Earthfall (37 page)

The base was dark and gloomy. Air quality was poor even though some intrepid engineers had pulled the batteries from the remaining SCEVs and used them to power the air scrubbers. They had to be run in staggered shifts to preserve the batteries. Recharging them required starting up an SCEV, and no one wanted to add poisonous exhaust to the mix, so power rationing was the standing order. The air smelled of sweat and oil, just like an SCEV after a long foray into the field. The difference was that there was the added tint of untreated sewage, which Andrews found more than slightly unpleasant.

But hey, at least I’m alive.

Which was better than three other people who had passed away while he was out on the mission. The injuries they had sustained during the earthquake were too grave, even with the sophisticated medical expertise available. Sometimes, Andrews knew, it was just a person’s time to go. He thought about Spencer and Choi and felt guilty about their loss, regardless. At least they had gone down fighting. Fate had just given them the short straw.

Once the core supports had been brought into the base, it took another two days to install them and test the power generation equipment in the Core. After the systems had been validated, power was slowly restored to the base, level by level, with a few exceptions. The medical section was given priority for power allocation, as were the environmental systems. Over the course of another two days, Harmony Base came alive again, with heat, hot water, sterilized air, and light. Repair work continued day and night, and Andrews thought that after a month or so, no one would even be able to tell that the base had been severely damaged.

On the eighth day after recovery was completed and all systems were stabilized, a memorial service was held in the Commons Area. While all the bodies of the dead had been incinerated as soon as possible—the base’s designers had provided a mortuary as well, because even when the world ended, survivors would continue to die—the command group had decided that funeral proceedings were to take place. To provide a degree of closure. A large memorial had been erected on one wall just after the war. Previously, only a small handful of bronze plates had been affixed to it, but dozens more had been added over the past few weeks. Each plate bore the inscribed names of the deceased, their birthdates, and the day they died. All the new additions had passed away in the first two weeks of June. Andrews, his wrist in a cast and his ribs bound, joined the line of survivors who filed past the memorial. He knew every name there, some better than others, but each bronze nameplate equaled a hole that would never be filled. Even though he had intended to be strong, to be the rock, he found that when he finally made it to the end of the line, he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. Seeing Spencer and Choi’s names, and knowing how young they had been, was just too much. Even though they were a few years younger than him, they had grown up together, and he would always feel their absence.

“We’ve all been through hell and back—twice,” Benchley said in his address. From the front of the Commons Area, he regarded the assemblage with clear eyes, his voice strong. “We’ve all lost people near and dear to us—twice. First in the Sixty Minute War, then on the earthquake of June ninth, and two more in the mission to recover the supports we needed in order to survive. The very fabric of our society here has had a hole blown right through it. But we’re a strong people. We have to be, because our work is just getting started. We know now that there is life out there. It may not welcome us, it may fear us, it may distrust us, but it’s life nonetheless, and we need to do everything in our power to help those who survived the war. It’s what we’re here for. It’s what we’re all about.

“I want all of you to look to the people next to you. I want all of you to reach out to each other, and help those who are in need get through the coming weeks and months. We all grieve together, regardless of rank or position or occupation. We are Harmony Base, and even burdened by the weight of our sorrow, we have a mandate:
quando mundum finit, opus nos incipiet
. When the world ends, our mission begins. We need to remember our fallen, but we need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.” The general paused, then looked at Mulligan, who stood at attention nearby. “Look around you. Find those who have lost their way and help them get back onto the path because we need to walk it … together.”

A lone bugler clad in a spic-and-span Army Class A uniform played Taps. Mulligan, whose own Class As were accentuated by his green Special Forces beret, held rule over a formation of honorary pall bearers. All wore black arm bands. Andrews watched the assemblage as they picked up the ceremonial interment flag and neatly folded it into a tight triangle. Mulligan took the flag and marched toward Benchley, presenting it to the base commanding officer. Benchley accepted the flag with a grave expression, then returned Mulligan’s sharp salute. Mulligan turned and dismissed the detail tersely, and they filed out of the Commons Area, preceded by the base’s colors. Benchley and the command staff exited as well, marching in step in keeping with the protocols of a military service. Others slowly followed, but many more remained, sniffling, grieving, weeping.

Jeremy approached them, his eyes red, his expression downbeat. He looked up at Andrews and Rachel and forced a specter of a smile to his face as he embraced both of them. “I’m proud of you two,” he said. “So incredibly proud, you have no idea.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Andrews said.

Jeremy released them, then reached out and touched Rachel’s cheek. “Especially
you,
young lady. You really proved your stuff out there, and in a big way. Think you’ll go military now?”

Rachel blinked. “Why do you ask that?”

“You’re young, and you have an adventurous spirit. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see you leave the Core,” he said, sparing Andrews a wink, “but who knows? Maybe you’re cut out for field work, yourself.”

Rachel favored both of them with a pale, distracted smile. “I hadn’t really thought of that. Maybe that’s something to consider. Excuse me for just a second.” She turned and walked toward the line forming in front of the memorial wall.

“Well, maybe that was the wrong thing to say,” Jeremy said.

Andrews shook his head. “Nah. She’s not upset with you, Dad. She’s just …” He shrugged. “She’s just not herself, these days.”

“That’ll change. She’s young. She’ll heal.”

Jeremy embraced him again and planted a kiss on his forehead, a display that would have embarrassed both of them weeks before. But after the earthquake and the reminder that life was so incredibly fragile, things like that no longer seemed to matter.

“I’ve got to get back to the Core,” Jeremy said, his voice full of apologies. “There’s still a lot to be done. Tell Rachel she has a couple of days off if she needs them.”

“I’ll pass it on.”

Jeremy clapped his son on the shoulder. “Are you really my son? I can’t believe I got so lucky with a winner like you.”

“Blame Mom,” Andrews said, smiling weakly. He found he suddenly missed his mother, even though he hadn’t thought of her in weeks. He felt a strong pang of guilt when he realized that.

“Nothing to blame her for,” Jeremy said, looking down at his feet for a moment. “She did right by both of us, but you got the best part of her. And thank God for that.” He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “All right. I’ve got to go.”

Andrews nodded. “I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself, Dad.”

Jeremy clapped his shoulder again. “Don’t worry about me, son. I’m fine. Look after Rachel.” He stepped away, walking toward one of the exits.

Andrews turned to the memorial and saw his wife standing at the end of the huge wooden plaque. For Rachel, the loss of the past few weeks were tragic, but none were as painful for her as the fact that the names of her parents were at the front of the list. Not for the first time, Andrews wondered how she’d been able to handle it, growing up in the base and going through the transition from childhood to womanhood under the care of watchful friends and well-wishers, but devoid of a parent’s guiding hand. Andrews’s mother’s name was on the wall, as well; she had succumbed to ovarian cancer three years after the base had been sealed. He’d had his father to see him through the tough spots; Rachel had no blood relatives. Despite the hardship, she had grown up to become a woman to be reckoned with, as she had shown during the mission to San Jose. He could tell by the arch of her back and the set of her shoulders that she was grieving all over again. In that moment, he doubted he had ever loved her more. He walked over and joined her, and she folded her hand inside his.

“Babe? You okay?”

Rachel reached out and touched the plates that bore the names of her parents—Peter and Catherine Jane, who went by CJ. Though he had seen dozens of photos of them, he could only vaguely recall meeting them a few times in real life, during their first base orientation sessions, back when the Andrewses and the Lopezes had been selected to be part of Operation Harmony.

“I’m fine,” she said, and she turned to face him. Her eyes were bright, but she hadn’t shed any tears. The pain lingered just below the surface, like it always did. Andrews leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Really?”

“Really. How are you doing?”

Andrews shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with telling her the truth. He did it anyway. “A little guilty, I guess.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Guilty? Why? About Choi and Spencer? What happened to them wasn’t your fault, Mike.”

“I beg to differ. I was their commanding officer. It was up to me to bring them home safe.”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, you were. And you did everything you could. The odds were just stacked too high. Trust me—I was there.”

Andrews made a noise in his throat. She was right, of course, but that didn’t do anything to stave off his remorse. He wondered how long it would take for him to be quit of it, but as he turned to look over the slowly thinning crowd, he decided he already knew the answer—he would never stop feeling responsible. Choi and Spencer were his crew, and he had been powerless to save them. They died under his watch, and that was a responsibility he would take to his grave.

He put that burden aside and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

They turned to go, but Mulligan appeared in their path. The big man still looked battered, slowly-healing bruises and cuts on his face, but his appearance had improved considerably over the past several days. He regarded Andrews and Rachel with his dark eyes, his expression inscrutable. Andrews glanced at Rachel and saw she was staring at Mulligan with a cold, unreadable expression that was nearly as enigmatic as Mulligan’s. When Andrews turned back to the sergeant major, he was surprised to find his eyes were uncharacteristically downcast.

“Can we help you with something, Sarmajor?” he asked.

“Ma’am, I’d like to talk to you, if I could. I know you’re probably not feeling too hot, so I’ll keep it short.” Mulligan looked up and met Rachel’s emotionless gaze. “I need to tell you about something that happened a long time ago. You might think you know everything about it, but … well, I figure it’s time you hear it from the guy who was there.”

Silence descended, heavy and uncomfortable. Rachel stared at Mulligan for a long moment, ignoring the curious gazes of those who walked past. The history of enmity between them was well known, even though it was considered to be mostly one-sided. Mulligan stood before them, stoically enduring her cold, impenetrable glare, even though Andrews supposed it must have been embarrassing for him. As the seconds ticked by, he did not prompt her for a response; he merely stood there and looked back at her, his face a mask of disciplined composure.

Rachel finally favored him with a curt nod.

Mulligan cut his eyes over the Andrews. “Sir?”

“I think I’d like to hear what you have to say as well, Sarmajor. If you don’t mind.” Andrews looked over at Rachel to see if she had a different opinion, but she kept her gaze rooted on Mulligan.

The tall senior NCO took it in stride. “Very well. Would you like to go—”

“Here is fine,” Rachel said, her voice taut as a banjo string, belying her impassive expression.

Mulligan met her eyes once again and nodded. He removed his green beret and stepped closer to Rachel. Even though their expressions did little to illustrate their internal feelings, Andrews nevertheless felt the uncomfortable tension between the two of them as if it were a physical thing. He glanced down and saw Mulligan was slowly twisting his beret in his hands, and he wondered if whatever the sergeant major was going to say would be a good thing, after all.

When he spoke, his voice was pitched low, but he kept his gaze on Rachel. “After the bombs dropped, I tried to get to my family with SCEV One. By
stealing
it, actually. Your folks cared enough about me to come along, to try and help. I was, uh—pretty crazy, then. I was within three weeks of retirement. Two days from terminal leave. I was basically just marking time, waiting for my replacement to show up. All of us were marking time back then, you might remember.” He paused, but Rachel gave no indication she was going to speak, so he continued. “Visibility was zero. Radar and communications were useless, because of the electromagnetic pulse effect. Anyway, I was driving balls to the wall—all I could think about was getting to my wife and daughters before the fallout rolled over them.

“We got extremely unlucky when a ground burst went off only about a mile away. I’m not sure what they were aiming at—the best I can come up with is that one of the weapons heading for Wichita malfunctioned and came down way short. Your mother happened to be looking in the general direction of the blast when it went off—she went blind from the flash. Your father was standing between the cockpit and the science station. The EMP fried a good amount of the rig’s systems, despite the shielding, and we stopped dead. Before I could do anything to get the rig moving again, the shockwave hit us. The SCEV rolled three times, tossed around like some kid’s Tonka toy. Your father was killed instantly. One of the gravity belts on your mother’s harness broke, and she was ejected from her seat. When it was over, she managed to hang on for another three hours. I had no voice contact with the outside world, and the rig was demolished. I figured there would be at least an attempt at a rescue, but it didn’t come soon enough. CJ died in my arms.” Mulligan looked down then, and the muscles in his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. Andrews saw the nightmare of pain and guilt in the big man’s eyes, and he realized the Green Beret was something of a kindred spirit. They shared a deep responsibility for those they had lost.