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  She started to shiver as she re-connected with her life’s realities. She looked around at the trees and bushes that surrounded the open patch of ground where she stood. Then she stared out across the softly glimmering surface of the ocean, seeking but not finding the point where the sky and water merged. It was almost as if the world were cracked, and she was looking out of her previously comfortable and achingly familiar universe, into something unknowable, almost visible in the impenetrable gloom. The cold-induced shakes were magnified by this fear of the unknown, and she felt like she was being drawn into the void.

  After an ironically motionless struggle, something subtle changed in her expression as she forced herself to raise her gaze from this symbol of her loss. She lifted her eyes and focussed on a solitary star, which glimmered faintly in a gap in the thinning cloud cover. She regarded the star with a sense of comradeship; it seemed that it, too, was struggling against great odds.

  “I…” softly she directed her voice up towards the star, but with someone else in mind. “I will have to go on without you, and my first action must be to go against your last exhortation.” She squared her shoulders unconsciously and turned abruptly, walking with bravado into the now empty, silent structure that she had always thought of as home.

  ***

  Richard Fletcher checked one last time that each item in his unpretentious stack of luggage had been labelled appropriately, walked slowly through the doorway and joined the short line of people waiting to board the Greyhound bus in the main Boston terminal. Several weeks had passed since the day of his momentous, almost miraculous awakening, weeks that Richard had used well.

  “You look like you could use some sleep,” the driver remarked with a grin, as he looked at Richard and noticed the dark patches under his blue-grey eyes and his drawn expression. “There’ll be plenty of time for that on this trip.”

  Richard smiled faintly but resisted the temptation to respond with a sarcastic and youthful comment. I’ve had sleep enough to last a lifetime. He gave his ticket to the Greyhound driver and stepped up into the bus. He wandered about halfway down the aisle and settled into a window seat with a sigh. Soon the bus was almost ready to depart; it was not full, and the seat next to him was one of the unoccupied ones. He stretched his long, thin legs out across the extra space into the aisle and stared out unseeingly at the Boston terminus. His square jaw jutted out of a rather narrow face; his pale skin hinted of long hours spent somewhere where the sun never shone.

  An old lady, her winter coat bundled tightly around her despite the mildness of the weather, wheeled her baggage up to the bus and hobbled slowly aboard. The driver jumped down the steps and loaded the last of the suitcases into the compartments under the passenger area. The bus swayed slightly as he closed the covers and then climbed back in. The brakes hissed and the bus lurched forwards, then the driver honked the horn and pulled slowly out into the morning traffic.

  Richard watched as the familiar landmarks slipped by. A few minutes later, as the bus passed a travel agency, his thoughts naturally turned to his father’s business and then to his family and the events that had precipitated this drastic departure from his native Boston. He tried to imagine the long hours, no, months that must have passed, but the first thing he could actually remember was from just a few weeks back. And it was a rather ordinary but imperfect light fixture mounted over his bed.

  ***

  Something like faint lightning caught his attention; he found it fascinating, especially as it was so familiar, but still somehow eluded his attempts to understand it. Then, after an interminable period, the object came into focus, and somehow an understanding of the phenomenon also became crisp and clear in his mind. It was a fluorescent light fixture, with two tubes behind the frosted plastic dust cover. What he had gradually become aware of was that one of them was flickering on and off erratically. He felt immensely pleased with the discovery; a faint smile touched his lips briefly.

  The flickering continued, becoming less interesting, and finally annoying. When his irritability reached a peak sufficient to motivate him to action, he sat up and tried to swing his legs out of bed. That action gave him the first intimation that something was amiss. He almost failed to raise himself to the sitting position, and when at length he succeeded, his legs refused to move.

  Breathing heavily, he looked down and saw that the sheets were tucked in tightly, and that the bed was equipped with a rail on each side to stop the occupant from falling out.

  That was when he realised where he was.

  “Hospital...” he whispered hoarsely, his throat feeling strangely uncomfortable, his voice rusty with disuse. “Why...?” He sat and stared at the thin blanket for several minutes, trying to remember anything about his past, while a feeling of dizziness built up, threatening to topple him and perhaps even return him to a state of unconsciousness. He felt a great sensation of relief as that sensation gradually diminished until it vanished away without a trace.

  When he finally felt able to attempt the task, the sheet stubbornly resisted his somewhat feeble efforts to free it from beneath the edge of the bed. Why am I so weak? In the process of making the attempt, some wires that he had not previously noticed became detached from his body and slithered across the blankets and down to the floor like tired and tame snakes. A high-pitched tone burst forth, like a stuck recording of a starling, drawing his attention to an impressive bank of equipment at the left of the bed.

  By the time the nurse had reached the room, most of Richard’s memory had returned.

  “Richard? Richard!” She had stopped in amazement in the doorway, just looking at him.

  He turned his head slowly until he could finally look directly at her, his body starting to shake from his exertions. He saw a pretty figure in white, her short blonde hair framing her face, her blue eyes and big smile giving every impression of shock and excitement.

  “Family....” he murmured feebly, still hoarsely. “My family?” As he looked at her, he saw the truth mirrored in her still-stunned face.

  The nurse walked slowly into the room and switched off the alarm on the squealing machinery. “Let’s get you laying back down for a moment, you’ve had a busy day already, Mr. Fletcher,” she said matter-of-factly as she gently reached for his shoulders and began to lower him down flat on the bed.

  “No. NO!” Richard’s voice was still faint, but emphatic. “Raise the bed... please.”

  She hesitated, then turned to the foot of the bed and worked the handles. In a moment she had the bed angled so that he could recline but still see across the room comfortably.

  “How’s that?”

  Richard nodded his satisfaction, his young face rigid with the strain of barely contained emotions.

  She took his hand and felt for his pulse. “I’m Sandy,” she said as she performed the task quite automatically, in an unconscious attempt to regain her composure. “I’ve been your nurse since... the accident. I guess I got to know you quite well in the past few–” She stopped, realising she had been babbling. “I’ll get the specialist to come and see you and talk to you about – everything.” She walked to the door, completely forgetting to record his vital signs. “Don’t go away!” She smiled back brightly as she stepped out into the corridor.

  Richard laid his head back and felt his body’s vibrations gradually subside. All dead... just one instant of pain, then they were gone. Or perhaps they hung on for days, in agony... He raised his head up again, suddenly even more awake. How long... how long have I laid here? He looked at his arms. The muscles looked wasted, flabby; the skin looked pale, almost lifeless. He reached up and felt his face with a hand that seemed as unfamiliar as the rest of his body. There was a tube that he had not noticed. As he thought about the implications of a feeding tube, he realised his throat felt rough, and his stomach – he was uncertain what was going on down there. The rest of his face seemed familiar, though the stubble seemed uneven.

  “Well, this is a surprise!” A bearded doctor
with thick glasses stopped in the doorway to study his patient. “A very pleasant surprise. Welcome back, Richard.” He walked in, pulled the chair up close and sat right by the edge of the bed, his face and brown eyes full of warmth and kindness, one arm resting lightly on the thin blankets.

  Richard reached out and touched the doctor’s hand, still trying to come to terms with the reality of his situation.

  The specialist could see the struggle his patient was having, trying to order his thoughts and ask his first question. “Don’t rush, my boy, there’s plenty of time to ask all you want to,” he assured him. “First of all, I’m Doctor Hebner, and I specialise in patients with coma-inducing injuries. You’ve been on my case list since a few hours after your accident.”

  “How… how long… has it been?”

  “You’ve been unconscious for over ten months.” He squeezed Richard’s hand in response to the increased shaking which accompanied the revelation. “Your recovery will get reported in some fairly prestigious medical journals!” He paused and studied the young man’s face intently. “More importantly, I’m glad you came back.”

  Richard took a long, shuddering breath, then sighed. “And my folks, what happened to them?” He looked at the doctor, eye to eye, hoping against hope that the impression he had received from Sandy, the nervous nurse, was wrong.

  “I’m afraid they didn’t make it. When your car was hit, the passenger compartment was severely crushed. The fire chief commented that he didn’t know how anyone could have survived. No one regained consciousness. Your father was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident, your mother died within minutes of reaching the hospital… and your brother lasted just a few hours more.”

  Richard stared past Doctor Hebner’s compassionate face and studied the pale green wall behind him. He felt the certainty of this latest statement sink deep into his stomach, leaving a cold, empty feeling.

  Doctor Hebner moved to the edge of the bed, leaned over and took Richard by the shoulders, looking at him in the most direct way possible. “You had both legs broken, your left arm, right collar bone, several ribs, your cheek bone, and a fractured and compressed skull. We fixed up all the fractures, relieved the pressure on your brain, and worked on bringing you back to consciousness. Nothing was successful, so we waited for you to wake up. We waited so long that your bones healed. We instituted physiotherapy to maintain a basic minimum of muscle tone. Nurse Gordon, that’s Sandy, made sure that you received audio stimulus daily, for several hours. Still you remained unattainable; nothing we tried had any significant positive effect.” He pulled out the sheet easily and flipped it back, exposing Richard’s pallid legs, partly covered by a pale green hospital gown. “But here you are! And in one piece, too!”

  Richard leaned forward; his vision blurred and the shaking returned with renewed intensity. When his head cleared a few seconds later, he found himself supported in the doctor’s arms.

  ***

  Later that same night, when Richard had tasted some soup and found out he felt hungry and sick at the same time, he had lain back and stared past the television and recalled the events leading up to the accident so many months before, and connected them with what Doctor Hebner had told him.

  He and his brother Colin were going home with their parents from the restaurant where they had celebrated Colin’s fourteenth birthday. Richard never saw the truck, but apparently it rode right over their car, after disregarding the red light. This was just the beginning of a multiple collision that closed the highway for two hours. Richard could recall nothing of this, however; his next memory was of that flickering light, ten months and seventeen days later.

  The doctor said I will have to do some rebuilding of muscle tone for a while, but there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be fully mobile again soon. Richard lay back on the raised bed and stared at the ceiling, the flickering light unnoticed once again. He started to think of all he had lost. Tears ran down his cheeks and onto the pillow as he contemplated life without his family. After a long time, the tears ceased and a hint of calmness crept in. I guess I should be grateful I’m still around.

  ***

  A section of road badly in need of repair brought him back to the present with a jolt. His memories of the weeks of therapy were not of the happiest of times, and they were filled with long periods when the realisation that he was truly on his own seemed to hit him afresh, like the eighteen-wheeler had hit their car.

  I slept for over ten months! Richard mused, as the bus progressed slowly northwards through the suburbs of Boston. Large oaks in all their splendour stood like an honour guard at each side of the street. The familiar scenes fell slowly behind, leaving him with a further sense of loss.

  The expenses incurred to provide for Richard’s care in hospital had been covered largely by his father’s medical insurance policy, but some hasty ‘investments’ by his uncle Henry, who had been appointed guardian in the will his parents had written years before and promptly forgotten, meant that little was left of the inheritance that should have come to Richard from his father’s travel agency business.

  Fortunately (for Richard at least) his uncle died before all the money was used up, and Richard was left in the hands of his widowed aunt, Enid, his father’s sister. Apparently she did not have the same passion for horses that her husband had shown, so the remainder was safe once more. Then, while still unconscious, he had turned eighteen, and his life became his own to run, at least technically. Despite this, once Richard regained his consciousness, he had soon decided to accept the offer his aunt had made long before, while he was in limbo. She had suggested, perhaps out of a sense of duty, or of guilt for her late husband’s excesses, that he move to her home in Maine and complete his schooling while boarding with her, so that the money that was left would take him at least part-way through university instead of being eroded away in no time to cover living expenses in Boston.

  Which is why I’m sitting on this bus to the back of beyond. Richard frowned as the last houses in Boston slipped by. With a conscious effort, he pushed home and family out of his mind and thought about his destination. Richard’s Aunt Enid and recently deceased Uncle Henry had lived in Redcliff, a small fishing and farming community on the coast of Maine, for many years. Richard had discovered that Redcliff had a population of around three thousand. Or two thousand nine hundred ninety nine, I suppose, now that Uncle Henry is dead. At least I’ll make the figures accurate again, Richard thought morosely. There was a high school actually in the town, although students were also bussed in from the surrounding area; many of the residents of Redcliff were retired couples and older folk, so there were fewer teenagers than might be expected.

  As the monotonous road flowed under the bus, Richard, despite his intentions, fell asleep. In his dreams, his mother was joking to him:

  “Ricky, if you grow any taller, we’ll have to put rubber cushions on the door frames so you don’t bang your head when you come into the room.”

  Then the house became a shiny black eighteen-wheeler, equipped with dazzling chrome trim, and his mother disappeared beneath it in a cloud of dust. The dust, instead of dispersing, billowed around him until he was surrounded by a sea of grey nothingness. He was totally alone. As he slept, rocked by the motion of the bus, his face glistened with tears in the lights of the passing vehicles.

  Then, out of the mists, a figure approached. Head bowed, its face totally concealed by a voluminous, brown, monk-like cowl, the figure drew near. Hands that seemed to glow in the grey gloom reached up from the full sleeves of the flowing gown with the clear intention of pulling back the hood. A dazzling outline showed from within the folds of the headgear, and the head started to tilt back, as if the figure were about to look up at him.

  The bus lurched almost to a halt and Richard fell forward in his seat, banging his head on the inadequate padding in front of him. He looked out in time to see a sign indicating that the road to Redcliff forked off to the right from the route to Rockland. The bus turned sh
arply off onto the secondary road. He leaned against the window to cut out the reflected glare and saw a narrow road sloping steeply downhill through a densely wooded area. In the distance, a beam of light swept across a flat surface that shone like hammered steel in the moonlight.

  Richard tried to collect his thoughts. The dream should have been disturbing, depressing, like countless others that had gone before while he had struggled through the nights at the hospital, but the addition of the mysterious bright figure in brown had somehow made his burden seem lighter. He found himself hoping, contrary to his previous inclination, that the dream would come again when next he slept.

  I’m all that’s left of my family; I’ve got to make something of my life, for Colin, for Dad, and for Mom. Richard squared his shoulders unconsciously and picked up his black canvas carryall as the bus pulled up outside the brightly lit ‘Redcliff Store’ and announced its arrival with the hiss of escaping compressed air.

  Chapter Two

  Subdue them all! – Jarkader, Narlav warrior

  Professor Isaac Hardy leaned back on the plush cushions mounted along the side of the upper cabin and watched his long-time friend, Terry Stadt, adjust the throttles so that his newly-acquired cruiser, Getaway, floated motionless on the glassy sea. The quiet hum of the powerful engines faded until it was indistinguishable from the whispering of the air-conditioner.

  Terry swung around lazily in his captain’s chair and brushed his light brown hair back off his forehead.

  “So, what do you think of her?” he asked Isaac.