across the floor. His leg shifted in ways that really weren’t right. It was broke real bad. They were going to have to do something to splint it. The med kits were two shelves over. He was going to have to get his mother to get them somehow.
He finally reached his mother and father and put his head next to her lap. He was feeling really tired for some reason. He shifted his head and met his father’s gaze. Good. They were both alive. Well, Jack knew he was still alive. He was in too much pain to be dead. No. Actually, he really wasn’t in any pain at all. But it wasn’t the ethereal lack of pain he would expect in Heaven. It was the “I’m in shock and I’m gonna die of blood loss so please get this fixed up real soon” kind of pain that was hovering just outside where he could actually feel it.
Not that he was actually going to die of course. When he was younger he could have. But he’d had the Peloran treatments. He could feel his body healing itself already. He was really going to have to let his leg lay straight if that was going to heal. Maybe he wouldn’t need the splint after all. No. He probably would. It was going to take a long time, and a lot of food, for his body to do all the healing it needed, and there was no way it was going to burn a lot of energy fixing a leg when it had more important stuff to heal. Internal bleeding could kill you a lot faster than a bad leg in most cases after all. Unless a mountain lion were chasing you. In that case he would probably be questioning which was most important. Running or bleeding?
He blinked and looked at his father. His father smiled back. His father smiled up at his mother. And as Jack watched, he saw his father release his last breath.
His mother screamed again and the headache came back with a vengeance. Jack looked at his father for a very long time, wondering what he should feel. Grief he supposed. Pain. Yeah, that too. Anger. Yeah. Anger definitely. Once this concussion and all the other stuff got fixed up, he figured he was going to feel all of that. There was something else he was going to need to feel too though.
He frowned, trying to get his muddled mind to go through the right thought processes to get to where he needed to be. It was so slow. He was so tired. It was hard to think. Oh right. He had it now. Yeah. He was going to find out who did this. Who destroyed Yosemite Yards. Who killed his father. Once he knew that, he was going to kill them. Yeah. That sounded like a really good plan. That would feel real good.
The decision made, he felt darkness calling and surrendered to it.
Hello, my name is Jack. When they called for volunteers to fight the Shang, I signed up real quick. I wanted to kill ’em all for what they did. I did real good in training too. A life of swimming and fishing and dancing and playing music makes for real good physical fitness let me tell you. Of course they wanted me as a pilot. That six weeks changed me good. Real good. I found out what I was made of there. I found out what I wanted.
The Metal in the Man
A dry Texas westerly wind blew dust around the dirt yard in front of the building. A breath of hot morning air scorched down throat made for less harsh climates. He was less than a kilometer from the Gulf of Mexico. And here he was, getting a dry, hot wind from the west. Well, it could have been worse. It could be a wet , hot wind from the east . Eight weeks. It was hard to believe that was the difference between this harsh landscape and the lakes of Minnesota. Between peace and War.
The United States of America were going to War. Every State from Alaska to Panama, every Colony from New Washington to Liberty, they were all marching to War. It was unimaginable. But here it was. Two centuries of star travel all brought down to a single word. War.
And for Jack, that
He finally reached his mother and father and put his head next to her lap. He was feeling really tired for some reason. He shifted his head and met his father’s gaze. Good. They were both alive. Well, Jack knew he was still alive. He was in too much pain to be dead. No. Actually, he really wasn’t in any pain at all. But it wasn’t the ethereal lack of pain he would expect in Heaven. It was the “I’m in shock and I’m gonna die of blood loss so please get this fixed up real soon” kind of pain that was hovering just outside where he could actually feel it.
Not that he was actually going to die of course. When he was younger he could have. But he’d had the Peloran treatments. He could feel his body healing itself already. He was really going to have to let his leg lay straight if that was going to heal. Maybe he wouldn’t need the splint after all. No. He probably would. It was going to take a long time, and a lot of food, for his body to do all the healing it needed, and there was no way it was going to burn a lot of energy fixing a leg when it had more important stuff to heal. Internal bleeding could kill you a lot faster than a bad leg in most cases after all. Unless a mountain lion were chasing you. In that case he would probably be questioning which was most important. Running or bleeding?
He blinked and looked at his father. His father smiled back. His father smiled up at his mother. And as Jack watched, he saw his father release his last breath.
His mother screamed again and the headache came back with a vengeance. Jack looked at his father for a very long time, wondering what he should feel. Grief he supposed. Pain. Yeah, that too. Anger. Yeah. Anger definitely. Once this concussion and all the other stuff got fixed up, he figured he was going to feel all of that. There was something else he was going to need to feel too though.
He frowned, trying to get his muddled mind to go through the right thought processes to get to where he needed to be. It was so slow. He was so tired. It was hard to think. Oh right. He had it now. Yeah. He was going to find out who did this. Who destroyed Yosemite Yards. Who killed his father. Once he knew that, he was going to kill them. Yeah. That sounded like a really good plan. That would feel real good.
The decision made, he felt darkness calling and surrendered to it.
Hello, my name is Jack. When they called for volunteers to fight the Shang, I signed up real quick. I wanted to kill ’em all for what they did. I did real good in training too. A life of swimming and fishing and dancing and playing music makes for real good physical fitness let me tell you. Of course they wanted me as a pilot. That six weeks changed me good. Real good. I found out what I was made of there. I found out what I wanted.
The Metal in the Man
A dry Texas westerly wind blew dust around the dirt yard in front of the building. A breath of hot morning air scorched down throat made for less harsh climates. He was less than a kilometer from the Gulf of Mexico. And here he was, getting a dry, hot wind from the west. Well, it could have been worse. It could be a wet , hot wind from the east . Eight weeks. It was hard to believe that was the difference between this harsh landscape and the lakes of Minnesota. Between peace and War.
The United States of America were going to War. Every State from Alaska to Panama, every Colony from New Washington to Liberty, they were all marching to War. It was unimaginable. But here it was. Two centuries of star travel all brought down to a single word. War.
And for Jack, that