Red
"It was a mountain lion."
"It wasn't; I'm telling you." Grove leaned out of the canyon, into the hot afternoon sun, squinting. His pistol followed his eyes as he scanned the ridge above them, shoulder pressed into the rocky wall. "I've heard mountain lions before, and that was no mountain lion." He rolled back into the shadow, lowering his pistol. Pushing the brim of his hat up with his thumb, he glanced at the man next to him.
"And I'm telling you, you're a silly pot of beans who thought Doc Daniels was a machine-man just because he likes to tinker with engines in his spare time. You wouldn't know a mountain lion if it bit your business." Paul crossed his arms. "It'll run off eventually. How much farther to the camp?"
Grove was already unfolding a mass of wrinkled paper. He muttered to himself as he traced their path with a finger. "Few miles. Thanks to that mountain lion we'll have to go it on foot."
"All this for a flag." Paul said. He scuffed his boot on the ground. "Better be worth it."
"'Taint a flag," Grove said, gritting his teeth. "I told you before. It's a banner."
"Well what the hell's the difference?!" Paul said, voice raising. "You hang it on a pole, don't you?"
"A flag is for countries. A banner is for an organization, like a church, or a family." The ridge above them was still quiet. Grove ducked back inside the canyon. "It was my pappy's, and my grandpappy's. I want it to be my child's once I trick some poor woman into wifin' for me."
After a pause, Paul cleared his throat. "You know you don't got to trick them."
"Yeah, but I ain't rich and I ain't purdy. Trickin's the only thing I got left."
"You're always bein' too hard on yourself. What about miss-"
The noise made Grove drop his gun in the dust, and it froze the rest of Paul's words in his throat. Both men shut their eyes. After a few moments, Paul grit his teeth and swallowed; his Adam’s apple dropped and rose like a pistol's hammer. "God almighty, but that didn't sound much like a mountain lion."
"I told you," Grove said, bending to retrieve his pistol. "I don't want to spend any more time in this canyon. If somethin's gonna eat us, I'd rather die in the sunlight." The frozen feeling in his stomach was still receding. He drew in a shaky breath. "Come on."
The two men crept forward, out of the canyon's safety and into the heat and exposure of the sun. They kept their weapons moving in unsteady hands. Grove used his left to pull out a compass and point them in the right direction, away from the canyon, up the ridge. A few minutes of climbing, and they made it to the top, legs and chest burning. The improved altitude allowed them to get a lay of the land. Scrub brush poked up through the dry ground, a few brave clouds scuttled across the sky, and distant hills marked the horizon. Grove squinted. There wasn't a life to be seen, mountain lion or not.
"Maybe..." Paul holstered his weapon. "Maybe it was thunder."
Grove looked at the sky, then at the other man. To this place, rain was a once-annually event. "Yeah. Maybe it was, Paul." His boots kicked up dust as he began walking, Paul a few steps behind. Their horses were nowhere to be seen. The first time they had heard the hair-raising, spine-chilling, knee-quaking sound, their horses had reared, dumped them off, and bolted, back to town.
"Wonder if they'll let us stay at the camp," Paul said. "Just for the night."
"Maybe," Grove said. They had been walking for an hour, and felt no closer to their destination. "Good thing I put my money in my pocket, and not the saddlebag. I guess even if we do stay, we'll have to make due without a tent."
"Shouldn't get too cold tonight," Paul said. A pebble bounced off his toe. "I hope." He looked over his shoulder. "I still don't see nothing."
"Who says we'll even be able to see it coming?" Grove asked. He stamped a foot as he walked. "Maybe it'll come up right under our feet and swallow us whole. We won't even know it. One minute we're haulin' our fool selves across the desert, next we're standing in front of the pearly gates, trying to explain to St. Peter why we're there."
"We still don't know what it is."
"Doesn't much matter, does it?" Grove said. He checked his compass and took a swig of water. "Let's cut the chatter. We're liable to dry out in the sun before it even gets us."
Their talk ceased. One foot after another, they made closer to their destination. The sun was closer to the hills, and the temperature had dropped considerably, before they began to talk again.
"Think the horses are alright?"
"Yeah, I think they're alright," Grove said. "When we get back they'll probably be munchin' on hay and wondering why we ran off. Dumb beasts won't even remember being spooked."
"Is the town going to think we're dead?" Paul asked. Grove paused and turned around. "Our horses are going to be back...won't the town just assume we got jumped by warriors or something?"
"And I bet it won't surprise them in the slightest," Grove said. "Well, we'll just have to prove them wrong when we get back."
"With your banner."
"That's right. And then I'm going to go up to my brother and-"
The desert rumbled, and both men squatted, touching buttocks to heels. Their guns were in their hands, and they pointed their eyes in opposite directions. Neither breathed. After nearly a minute, Grove sighed. "Nothing. Again." He stood up, keeping his gun in his hand.
"Did it sound closer? I think it sounded closer." Paul put both hands on his pistol's handle and kept it pointed at his feet. "God's wounds, but it did. Almost made me soil myself. Like it reached down in there and shook things up a deal."
"Certainly didn't sound good," Grove said. "Should only be about a mile to the camp, on the other side of that hill." He pointed. "I bet they've heard it too. Maybe they have some idea."
"I hope so. I also hope they don't open fire on us because they think we're the ones doin' it."
"There is no way a person, or even two people, could make that kind of noise," Grove said. "They'll know that."
They turned their heels and began up the hill Grove had indicated. Paul still had his gun out. "Damn horses," he said. "We'd be back in town already if not for this." He fell silent for a moment. "Guess I can't blame them, though. I wanted to run back to town too."
"You're telling the truth," Grove said. "It's a good thing-"
The sound came from almost directly behind them, and both men jumped. "Gahdamm!" Grove shouted. Paul took off toward the top of the hill, dust flying from under his bootheels. Grove ran after him, clambering up with his hands as he stumbled. A few minutes later they reached the top of the hill and started down the other side.
They skidded to a halt. The entire Sioux camp, a wooden fence surrounding it, was armed to the teeth. The men and boys stood pointed in their direction; rifles, bows, and pointed weapons big and small filled every tight fist. Grove and Paul shot their empty hands into the air. The sound came from behind them again, and cold sweat broke out on their backs.
One of the Sioux, an older man, was shouting something, waving them toward the camp. Grove led the way, sliding down the hill with Paul on his heels, one hand on their hats. They closed quickly. Taking big strides, they nearly leapt the wooden barricade, and the elderly warrior ran to them.
"What is it?" he asked, rifle clenched in both hands. "What's making that noise?"
Paul coughed. "We don't know!" He sucked in a breath. "We haven't seen it, just been running from it! It spooked our horses out from under us!"
Grove, still catching his breath, saw most of the men looking their way. "Howdy," he said, waving a hand. "Name's Grove, Lloyd Grove. We don't know what it is either."
"What are you two doing out here?" the Sioux warrior asked. "Enjoying the scenery?"
"Actually, coming here," Paul said. "Grove can explain."
"Yeah, yeah. Just one quick moment." Grove put his hand to his chest and felt his heart slow down. "Uh...last time you came to the town for supplies someone sold you a banner, with three colors. Red, green, and silver. I didn't find out until recently because we, Paul and I, we're cowboys. We've been on the trail months."
"Yes, I know it. The flag in Wicapiwakan's tipi."
"Uh, well, it's not a flag actually, it's just a banner. It's, uh, my banner. My brother sold it to you. I didn't know he was going to, and if I had known I would have...uh, told him not to."
"Why did your brother sell it?" the man asked, sun-burned face wrinkling further.
"Envious of it," Grove said. "Thought he could get a few dollars and tweak my nose at the same time."
"And now you want it back?"
"I'm prepared to buy," Grove said. "Ain't fair to you otherwise. Don't you worry though, I'm going to settle up with my brother."
The old man tilted his head, then nodded. "I am Howahkan. I can take you to-"
The noise sent bolts into their stomach, and all three men raised their weapons. The noise had come rolling down from the top of the hill, filling up the camp and smothering the rest of the conversation.
And it didn't end. Unlike the other times, the sound endured, growing louder minute-by-minute. Getting nearer. "We can trade after we make sure the camp is safe," Howahkan said. "Will you fight?"
"Yes sir, I will," Grove said. He looked at Paul, who swallowed. "Paul will too."
"Don't want to."
"Neither do I."
"Quickly then," the Sioux said over the growing rumble. "To the front of the camp." He led them back to the other warriors, none of whom looked happy. The noise was grew louder still.
A few of the warriors knelt behind the fence, resting their rifles over it. Grove, Paul, Howahkan, and a few other men stood at the back of the group, guns up. Paul was shaking, and could hardly keep his eyes open. One young warrior, barely of age, dropped his weapon and ran, fear urging on bare feet. Another followed him, then another. Men started to creep feet backward as the sound grew deafening. Paul could barely keep his gun pointed at the hill. Grove heard him muttering.
The sound cut through their flesh. It made sweat pour and knees shake. It weakened their muscles--taught bowstrings loosened as warriors quailed. More fled. There were just over half a dozen left, and Paul looked like he would be the next to flee, when the sound's source rose over the top of the hill, a dark mass of odd shapes and angles.
"What is it?!" Paul shouted. "I ain't never seen anything like it!" He pressed one hand to an ear to try and block the sound. Grove kept his pistol's sights aimed right at it. He didn't know what it would do, but he would be the first to put a bullet in it. His teeth chattered, and it felt like his stomach was turning to liquid.
It moved. Slowly. It made its way down the hill, shifting from an unknown silhouette to a small contraption, built out of metal, and bearing a man. It puttered on tiny wheels, and even though the sound was still loud and disruptive, the sight of it made them all lower their weapons in confusion. From within the frame of metal, a head and arm emerged, waving a soiled, floppy, ancient hat.
"There are so many things about this I don't understand," Paul said. "But at least I know who that is."
Grove put his pistol away and heaved himself over the fence. He put his hands on his hips and waited. Eventually the thing ground to a halt, sliding slightly in the dust, and a segment of metal swung open. A lanky, elderly, white-mustachioed man unfolded himself onto his feet. He placed his hat back upon his head. Grove sighed.
"Doc."
"Mr. Grove! And Mr. Harolds!" the man said, to Grove and then Paul. "I've been looking all over for you--have you been here the whole time?"
"Doc, what in God's name is that thing?!"
"A working prototype!" Doc said, slapping the contraption. "Just got it up today. Took it out for a test drive earlier this morning, and when I got back, who should I meet but your horses! Scared 'em right into the stables, I'm afraid." He looked at his machine. "It does make an almighty racket, doesn't it?"
Grove cleared his throat. "Doc, this is Howahkan. Howahkan, this is Doc Daniels, the physician from town."
"We're acquainted," Howahkan said. He leaned his weapon against the fence.
Doc turned to Grove. "When your horses returned without you, I decided to head out again to see if I could find you. Whatever made them bolt like that? They don't even seem to care when I give them a look-over!"
Grove crossed his arms and nodded at the vehicle Doc had ridden up in. Doc spun. "No, really?" He looked at Grove, who was still standing with his arms crossed. "I guess I should tinker with it some more."
"Doc, there is no way anybody would want to hear that thing for very long," Paul said. "It made us want to run for the hills."
"Doctor," Howahkan said. "Since you're here..."
"Hmm?" Doc gazed at the man for a few moments. "Oh! Your daughter! Of course, of course. Any change?"
"It has not improved."
"Hmm. Well, lead the way if you will."
"Howahkan," Grove said. "The banner?"
"Wicapiwakan is my daughter. She purchased the banner from your brother. We are going to her now."
"Oh. Good." Howahkan walked away. Doc and Paul followed him, but Grove stood still for a moment. Releasing a breath, he trailed them, winding through the Sioux camp until they got to a certain tipi. Howahkan entered first, and they heard a bit of conversation in Lakota. The warrior emerged and waved the doctor in. Grove and Paul waited outside. A little while after, Doc and Howahkan emerged--Doc was rolling his sleeves back down.
"I'm sorry Howahkan, I can't say it looks good. It's spreading."
"What do you suggest?" the Sioux asked.
Doc sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I can't rightly say." He set his mouth in a line. "If I had a few items, I could create a bath for her that would help reduce swelling and itching, and maybe help it clear up faster."
"Doc." Grove looked from one man to the other. "What is it?"
Doc glanced at Howahkan, who nodded. "Pox on the skin. Not catching, but the miss is in no good place. Agony."
"I'm sorry," Grove said to Howahkan. "Is it all right if I go in?"
Howahkan ducked under the tipi's flap again and spoke a few words, then exited, holding the flap open for Grove and Paul.
The interior was dark, save for sunset squeezing in through the slit in the top. A small fire was going in the center, and Paul coughed as he entered. The smell of hide and body filled the place, and Grove squatted, removing his hat.
The woman nodded. She was wrapped in several items, including the banner Grove had come to trade for. A discoloration rose up her neck into her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot and half-closed. She indicated a place for him to sit.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Grove began. "My name is Lloyd Grove. My brother was the one who sold you that banner you have. He shouldn't have; it wasn't his property."
"You're taking it back?" Wicapiwakan said, and Grove felt his breath stop. The sound of Doc Daniel's machine had made his stomach boil; her voice made his heart leap. It sounded like the wind whistling through the canyon.
"No...no ma'am. Buying it back. I'm willing to repay you what you paid my brother. I intend to make him pay me back."
She lifted her chin at him, watching him. Fire danced across her eyes, casting shadows over the blotched skin on her face. She said a word in Lakota, and her father entered a moment later. They had a short conversation.
When they finished, she looked at Grove. "My father tells me you stood your ground with courage when the sound was approaching," she said. "Even when my brothers fled. You're courageous?"
"I..." Grove looked to Paul, who shrugged. He looked at Howahkan, who did nothing. "I suppose if your father says so, ma'am, then I am."
Wicapiwakan nodded. "I will give you the banner for free-"
"You will? No, no, I can't accept that. I'll pay you back."
"-If you fetch the medicine I need. I am sick. See." She revealed her hand, and Paul, standing behind Grove, gasped. Mottled skin covered the palm and fingers.
Grove inched closer for a better look and, unbidden, Wicapiwakan put her hand in his. Grove shut his eyes and turned his head, the sight sickening him. When he did so, a fragrance caught his nose. It was sweat, and smoke, and hide, and wild roses. "I see so, ma'am."
She kept her hand in his. "Will you get the medicine? In trade for the flag."
"In trade for the flag," Grove said. He thought about nothing for a few moments. "I'll leave at sunrise."
The woman smiled, and Grove smiled, and the other two men in the tipi finally understood.
Green
"Nice of you to show up, Grove," Captain Rogers said. "Hard-on last too long to make it to work on time? No, save it," he said when Grove opened his mouth. "Get to York and thirty-first, there was a break-in." Captain Rogers went back to the report on his desk. Grove spun on his heel.
Nowak ground out a cigarette as Grove exited the station. "I guess I should have let you know he was in a bad mood," Nowak said as Grove got behind the wheel of their Daniels-brand cruiser. "Where we headed?" He glanced at Grove. "What's got your tongue?"
"She said no."
"Mmm." Nowak lit another cigarette. "Sorry to hear that." The cruiser shot ahead, merging with the blindingly-fast traffic in an instant. Grove programmed in the destination. "She give a reason?"
Grove leaned back in his seat as the steering wheel kept them pointed straight ahead. "Said I wasn't man enough. Said I didn't earn enough. Said she didn't want 'Indian blood' in her veins."
Nowak wrinkled his lips. "She's got a problem with...what is it, one-sixteenth Sioux?" Grove nodded. Nowak blew smoke, and the vehicle's filters sucked it away. "So she strings you along this whole time and then dumps you when you ask for marriage. What a woman. Howsabout we get a few drinks after work, grouse about broads. Oh, but I can't stay out too late, wife wants me home by eight."
Grove glanced at his partner, buttons straining from an extended belly and tie stained with nicotine. "I'll take a rain check. Can't say I feel like doing much more than going home and sitting in the dark."
"Racism." Nowak snorted. "In this day and age. What did we fight for in Germany if it's still going on here? I tell ya, it boils my blood. My nephew's company was nine Negros out of fifty, and he wept when they died just like any other man." He looked at Grove and puffed. "Ahh, you'll be fine. You're too pretty to stay single for long. Some doe-eyed starlet's going to snatch you up; you'll be on your way to thirty-secondths Sioux in no time."
Grove smiled, and for a moment he wasn't miserable.
"So what's on the menu, waiter?" Nowak said. Their vehicle sped through New York as it was built to, merging and turning in concordance with the computers built into each vehicle. "Bring me something juicy."
"Break-in," Grove said, as their vehicle made a perfect parallel park against the sidewalk. "Perfect. Low-effort, low-risk. We gather info, talk to owners, gather suspects, and put someone away. Maybe it'll be a tough one so I don't have a reason to go home early today."
They climbed the stairs inside the apartment building until reaching the third floor. Nowak knocked, adjusted his coat, and glanced at Grove. "C'mon, try to look a little presentable."
Before Grove could react the door opened. A woman stood with her hand on the handle.
"Morning, ma'am," Nowak said, revealing his badge. "I'm detective Peter Nowak, this is detective Jake Grove, NYPD. You reported a break-in?"
"At last, you grace me with your presence," the woman said. "Please, detectives, come in. I would tidy the place up, but I have a feeling it wouldn't help." She turned and retreated into her apartment. Nowak looked at Grove and rolled his eyes, mouthing the word broads. Grove followed Nowak in without reacting.
The apartment was strewn with household items. Coats and shoes cluttered the entryway, plates and silverware were all over the kitchen, and books, pictures, and decor were thrown around the sitting room. The window was open, letting in honks and fresh air. Nowak began to speak with the woman.
Grove wandered around the apartment, too-big coat hanging loose on his frame. His shoes snapped against the tile. At least the place smelled clean.
"And then they bolt?" he heard Nowak say.
Nothing seemed to be missing. Maybe something from back in the bedroom, jewelry or something. Or maybe nothing actually got stolen. Maybe someone was just trying to make trouble, or was stalking the girl.
Grove looked at her in the corner of his eye. She was tall, stood silent like a statue. She responded quietly, speaking with conviction.
Stalking the woman. Grove turned away. He didn't see muddy footprints, or blood-stained fingerprints on the walls. Nothing to make this easy. Good.
His mouth dropped open when he saw the banner, hanging over the couch. Red, green, and silver. He strode up to it and flipped the right corner of the silver section. The word "Grove" was scrawled in ink, smudged and distorted with age.
"Find something, Grove?"
"Yeah, but not about the case," Grove said. He turned and looked at Nowak and the woman. "I think this banner is mine."
"So that's what happens when you call the police here, is it?" the woman said. "They rob you just as much as the thieves?"
"My name's written in it." Grove indicated the word. "I have pictures of it. It's been in my family for generations, since before the civil war. Someone stole it from my mother when my father was in France." He faced the woman. "Why do you have it?"
"It matches my eyes," she said. "I saw it in a shop and thought it was a bad Irish tri-color and bought it on a lark. Now are you going to investigate the break-in, or come up with more sob stories?"
Grove watched her stand up straighter. She was almost as tall as Nowak. The two detectives met in the hall outside the apartment.
"She said a few pieces of jewelry and a nice coat were stolen while she was on the night shift at the hospital. They forced the door and grabbed what they could before a neighbor saw them," Nowak said. "Is that really your flag?"
"Banner," Grove said. "According to my mom, it's the reason I'm one-sixteenth Sioux. I've never seen it with my own eyes but it looks exactly like the pictures my parents have, down to the curl at the edges and the name in the corner."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't really want it, but I bet my parents would love to see it again. Maybe I can buy it off her. What's her name?"
Nowak sighed and flipped open his notepad. "Stella Anne. If you want a chance to buy it, you know you're gonna hafta find her stolen things first."
"Of course," Grove said. "First things first: the neighbor."
"Have you ever seen them before?" Nowak asked the neighbor, who stood with her thin arms folded over her flowery apron in the doorway of her apartment. "Hanging around the apartment? On the street?"
The woman stroked her chin. "You know, now that you ask, I have seen them before. They've delivered packages before. They have a truck."
Nowak nodded. "Any details about the truck you remember?" Grove felt a pinch in his stomach, and he was pretty sure Nowak felt it too. He smiled.
"I cannot tell you how upset I am, that the police would insinuate such a thing about two of my employees," the manager of Dick's Deliveries, Richard Wermbeliar, said. Grove and Nowak stood in front of his desk, in his office. Behind them, a bay of trucks filled with brown packages.
"I'm very sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wermbeliar," Nowak said. He leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. All we really need, you see, is the delivery reports. From there, we can see which trucks have delivered to York and Thirty-first and, if so, who was driving those trucks."
"And then you arrest those men and I start to lose revenue!" Wermbeliar said, heaving himself up. "I won't let you do that. What do I have to do to make you go away?"
"Do I need to take my badge out again, Wermbeliar?" Nowak asked. "My partner and I, we've had a rough few days. Maybe a little bit of cooperation will make us go away. The delivery report, Wermbeliar. Now."
"Alex Costanza and Gerard Ami. It's on their normal route," Grove said, pointing out the line of messy handwriting. They sat at a secluded table on the other side of the warehouse, lit with a bare bulb overhead. "Multiple visits in the last month."
"They case the place, get a few things straight, and bust in when they know it'll be empty." Nowak piled up the delivery reports. "Classic. Let's find our guys. Maybe they'll give themselves up."
All he saw was the feet of Alex Costanza and Gerard Ami spitting up rocks as they fled. Then the pain hit. His whole body, starting with where the bullet had entered and radiating outward, seized, and he felt his shirt begin to soak with blood. His ears still rang. There was gravel in his hair.
Had it hit his stomach? Maybe his intestines. Was he supposed to press on the wound? Yes. He tried to move his arms to cover the lower part of his torso, but pain kept them locked in place. He probably screamed, because his mouth was open and he felt his vocal cords rumbling, but he still couldn't hear anything. Something touched his shoulder and the pain roared to a higher degree. He managed to turn his head--it was Nowak.
His mouth moved. Grove heard his own breath whistle inside his head. Nowak's face began to grow lines, and his mouth snapped open wider. Grove heard something from far away. Pointing somewhere, his partner knelt, pulling his tie from around his neck, and then going to work unbuttoning Grove's shirt. Blood welled and stained the gravel cutting into him.
The sky was dull blue. Grove watched bubbles of cloud drift until an ambulance appeared, and someone hauled him inside.
"Got 'em," was the first thing Nowak said. "Found their place, found stolen items from all over the city. It was practically a ring. How's the stomach?"
His words reached Grove at a crawl. His body was one-fourth bandages, one-fourth hospital food, and one-half morphine. There was no pain, but lights switched from blazing bright to dull as a dirty penny every few seconds, and sounds turned into a soup his ears had trouble chewing. He licked his lips. "Bullet's out," he managed. He breathed in deep, or deep until his stomach panged. "Feeling better bit by bit." He looked around. The room was full of flowers and cards, and more were arriving every day. Captain Rogers had promised a commendation; friends and family filled hospital visiting hours. "Did you find Miss Anne's things?"
"That we did. They didn't have enough time to unload them," Nowak said. "Nice necklace, pair of pearl earrings, and a fur coat." Nowak fell silent. He cleared his throat. "Um, Grove, the captain asked me...I mean, I know you'll probably want some time to decide, but...are you gonna keep going? You know, stay on the force?"
Once the words made sense to Grove, he swallowed. The process was laborious. "I think so. It's just a bullet wound," he said. "Don't want another one, but I like doing it. Just so long as you're still my partner."
Nowak laughed. "Don't you doubt that! You're not going anywhere without me!" The volume made Grove cringe. Nowak cleared his throat again. "Sorry. Uh, you have another visitor."
Grove rolled his head around, slowly, to look toward the door. An unfamiliar shape stood in the doorway. He heard the sound of Nowak getting to his feet, and the shape entered the room. The shape turned out to be a woman. "I'll give you two a little bit of privacy," Nowak said.
Stella walked around the bed and took the chair Nowak had vacated. She sat with her arms crossed, purse dangling from her shoulder, lips pressed together, dress hem brushing the tile. Grove stared at her.
"Thank you for recovering my items," she said. She uncrossed her arms and laced her fingers in her lap. "I admit I was quite upset when you came to visit my apartment. I apologize for the way I acted. Will you recover?"
"Yes ma'am, they say I will," Grove said. He was looking at her eyes. They were wonderfully green, just like the middle row of his family's banner. He blinked a few times. Stella opened her mouth, then frowned and leaned close. Her wonderfully green eyes widened. Grove watched them, failing to keep himself from smiling.
She said something across a chasm. He watched her run from the room, and wanted to raise his hand and keep her from going. A moment later she and a nurse entered. The nurse went to him--Stella stood in the corner.
"Are you in pain, detective?" the nurse asked. She was a white blur. Grove shook his head. "Your heart rate is too fast. I'm giving you something to help you relax."
Roaring from inside a deep hole, Grove summoned titanic strength and shook his head. "No." His body flared with pain as he pointed at Stella. "It's her."
"Me?!"
"What did you do?" the nurse said, rushing up to her. "Security!"
"Nothing! I'm a nurse too--his pupils were dilated and he seemed unresponsive! I felt his pulse and called for you!"
She touched me?
"Her eyes," Grove said. Stella, whose eyes birthed green radiance with each turn of her head, and the white blur, looked in his direction. "Her eyes are too pretty."
Until the two women moved--it must have been ten seconds, at least--Grove thought he would stare at the frozen image of them for the rest of his life. The nurse put the side of her fist to her mouth and cleared her throat. Stella did nothing. "Visiting hours end in ten minutes," the nurse said, and then Grove was alone with the green-eyed beauty.
Next he knew, she was sitting in the chair again. He took a deep breath and looked away, somehow tearing himself away. "I was wondering..." Stella's voice was crystal-clear. "Are you still interested in your banner? You got yourself shot trying to find a few pieces of jewelry for me. I suppose it's the least I can do."
"Yes ma'am, I am." Grove kept looking at the ceiling.
"I heard you tell your partner that you want to continue on as a detective." Grove heard her hesitation and waited for her to continued. It must have only been a few seconds but he felt like he could have looked out the window and seen the sun spinning past. "That's terribly brave of you. I know you'll be here for some time." He turned his head again and found her wonderful eyes shining down on him. He smiled. "But if you'd like, you can visit and have a cup of coffee. I'm sure your family's banner must have some interesting history."
He smiled and nodded, content to look into her wonderful green eyes.
Silver
It was tattered, faded--only on close inspection could you tell the colors it used to have. The red looked more like pink. The green had become mostly yellow. The silver stood strong against time. The name written in the corner was now just a smudge of ink. Cylus Grove had to use four pieces of tape to keep it flat against the bulkhead. It was the sort of tape one might use to make sure an airlock stayed sealed.
He had covered what little personal space he had with it, and now he laid in the bed under it, hearing and feeling the engines fire him and the fifty thousand others aboard the "Doc Daniels" toward Alpha Centauri, where a massive station waited. Humanity reached out.
The room he shared with three others stank like a bathroom. It was dark like a schoolhouse--the only light came from a rotund yellow LED above the door. When the heavy door was open, as was normal, people of all ages, shapes, and volumes clunked past, heading to the viewing decks to take in another infinity of nothing, or to the showers to sprinkle some recycled water on themselves, or to the rec rooms and hope they could get a table. Grove watched them, lying on his bunk, waving to people he knew, or women he'd like to know. Some waved back.
He was napping when his roommates stormed in, shaking him awake. He nearly popped his head up, which would have earned him a bruise thanks to the bed above his.
"Something's happening on the viewing deck!" Wopler told him. "There's something out there!"
"What, like a comet?"
"You gotta see it!" Trimlay said, leaning in the room. "You'll never believe it otherwise!"
Grove rolled up, stretching as much as he could in the cramped space. His roommates led the way; it seemed plenty of people were interested in seeing what was happening. The crowd pulled them forward, and Grove decided he wanted to get there first. He pushed ahead, slowing down only to flash a grin at a space-faring beauty.
The viewing deck was busier than he had ever seen it. Shoulders rubbed against each other as people tried to get to the immense, curved bay of windows making up near to a third of the ship's length. The room was one hundred and eighty degrees of vision in the direction the ship headed. Only the ship's approach to Alpha Centauri Home would see it more popular.
Grove tilted his head up to try and see over the crowd. Usually the lights from inside the deck shot tiny bits of illumination into space's overwhelming darkness--now, to the wonder of everyone present, light from space filled the deck. "What is it?"
"Some kind of cloud," Abalisson said. "But it's bright! C'mon, over here. We might be able to wind around to the other side of the crowd here. They're bunching near the exits. If we go to the very front, we should have a clear view."
Grove and his friends weaved through the press until finding open space. They headed for the nose of the viewing deck, the point farthest forward on the ship.
His three friends--the entire viewing deck, save him--cried out and shut their eyes, spinning away to protect their vision as the light pulsed and exploded. Grove stood in the center, unaffected. The silver radiance turned his green eyes into emerald halos. He looked at the people around him, bending low, shielding their eyes from the light, cowering away.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Can't you see them? It looks like they're dying!"
"Cylus, what do you mean?" Trimlay asked. He tried to look out the window, but it was like looking into the sun. "There's nobody out there!"
"No, look!" Grove grabbed Trimlay's head, pointing it so he looked out the window. "They're all just floating!"
"How can you even bear to look?" Wopler said. "It's too bright! You're going to hurt yourself!"
Grove shook his head. "No. I can see! I can see them!"
Filigree figures, emaciated, tossed in solar winds, floating in a space-born sea of silver dust. Like the tide had swept away a village and washed it up against a glittering beach half a universe away.
Grove pushed his hands against the window. He began to pick out individuals. Men and women. They floated in crossing paths in a band, and they grew slightly as the ship drifted forward, coming to a halt to investigate this phenomenon. He pressed his forehead against the foot-thick window. There was one of them, right in the center.
She was watching him.
Trimlay grabbed his arm and yanked him away, pulling him for the door. "No, wait!" Grove called. His other two friends added their strength, trying to get away from the painful light. "Stop!"
Doors slammed shut in front of him. The elevator rocketed up as Grove climbed to his feet and jabbed the button to return them to the viewing platform. He pushed Trimlay away.
"Stop it, Cylus! You're acting stupid! None of us can see anything in that haze!"
"I could! I could, Trimlay! There were people out there, thousands of them! They're still alive, and they need help!"
"You crazy idiot!" Abalisson. "We were going to fry!"
"Fine!" Grove shouted, as the elevator doors zipped open, showing a dull, dark, inner hallway. "Stay here, then!" He shoved Trimlay, the closest one, forcing them out of the elevator cab. As soon as they were clear, he hit the button and watched the doors shut. The elevator descended quickly; he felt weightless. His heart pounded as the doors opened again, and silver filled the cab.
The deck was emptier. Passengers were gone, replaced with men and women in uniform. As soon as he stepped off, security tried to make him go back.
"You see them, right?" he asked over the officer's shoulder. "You see them out there? They aren't just light, they're people! They need our help! Let me go! Look at them! Look at them!"
"Wait."
The word came from one of the uniformed men on the other side of the security officer. The officer released Grove and stood aside, looking in confusion at the man.
"I am Commander Altus," the man said. He put his hand out for Grove to shake. "What were you saying?"
"I can see people in the light," Grove said. "Nobody else can. It's too bright for them. There are people in there, and they're dying. I know they can see me."
Altus exchanged glances with the people with him. "And...how are you able to do this?"
"I...don't know."
"It isn't too bright for you?" Grove shook his head. "Can you look? Tell us exactly what you can see. Are they still there?"
Commander Altus led Grove to the window. People with shading face masks moved aside to let him through. Altus had to keep his eyes covered, and when Grove was close enough he turned his face away. Grove peered forward.
"People...so many people. They're all just floating, like they're lying on a bed of air. Men and women, young and old. Thousands. They're silver, sort of like the color the stars looked from earth, twinkling and shimmering. ...One of them is looking at me."
"Is it doing anything else?"
Grove shook his head, then turned his head to see Altus and the others keeping their eyes away. "No, just looking. It's the only one. It looks like a woman. I can't...it's getting closer!" Grove pushed away from the window, heart skipping. The figure had detached from the group and was orienting itself to face the ship, getting bigger second by second.
"Bridge, power to weapons," Altus said into the communicator on his wrist. "Is it doing anything else?"
"Just floating," Grove said. "It's bringing some of the silver dust with it...oh. It's hair." Grove shaded his eyes. The figure's proximity made it brighter. "It doesn't even look like it's moving, it's just floating."
It stopped before it got too close to the window. It was just about the same size as he was, he saw. Long, slender limbs, flat face--the nose was just a bump, the mouth an invisible line. The hair drifting down from its head was long enough to brush its heels. He saw feminine hips, miniscule breasts. Either it had none, or the light it gave forth obscured sexual characteristics.
Its eyes were dark silver, wide open and staring at him. His stomach prickled and something in his brain made him want to turn away, but he didn't. He stared back.
It saw him doing so, and the smile appearing on its lips was the brightest thing he had ever seen. It drifted closer to the ship, reaching one hand up, pressing it against the outside of the window.
His eyes were locked to hers. It was so bright tears dripped down his cheeks.
She tapped her fingers on the glass, and he swallowed. He brought his own hand up and pressed it on the other side of the window. It was warm. "Grove," he heard.
"It knows my name," he said to Altus, and he expected his voice to shake much more than it did.
"How?"
"I don't know." He looked her in the eyes again. "What are you?"
"Lost and dying. Drifting for eons."
"But what are you?"
It was silent. The smile faded, and her mouth became invisible in the light. Her head rotated slowly, until she was looking back toward the mass of floating bodies. "An old civilization," she said. "Cast away from its home by planetary tragedy." Its mouth wasn't moving. "We were strong once. We could survive in the limitless darkness." She looked at him again. "But we are dying. We are being devoured."
Momentary heat accompanied the last word. "You have to save us."
"Me?" Grove said. The quiet word fogged the window.
"You, Cylus Grove, must save us."
"Why me? How do I save you? ...Save you from what?" Grove's throat shut on him, and he felt his stomach churn. Behind the creature, the light of her species swam. He blinked.
"We were strong once, but we are still strong, in some ways." The hand resting against the window stroked, and Grove felt the touch on the back of his hand. "We see things differently than you do. I have watched your family grow up. We have guided them."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your banner of three colors was a gift from us, to ensure you exist. From the very beginning, when your ancestor had the strange idea to sew it together, to Lloyd Grove chasing it across a desert and meeting the woman who would be his wife, to Jacob Grove taking a bullet in the stomach and finding the courage to continue his life. Now it hangs above your bed."
Grove pulled his hand away from the window, every inch of flesh prickling. He tried to tear his eyes away from hers. "You must be able to see us--only you can, because we guided your blood. You must be courageous, as your family has always been. Forgive us, Cylus, we had no other choice. Your family has been a grove of hope for millennia. The only hope we have.
"If you do not do this, Cylus Grove, then you doom our civilization to death. Please, Cylus."
Her mouth appeared again, this time trembling, curled down, opening slowly. It moved into words he couldn't hear. Save us.
They had twisted his family into the thing it was now: him. The events of the past, the history his parents had told him about the banner: All for now.
He was their only chance. They waited for him to help them or send them into the darkness. They had used incredible power--to manipulate things so long ago, so far away!--to create him. They couldn't even use their power to save themselves, but they had found another way.
Behind her, it was terrible dark. Getting closer, eating into the light her people gave off. He looked at his palm. He could still feel the heat. He brought his eyes up into hers, and pressed his hand against the window. A moment later, hers laid in the same place, and her face changed into a blaze of light.
"This is what you must do."
"I cannot allow such a thing," the captain said. He, Commander Altus, another member of the ship's bridge, and Grove stood in a private room. A window let in a sliver of silver light. "And if you think I'm even going to consider it, you belong in the brig. If you go anywhere near the airlocks, I'm going to order security-" the captain nodded at the additional man, who eyed Grove "-to strap you down until we reach Alpha Centauri Home. You won't even have a window."
"Tell him we aren't able to move out of the ship's way."
"They can't move out of the way. You'd have to plow through them to keep going."
The captain laughed. "First off, you're the only one who thinks there are beings out there. Second, you told us one of them came up to the window."
"I'm the strongest."
"She's the strongest," Grove said. "The rest of them can't move."
"She?" the captain said. He waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. We can just drive around it."
"If they go around us, the same things eating us will destroy the ship." Grove relayed the information.
"What things? There're no things! It's a cloud of luminous substance, and you, Mr. Grove, are having some sort of psychotic break! Lieutenant!" The security officer jumped. "Take Mr. Grove to the infirmary and make sure he gets the help he needs!"
The door slid open with a sound like a sigh. "Captain!" A woman stepped inside. She held a printout. "Lifeforms detected inside the cloud!"
The other three members of the crew gazed at the woman with wide eyes. "How many? What kind?"
The woman consulted the printout. "Approximately thirty thousand, sir. Complex lifeforms."
"Like us?"
The woman shook her head. "No sir. Much more."
"It's a moot point," Altus said. He looked at Grove. "We still cannot allow you to leave the ship, especially how you say it must be done. It would be suicide, and we have no confirmation it would even work."
"I agree," the captain said. He spoke into his communicator. "Power up engines. We're-"
The ship shook hard enough to buck Grove to the ground. The captain fell out of his chair, and the woman with the printout shrieked, thrown out of the doorway, which hissed shut. "Bridge! What the hell was that?"
"Something struck the ship, sir!"
"They're attacking you now."
"She says they're attacking you now!"
"She? Who is she? The voice in your head? And if something's attacking us, what are they? How come we can't see or even detect them?" The captain roared, surging to his feet. "Bridge-"
His communicator overpowered him: "We're losing power in every system, sir! Weapons and engines down, shields are failing!" The captain went pale as the lights above their head shut down. The only light was silver coming in the window.
"All power to life support!" the captain said. He let his arm drop and looked at Grove. "Would you really go out there?"
"Captain!" Altus said, leaning his hands on the table. "You can't think such a thing!"
"Or what, commander? Watch every person on this ship suffocate?"
Commander Altus leaned backward. His eyes darted toward the window, until settling on Grove. "Young man. Surely you cannot truly think to do this?"
Her smile, so luminous, had become shadowed. Even her bright form could not restore it. Her silver eyes had begged him.
"They don't have any other choice," he said. "I will."
The room was quiet and dark.
He was in front of another window.
He could see her, and all of them, through it. Already the light surrounding them was dimmer. The ship shook, invisible beasts buffeting it. The one he had spoken too was still detached from the rest of her species, floating in between them and the ship. She and Grove watched each other.
The captain stood at his side. "I'm ready," Grove said. He wasn't--it was too dark out there. Too cold. If he were to start drifting, he would drift forever, and the seconds until he came back to safety would outnumber the stars he would never reach. His stomach was a puckered hole, his throat was a dry slab.
"Follow me, then."
Listening to the ship's silence, they walked to a circular door, bound with mechanical and electronic locks.
"Your final chance," the captain said. "Even without a suit?"
"She was very clear," Grove said. "Bare flesh."
"What if it's a trick?"
His great-to-the-fiftieth grandfather had forged across the desert, and then ridden to a distant town to find medicine for a Sioux woman he had just met. His great-to-the-forty-fifth grandfather had taken a bullet in the stomach and kept to his vow. All because of a piece of cloth Grove had hanging above his bed that very moment. "Not a trick."
"Then God keep you," the captain said, and the airlock opened.
Grove stepped through, into the ship's antechamber, looking at yet another airlock as the first slammed shut behind him. His stomach twisted. He was alone. There were no windows in the airlock chamber--he could not even see the silver light.
"Are you there?"
Deafening silence. Then: "I will catch you."
"Open it, captain."
"To have his courage," the captain said--only he could hear himself. His voice would fail him if he continued, he knew. He clenched his fist and grit his teeth, then pressed the button to open the outer door. He fell to his knees.
The grabbing hand of space yanked away the breath in his lungs, the sound in his ears. He fell through the opening, twirling free, and felt a hundred freezing needles puncture his skin even as his brain boiled and expanded. But she was there.
Her arms circled his stomach, and he gasped, breathing something in. The smell of wild roses. He returned to normal, and he put his arms around her. She was warm. Her face buried in his neck. She was starlight made soft under his fingertips.
"All the time I have spent watching you," she said; the sound of heaven scored. "I finally get to touch you." She grasped the sides of his face. "Ready?" He nodded. "Then see with eyes like none before!"
The blistering light of her species darkened, thronged around with beasts made of ink, darker even than the void. There eyes were shot with lightning and fire, their teeth glittered. Their claws scratched against the light. They surrounded Grove and her, gnashing teeth and spreading their cloaked forms, liquid in the vacuum.
"And now?" he asked her. She kissed him.
With his eyes closed he could still see her overpowering light. A sound traveling not through matter reached him, like a chorus of dying souls. He opened his eyes and saw the black beasts writhing. The light of her people grew stronger. Their eyes opened. They stirred. Grove looked into her eyes, lips warm, watching and feeling light and heat overpower the rest of his senses.
"But why?"
"Forgetting how to love dooms a species more than any other tragedy," she said. "And as I watched and guided you, until you were here, we...one of us...learned what it's like to love again."
"But how did you know it would work?"
"I didn't," she said. "None of us did. Like many things, love takes courage. Like all things that take courage, it is most rewarding when one is frightened." She laughed, and the sound shredded the darkness around her.
"It was a mountain lion."
"It wasn't; I'm telling you." Grove leaned out of the canyon, into the hot afternoon sun, squinting. His pistol followed his eyes as he scanned the ridge above them, shoulder pressed into the rocky wall. "I've heard mountain lions before, and that was no mountain lion." He rolled back into the shadow, lowering his pistol. Pushing the brim of his hat up with his thumb, he glanced at the man next to him.
"And I'm telling you, you're a silly pot of beans who thought Doc Daniels was a machine-man just because he likes to tinker with engines in his spare time. You wouldn't know a mountain lion if it bit your business." Paul crossed his arms. "It'll run off eventually. How much farther to the camp?"
Grove was already unfolding a mass of wrinkled paper. He muttered to himself as he traced their path with a finger. "Few miles. Thanks to that mountain lion we'll have to go it on foot."
"All this for a flag." Paul said. He scuffed his boot on the ground. "Better be worth it."
"'Taint a flag," Grove said, gritting his teeth. "I told you before. It's a banner."
"Well what the hell's the difference?!" Paul said, voice raising. "You hang it on a pole, don't you?"
"A flag is for countries. A banner is for an organization, like a church, or a family." The ridge above them was still quiet. Grove ducked back inside the canyon. "It was my pappy's, and my grandpappy's. I want it to be my child's once I trick some poor woman into wifin' for me."
After a pause, Paul cleared his throat. "You know you don't got to trick them."
"Yeah, but I ain't rich and I ain't purdy. Trickin's the only thing I got left."
"You're always bein' too hard on yourself. What about miss-"
The noise made Grove drop his gun in the dust, and it froze the rest of Paul's words in his throat. Both men shut their eyes. After a few moments, Paul grit his teeth and swallowed; his Adam’s apple dropped and rose like a pistol's hammer. "God almighty, but that didn't sound much like a mountain lion."
"I told you," Grove said, bending to retrieve his pistol. "I don't want to spend any more time in this canyon. If somethin's gonna eat us, I'd rather die in the sunlight." The frozen feeling in his stomach was still receding. He drew in a shaky breath. "Come on."
The two men crept forward, out of the canyon's safety and into the heat and exposure of the sun. They kept their weapons moving in unsteady hands. Grove used his left to pull out a compass and point them in the right direction, away from the canyon, up the ridge. A few minutes of climbing, and they made it to the top, legs and chest burning. The improved altitude allowed them to get a lay of the land. Scrub brush poked up through the dry ground, a few brave clouds scuttled across the sky, and distant hills marked the horizon. Grove squinted. There wasn't a life to be seen, mountain lion or not.
"Maybe..." Paul holstered his weapon. "Maybe it was thunder."
Grove looked at the sky, then at the other man. To this place, rain was a once-annually event. "Yeah. Maybe it was, Paul." His boots kicked up dust as he began walking, Paul a few steps behind. Their horses were nowhere to be seen. The first time they had heard the hair-raising, spine-chilling, knee-quaking sound, their horses had reared, dumped them off, and bolted, back to town.
"Wonder if they'll let us stay at the camp," Paul said. "Just for the night."
"Maybe," Grove said. They had been walking for an hour, and felt no closer to their destination. "Good thing I put my money in my pocket, and not the saddlebag. I guess even if we do stay, we'll have to make due without a tent."
"Shouldn't get too cold tonight," Paul said. A pebble bounced off his toe. "I hope." He looked over his shoulder. "I still don't see nothing."
"Who says we'll even be able to see it coming?" Grove asked. He stamped a foot as he walked. "Maybe it'll come up right under our feet and swallow us whole. We won't even know it. One minute we're haulin' our fool selves across the desert, next we're standing in front of the pearly gates, trying to explain to St. Peter why we're there."
"We still don't know what it is."
"Doesn't much matter, does it?" Grove said. He checked his compass and took a swig of water. "Let's cut the chatter. We're liable to dry out in the sun before it even gets us."
Their talk ceased. One foot after another, they made closer to their destination. The sun was closer to the hills, and the temperature had dropped considerably, before they began to talk again.
"Think the horses are alright?"
"Yeah, I think they're alright," Grove said. "When we get back they'll probably be munchin' on hay and wondering why we ran off. Dumb beasts won't even remember being spooked."
"Is the town going to think we're dead?" Paul asked. Grove paused and turned around. "Our horses are going to be back...won't the town just assume we got jumped by warriors or something?"
"And I bet it won't surprise them in the slightest," Grove said. "Well, we'll just have to prove them wrong when we get back."
"With your banner."
"That's right. And then I'm going to go up to my brother and-"
The desert rumbled, and both men squatted, touching buttocks to heels. Their guns were in their hands, and they pointed their eyes in opposite directions. Neither breathed. After nearly a minute, Grove sighed. "Nothing. Again." He stood up, keeping his gun in his hand.
"Did it sound closer? I think it sounded closer." Paul put both hands on his pistol's handle and kept it pointed at his feet. "God's wounds, but it did. Almost made me soil myself. Like it reached down in there and shook things up a deal."
"Certainly didn't sound good," Grove said. "Should only be about a mile to the camp, on the other side of that hill." He pointed. "I bet they've heard it too. Maybe they have some idea."
"I hope so. I also hope they don't open fire on us because they think we're the ones doin' it."
"There is no way a person, or even two people, could make that kind of noise," Grove said. "They'll know that."
They turned their heels and began up the hill Grove had indicated. Paul still had his gun out. "Damn horses," he said. "We'd be back in town already if not for this." He fell silent for a moment. "Guess I can't blame them, though. I wanted to run back to town too."
"You're telling the truth," Grove said. "It's a good thing-"
The sound came from almost directly behind them, and both men jumped. "Gahdamm!" Grove shouted. Paul took off toward the top of the hill, dust flying from under his bootheels. Grove ran after him, clambering up with his hands as he stumbled. A few minutes later they reached the top of the hill and started down the other side.
They skidded to a halt. The entire Sioux camp, a wooden fence surrounding it, was armed to the teeth. The men and boys stood pointed in their direction; rifles, bows, and pointed weapons big and small filled every tight fist. Grove and Paul shot their empty hands into the air. The sound came from behind them again, and cold sweat broke out on their backs.
One of the Sioux, an older man, was shouting something, waving them toward the camp. Grove led the way, sliding down the hill with Paul on his heels, one hand on their hats. They closed quickly. Taking big strides, they nearly leapt the wooden barricade, and the elderly warrior ran to them.
"What is it?" he asked, rifle clenched in both hands. "What's making that noise?"
Paul coughed. "We don't know!" He sucked in a breath. "We haven't seen it, just been running from it! It spooked our horses out from under us!"
Grove, still catching his breath, saw most of the men looking their way. "Howdy," he said, waving a hand. "Name's Grove, Lloyd Grove. We don't know what it is either."
"What are you two doing out here?" the Sioux warrior asked. "Enjoying the scenery?"
"Actually, coming here," Paul said. "Grove can explain."
"Yeah, yeah. Just one quick moment." Grove put his hand to his chest and felt his heart slow down. "Uh...last time you came to the town for supplies someone sold you a banner, with three colors. Red, green, and silver. I didn't find out until recently because we, Paul and I, we're cowboys. We've been on the trail months."
"Yes, I know it. The flag in Wicapiwakan's tipi."
"Uh, well, it's not a flag actually, it's just a banner. It's, uh, my banner. My brother sold it to you. I didn't know he was going to, and if I had known I would have...uh, told him not to."
"Why did your brother sell it?" the man asked, sun-burned face wrinkling further.
"Envious of it," Grove said. "Thought he could get a few dollars and tweak my nose at the same time."
"And now you want it back?"
"I'm prepared to buy," Grove said. "Ain't fair to you otherwise. Don't you worry though, I'm going to settle up with my brother."
The old man tilted his head, then nodded. "I am Howahkan. I can take you to-"
The noise sent bolts into their stomach, and all three men raised their weapons. The noise had come rolling down from the top of the hill, filling up the camp and smothering the rest of the conversation.
And it didn't end. Unlike the other times, the sound endured, growing louder minute-by-minute. Getting nearer. "We can trade after we make sure the camp is safe," Howahkan said. "Will you fight?"
"Yes sir, I will," Grove said. He looked at Paul, who swallowed. "Paul will too."
"Don't want to."
"Neither do I."
"Quickly then," the Sioux said over the growing rumble. "To the front of the camp." He led them back to the other warriors, none of whom looked happy. The noise was grew louder still.
A few of the warriors knelt behind the fence, resting their rifles over it. Grove, Paul, Howahkan, and a few other men stood at the back of the group, guns up. Paul was shaking, and could hardly keep his eyes open. One young warrior, barely of age, dropped his weapon and ran, fear urging on bare feet. Another followed him, then another. Men started to creep feet backward as the sound grew deafening. Paul could barely keep his gun pointed at the hill. Grove heard him muttering.
The sound cut through their flesh. It made sweat pour and knees shake. It weakened their muscles--taught bowstrings loosened as warriors quailed. More fled. There were just over half a dozen left, and Paul looked like he would be the next to flee, when the sound's source rose over the top of the hill, a dark mass of odd shapes and angles.
"What is it?!" Paul shouted. "I ain't never seen anything like it!" He pressed one hand to an ear to try and block the sound. Grove kept his pistol's sights aimed right at it. He didn't know what it would do, but he would be the first to put a bullet in it. His teeth chattered, and it felt like his stomach was turning to liquid.
It moved. Slowly. It made its way down the hill, shifting from an unknown silhouette to a small contraption, built out of metal, and bearing a man. It puttered on tiny wheels, and even though the sound was still loud and disruptive, the sight of it made them all lower their weapons in confusion. From within the frame of metal, a head and arm emerged, waving a soiled, floppy, ancient hat.
"There are so many things about this I don't understand," Paul said. "But at least I know who that is."
Grove put his pistol away and heaved himself over the fence. He put his hands on his hips and waited. Eventually the thing ground to a halt, sliding slightly in the dust, and a segment of metal swung open. A lanky, elderly, white-mustachioed man unfolded himself onto his feet. He placed his hat back upon his head. Grove sighed.
"Doc."
"Mr. Grove! And Mr. Harolds!" the man said, to Grove and then Paul. "I've been looking all over for you--have you been here the whole time?"
"Doc, what in God's name is that thing?!"
"A working prototype!" Doc said, slapping the contraption. "Just got it up today. Took it out for a test drive earlier this morning, and when I got back, who should I meet but your horses! Scared 'em right into the stables, I'm afraid." He looked at his machine. "It does make an almighty racket, doesn't it?"
Grove cleared his throat. "Doc, this is Howahkan. Howahkan, this is Doc Daniels, the physician from town."
"We're acquainted," Howahkan said. He leaned his weapon against the fence.
Doc turned to Grove. "When your horses returned without you, I decided to head out again to see if I could find you. Whatever made them bolt like that? They don't even seem to care when I give them a look-over!"
Grove crossed his arms and nodded at the vehicle Doc had ridden up in. Doc spun. "No, really?" He looked at Grove, who was still standing with his arms crossed. "I guess I should tinker with it some more."
"Doc, there is no way anybody would want to hear that thing for very long," Paul said. "It made us want to run for the hills."
"Doctor," Howahkan said. "Since you're here..."
"Hmm?" Doc gazed at the man for a few moments. "Oh! Your daughter! Of course, of course. Any change?"
"It has not improved."
"Hmm. Well, lead the way if you will."
"Howahkan," Grove said. "The banner?"
"Wicapiwakan is my daughter. She purchased the banner from your brother. We are going to her now."
"Oh. Good." Howahkan walked away. Doc and Paul followed him, but Grove stood still for a moment. Releasing a breath, he trailed them, winding through the Sioux camp until they got to a certain tipi. Howahkan entered first, and they heard a bit of conversation in Lakota. The warrior emerged and waved the doctor in. Grove and Paul waited outside. A little while after, Doc and Howahkan emerged--Doc was rolling his sleeves back down.
"I'm sorry Howahkan, I can't say it looks good. It's spreading."
"What do you suggest?" the Sioux asked.
Doc sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I can't rightly say." He set his mouth in a line. "If I had a few items, I could create a bath for her that would help reduce swelling and itching, and maybe help it clear up faster."
"Doc." Grove looked from one man to the other. "What is it?"
Doc glanced at Howahkan, who nodded. "Pox on the skin. Not catching, but the miss is in no good place. Agony."
"I'm sorry," Grove said to Howahkan. "Is it all right if I go in?"
Howahkan ducked under the tipi's flap again and spoke a few words, then exited, holding the flap open for Grove and Paul.
The interior was dark, save for sunset squeezing in through the slit in the top. A small fire was going in the center, and Paul coughed as he entered. The smell of hide and body filled the place, and Grove squatted, removing his hat.
The woman nodded. She was wrapped in several items, including the banner Grove had come to trade for. A discoloration rose up her neck into her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot and half-closed. She indicated a place for him to sit.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Grove began. "My name is Lloyd Grove. My brother was the one who sold you that banner you have. He shouldn't have; it wasn't his property."
"You're taking it back?" Wicapiwakan said, and Grove felt his breath stop. The sound of Doc Daniel's machine had made his stomach boil; her voice made his heart leap. It sounded like the wind whistling through the canyon.
"No...no ma'am. Buying it back. I'm willing to repay you what you paid my brother. I intend to make him pay me back."
She lifted her chin at him, watching him. Fire danced across her eyes, casting shadows over the blotched skin on her face. She said a word in Lakota, and her father entered a moment later. They had a short conversation.
When they finished, she looked at Grove. "My father tells me you stood your ground with courage when the sound was approaching," she said. "Even when my brothers fled. You're courageous?"
"I..." Grove looked to Paul, who shrugged. He looked at Howahkan, who did nothing. "I suppose if your father says so, ma'am, then I am."
Wicapiwakan nodded. "I will give you the banner for free-"
"You will? No, no, I can't accept that. I'll pay you back."
"-If you fetch the medicine I need. I am sick. See." She revealed her hand, and Paul, standing behind Grove, gasped. Mottled skin covered the palm and fingers.
Grove inched closer for a better look and, unbidden, Wicapiwakan put her hand in his. Grove shut his eyes and turned his head, the sight sickening him. When he did so, a fragrance caught his nose. It was sweat, and smoke, and hide, and wild roses. "I see so, ma'am."
She kept her hand in his. "Will you get the medicine? In trade for the flag."
"In trade for the flag," Grove said. He thought about nothing for a few moments. "I'll leave at sunrise."
The woman smiled, and Grove smiled, and the other two men in the tipi finally understood.
Green
"Nice of you to show up, Grove," Captain Rogers said. "Hard-on last too long to make it to work on time? No, save it," he said when Grove opened his mouth. "Get to York and thirty-first, there was a break-in." Captain Rogers went back to the report on his desk. Grove spun on his heel.
Nowak ground out a cigarette as Grove exited the station. "I guess I should have let you know he was in a bad mood," Nowak said as Grove got behind the wheel of their Daniels-brand cruiser. "Where we headed?" He glanced at Grove. "What's got your tongue?"
"She said no."
"Mmm." Nowak lit another cigarette. "Sorry to hear that." The cruiser shot ahead, merging with the blindingly-fast traffic in an instant. Grove programmed in the destination. "She give a reason?"
Grove leaned back in his seat as the steering wheel kept them pointed straight ahead. "Said I wasn't man enough. Said I didn't earn enough. Said she didn't want 'Indian blood' in her veins."
Nowak wrinkled his lips. "She's got a problem with...what is it, one-sixteenth Sioux?" Grove nodded. Nowak blew smoke, and the vehicle's filters sucked it away. "So she strings you along this whole time and then dumps you when you ask for marriage. What a woman. Howsabout we get a few drinks after work, grouse about broads. Oh, but I can't stay out too late, wife wants me home by eight."
Grove glanced at his partner, buttons straining from an extended belly and tie stained with nicotine. "I'll take a rain check. Can't say I feel like doing much more than going home and sitting in the dark."
"Racism." Nowak snorted. "In this day and age. What did we fight for in Germany if it's still going on here? I tell ya, it boils my blood. My nephew's company was nine Negros out of fifty, and he wept when they died just like any other man." He looked at Grove and puffed. "Ahh, you'll be fine. You're too pretty to stay single for long. Some doe-eyed starlet's going to snatch you up; you'll be on your way to thirty-secondths Sioux in no time."
Grove smiled, and for a moment he wasn't miserable.
"So what's on the menu, waiter?" Nowak said. Their vehicle sped through New York as it was built to, merging and turning in concordance with the computers built into each vehicle. "Bring me something juicy."
"Break-in," Grove said, as their vehicle made a perfect parallel park against the sidewalk. "Perfect. Low-effort, low-risk. We gather info, talk to owners, gather suspects, and put someone away. Maybe it'll be a tough one so I don't have a reason to go home early today."
They climbed the stairs inside the apartment building until reaching the third floor. Nowak knocked, adjusted his coat, and glanced at Grove. "C'mon, try to look a little presentable."
Before Grove could react the door opened. A woman stood with her hand on the handle.
"Morning, ma'am," Nowak said, revealing his badge. "I'm detective Peter Nowak, this is detective Jake Grove, NYPD. You reported a break-in?"
"At last, you grace me with your presence," the woman said. "Please, detectives, come in. I would tidy the place up, but I have a feeling it wouldn't help." She turned and retreated into her apartment. Nowak looked at Grove and rolled his eyes, mouthing the word broads. Grove followed Nowak in without reacting.
The apartment was strewn with household items. Coats and shoes cluttered the entryway, plates and silverware were all over the kitchen, and books, pictures, and decor were thrown around the sitting room. The window was open, letting in honks and fresh air. Nowak began to speak with the woman.
Grove wandered around the apartment, too-big coat hanging loose on his frame. His shoes snapped against the tile. At least the place smelled clean.
"And then they bolt?" he heard Nowak say.
Nothing seemed to be missing. Maybe something from back in the bedroom, jewelry or something. Or maybe nothing actually got stolen. Maybe someone was just trying to make trouble, or was stalking the girl.
Grove looked at her in the corner of his eye. She was tall, stood silent like a statue. She responded quietly, speaking with conviction.
Stalking the woman. Grove turned away. He didn't see muddy footprints, or blood-stained fingerprints on the walls. Nothing to make this easy. Good.
His mouth dropped open when he saw the banner, hanging over the couch. Red, green, and silver. He strode up to it and flipped the right corner of the silver section. The word "Grove" was scrawled in ink, smudged and distorted with age.
"Find something, Grove?"
"Yeah, but not about the case," Grove said. He turned and looked at Nowak and the woman. "I think this banner is mine."
"So that's what happens when you call the police here, is it?" the woman said. "They rob you just as much as the thieves?"
"My name's written in it." Grove indicated the word. "I have pictures of it. It's been in my family for generations, since before the civil war. Someone stole it from my mother when my father was in France." He faced the woman. "Why do you have it?"
"It matches my eyes," she said. "I saw it in a shop and thought it was a bad Irish tri-color and bought it on a lark. Now are you going to investigate the break-in, or come up with more sob stories?"
Grove watched her stand up straighter. She was almost as tall as Nowak. The two detectives met in the hall outside the apartment.
"She said a few pieces of jewelry and a nice coat were stolen while she was on the night shift at the hospital. They forced the door and grabbed what they could before a neighbor saw them," Nowak said. "Is that really your flag?"
"Banner," Grove said. "According to my mom, it's the reason I'm one-sixteenth Sioux. I've never seen it with my own eyes but it looks exactly like the pictures my parents have, down to the curl at the edges and the name in the corner."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't really want it, but I bet my parents would love to see it again. Maybe I can buy it off her. What's her name?"
Nowak sighed and flipped open his notepad. "Stella Anne. If you want a chance to buy it, you know you're gonna hafta find her stolen things first."
"Of course," Grove said. "First things first: the neighbor."
"Have you ever seen them before?" Nowak asked the neighbor, who stood with her thin arms folded over her flowery apron in the doorway of her apartment. "Hanging around the apartment? On the street?"
The woman stroked her chin. "You know, now that you ask, I have seen them before. They've delivered packages before. They have a truck."
Nowak nodded. "Any details about the truck you remember?" Grove felt a pinch in his stomach, and he was pretty sure Nowak felt it too. He smiled.
"I cannot tell you how upset I am, that the police would insinuate such a thing about two of my employees," the manager of Dick's Deliveries, Richard Wermbeliar, said. Grove and Nowak stood in front of his desk, in his office. Behind them, a bay of trucks filled with brown packages.
"I'm very sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wermbeliar," Nowak said. He leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. All we really need, you see, is the delivery reports. From there, we can see which trucks have delivered to York and Thirty-first and, if so, who was driving those trucks."
"And then you arrest those men and I start to lose revenue!" Wermbeliar said, heaving himself up. "I won't let you do that. What do I have to do to make you go away?"
"Do I need to take my badge out again, Wermbeliar?" Nowak asked. "My partner and I, we've had a rough few days. Maybe a little bit of cooperation will make us go away. The delivery report, Wermbeliar. Now."
"Alex Costanza and Gerard Ami. It's on their normal route," Grove said, pointing out the line of messy handwriting. They sat at a secluded table on the other side of the warehouse, lit with a bare bulb overhead. "Multiple visits in the last month."
"They case the place, get a few things straight, and bust in when they know it'll be empty." Nowak piled up the delivery reports. "Classic. Let's find our guys. Maybe they'll give themselves up."
All he saw was the feet of Alex Costanza and Gerard Ami spitting up rocks as they fled. Then the pain hit. His whole body, starting with where the bullet had entered and radiating outward, seized, and he felt his shirt begin to soak with blood. His ears still rang. There was gravel in his hair.
Had it hit his stomach? Maybe his intestines. Was he supposed to press on the wound? Yes. He tried to move his arms to cover the lower part of his torso, but pain kept them locked in place. He probably screamed, because his mouth was open and he felt his vocal cords rumbling, but he still couldn't hear anything. Something touched his shoulder and the pain roared to a higher degree. He managed to turn his head--it was Nowak.
His mouth moved. Grove heard his own breath whistle inside his head. Nowak's face began to grow lines, and his mouth snapped open wider. Grove heard something from far away. Pointing somewhere, his partner knelt, pulling his tie from around his neck, and then going to work unbuttoning Grove's shirt. Blood welled and stained the gravel cutting into him.
The sky was dull blue. Grove watched bubbles of cloud drift until an ambulance appeared, and someone hauled him inside.
"Got 'em," was the first thing Nowak said. "Found their place, found stolen items from all over the city. It was practically a ring. How's the stomach?"
His words reached Grove at a crawl. His body was one-fourth bandages, one-fourth hospital food, and one-half morphine. There was no pain, but lights switched from blazing bright to dull as a dirty penny every few seconds, and sounds turned into a soup his ears had trouble chewing. He licked his lips. "Bullet's out," he managed. He breathed in deep, or deep until his stomach panged. "Feeling better bit by bit." He looked around. The room was full of flowers and cards, and more were arriving every day. Captain Rogers had promised a commendation; friends and family filled hospital visiting hours. "Did you find Miss Anne's things?"
"That we did. They didn't have enough time to unload them," Nowak said. "Nice necklace, pair of pearl earrings, and a fur coat." Nowak fell silent. He cleared his throat. "Um, Grove, the captain asked me...I mean, I know you'll probably want some time to decide, but...are you gonna keep going? You know, stay on the force?"
Once the words made sense to Grove, he swallowed. The process was laborious. "I think so. It's just a bullet wound," he said. "Don't want another one, but I like doing it. Just so long as you're still my partner."
Nowak laughed. "Don't you doubt that! You're not going anywhere without me!" The volume made Grove cringe. Nowak cleared his throat again. "Sorry. Uh, you have another visitor."
Grove rolled his head around, slowly, to look toward the door. An unfamiliar shape stood in the doorway. He heard the sound of Nowak getting to his feet, and the shape entered the room. The shape turned out to be a woman. "I'll give you two a little bit of privacy," Nowak said.
Stella walked around the bed and took the chair Nowak had vacated. She sat with her arms crossed, purse dangling from her shoulder, lips pressed together, dress hem brushing the tile. Grove stared at her.
"Thank you for recovering my items," she said. She uncrossed her arms and laced her fingers in her lap. "I admit I was quite upset when you came to visit my apartment. I apologize for the way I acted. Will you recover?"
"Yes ma'am, they say I will," Grove said. He was looking at her eyes. They were wonderfully green, just like the middle row of his family's banner. He blinked a few times. Stella opened her mouth, then frowned and leaned close. Her wonderfully green eyes widened. Grove watched them, failing to keep himself from smiling.
She said something across a chasm. He watched her run from the room, and wanted to raise his hand and keep her from going. A moment later she and a nurse entered. The nurse went to him--Stella stood in the corner.
"Are you in pain, detective?" the nurse asked. She was a white blur. Grove shook his head. "Your heart rate is too fast. I'm giving you something to help you relax."
Roaring from inside a deep hole, Grove summoned titanic strength and shook his head. "No." His body flared with pain as he pointed at Stella. "It's her."
"Me?!"
"What did you do?" the nurse said, rushing up to her. "Security!"
"Nothing! I'm a nurse too--his pupils were dilated and he seemed unresponsive! I felt his pulse and called for you!"
She touched me?
"Her eyes," Grove said. Stella, whose eyes birthed green radiance with each turn of her head, and the white blur, looked in his direction. "Her eyes are too pretty."
Until the two women moved--it must have been ten seconds, at least--Grove thought he would stare at the frozen image of them for the rest of his life. The nurse put the side of her fist to her mouth and cleared her throat. Stella did nothing. "Visiting hours end in ten minutes," the nurse said, and then Grove was alone with the green-eyed beauty.
Next he knew, she was sitting in the chair again. He took a deep breath and looked away, somehow tearing himself away. "I was wondering..." Stella's voice was crystal-clear. "Are you still interested in your banner? You got yourself shot trying to find a few pieces of jewelry for me. I suppose it's the least I can do."
"Yes ma'am, I am." Grove kept looking at the ceiling.
"I heard you tell your partner that you want to continue on as a detective." Grove heard her hesitation and waited for her to continued. It must have only been a few seconds but he felt like he could have looked out the window and seen the sun spinning past. "That's terribly brave of you. I know you'll be here for some time." He turned his head again and found her wonderful eyes shining down on him. He smiled. "But if you'd like, you can visit and have a cup of coffee. I'm sure your family's banner must have some interesting history."
He smiled and nodded, content to look into her wonderful green eyes.
Silver
It was tattered, faded--only on close inspection could you tell the colors it used to have. The red looked more like pink. The green had become mostly yellow. The silver stood strong against time. The name written in the corner was now just a smudge of ink. Cylus Grove had to use four pieces of tape to keep it flat against the bulkhead. It was the sort of tape one might use to make sure an airlock stayed sealed.
He had covered what little personal space he had with it, and now he laid in the bed under it, hearing and feeling the engines fire him and the fifty thousand others aboard the "Doc Daniels" toward Alpha Centauri, where a massive station waited. Humanity reached out.
The room he shared with three others stank like a bathroom. It was dark like a schoolhouse--the only light came from a rotund yellow LED above the door. When the heavy door was open, as was normal, people of all ages, shapes, and volumes clunked past, heading to the viewing decks to take in another infinity of nothing, or to the showers to sprinkle some recycled water on themselves, or to the rec rooms and hope they could get a table. Grove watched them, lying on his bunk, waving to people he knew, or women he'd like to know. Some waved back.
He was napping when his roommates stormed in, shaking him awake. He nearly popped his head up, which would have earned him a bruise thanks to the bed above his.
"Something's happening on the viewing deck!" Wopler told him. "There's something out there!"
"What, like a comet?"
"You gotta see it!" Trimlay said, leaning in the room. "You'll never believe it otherwise!"
Grove rolled up, stretching as much as he could in the cramped space. His roommates led the way; it seemed plenty of people were interested in seeing what was happening. The crowd pulled them forward, and Grove decided he wanted to get there first. He pushed ahead, slowing down only to flash a grin at a space-faring beauty.
The viewing deck was busier than he had ever seen it. Shoulders rubbed against each other as people tried to get to the immense, curved bay of windows making up near to a third of the ship's length. The room was one hundred and eighty degrees of vision in the direction the ship headed. Only the ship's approach to Alpha Centauri Home would see it more popular.
Grove tilted his head up to try and see over the crowd. Usually the lights from inside the deck shot tiny bits of illumination into space's overwhelming darkness--now, to the wonder of everyone present, light from space filled the deck. "What is it?"
"Some kind of cloud," Abalisson said. "But it's bright! C'mon, over here. We might be able to wind around to the other side of the crowd here. They're bunching near the exits. If we go to the very front, we should have a clear view."
Grove and his friends weaved through the press until finding open space. They headed for the nose of the viewing deck, the point farthest forward on the ship.
His three friends--the entire viewing deck, save him--cried out and shut their eyes, spinning away to protect their vision as the light pulsed and exploded. Grove stood in the center, unaffected. The silver radiance turned his green eyes into emerald halos. He looked at the people around him, bending low, shielding their eyes from the light, cowering away.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Can't you see them? It looks like they're dying!"
"Cylus, what do you mean?" Trimlay asked. He tried to look out the window, but it was like looking into the sun. "There's nobody out there!"
"No, look!" Grove grabbed Trimlay's head, pointing it so he looked out the window. "They're all just floating!"
"How can you even bear to look?" Wopler said. "It's too bright! You're going to hurt yourself!"
Grove shook his head. "No. I can see! I can see them!"
Filigree figures, emaciated, tossed in solar winds, floating in a space-born sea of silver dust. Like the tide had swept away a village and washed it up against a glittering beach half a universe away.
Grove pushed his hands against the window. He began to pick out individuals. Men and women. They floated in crossing paths in a band, and they grew slightly as the ship drifted forward, coming to a halt to investigate this phenomenon. He pressed his forehead against the foot-thick window. There was one of them, right in the center.
She was watching him.
Trimlay grabbed his arm and yanked him away, pulling him for the door. "No, wait!" Grove called. His other two friends added their strength, trying to get away from the painful light. "Stop!"
Doors slammed shut in front of him. The elevator rocketed up as Grove climbed to his feet and jabbed the button to return them to the viewing platform. He pushed Trimlay away.
"Stop it, Cylus! You're acting stupid! None of us can see anything in that haze!"
"I could! I could, Trimlay! There were people out there, thousands of them! They're still alive, and they need help!"
"You crazy idiot!" Abalisson. "We were going to fry!"
"Fine!" Grove shouted, as the elevator doors zipped open, showing a dull, dark, inner hallway. "Stay here, then!" He shoved Trimlay, the closest one, forcing them out of the elevator cab. As soon as they were clear, he hit the button and watched the doors shut. The elevator descended quickly; he felt weightless. His heart pounded as the doors opened again, and silver filled the cab.
The deck was emptier. Passengers were gone, replaced with men and women in uniform. As soon as he stepped off, security tried to make him go back.
"You see them, right?" he asked over the officer's shoulder. "You see them out there? They aren't just light, they're people! They need our help! Let me go! Look at them! Look at them!"
"Wait."
The word came from one of the uniformed men on the other side of the security officer. The officer released Grove and stood aside, looking in confusion at the man.
"I am Commander Altus," the man said. He put his hand out for Grove to shake. "What were you saying?"
"I can see people in the light," Grove said. "Nobody else can. It's too bright for them. There are people in there, and they're dying. I know they can see me."
Altus exchanged glances with the people with him. "And...how are you able to do this?"
"I...don't know."
"It isn't too bright for you?" Grove shook his head. "Can you look? Tell us exactly what you can see. Are they still there?"
Commander Altus led Grove to the window. People with shading face masks moved aside to let him through. Altus had to keep his eyes covered, and when Grove was close enough he turned his face away. Grove peered forward.
"People...so many people. They're all just floating, like they're lying on a bed of air. Men and women, young and old. Thousands. They're silver, sort of like the color the stars looked from earth, twinkling and shimmering. ...One of them is looking at me."
"Is it doing anything else?"
Grove shook his head, then turned his head to see Altus and the others keeping their eyes away. "No, just looking. It's the only one. It looks like a woman. I can't...it's getting closer!" Grove pushed away from the window, heart skipping. The figure had detached from the group and was orienting itself to face the ship, getting bigger second by second.
"Bridge, power to weapons," Altus said into the communicator on his wrist. "Is it doing anything else?"
"Just floating," Grove said. "It's bringing some of the silver dust with it...oh. It's hair." Grove shaded his eyes. The figure's proximity made it brighter. "It doesn't even look like it's moving, it's just floating."
It stopped before it got too close to the window. It was just about the same size as he was, he saw. Long, slender limbs, flat face--the nose was just a bump, the mouth an invisible line. The hair drifting down from its head was long enough to brush its heels. He saw feminine hips, miniscule breasts. Either it had none, or the light it gave forth obscured sexual characteristics.
Its eyes were dark silver, wide open and staring at him. His stomach prickled and something in his brain made him want to turn away, but he didn't. He stared back.
It saw him doing so, and the smile appearing on its lips was the brightest thing he had ever seen. It drifted closer to the ship, reaching one hand up, pressing it against the outside of the window.
His eyes were locked to hers. It was so bright tears dripped down his cheeks.
She tapped her fingers on the glass, and he swallowed. He brought his own hand up and pressed it on the other side of the window. It was warm. "Grove," he heard.
"It knows my name," he said to Altus, and he expected his voice to shake much more than it did.
"How?"
"I don't know." He looked her in the eyes again. "What are you?"
"Lost and dying. Drifting for eons."
"But what are you?"
It was silent. The smile faded, and her mouth became invisible in the light. Her head rotated slowly, until she was looking back toward the mass of floating bodies. "An old civilization," she said. "Cast away from its home by planetary tragedy." Its mouth wasn't moving. "We were strong once. We could survive in the limitless darkness." She looked at him again. "But we are dying. We are being devoured."
Momentary heat accompanied the last word. "You have to save us."
"Me?" Grove said. The quiet word fogged the window.
"You, Cylus Grove, must save us."
"Why me? How do I save you? ...Save you from what?" Grove's throat shut on him, and he felt his stomach churn. Behind the creature, the light of her species swam. He blinked.
"We were strong once, but we are still strong, in some ways." The hand resting against the window stroked, and Grove felt the touch on the back of his hand. "We see things differently than you do. I have watched your family grow up. We have guided them."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your banner of three colors was a gift from us, to ensure you exist. From the very beginning, when your ancestor had the strange idea to sew it together, to Lloyd Grove chasing it across a desert and meeting the woman who would be his wife, to Jacob Grove taking a bullet in the stomach and finding the courage to continue his life. Now it hangs above your bed."
Grove pulled his hand away from the window, every inch of flesh prickling. He tried to tear his eyes away from hers. "You must be able to see us--only you can, because we guided your blood. You must be courageous, as your family has always been. Forgive us, Cylus, we had no other choice. Your family has been a grove of hope for millennia. The only hope we have.
"If you do not do this, Cylus Grove, then you doom our civilization to death. Please, Cylus."
Her mouth appeared again, this time trembling, curled down, opening slowly. It moved into words he couldn't hear. Save us.
They had twisted his family into the thing it was now: him. The events of the past, the history his parents had told him about the banner: All for now.
He was their only chance. They waited for him to help them or send them into the darkness. They had used incredible power--to manipulate things so long ago, so far away!--to create him. They couldn't even use their power to save themselves, but they had found another way.
Behind her, it was terrible dark. Getting closer, eating into the light her people gave off. He looked at his palm. He could still feel the heat. He brought his eyes up into hers, and pressed his hand against the window. A moment later, hers laid in the same place, and her face changed into a blaze of light.
"This is what you must do."
"I cannot allow such a thing," the captain said. He, Commander Altus, another member of the ship's bridge, and Grove stood in a private room. A window let in a sliver of silver light. "And if you think I'm even going to consider it, you belong in the brig. If you go anywhere near the airlocks, I'm going to order security-" the captain nodded at the additional man, who eyed Grove "-to strap you down until we reach Alpha Centauri Home. You won't even have a window."
"Tell him we aren't able to move out of the ship's way."
"They can't move out of the way. You'd have to plow through them to keep going."
The captain laughed. "First off, you're the only one who thinks there are beings out there. Second, you told us one of them came up to the window."
"I'm the strongest."
"She's the strongest," Grove said. "The rest of them can't move."
"She?" the captain said. He waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. We can just drive around it."
"If they go around us, the same things eating us will destroy the ship." Grove relayed the information.
"What things? There're no things! It's a cloud of luminous substance, and you, Mr. Grove, are having some sort of psychotic break! Lieutenant!" The security officer jumped. "Take Mr. Grove to the infirmary and make sure he gets the help he needs!"
The door slid open with a sound like a sigh. "Captain!" A woman stepped inside. She held a printout. "Lifeforms detected inside the cloud!"
The other three members of the crew gazed at the woman with wide eyes. "How many? What kind?"
The woman consulted the printout. "Approximately thirty thousand, sir. Complex lifeforms."
"Like us?"
The woman shook her head. "No sir. Much more."
"It's a moot point," Altus said. He looked at Grove. "We still cannot allow you to leave the ship, especially how you say it must be done. It would be suicide, and we have no confirmation it would even work."
"I agree," the captain said. He spoke into his communicator. "Power up engines. We're-"
The ship shook hard enough to buck Grove to the ground. The captain fell out of his chair, and the woman with the printout shrieked, thrown out of the doorway, which hissed shut. "Bridge! What the hell was that?"
"Something struck the ship, sir!"
"They're attacking you now."
"She says they're attacking you now!"
"She? Who is she? The voice in your head? And if something's attacking us, what are they? How come we can't see or even detect them?" The captain roared, surging to his feet. "Bridge-"
His communicator overpowered him: "We're losing power in every system, sir! Weapons and engines down, shields are failing!" The captain went pale as the lights above their head shut down. The only light was silver coming in the window.
"All power to life support!" the captain said. He let his arm drop and looked at Grove. "Would you really go out there?"
"Captain!" Altus said, leaning his hands on the table. "You can't think such a thing!"
"Or what, commander? Watch every person on this ship suffocate?"
Commander Altus leaned backward. His eyes darted toward the window, until settling on Grove. "Young man. Surely you cannot truly think to do this?"
Her smile, so luminous, had become shadowed. Even her bright form could not restore it. Her silver eyes had begged him.
"They don't have any other choice," he said. "I will."
The room was quiet and dark.
He was in front of another window.
He could see her, and all of them, through it. Already the light surrounding them was dimmer. The ship shook, invisible beasts buffeting it. The one he had spoken too was still detached from the rest of her species, floating in between them and the ship. She and Grove watched each other.
The captain stood at his side. "I'm ready," Grove said. He wasn't--it was too dark out there. Too cold. If he were to start drifting, he would drift forever, and the seconds until he came back to safety would outnumber the stars he would never reach. His stomach was a puckered hole, his throat was a dry slab.
"Follow me, then."
Listening to the ship's silence, they walked to a circular door, bound with mechanical and electronic locks.
"Your final chance," the captain said. "Even without a suit?"
"She was very clear," Grove said. "Bare flesh."
"What if it's a trick?"
His great-to-the-fiftieth grandfather had forged across the desert, and then ridden to a distant town to find medicine for a Sioux woman he had just met. His great-to-the-forty-fifth grandfather had taken a bullet in the stomach and kept to his vow. All because of a piece of cloth Grove had hanging above his bed that very moment. "Not a trick."
"Then God keep you," the captain said, and the airlock opened.
Grove stepped through, into the ship's antechamber, looking at yet another airlock as the first slammed shut behind him. His stomach twisted. He was alone. There were no windows in the airlock chamber--he could not even see the silver light.
"Are you there?"
Deafening silence. Then: "I will catch you."
"Open it, captain."
"To have his courage," the captain said--only he could hear himself. His voice would fail him if he continued, he knew. He clenched his fist and grit his teeth, then pressed the button to open the outer door. He fell to his knees.
The grabbing hand of space yanked away the breath in his lungs, the sound in his ears. He fell through the opening, twirling free, and felt a hundred freezing needles puncture his skin even as his brain boiled and expanded. But she was there.
Her arms circled his stomach, and he gasped, breathing something in. The smell of wild roses. He returned to normal, and he put his arms around her. She was warm. Her face buried in his neck. She was starlight made soft under his fingertips.
"All the time I have spent watching you," she said; the sound of heaven scored. "I finally get to touch you." She grasped the sides of his face. "Ready?" He nodded. "Then see with eyes like none before!"
The blistering light of her species darkened, thronged around with beasts made of ink, darker even than the void. There eyes were shot with lightning and fire, their teeth glittered. Their claws scratched against the light. They surrounded Grove and her, gnashing teeth and spreading their cloaked forms, liquid in the vacuum.
"And now?" he asked her. She kissed him.
With his eyes closed he could still see her overpowering light. A sound traveling not through matter reached him, like a chorus of dying souls. He opened his eyes and saw the black beasts writhing. The light of her people grew stronger. Their eyes opened. They stirred. Grove looked into her eyes, lips warm, watching and feeling light and heat overpower the rest of his senses.
"But why?"
"Forgetting how to love dooms a species more than any other tragedy," she said. "And as I watched and guided you, until you were here, we...one of us...learned what it's like to love again."
"But how did you know it would work?"
"I didn't," she said. "None of us did. Like many things, love takes courage. Like all things that take courage, it is most rewarding when one is frightened." She laughed, and the sound shredded the darkness around her.