No Direction Home (2 page)

‘Everybody is under instructions to leave new revivals alone, if they're being supervised by a medic. It's so that the newly awoken can deal with any feelings of disorientation – the medics can help them through that.'

‘Are these disoriented feelings common?'

‘Apparently, yes. It's a pattern that's emerged already. To be honest–' She'd broken off abruptly.

‘To be honest?'

‘OK,' she said reluctantly. ‘I think the specialists are becoming worried that if there's this level of confusion or disorientation after being in cryosleep for eighty odd years, what might it be like for those who aren't revived until PlanetFall?'

‘I see what you mean. Is that why you're so interested in my memory?'

‘Yes. It's becoming standard procedure.'

‘Becoming?'

‘Yes. Look, it's a new technology – we're almost making it up as we go along. In an ideal world, there'd have been years of research put into this before we'd even have thought about trying it out on human volunteers.'

‘But it wasn't exactly an ideal world, was it?'

‘No… it wasn't.' They'd reached the Med Lab at that point, effectively ending the conversation, but now, Vinter decided to resume it, if only to take his mind off the very intense massage she was giving him. Yes, it would help restore his muscles, but wasn't there a less painful method?

‘Ilona?' he asked, trying not to let out a grunt of pain as her knuckles dug deep into his gluteal muscles.

‘Yes?'

‘How long does this disorientation you mentioned last for, generally?'

‘It varies. On average, about three to four days. After that, they're generally passed as fit for duty and off they go. They still have to come back for another four or five physiotherapy sessions before they're passed as fully fit, though – only having a maximum of less than three quarter gravity doesn't help with that, to be honest.'

‘And you had to go through it?'

‘Yes. I was signed off after three days.' There was a hint of pride in her voice.

‘Including the final physios?'

‘Yes – but they were fast-tracking me.'

‘Why?'

‘So that I could supervise you. You're being fast-tracked as well, which is why this is all being done on a one-to-one basis – you must be pretty important.'

‘Ow…' he gasped as she did something to the back of his right knee. ‘I could probably do with just a little less fast-tracking at the moment, thank you.'

‘Orders, I'm afraid. Whatever they want you for, it's urgent.'

‘You don't know why?'

‘I was hoping you might tell me – it's all very hush-hush. In fact…' Her voice trailed off suddenly.

‘In fact?'

‘Nothing,' she said dismissively. ‘Forget I said anything.'

‘Ilona, I'm a police officer, when all's said and done – I'm not
allowed
to forget things. So… you were saying?'

‘OK, I don't suppose it matters, really. They've only revived me specifically for this – for you, that is. Once you're passed fit, I go back into the Zombie Pits – sorry, I mean the Cryosleep Chambers.'

Vinter chuckled. ‘Is that what you call them?'

‘We all do – the Cryosleep Team, that is. I'm actually a Senior Specialist – not quite a doctor, but with more practical knowledge of revival techniques and cryosleep rehabilitation than most of those who are.' There was an undertone of bitterness in her voice. ‘And I'm under strict instructions not to talk to anyone about you being revived – that's what I meant about hush-hush. In fact, I'm not supposed to be asking you any questions at all, apart from the memory related ones.'

‘Don't worry – I won't tell anyone if you won't. How do you feel about going straight back into the Pits?'

‘I don't know, really. I wasn't supposed to be revived at all until PlanetFall, but a few days here and now won't make much difference. Except…'

‘Yes?'

‘I could have done without knowing about the disorientation issues. Now, I'm starting to worry about waking up with my brain completely scrambled.' He heard her giggle momentarily. ‘Mind you, some would wonder how you'd notice.' She leaned over him, placed her forearm at the base of his spine and ran it upwards towards his neck, pressing down hard and forcing an involuntary grunt out of him; she repeated this twice more, then stepped back. ‘That's you done, Mister VIP,' she said.

‘Until when?' he asked, moving himself around so that he was sitting on the table; all he was wearing was a pair of boxer shorts.

‘For good – you're officially passed fit for duty.'

‘What – completely? No more physios?'

‘At least try and look disappointed… No, that's the lot.'

‘I thought you said three days minimum.'

‘That's what it's supposed to be, but you are fully rehabilitated now. In just twenty four hours – well done.' Her expression changed from light-hearted, almost flirtatious, to a more pensive look. ‘Seriously, Inspector, you are in A1 physical condition. I didn't believe them when they told me that it would only take twenty-four hours, but they were right.'

‘I suspect that was more a tribute to your skills than anything else.'

‘Maybe…' She seemed about to say something more, then shrugged. ‘Anyway, get dressed and I'll take you to your quarters.'

*****

Spartan would be a generous way to describe this
, Vinter thought as he looked around the unit that he would be calling home for the foreseeable future. There was a large bed in an alcove off to the left of the door, a small kitchen dead ahead that would, he knew, contain little more than a microwave and a sink and a bathroom next to it that would contain a toilet, sink and shower. The main living area had a two-seat sofa facing a large wall-screen to the right, that, at the moment, showed a still image of an old painting,
The Fighting Temeraire
; Vinter knew that the screen also doubled as a TV. Next to the door was a desktop computer set-up with a single swivel chair in front of it – and that, apart from the walls that were pastel blue, was about it. Even so, he knew that this level of accommodation was higher than most – this was a two-person unit, as shown by the wider bed, which meant that he had marginally more space to swing the metaphorical cat; presumably, he had been allocated this unit because of his UNSEC rank.

‘Here you are, home sweet home,' Ilona said, following him in. ‘Damn sight bigger than mine. Do you want me to show you where everything is, or can you remember the briefings?' There was a slight emphasis on ‘remember', accompanied by an ironic smile.

‘Yes, I do remember,' he said gravely.

‘There is one thing, though – you'll find some microwave meals in the fridge. You'll have to stick to those for the next week or so – they'll fit in with your dietary needs.'

‘So I'm still under your supervision?'

‘Officially you are, yes, at least until oh eight hundred tomorrow – that's when I sign you off.'

‘Oh eight hundred? So we're still sticking to terrestrial times of day, then?' He saw her quizzical look, and added, ‘I know that was what was intended – my memory isn't playing me up there, in case you were wondering – but I thought maybe they'd have changed it by now.'

She shook her head. ‘Apparently not – I think it's been suggested but the decision was that they would keep shipboard life as much like on Earth as possible.'

‘So today is?'

‘Thursday.'

‘Well, at least it isn't a Monday – never could stand them. OK, so what happens once you've signed me off? Do you go back to the Zombie Pits?'

‘Don't remind me. I think that's what pisses me off, actually – pardon my French. You're obviously important and so I suppose it's a compliment to me that they chose me to supervise you, but I don't suppose I'll ever know what this was all about. Well, not for another two hundred and fifty years, anyway, when it'll all be ancient history.'

‘Sorry about that, but I honestly don't know what this is all about either.'
Although reviving the Head of the UN Security Unit under conditions of strict secrecy doesn't sound too promising – something's gone drastically wrong, by the looks of it…

She was staring at him now with that considering look that he had come to associate with her wanting to ask him an awkward question that he might not want to answer and the thought occurred to him that they had spent virtually all of the last twenty-four hours together – she had not slept, either, although this was usual during the early days of revival, apparently. In that time, he had learned to read her expressions pretty well, but, despite this, he realised he knew almost nothing about her –
Call yourself a policeman?
‘Go on, Ilona – ask your question,' he said, gently.

A momentary expression of surprise crossed her face, then she nodded. ‘Some day, will you tell me what this
was
all about?'

‘If I can, yes.'

‘Thanks… Another question – is it OK if I grab a meal for myself as well? It's either that or go and eat alone. This'll be the last meal I have for another two hundred and fifty years, so – well – I'd rather eat it in company. If that's OK.'

‘Of course you can. I'd hate to eat alone as well.'

Again, she gave him
that
look, then said, softly, ‘And would you seriously object if I spent the night here as well?' She shrugged, a teasing smile on her face. ‘The same reason – this'll be my last chance for two and a half centuries, after all.'

He stared at her, not so much for her directness –
let's face it, women have had equality in that respect for decades now –
but for the realisation that, somehow, he had
known
that she was going to make the offer – had known ever since they had arrived in his quarters, in fact.

How?

And this was hardly the time to be looking gift horses in the mouth… ‘Well, as I'm still under your supervision, I suppose you'll have to…'

*****

‘Oh God, yes…' she whispered, hoarsely, her hips moving rapidly to and fro now in an uncontrollable rhythm, ‘Yes... just like that, yes...' She was straddling him, staring intently down at him until, suddenly, she gave a strangled cry and fell forward onto him, clutching frantically at his shoulders as he thrust urgently up into her, her climax triggering his and –
Anji…

Anji?

Who the… Don't say it!

He only just managed not to gasp out the name as he emptied himself into the woman above him –
Ilona, her name's Ilona, for Christ's sake –
and simply held her close, nuzzling her ear and stroking her hair as their movements gradually subsided…
Anji? Who the hell was Anji?

‘Chris…' she breathed into his shoulder, still holding on tightly to him, but then she lifted her head and smiled into his eyes. ‘Wow…' she said, dreamily. ‘I think I can safely say that you are fully recovered, Inspector. I can personally vouch for that.'

‘Takes two to tango,' he said, still slightly breathless, touching her gently on the cheek. ‘You were terrific, Ilona. Many thanks.'

‘The best in eighty-odd years, you mean?' she asked, grinning.

‘Oh, yes, definitely,' he chuckled.
But that hadn't been with anyone called Anji, had it? It was Livvy – Olivia – wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

‘And for me.' She kissed him briefly on the lips, then lifted herself away from him and off the bed. ‘Won't be a minute,' she said, over her shoulder and headed for the bathroom.

Vinter watched her slim figure until she slid the door closed behind her, then lay back, smiling to himself, but the grin faded as he recalled the name that had come into his head:
Anji.

He didn't know any Anjis – or Angelas, for that matter – well, OK, there'd been an Angela in the same class at school, but he'd barely even spoken to her. Livvy had been his most recent partner – she'd had dark hair, same as Ilona… Was Anji the blonde woman he'd seen in his dream when he was being revived?

Ilona came out of the bathroom, but then paused halfway across the small room; she had that
look
again.

‘What's up?' he asked; she was staring very intently at him.

‘Forgive me asking this, but – how old are you?'

‘Forty-two when we left Earth – I suppose, technically, I'm a hundred and twenty-four now.'

‘Forty-two,' she echoed, a note of disbelief in her voice. ‘I
thought
you were, but…'

‘But what?'

‘You're in remarkably good physical condition for a forty-two year old – good muscle tone, flat stomach and so on. I'd have said more like twenty-five, thirty at the most. You must work out an awful lot.'

He shook his head. ‘Not especially – enough so I don't fail the six-monthly physical, but no more than that. Too much like hard work. Boring as hell, too.'

‘OK – whatever – you're still in A1 condition, for any age.'

‘Abnormally so for forty-two, you mean?'

‘I'd say so, yes – not that I'm complaining…'

He rose to his feet, vaguely surprising himself at the fluidity of his movements, went into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Bloody hell – she's telling the truth. Far fewer lines around the eyes, smoother complexion altogether… I haven't had this much hair for years – and the flecks of grey have disappeared…
It was the first time he'd really looked at himself in the mirror since revival – Ilona had used the depilatory cream on him that morning and… he just hadn't looked, that was all there was to it, not for any length of time.