agreed and Marta headed for the ward. Kendra followed, noting that he made a quick call for help. She met Marta at the door and said, "Let me go in first."

"Sure."

Rob greeted Kendra as she entered. "Hi!" He hugged her and kissed her as usual. His eyes still had that vacant look. She turned him away from the door as Marta slipped in.

"Feeling better?" she asked, gripping his wrists.

"Mostly. Except for a fight with a weolk a few segs ago. That is an hallushination, right?" he asked, concentrating and looking unsure. He rubbed his eyes.

"As far as I know," she agreed. She'd kept his attention focused on her as much as possible and felt a sinking feeling as she said, "I brought someone else," and pointed.

Rob turned, paused for only a second and shouted, "Mar!" He gathered her in a hug, wrapped a hand in her hair and kissed her deeply. She stiffened momentarily then made herself relax. As he pulled back, she looked happily at Kendra.

Rob was moving, urging her back against the wall. She looked concerned at first, then increasingly scared as he pinned her against it and began kissing her neck. He pulled at her pants and she convulsed in panic, grabbing for his hands as he reached in to fondle her.

Her terrified scream staggered him back. He hopped around, confused and crying, and Kendra caught him. She helped him sit on the floor, then turned to Marta, who was curled in a fetal position, whimpering. Medics swarmed into the room and moved to assist.

"I told her it was a bad idea!" she insisted to Lou Rostov. "Why wouldn't she listen?" Tears ran as he took her hand and guided her out. "No," she protested. "I've got to help them!"

"We'll help them," he assured her. "Right now you need some support yourself." He steered her to an empty office and into a seat.

"Listen," he said. "Right now, she's trying to pretend that everything is normal. His reaction is within the parameters of the condition and she knows that, technically. But she saw it from a personal viewpoint, not her professional one."

"I should have stopped her," Kendra said, breathing deeply to calm herself.

"I doubt it would have helped," he said. "Had you brought up her . . . assault, it would simply have made her determined to prove you wrong."

Nodding, she asked, "And what about Rob?"

"He'll bounce right past it. Remember: nothing is real to him right now. It's all part of a dream." She nodded in understanding.

"Speaking of which," he said, "we are ready to try some treatment. We have a tailored enzyme which should attack the nano, and a nano of our own to normalize the chemical levels in the brain."

"Wow. What did that cost to concoct?" she asked.

"We haven't figured that out yet," he admitted. "But the military is covering it and there are other victims of the same agent. And it wouldn't be an issue; our veterans get treated no matter the cost."

"When do we start?" she asked, nervous.

"Tomorrow morning at three. Bring a book or something," he advised. "Hopefully, most of it will be boring. Bring spare clothes—it may get messy."

Kendra took several segs to recover her calm. Despite any words of reassurance, she felt responsible for Marta's collapse. And the next day wasn't going to be pleasant.

Rob was sitting on the bed and kissed her as she arrived. "Hi, sexy," he said, grinning. He brushed a hand across her left breast, sending momentary shivers through her. She squirmed slightly and redirected his hand.

"We're here to work today," she reminded him.

Rostov cut in with, "Lieutenant McKay, do you understand what we are about to do?"

Turning to face him slowly, Rob stared through him, seeing something besides the psychiatrist. "You're going to try to treat me with a tailored nano."

"Good," Rostov agreed. "And you consent to this treatment and to Kendra being here for support?"

"Shure," Rob slurred, grinning. "Gotta be better than adrigamij with a petrowheeler."

Nodding as if understanding, Rostov directed, "Hold out your arm."

Rob made no response as the cold liquid carrier dissolved through his skin, taking the submicroscopic devices with it. Rostov left, and he and Kendra talked as it gradually took effect.

Rob suddenly strangled and retched. Kendra gripped his shoulders, hoping it would be a short incident. He recovered and sat slowly back up. "That . . . was not pleasant," he said.

"What was it?" she asked.

"You ever suck snot out of a goat's nose?"

Kendra's throat clenched tight. A sudden mental connection made her recoil in horror. She forced herself to regain control and swallow. "My God, dear, is that what you're seeing right now?"

"No, not seeing it," he replied. "I was doing it. Or thought so. It was the lumpy bits. . ."

She tuned him out and pretended to be listening. He suddenly clutched at her and pulled her tightly to him. He whimpered and gasped, eyes closed, seeing some inner demon. Then she felt a warm wetness seeping through to her thigh. Oh, trif, she thought. Well, that's why I brought extra clothes. 

She stayed with him for three days. He slept little, she less. His reactions indicated hallucinations affecting every sense and strange realities that only he was privy to. She napped in a chair when she could and subsisted on cold leftovers and water, the food she'd brought completely forgotten. She hoped it was less draining for him, as she took a moment to stare at her red, gritty eyes and sagging face in the metal mirror. A quick rinse with water didn't help much. She moved back to comfort him, as he twitched in his sleep.

Finally, Rostov came in and motioned her to follow. He closed the door behind her and said, "Go get some rest. We aren't having the results we wanted."

"Can you tell why?" she asked, sinking lower at the news.

Shaking his head, he replied, "It should have had some effect by now. We are missing something. I'll let you know."

She wandered home, driving aimlessly to clear her thoughts. Then she spent a long time soaking in a hot spray. She dressed in loose clothes and went downstairs, where Marta was cooking. When Marta hugged her, she reciprocated and accepted a light kiss.

"How is he?" Marta asked, serving up some stew.

"Not better," Kendra admitted, feeling tired again. "They're running some more tests." She began crying. "I hate seeing him like this! He's trapped underneath, but can't get out."

Marta pulled her closer and said, "They'll manage, I'm sure. It just takes a while."

Kendra looked up. "How are you doing?"

Nodding, Marta admitted, "Better. It isn't a torture session to talk about it with Carla—Doctor Wuu—anymore. She seems to think that my training and background make it easier for me to disassociate it."

"Glad to hear it," Kendra said.

"Are, uh, you up for anything this evening?" Marta asked nervously, gripping Kendra's shoulder.

It took a moment for the words to register. "You mean . . . romantically?" Kendra asked.

"If you're comfortable with it," Marta said hastily. "I feel bad about this, but I'm glad Rob isn't here. I couldn't handle a man right now. But if you . . ."

I am not the slightest bit interested in sex with anyone right now. And I would far prefer a man. "Sure."

Marta grabbed her and kissed her hard and deep, surprising her with the strength of the response. She kissed back, allowing sensuality to control it.

Marta poured a drink—wine only, and stopped after the one drink. Kendra took that as a good sign. She leaned back and accepted a leg massage while studying Marta for signs of distress.

"What?" Marta asked when she caught her.

"Just seeing how you're healing," she said, not quite a lie. The scars on her face were rapidly fading and the swelling retreating. There was still some bruising and discoloration, and it would be weeks before Marta's teeth regrew from the forms placed in her mouth. Her leg, ribs and shoulder were gradually regaining muscle tone. From the outside, Marta looked better. Her eyes were still furtive and lacked the intensity and brightness they'd had. Hopefully, that would return in time.

Upstairs, Marta undressed. She'd taken to wearing clothes for sleeping since her attack and rarely was nude at all anymore. Her figure was still spectacular, even with her meek body language. She slipped into bed and waited for Kendra.

Kendra followed suit, wanting her to be at ease. She snuggled up alongside and accepted another kiss with a bit more enthusiasm. "What would you like, dear?" she asked, leery of doing anything to upset her.

"I just want your presence," Marta said. She was running her fingers over Kendra's throat, shoulders and breasts. Kendra nodded, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the touch. She concentrated on the gliding caresses, and felt her skin tingling. Lips brushed hers again, very gently, and she felt her mouth melt into another kiss. It grew in intensity, and she let her own tongue glide over the exposed skin of Marta's throat. She reached out a hand.

Marta tensed then relaxed, but she took Kendra's hand firmly in her own. She carefully drew it around behind her, and tugged to indicate it should stay there. Kendra tried not to tense herself.

She felt Marta's fingers drifting over her ribs and down her belly, and moved her legs slightly. The questing hand sought her thighs, then slipped between them. She stiffened and Marta simultaneously relaxed, flowing against her. Marta's fingers gently teased her, and they locked lips under a fall of heavy black hair. Nothing was said for long segs.

Finally, Marta stretched and turned. "You were faking," she said factually.

"I was very close. I'm glad you enjoyed it," Kendra replied.

"I did. I guess you've got a lot of things stressing you. I'm not imposing, am I?" Marta asked, fingers tracing down Kendra's ribs again.

"You can't impose, dear," Kendra assured her. "If you need me, I'm here."

"I know," Marta said, but she sounded reassured. "Thanks for faking."

Flushing, Kendra said, "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be!" Marta insisted. "Can you even guess how many times I faked it for someone else's pleasure? As long as you don't lie about it, there's nothing wrong with it."

They snuggled in close and drifted asleep. Kendra felt relaxed for the first time in weeks, and slept well.

She spoke to Dr. Wuu again the next day. She felt affronted as the counselor dragged information out of her about the battle in Delph'. It hurt more to discuss it than leave it lie, she thought, but she went along with the program.

"This isn't really what's bothering you, is it?" Wuu asked, sipping apple juice. She always looked utterly relaxed as she dissected someone's soul. "You keep trying to justify their actions as understandable, even acceptable. So tell me about your experiences generally, about why you feel responsible."

Kendra grimaced and growled. She was frustrated enough to want to scream. "It's just war. We murdered and crippled people daily," she said.

"And you feel that justifies them raping and torturing prisoners, just because of frustration? There are accepted rules of engagement, you know," Wuu replied.

"Goddammit, I know!" Kendra shouted. "But murder was a part of it, so why not rape and torture?" she panted, pulse throbbing. "I gapped a few people who were trying to surrender, because there was no way to drag them along. Technically, that was an atrocity. I shot people at several hundred meters, who had even less idea what was happening and had no chance to surrender, but that's legally okay. So is planting bombs. Roughing up prisoners for intel is wrong, leaving them shrieking in agony as you retreat is okay. Why is any of it considered acceptable? Where do we draw the line? Why is murder acceptable?"

" 'Murder' is a specific crime of wrongful killing. It legally and morally does not apply to self defense, defense of another or killing in battle. We must keep our terms precise. The semantics define how we think," Wuu said.

"What I did—" Kendra shouted, and stopped.

"Yes?" Wuu prodded.

Kendra said nothing, looking down at her hands. She felt a wall crumble inside. That wasn't what was bothering her. She knew what was and she could never, ever admit it.

"Did you like killing, Kendra? Is that why you think of it as murder?" Wuu asked.

No answer.

"Did you enjoy watching them die? Hearing them scream? Was it a thrill to shoot them, crush them, stab them?" she probed in a monotone.

No answer.

"Did it excite you?" she asked. Again no response. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she asked, "Did it make you wet?"

"Fuck. You. You. Bitch." The words ground out from between clenched teeth in a hoarse whisper. Kendra shook in a rage she'd never before felt.

In a light conversational tone, Wuu asked, "Is that why you try to defend them? As mortification of the flesh for your sins committed?"

Kendra stood, whirled and swung her arm hard enough to pull muscles. Her glass shattered in the fireplace, throwing shards for meters. She stood panting, wide-eyed.

Wuu said nothing, just sat and waited patiently. She gave no indication of distress from the outburst, nor when Kendra stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle. Several gulps of liquor burned down her throat and set her stomach afire. She gripped the counter, knuckles white and stared with watering eyes at nothing. Finally sighing, she returned to the common room.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that's a natural reaction?" she said, tears and sarcasm dripping.

"You're a human being. Anything you do is natural. It may be rarer in some than others, depending on the reaction, but they are all natural," Wuu said.

"I enjoyed killing them," Kendra admitted. "It might be 'normal' if they were vicious animals or brutal thugs, but they were just here to do a job," she said.

"And it was your job to stop them. Were you good at it?" Wuu asked.

"Of course I was good. I'm alive, aren't I?" she retorted.

"Is that bad?"

"No . . . but . . . they . . ." Kendra began. She stopped.

"They were from your society," Wuu finished. Kendra nodded.

"Killing is a brutal, vicious, dangerous job," Wuu said. "Empathy for the enemy delays your reactions and gets you killed. It is necessary to think of them as nonhuman, as 'krauts,' 'gooks,' or 'aardvarks,' to enable you to shut off the civilized part of your brain and revert to the killer mentality. By thinking of your own culture as nonhuman, you degraded yourself. You took justifiable delight in being good at an almost impossible task, made tougher by your relationship to the enemy, and succeeding. By enjoying death, you violated your moral principles. By feeling the typical hormonal response that provokes the same reaction as sexual excitement, you felt dirty. This was reinforced by your religious training, which taught you that sex is a private, holy matter. Your church's cultural concept of penance makes you feel that you deserve a sexual punishment for a sexual sin. The odds of war brought one to you. You feel ashamed and violated by your attack, but also feel you deserved it, so you feel ashamed at feeling that shame. Intellectually, you realize a conflict, but cannot describe it," Wuu said. It was the longest speech she'd made.

She continued, "Warfare is hard to accept for many people. It is easier for those raised here, because we maintain a martial aspect to our culture that most do not. Can you name for me one act of yours that violated the Conventions?"

"I shot prisoners," she said.

"Prisoners you couldn't take charge of, whose release would have compromised your unit. Their deaths were tactically necessary to your mission. Was it against the Conventions? Yes. Was it murder? No, it was warfare. Did you allow or participate in any torture or rape? Deliberately harm civilians?"

"I smacked prisoners around for intel," Kendra said. "I needed to find out where they were based. We killed a lot we found doing . . . things. Then we started killing them whether they surrendered or not. And we smashed a few, outright murder just for belonging to the other side. And there were some I . . . hacked to pieces in frustration," she admitted, eyes closed in pain and shame.

"Most of that treatment of prisoners was to protect the civilians supporting your rebels, correct?" Wuu asked, and Kendra nodded. "Technically a crime, but you were protecting civilians, which they should have helped you to do. It gets very hazy in war as to who is combatant and who is not. The days of 'name, rank and service number' are gone, if they ever existed in real life. That's why troops are never told more than they need to know. You were gathering information to protect your home from invaders. As far as the outright killing, it happens in every war. About thirty percent of all combatants violate the conventions. Many of them enjoy it. They often feel guilty when they get home, because they are thrown back into polite company where theoretical ideals overcome practicality. Revenge is not legally recognized, but is very common and a very human emotion. I have some bad news for you, Kendra," Wuu said. Kendra looked up to meet her eyes.

"You're civilized."

The irony of it caused Kendra to laugh herself into more tears.

Wuu smiled back and said, "You applied your talents to being the best killer you could be, did it well, never let your feelings get in the way of that killing. You did attack some simply for being the enemy, but the provocation offered makes it understandable if not right. And you now feel remorse over your actions, indicating an intact moral sense. You had a bizarre environment to deal with and you did deal."

"So why do I feel so bad about it?" Kendra asked.

"I don't know. You tell me," Wuu said, reverting to her questioning self.

It was more anxious days before a conclusion was reached about Rob. Rostov called and she hurried in for a conference. He seemed relaxed when she rushed in and she took that as a good sign. "You have news?" she asked breathlessly.

"We do," he nodded. "There's a second tier effect to the nano that was not obvious at first. The hallucinations are deliberate damage by the first routine. The second routine is attacking his flight-control implant and generating images and inputs there, which are highly confusing, since they can't be referenced to a cockpit environment. Then, as the devices fail, they are attaching themselves to the module and creating control problems. The design on this bastard—" it was the first time Kendra had heard him be anything other than dispassionate "—is the work of a truly sick genius. This team is the best in the system, and it took us weeks to figure it out.

"Additionally, as our counter attacked the infection, it built up more plaque on the module and created more, but subtly different, hallucinations. And it is self-replicating. It degrades with time, of course, but it will keep regenerating toxic levels. And there's a standard biovirus that is symbiotic with it that keeps it fed with the enzymes it needs. We're trying to kill that first. It looks like they feed each other to perpetuate the effect and when they find a module they generate the second effect to disable that, too. It's worse for pilots and interface programmers than for anyone else. We can't prove that was a deliberate design, but I'll put money on it.

"Your efforts here may have saved not only Rob, but the seven others who either have no next of kin or whose we cannot contact and are harder to interact with. We owe you."

"No you don't. It's my duty as a soldier and as his friend." She wanted nothing to do with this disgusting weapon, even as part of the cure. She continued, "I'm guessing you have another counter-agent?"

Rostov ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, actually, no," he said. "The existing therapy is sound and the side effects of additional nano-loading would be very unpleasant. And this agent is very pervasive. We aren't likely to get it all, and the combined effect would manifest again. So the bad news is that he can never fly again, no matter what happens."

Kendra took that in in a cold shock. "That'll kill him," she said, trembling. "Do you know how important flying is to him?"

Rostov nodded. "From his spoken dreams and flight record, I can guess. But the damage is not repairable with current technology. I'm sorry." He seemed very embarrassed by the limits of his capabilities.

"Well, then," she sighed. "I guess you do what you have to."

Kendra sat waiting, impatient but still. Rob had come through the removal of his implant in fine shape. A created virus destroyed its structure and the residue of both flushed out in the bloodstream. He was kept lightly sedated as the counter-virus was readministered and then allowed to wake. He stirred and Kendra became alert. His eyes opened.

"Morning," she said simply.

"Hi," he replied. "Raging hangover."

"It will get worse," she assured him. "The counter-virus is working this time."

"Huh?" he muttered. "To counter what?"

"The hallucinogen you picked up at Braided Bluff," she explained. Rostov had said there might be minor confusion and memory damage. She held her breath for an answer.

"Oh. Right," he said. "It worked this time?" He suddenly sat up, leaned over and vomited hard. She stood and ran to help him.

"It's working," she said when he stopped. "But you will still be experiencing hallucinations as it flushes out."

He gagged again momentarily. "How bad?" he asked raggedly.

"Worse than before," she admitted. He sat and was still, staring into space. Then he chuckled.

"Well," he said, "I may as well enjoy the good bits while they last." He laughed out loud, pointing at something only he could see. He calmed again in a few moments. "This must be hard on you," he thought aloud.

"You have no idea," she said, feeling scared, nauseous, protective, disgusted. A spectrum of emotions tumbled through her and she tried hard to suppress them.

He interrupted her meditation. "How's Marta?"

"Better," she admitted. "She was scared, that's all."

"Why?" he asked.

"Just things that happened."

He gripped her wrist hard and gave her a stern look. "Don't lie to me. Being sick makes me neither stupid nor incompetent. What happened?"

She was in a panic as to whether it was safe to tell him or not. She decided to go ahead. "She was captured during a clandestine mission and tortured and gang-raped."

He nodded, brow furrowed in thought. "That's disgusting," he said. "Tell me all of it."

She spun the details out for him, all the way through Marta's reaction to him. He interrupted her several times to go through some severe reaction or another. He had another fit of vomiting a few segs later, then began scratching itches. They increased maddeningly until he dragged himself across the ground, trying to abrade his tortured nerves. After lucidly absorbing more details, he leapt across the room, snatching a blanket from the bed and hiding beneath it, quaking in terror. He was unable to eat lunch, and lay on the floor whimpering. Kendra attempted to help him up, but he gave every indication of more nausea so she helped him back down. He sucked water from a bottle, face pressed against the smooth polymer, dripping cold, stale sweat. "Cooler," he begged, and she ordered the floor coils down five degrees. Segs later, he began twitching again.

It took three more days of waiting, sleeplessness and pain. She watched tearfully as he thrashed, vomited, rolled around on the floor from nerves driven to distraction, held his ears against sounds only he could hear and couldn't shut out and clawed at his face.

Not all his visions were negative. At one point, he began seducing her, very tenderly. She was shy of the blatant cameras, but agreed to his advances. She soon forgot about the environment and enjoyed his attentions. His brain was still very much alive underneath and stayed in control through their mutual excitement. He collapsed shortly afterward, exhausted from all his activities. She tucked a blanket around him and napped in the chair.

He woke lucid. He was worn and beaten looking and very hungry. He ate and kept the food down and suffered only an occasional flash of hallucination. "I hope that's it," he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

Rostov came in with an assistant and watched while Rob's responses were tested. He gave no expression either good or bad and left shortly. Rob was experiencing somewhat lesser effects now, and slept deeply and uninterrupted, snoring loudly. Accepting a risk, Kendra wrapped an arm around him and slept with him. She cried herself to sleep. How long would it be before things were normal? And what would constitute "normal"?

Rob was pronounced fit the next week. Kendra drove him to Marta's, he not being allowed to operate equipment yet. He kept the vent open for fresh air and looked queasy by the time they arrived. That was expected. His brain had adapted to the control module and lacked balance of its own now. That should improve, they'd been told, but not completely.

He greeted Marta very gently, utterly platonic and friendly. They exchanged stares, each reading the other's thoughts but not able to speak. They simply hugged, then sat apart while Kendra took over as hostess. It would take a long time to get used to each other again.

She traveled into duty every day, feeling better with both of her friends to watch each other. She still called to check on them several times during the three divs she worked. She tried not to sound as if she was checking on her dysfunctional children and neither of them ever mentioned it, but it obviously bothered them. She tapered the calls down to two, then to one at lunch. They did seem to be making progress.

Rob needed a lot of physical attention and his sex drive was normal. Marta's was not back to normal, but improving. Since Marta couldn't deal with Rob yet, and he realized his control was still lacking, Kendra found herself busier than she'd ever been, as exclusive lover for each of them. She was okay with Rob, leery around Marta, and still not entirely comfortable making love to a woman without a man present. It was aesthetic and sensual, only rarely orgasmic. She had to work at it to stay interested and interesting to Marta.

Rob was shortly able to run the house and as the net came up he resumed work. There was plenty for him, but no one could pay much; the economy was a shambles. Marta received a letter from the bank informing her that they were waiving accumulated interest on the mortgage, but payments must resume within five months. Most of her investment assets had disappeared and her military pay would just cover the house, but nothing else. Kendra's covered the basic essentials of food, power and water. Rob was working tirelessly to bring in enough to handle repairs, vehicles and incidental expenses. He cut his tenants a deal of two months free rent with at least quarter payments after that, no rent for the war months and up to a year to resume full payments and make up any shortages due for partials. There wasn't much money there, either.

He gradually got details from Marta, and realizing Kendra was rather cool sexually, talked her into revealing her experiences. He was quiet and perceptive and made fewer and gentler requests for her in bed. She found it both helpful and painful. She wanted to give him all the attention he desired, but just couldn't relax yet.

Rob spent three days buried in his comm, digging through UN files. She wasn't sure how he hacked into their system, but she did overhear him make a call to military intelligence. He pulled in a favor or two and made notes, then crawled back into the net.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed

Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 50

"Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that."

—William Shakespeare, King Lear 

"I'm coming with you today," Marta announced the next morning. Kendra was drained from the therapy session and felt sure Marta was also.

Surprised by the comment, Kendra warily said, "Rob's not really in shape for guests."

"Why not?" Marta asked. "He knows me better than he knows you."

"Yes, but . . ." Kendra began. "He's very confused. I'm not sure we should do this. Especially since he has no control over himself. It could be bad for you."

"I'm a battlefield trauma medic. I've seen some thoroughly disgusting things. If he's merely having tracking problems, I can handle it. Really," she insisted. "Are you trying to keep me away?" she asked, a bit accusatorily.

"No," Kendra replied. But I don't want to see you get hurt. This was not good. She couldn't tell Marta why without bringing up her recent gang rape, which she didn't want to do. Nor did she want to keep her away. But there was no way to hint at the reason. She spent the rest of the trip hoping for some convenient way to call Doctor Rostov and warn him. There didn't seem to be a way.

As soon as they arrived, she insisted on checking in with Rostov. She explained in a very few sentences as she led him out for introductions. "This is Marta," she said. "She wants to visit Rob today." She hoped he'd get the hint, having heard some of Marta's story.

Frowning, Rostov shook his head and said, "I have to advise against it." He looked at Kendra and she shrugged back. Marta said, "What's the problem here? I'm as close as Kendra and I want to see him. If he's not comfortable, I'll leave. As far as me being uncomfortable, I'm a professional. Now can we stop wasting time?"

Rostov reluctantly agreed and Marta headed for the ward. Kendra followed, noting that he made a quick call for help. She met Marta at the door and said, "Let me go in first."

"Sure."

Rob greeted Kendra as she entered. "Hi!" He hugged her and kissed her as usual. His eyes still had that vacant look. She turned him away from the door as Marta slipped in.

"Feeling better?" she asked, gripping his wrists.

"Mostly. Except for a fight with a weolk a few segs ago. That is an hallushination, right?" he asked, concentrating and looking unsure. He rubbed his eyes.

"As far as I know," she agreed. She'd kept his attention focused on her as much as possible and felt a sinking feeling as she said, "I brought someone else," and pointed.

Rob turned, paused for only a second and shouted, "Mar!" He gathered her in a hug, wrapped a hand in her hair and kissed her deeply. She stiffened momentarily then made herself relax. As he pulled back, she looked happily at Kendra.

Rob was moving, urging her back against the wall. She looked concerned at first, then increasingly scared as he pinned her against it and began kissing her neck. He pulled at her pants and she convulsed in panic, grabbing for his hands as he reached in to fondle her.

Her terrified scream staggered him back. He hopped around, confused and crying, and Kendra caught him. She helped him sit on the floor, then turned to Marta, who was curled in a fetal position, whimpering. Medics swarmed into the room and moved to assist.

"I told her it was a bad idea!" she insisted to Lou Rostov. "Why wouldn't she listen?" Tears ran as he took her hand and guided her out. "No," she protested. "I've got to help them!"

"We'll help them," he assured her. "Right now you need some support yourself." He steered her to an empty office and into a seat.

"Listen," he said. "Right now, she's trying to pretend that everything is normal. His reaction is within the parameters of the condition and she knows that, technically. But she saw it from a personal viewpoint, not her professional one."

"I should have stopped her," Kendra said, breathing deeply to calm herself.

"I doubt it would have helped," he said. "Had you brought up her . . . assault, it would simply have made her determined to prove you wrong."

Nodding, she asked, "And what about Rob?"

"He'll bounce right past it. Remember: nothing is real to him right now. It's all part of a dream." She nodded in understanding.

"Speaking of which," he said, "we are ready to try some treatment. We have a tailored enzyme which should attack the nano, and a nano of our own to normalize the chemical levels in the brain."

"Wow. What did that cost to concoct?" she asked.

"We haven't figured that out yet," he admitted. "But the military is covering it and there are other victims of the same agent. And it wouldn't be an issue; our veterans get treated no matter the cost."

"When do we start?" she asked, nervous.

"Tomorrow morning at three. Bring a book or something," he advised. "Hopefully, most of it will be boring. Bring spare clothes—it may get messy."

Kendra took several segs to recover her calm. Despite any words of reassurance, she felt responsible for Marta's collapse. And the next day wasn't going to be pleasant.

Rob was sitting on the bed and kissed her as she arrived. "Hi, sexy," he said, grinning. He brushed a hand across her left breast, sending momentary shivers through her. She squirmed slightly and redirected his hand.

"We're here to work today," she reminded him.

Rostov cut in with, "Lieutenant McKay, do you understand what we are about to do?"

Turning to face him slowly, Rob stared through him, seeing something besides the psychiatrist. "You're going to try to treat me with a tailored nano."

"Good," Rostov agreed. "And you consent to this treatment and to Kendra being here for support?"

"Shure," Rob slurred, grinning. "Gotta be better than adrigamij with a petrowheeler."

Nodding as if understanding, Rostov directed, "Hold out your arm."

Rob made no response as the cold liquid carrier dissolved through his skin, taking the submicroscopic devices with it. Rostov left, and he and Kendra talked as it gradually took effect.

Rob suddenly strangled and retched. Kendra gripped his shoulders, hoping it would be a short incident. He recovered and sat slowly back up. "That . . . was not pleasant," he said.

"What was it?" she asked.

"You ever suck snot out of a goat's nose?"

Kendra's throat clenched tight. A sudden mental connection made her recoil in horror. She forced herself to regain control and swallow. "My God, dear, is that what you're seeing right now?"

"No, not seeing it," he replied. "I was doing it. Or thought so. It was the lumpy bits. . ."

She tuned him out and pretended to be listening. He suddenly clutched at her and pulled her tightly to him. He whimpered and gasped, eyes closed, seeing some inner demon. Then she felt a warm wetness seeping through to her thigh. Oh, trif, she thought. Well, that's why I brought extra clothes. 

She stayed with him for three days. He slept little, she less. His reactions indicated hallucinations affecting every sense and strange realities that only he was privy to. She napped in a chair when she could and subsisted on cold leftovers and water, the food she'd brought completely forgotten. She hoped it was less draining for him, as she took a moment to stare at her red, gritty eyes and sagging face in the metal mirror. A quick rinse with water didn't help much. She moved back to comfort him, as he twitched in his sleep.

Finally, Rostov came in and motioned her to follow. He closed the door behind her and said, "Go get some rest. We aren't having the results we wanted."

"Can you tell why?" she asked, sinking lower at the news.

Shaking his head, he replied, "It should have had some effect by now. We are missing something. I'll let you know."

She wandered home, driving aimlessly to clear her thoughts. Then she spent a long time soaking in a hot spray. She dressed in loose clothes and went downstairs, where Marta was cooking. When Marta hugged her, she reciprocated and accepted a light kiss.

"How is he?" Marta asked, serving up some stew.

"Not better," Kendra admitted, feeling tired again. "They're running some more tests." She began crying. "I hate seeing him like this! He's trapped underneath, but can't get out."

Marta pulled her closer and said, "They'll manage, I'm sure. It just takes a while."

Kendra looked up. "How are you doing?"

Nodding, Marta admitted, "Better. It isn't a torture session to talk about it with Carla—Doctor Wuu—anymore. She seems to think that my training and background make it easier for me to disassociate it."

"Glad to hear it," Kendra said.

"Are, uh, you up for anything this evening?" Marta asked nervously, gripping Kendra's shoulder.

It took a moment for the words to register. "You mean . . . romantically?" Kendra asked.

"If you're comfortable with it," Marta said hastily. "I feel bad about this, but I'm glad Rob isn't here. I couldn't handle a man right now. But if you . . ."

I am not the slightest bit interested in sex with anyone right now. And I would far prefer a man. "Sure."

Marta grabbed her and kissed her hard and deep, surprising her with the strength of the response. She kissed back, allowing sensuality to control it.

Marta poured a drink—wine only, and stopped after the one drink. Kendra took that as a good sign. She leaned back and accepted a leg massage while studying Marta for signs of distress.

"What?" Marta asked when she caught her.

"Just seeing how you're healing," she said, not quite a lie. The scars on her face were rapidly fading and the swelling retreating. There was still some bruising and discoloration, and it would be weeks before Marta's teeth regrew from the forms placed in her mouth. Her leg, ribs and shoulder were gradually regaining muscle tone. From the outside, Marta looked better. Her eyes were still furtive and lacked the intensity and brightness they'd had. Hopefully, that would return in time.

Upstairs, Marta undressed. She'd taken to wearing clothes for sleeping since her attack and rarely was nude at all anymore. Her figure was still spectacular, even with her meek body language. She slipped into bed and waited for Kendra.

Kendra followed suit, wanting her to be at ease. She snuggled up alongside and accepted another kiss with a bit more enthusiasm. "What would you like, dear?" she asked, leery of doing anything to upset her.

"I just want your presence," Marta said. She was running her fingers over Kendra's throat, shoulders and breasts. Kendra nodded, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the touch. She concentrated on the gliding caresses, and felt her skin tingling. Lips brushed hers again, very gently, and she felt her mouth melt into another kiss. It grew in intensity, and she let her own tongue glide over the exposed skin of Marta's throat. She reached out a hand.

Marta tensed then relaxed, but she took Kendra's hand firmly in her own. She carefully drew it around behind her, and tugged to indicate it should stay there. Kendra tried not to tense herself.

She felt Marta's fingers drifting over her ribs and down her belly, and moved her legs slightly. The questing hand sought her thighs, then slipped between them. She stiffened and Marta simultaneously relaxed, flowing against her. Marta's fingers gently teased her, and they locked lips under a fall of heavy black hair. Nothing was said for long segs.

Finally, Marta stretched and turned. "You were faking," she said factually.

"I was very close. I'm glad you enjoyed it," Kendra replied.

"I did. I guess you've got a lot of things stressing you. I'm not imposing, am I?" Marta asked, fingers tracing down Kendra's ribs again.

"You can't impose, dear," Kendra assured her. "If you need me, I'm here."

"I know," Marta said, but she sounded reassured. "Thanks for faking."

Flushing, Kendra said, "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be!" Marta insisted. "Can you even guess how many times I faked it for someone else's pleasure? As long as you don't lie about it, there's nothing wrong with it."

They snuggled in close and drifted asleep. Kendra felt relaxed for the first time in weeks, and slept well.

She spoke to Dr. Wuu again the next day. She felt affronted as the counselor dragged information out of her about the battle in Delph'. It hurt more to discuss it than leave it lie, she thought, but she went along with the program.

"This isn't really what's bothering you, is it?" Wuu asked, sipping apple juice. She always looked utterly relaxed as she dissected someone's soul. "You keep trying to justify their actions as understandable, even acceptable. So tell me about your experiences generally, about why you feel responsible."

Kendra grimaced and growled. She was frustrated enough to want to scream. "It's just war. We murdered and crippled people daily," she said.

"And you feel that justifies them raping and torturing prisoners, just because of frustration? There are accepted rules of engagement, you know," Wuu replied.

"Goddammit, I know!" Kendra shouted. "But murder was a part of it, so why not rape and torture?" she panted, pulse throbbing. "I gapped a few people who were trying to surrender, because there was no way to drag them along. Technically, that was an atrocity. I shot people at several hundred meters, who had even less idea what was happening and had no chance to surrender, but that's legally okay. So is planting bombs. Roughing up prisoners for intel is wrong, leaving them shrieking in agony as you retreat is okay. Why is any of it considered acceptable? Where do we draw the line? Why is murder acceptable?"

" 'Murder' is a specific crime of wrongful killing. It legally and morally does not apply to self defense, defense of another or killing in battle. We must keep our terms precise. The semantics define how we think," Wuu said.

"What I did—" Kendra shouted, and stopped.

"Yes?" Wuu prodded.

Kendra said nothing, looking down at her hands. She felt a wall crumble inside. That wasn't what was bothering her. She knew what was and she could never, ever admit it.

"Did you like killing, Kendra? Is that why you think of it as murder?" Wuu asked.

No answer.

"Did you enjoy watching them die? Hearing them scream? Was it a thrill to shoot them, crush them, stab them?" she probed in a monotone.

No answer.

"Did it excite you?" she asked. Again no response. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she asked, "Did it make you wet?"

"Fuck. You. You. Bitch." The words ground out from between clenched teeth in a hoarse whisper. Kendra shook in a rage she'd never before felt.

In a light conversational tone, Wuu asked, "Is that why you try to defend them? As mortification of the flesh for your sins committed?"

Kendra stood, whirled and swung her arm hard enough to pull muscles. Her glass shattered in the fireplace, throwing shards for meters. She stood panting, wide-eyed.

Wuu said nothing, just sat and waited patiently. She gave no indication of distress from the outburst, nor when Kendra stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle. Several gulps of liquor burned down her throat and set her stomach afire. She gripped the counter, knuckles white and stared with watering eyes at nothing. Finally sighing, she returned to the common room.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that's a natural reaction?" she said, tears and sarcasm dripping.

"You're a human being. Anything you do is natural. It may be rarer in some than others, depending on the reaction, but they are all natural," Wuu said.

"I enjoyed killing them," Kendra admitted. "It might be 'normal' if they were vicious animals or brutal thugs, but they were just here to do a job," she said.

"And it was your job to stop them. Were you good at it?" Wuu asked.

"Of course I was good. I'm alive, aren't I?" she retorted.

"Is that bad?"

"No . . . but . . . they . . ." Kendra began. She stopped.

"They were from your society," Wuu finished. Kendra nodded.

"Killing is a brutal, vicious, dangerous job," Wuu said. "Empathy for the enemy delays your reactions and gets you killed. It is necessary to think of them as nonhuman, as 'krauts,' 'gooks,' or 'aardvarks,' to enable you to shut off the civilized part of your brain and revert to the killer mentality. By thinking of your own culture as nonhuman, you degraded yourself. You took justifiable delight in being good at an almost impossible task, made tougher by your relationship to the enemy, and succeeding. By enjoying death, you violated your moral principles. By feeling the typical hormonal response that provokes the same reaction as sexual excitement, you felt dirty. This was reinforced by your religious training, which taught you that sex is a private, holy matter. Your church's cultural concept of penance makes you feel that you deserve a sexual punishment for a sexual sin. The odds of war brought one to you. You feel ashamed and violated by your attack, but also feel you deserved it, so you feel ashamed at feeling that shame. Intellectually, you realize a conflict, but cannot describe it," Wuu said. It was the longest speech she'd made.

She continued, "Warfare is hard to accept for many people. It is easier for those raised here, because we maintain a martial aspect to our culture that most do not. Can you name for me one act of yours that violated the Conventions?"

"I shot prisoners," she said.

"Prisoners you couldn't take charge of, whose release would have compromised your unit. Their deaths were tactically necessary to your mission. Was it against the Conventions? Yes. Was it murder? No, it was warfare. Did you allow or participate in any torture or rape? Deliberately harm civilians?"

"I smacked prisoners around for intel," Kendra said. "I needed to find out where they were based. We killed a lot we found doing . . . things. Then we started killing them whether they surrendered or not. And we smashed a few, outright murder just for belonging to the other side. And there were some I . . . hacked to pieces in frustration," she admitted, eyes closed in pain and shame.

"Most of that treatment of prisoners was to protect the civilians supporting your rebels, correct?" Wuu asked, and Kendra nodded. "Technically a crime, but you were protecting civilians, which they should have helped you to do. It gets very hazy in war as to who is combatant and who is not. The days of 'name, rank and service number' are gone, if they ever existed in real life. That's why troops are never told more than they need to know. You were gathering information to protect your home from invaders. As far as the outright killing, it happens in every war. About thirty percent of all combatants violate the conventions. Many of them enjoy it. They often feel guilty when they get home, because they are thrown back into polite company where theoretical ideals overcome practicality. Revenge is not legally recognized, but is very common and a very human emotion. I have some bad news for you, Kendra," Wuu said. Kendra looked up to meet her eyes.

"You're civilized."

The irony of it caused Kendra to laugh herself into more tears.

Wuu smiled back and said, "You applied your talents to being the best killer you could be, did it well, never let your feelings get in the way of that killing. You did attack some simply for being the enemy, but the provocation offered makes it understandable if not right. And you now feel remorse over your actions, indicating an intact moral sense. You had a bizarre environment to deal with and you did deal."

"So why do I feel so bad about it?" Kendra asked.

"I don't know. You tell me," Wuu said, reverting to her questioning self.

It was more anxious days before a conclusion was reached about Rob. Rostov called and she hurried in for a conference. He seemed relaxed when she rushed in and she took that as a good sign. "You have news?" she asked breathlessly.

"We do," he nodded. "There's a second tier effect to the nano that was not obvious at first. The hallucinations are deliberate damage by the first routine. The second routine is attacking his flight-control implant and generating images and inputs there, which are highly confusing, since they can't be referenced to a cockpit environment. Then, as the devices fail, they are attaching themselves to the module and creating control problems. The design on this bastard—" it was the first time Kendra had heard him be anything other than dispassionate "—is the work of a truly sick genius. This team is the best in the system, and it took us weeks to figure it out.

"Additionally, as our counter attacked the infection, it built up more plaque on the module and created more, but subtly different, hallucinations. And it is self-replicating. It degrades with time, of course, but it will keep regenerating toxic levels. And there's a standard biovirus that is symbiotic with it that keeps it fed with the enzymes it needs. We're trying to kill that first. It looks like they feed each other to perpetuate the effect and when they find a module they generate the second effect to disable that, too. It's worse for pilots and interface programmers than for anyone else. We can't prove that was a deliberate design, but I'll put money on it.

"Your efforts here may have saved not only Rob, but the seven others who either have no next of kin or whose we cannot contact and are harder to interact with. We owe you."

"No you don't. It's my duty as a soldier and as his friend." She wanted nothing to do with this disgusting weapon, even as part of the cure. She continued, "I'm guessing you have another counter-agent?"

Rostov ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, actually, no," he said. "The existing therapy is sound and the side effects of additional nano-loading would be very unpleasant. And this agent is very pervasive. We aren't likely to get it all, and the combined effect would manifest again. So the bad news is that he can never fly again, no matter what happens."

Kendra took that in in a cold shock. "That'll kill him," she said, trembling. "Do you know how important flying is to him?"

Rostov nodded. "From his spoken dreams and flight record, I can guess. But the damage is not repairable with current technology. I'm sorry." He seemed very embarrassed by the limits of his capabilities.

"Well, then," she sighed. "I guess you do what you have to."

Kendra sat waiting, impatient but still. Rob had come through the removal of his implant in fine shape. A created virus destroyed its structure and the residue of both flushed out in the bloodstream. He was kept lightly sedated as the counter-virus was readministered and then allowed to wake. He stirred and Kendra became alert. His eyes opened.

"Morning," she said simply.

"Hi," he replied. "Raging hangover."

"It will get worse," she assured him. "The counter-virus is working this time."

"Huh?" he muttered. "To counter what?"

"The hallucinogen you picked up at Braided Bluff," she explained. Rostov had said there might be minor confusion and memory damage. She held her breath for an answer.

"Oh. Right," he said. "It worked this time?" He suddenly sat up, leaned over and vomited hard. She stood and ran to help him.

"It's working," she said when he stopped. "But you will still be experiencing hallucinations as it flushes out."

He gagged again momentarily. "How bad?" he asked raggedly.

"Worse than before," she admitted. He sat and was still, staring into space. Then he chuckled.

"Well," he said, "I may as well enjoy the good bits while they last." He laughed out loud, pointing at something only he could see. He calmed again in a few moments. "This must be hard on you," he thought aloud.

"You have no idea," she said, feeling scared, nauseous, protective, disgusted. A spectrum of emotions tumbled through her and she tried hard to suppress them.

He interrupted her meditation. "How's Marta?"

"Better," she admitted. "She was scared, that's all."

"Why?" he asked.

"Just things that happened."

He gripped her wrist hard and gave her a stern look. "Don't lie to me. Being sick makes me neither stupid nor incompetent. What happened?"

She was in a panic as to whether it was safe to tell him or not. She decided to go ahead. "She was captured during a clandestine mission and tortured and gang-raped."

He nodded, brow furrowed in thought. "That's disgusting," he said. "Tell me all of it."

She spun the details out for him, all the way through Marta's reaction to him. He interrupted her several times to go through some severe reaction or another. He had another fit of vomiting a few segs later, then began scratching itches. They increased maddeningly until he dragged himself across the ground, trying to abrade his tortured nerves. After lucidly absorbing more details, he leapt across the room, snatching a blanket from the bed and hiding beneath it, quaking in terror. He was unable to eat lunch, and lay on the floor whimpering. Kendra attempted to help him up, but he gave every indication of more nausea so she helped him back down. He sucked water from a bottle, face pressed against the smooth polymer, dripping cold, stale sweat. "Cooler," he begged, and she ordered the floor coils down five degrees. Segs later, he began twitching again.

It took three more days of waiting, sleeplessness and pain. She watched tearfully as he thrashed, vomited, rolled around on the floor from nerves driven to distraction, held his ears against sounds only he could hear and couldn't shut out and clawed at his face.

Not all his visions were negative. At one point, he began seducing her, very tenderly. She was shy of the blatant cameras, but agreed to his advances. She soon forgot about the environment and enjoyed his attentions. His brain was still very much alive underneath and stayed in control through their mutual excitement. He collapsed shortly afterward, exhausted from all his activities. She tucked a blanket around him and napped in the chair.

He woke lucid. He was worn and beaten looking and very hungry. He ate and kept the food down and suffered only an occasional flash of hallucination. "I hope that's it," he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

Rostov came in with an assistant and watched while Rob's responses were tested. He gave no expression either good or bad and left shortly. Rob was experiencing somewhat lesser effects now, and slept deeply and uninterrupted, snoring loudly. Accepting a risk, Kendra wrapped an arm around him and slept with him. She cried herself to sleep. How long would it be before things were normal? And what would constitute "normal"?

Rob was pronounced fit the next week. Kendra drove him to Marta's, he not being allowed to operate equipment yet. He kept the vent open for fresh air and looked queasy by the time they arrived. That was expected. His brain had adapted to the control module and lacked balance of its own now. That should improve, they'd been told, but not completely.

He greeted Marta very gently, utterly platonic and friendly. They exchanged stares, each reading the other's thoughts but not able to speak. They simply hugged, then sat apart while Kendra took over as hostess. It would take a long time to get used to each other again.

She traveled into duty every day, feeling better with both of her friends to watch each other. She still called to check on them several times during the three divs she worked. She tried not to sound as if she was checking on her dysfunctional children and neither of them ever mentioned it, but it obviously bothered them. She tapered the calls down to two, then to one at lunch. They did seem to be making progress.

Rob needed a lot of physical attention and his sex drive was normal. Marta's was not back to normal, but improving. Since Marta couldn't deal with Rob yet, and he realized his control was still lacking, Kendra found herself busier than she'd ever been, as exclusive lover for each of them. She was okay with Rob, leery around Marta, and still not entirely comfortable making love to a woman without a man present. It was aesthetic and sensual, only rarely orgasmic. She had to work at it to stay interested and interesting to Marta.

Rob was shortly able to run the house and as the net came up he resumed work. There was plenty for him, but no one could pay much; the economy was a shambles. Marta received a letter from the bank informing her that they were waiving accumulated interest on the mortgage, but payments must resume within five months. Most of her investment assets had disappeared and her military pay would just cover the house, but nothing else. Kendra's covered the basic essentials of food, power and water. Rob was working tirelessly to bring in enough to handle repairs, vehicles and incidental expenses. He cut his tenants a deal of two months free rent with at least quarter payments after that, no rent for the war months and up to a year to resume full payments and make up any shortages due for partials. There wasn't much money there, either.

He gradually got details from Marta, and realizing Kendra was rather cool sexually, talked her into revealing her experiences. He was quiet and perceptive and made fewer and gentler requests for her in bed. She found it both helpful and painful. She wanted to give him all the attention he desired, but just couldn't relax yet.

Rob spent three days buried in his comm, digging through UN files. She wasn't sure how he hacked into their system, but she did overhear him make a call to military intelligence. He pulled in a favor or two and made notes, then crawled back into the net.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed