The Armor of God (16 page)

Ezra walked halfway down the hallway until he finally saw the first occupied room, but it wasn’t the one he sought. On top of Recovery Room 103, Ezra read the name
Sp. Jed Townsend
. Urged by curiosity, Ezra opened the door to find a fairly regular if very well-equipped hospital room that smelled like alcohol and medicine and oil.

Resting on the bed partially blocked by a curtain was a bald man, mouth covered by a respiration mask. An IV drip injected something, possibly a painkiller, into his system while both his arms were bandaged completely. His empty eyes told a long and exhausting story that landed him in such a weak and pitiful state.

The man turned his head weakly towards Ezra, exposing a hideous sight that made Ezra’s stomach sink: a chunk of his face was gone, replaced by flesh that appeared to be missing the cover of skin.

“I’m sorry!” Ezra said when the man’s eyes finally saw him standing at the door, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The man inside was a Creux pilot—the pilot of Nebula 09. What had happened to him?

A strong feeling of disgust, pity, and mostly fear remained with him when he walked to the next occupied room. The panel read:
Mr. Leonardo Crescent
.

Before opening the door, Ezra took the precaution to knock, and Jena opened the door. “Ezra. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were here. I thought I’d see how you were doing.”

“Princess,” a man’s horribly rough voice said from inside. “Who’s that?”

“My friend, the one I told you about,” she said and looked at him. “I appreciate it Ezra, but it’s better if—”

“Let him in,” the almost incomprehensible voice said. “I’d like to meet him.”

Jena’s eyes told him that he was unwelcome, but he didn’t want to leave now that the man had openly invited him in. She took a step back and opened the door further, letting Ezra in.

The room was just like Jed’s, only in here the smell of medicine and oil wasn’t as potent, and the man on the bed didn’t look like he was on the verge of death. Sitting almost upright, Ezra found Jena’s father.

The man had short, thick blond hair and blue eyes; a blunt quality to his broad features told Ezra that Jena had probably gotten her good looks from her mother. Sheets covered him up to the chest, and it looked like there was some sort of pillow between the sheets and his legs, protecting them.

“I thought you were bigger,” the man said. It was as though he was talking through gravel in his throat.

“This is Ezra, Dad. Not Akiva,” Jena clarified and took a seat by the bed.

“Ezra,” the man said. “I’m glad to meet you. How was your first week here?”

“Just fine, sir,” Ezra said and immediately began to regret coming to visit Jena when he realized he had nothing to say to this man.

“Your parents must be proud of you—a man of the army. I know I am. I always knew Jena would make a difference and help the world. I’m glad I’m leaving her in good hands that will mold her to be a hero.”

“Dad,
please
,” Jena said, her voice a sad squeal. Never had Ezra felt so foolish; he had no business prying into Jena’s personal life. Why had he come all the way here, only to embarrass himself and put Jena’s vulnerabilities in display?

“You know I’m joking, princess. I’m strong as a horse. A horse made of
stone
!” the man said. “Have you seen anything like this, Ezra?”

“Sir?” Ezra said.

“Look at this,” said Leonardo and removed the covers to expose his belly and parts of his legs, and the sight was the second time in just minutes that Ezra felt like he’d vomit. The skin beneath the man’s belly button, all the way to his feet, had not only taken a sickly gray color, but also the texture of old bark—rough and hard and uneven. There was also severe swelling in his legs, making them look like thick, unmovable tree trunks. “Isn’t that something?”

“I thought that pneumastratis was a lung disease, sir,” Ezra had the audacity to say.

“Well, if it is, my lungs sure grew a few sizes and relocated to my legs,” he said and wheezed a sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. Jena was looking away until Leonardo finally covered his gruesomely mutated and useless legs. He didn’t know pneumastratis could have such an effect on a man’s flesh, but it was still a disease no one knew much about, and Leonardo had survived it for longer than most ever did.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I hope you get better.” He looked at Jena. “I’ll get out of here. Have a good night, sir.”

Ezra started walking out when Jena yelled, “Ezra, wait.”

She ushered him outside and closed the door. When she finally looked up at him, she was crying. “I’m so sorry, Jena—I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to see how you—”

She shut him up with a hug. Jena’s tears spilled onto Ezra’s neck as he hugged her back and felt the erratic swells of her crying breaths on her back.

“It’s going to be okay, Jena. It’s going to—”

“No,” she said barely able to speak through the tears, having to stop after every other word to collect herself. “Dr. Mizrahi said it’s not pneumastratis, Ezra. It’s not a disease in the lungs—
it’s the laani!
”

Chapter 9

One Last Day

Leonardo Crescent was taken into isolation
two days after Ezra’s visit, and that was the last time the man ever saw his daughter. Dr. Mizrahi declared him dead three days later and, though very few of the people in Zenith had met or even heard of him, the solemn aura of painful loss had spread to every corner of the facility.

There was no religious dominion in Zenith or even Roue, and like most of the remaining human population, neither Jena nor Leonardo professed any faith. Thus, the ceremony wore no colors except the traditional black of mourning.

Calling it a ceremony would be generous, however, as it was no such thing. Ezra had thought that, being this place was so used to death, there would be some sort of ceremonial protocol to send off the departed, but such wasn’t the case.

A group of people, none of whom were there by anything except their own free will, gathered in the sports pitch, where several rows of plastic chairs had been arranged pointing North. The dome above simulated a colorful day—a day so beautiful it could never exist outside, under a real sky that was incapable of such colors.

Jena had been given a box that contained the ash remains of her father’s body, or at least the ones that had not been deemed possible contaminants. For reasons Ezra couldn’t understand, she was trying very hard not to cry, but it was a battle she should never fight and could never win. She sat in the front row between Ezra and Kiva, the latter’s arm around her, offering his large shoulder to rest her head.

“I don’t want to be weak,” she whispered as she clutched the box.

“You have every right to be weak,” Kiva replied to her in a comforting whisper Ezra didn’t agree with.

“It’s not weakness to cry,” Ezra protested. “Do what you have to do.”

It was Ezra’s approach that hit her hard, so she began sobbing, burying her face on Akiva’s uniform. Akiva only looked ahead, where Dr. Yuri and Dr. Mizrahi stood, looking down at Jena and the congregation.

“Second Private Crescent has refused to speak, and it is a wish we will respect. There is not one in here who hasn’t experienced loss and tragedy,” Dr. Yuri said, and Ezra again disagreed. Ezra had never lost a close friend or family member. “It is never easy for any of us when we lose one of ours, or when one of ours loses one of theirs. We live in community and unity, and one person’s pain is everyone’s pain.”

Ezra scanned his surroundings to see who had joined them and was saddened to discover that the turnout was small. The most conspicuous absence was Poole’s, which Ezra found strange; she had never been close to Jena, but it seemed too cold, even for her, to not offer at least her company in Jena’s time of mourning.

Both of Jena’s crewmembers were there, as well as Susan, Garros, Erin, and of course Alice, who couldn’t stop crying. Susan held Alice’s hand in a comfort, but it didn’t do much help. Garros also seemed to be on the verge of tears, and it was Erin who offered him a hand to hold. Tessa was also there, standing near Ezra and holding a violin behind her.

“It was the laani that took Mr. Crescent’s life. If we can salvage something from this loss, it should be this: Let it be fuel for your determination,” Dr. Yuri said. “Everyone here is training and studying new methods to fight this disease so this may never happen again, and we may take back this world.” He let these last words, which he had said before, sink in for a moment. “All rise for the anthem.”

All rose to their feet, and Tessa began to play the valiant and melodic national anthem of Roue on her violin. Perhaps there was a change in the tonality of the song, because it rid the melody of all heroism, turning it into a dirge. He thought she saw tears stream down her face; such was the power of the melody.

Jena cried throughout the song and when it was finished, the congregation scattered. Most of the people present took a moment to walk over to Jena and offer their condolences before going back to their respective business; after all, it was a weekday.

After a silent time alone with her and Kiva, Ezra himself left them to be together under that colorful, impossible sky.

Jena was excused for classes that day, but she didn’t take the opportunity to be alone with her thoughts, memories, and the remains of her father. By third period, when Erin and Garros were giving their Engineering class, Jena walked into the lecture hall. No one said a word until she sat down next to Ezra and opened her notebook.

“Crescent, you don’t have to be here,” Garros said. “It’s okay if you want to take the day off. I’ll ask Ezra or someone to catch you up.”

“No, I know. I want to be here. Please, continue.” Kiva took her hand and attempted to smile. Ezra then turned toward Poole, who was doing everything she could to avoid looking at Jena—she knew she should have been with her that morning, and now felt guilty.

Erin continued the lecture. It was the fourth engineering class, and it focused more closely on the basics of mechanics and materials that made the Creux and the Equivalency Suits functional. This time, Garros and Erin had dismantled a scaled-down but otherwise exact replica of Absolute Omega’s T-Core, and attempted to explain its construction.

Ezra was happy to discover that there was another class he wouldn’t need help with. He
wanted
to learn more about the Creux; it was the laani he had trouble understanding. Maybe it was just his natural disposition: He was better at understanding the weapon than the enemy.

After that day, his life inside Zenith continued as expected, and there were even moments when Ezra felt guilty for starting to enjoy himself again so soon after his friend’s loss.

Ezra met with Susan twice a week for their scheduled counseling sessions. With each one, he became more convinced that his decision to have her transferred to Zenith had been a good one. Yes, she might have not been entirely honest with him, but still it seemed to Ezra that, like himself, she belonged in Zenith. Some days it felt like she, Alice, and Garros were his most sincere friends—even more so than Kiva, who lately appeared to be keeping too many secrets.

Since Leonardo’s passing, Susan would inquire about his feelings towards death in every session. Ezra’s answer never changed: “I’m sad for Jena because I know she’s sad, but that’s it,” he would say. “I don’t know how she feels. If there is something controlling our lives, and even if there isn’t, I’m thankful that I’ve never lost a family member or a close friend. I hope it doesn’t happen.”

Susan would nod at this reply, and when he repeated himself the third time, she said something that surprised him: “You’ve always told me that sincerity is something you appreciate in someone, especially your friends. So why do I feel like you’re not being sincere right now?”

“I don’t know, Corporal,” he said after a short beat.

He immediately regretted his reply; completely avoiding a denial of Susan’s claim was a confirmation of it in itself. She smiled. “I feel you’re not handling the
idea
of his death very well. Your lives changed so much, like you took a train to another world, when you came here. It’s always a shock to realize that death is as real in this world as it was in your old one. Doesn’t it bother you that the laani is as much a threat in here as it was in Roue?”

“He’s had pneumastratis for years.”

“Yet it was here where it developed into a laani infection.”

“Yes, and I don’t understand why that happened,” Ezra said, finally giving words to a question that had been bothering him. “How could the man live unusually long with pneumastratis and then die of laani infection a week after coming to Zenith?”

Susan stared at him, perhaps thinking of the best way to answer, or deflect, the question, but then spoke honestly. “I don’t know, Ezra. Your tests will take place next week. I hope you’re ready for them.”

“Preparing myself has been the only thing on my mind, Corporal,” he said.

And it was true.

It took Jena just a few days to return to a very accurate representation of her former self, reserving her tears and mourning for the solitude of her dormitory. Throughout the remaining of the month, Ezra met with her and Kiva four times a week for tutoring on the Moreau, and it was during those hours, when it was only the three friends who joined Zenith together, that he could see that Jena would be all right after the death of her father.