CHAPTER
THREE
In the first morning of his second life, Eduardo Cabral opened his eyes, and saw the face of a stranger.
A young man with dark skin leaned over to look at him. Eduardo was flat on his back in bed. A light panel glowed softly overhead. A plastic bag hung on a stand next to him. The tubes running into his mouth made him feel gagged. Another tube was taped to his left arm. The man was dressed in military blues, and two pips on his collar showed a captain's rank. There was a row of ribbons over his left breast, and beneath it the lightning bolt symbol of military intelligence.
Eduardo heard voices coming from beyond the closed door of his room. One voice rose to a shrill pitch, then was silent. Eduardo came fully awake at the sound of that voice.
“Is that my mother?” he mumbled past the tubes taped to his mouth.
The young man smiled. “Yes. I've assured her I only need a few minutes.” He held up an open wallet with his identification card. “Captain Ortez, Intelligence Office. Are you up to answering a few questions, lieutenant?”
The memories came back to him in a flood. “About the operation, yes. It was an ambush, a setup. They shot us to pieces — bodies all over me — couldn't breathe — then voices — Captain Perez — Guzman with him. Perez is a traitor!” Eduardo blinked as a wave of nausea swept over him. The man put a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, now, not so fast. Relax, and tell me slowly what you remember after the attack on your unit.”
Eduardo told him everything he'd heard; it was as if it had happened only minutes before. “They had a corpse they were going to burn in the bunker — like Guzman — supposed to be dead. I felt the heat. There was a ring, with an emerald.”
Ortez nodded. “We found it.”
“But Guzman is alive! I heard Perez tell him he could replace the ring in Nova Brazilia! Where am I?”
“Benedictus Hospital in Valdez,” said Ortez. “You've been here for three days, lieutenant. How certain are you it was Perez you heard? Did you see him?”
“No, but his voice was clear enough. I've served with him for two years!”
“All right, all right, calm down,” said Ortez. “You've given me enough, for now.”
“But do you believe me?” asked Eduardo.
“We'll talk later, but I can tell you we know Guzman wasn't in that bunker, and somebody wanted us to think he was.” Ortez pressed softly on his shoulder. “Lie back, take it easy. I'll check in again later today. I have two men outside your door. If you want to see me, they know where I can be found.”
“Guards?” said Eduardo. “Do you think —”
“Just a precaution. All your visitors are being screened.”
“You should arrest Perez right away!”
“Later. We'll talk about it later.”
“Yes, sir,” mumbled Eduardo.
Ortez smiled, patted his shoulder, then went over to the door and opened it. “He's all yours” he said. “Thanks for waiting.”
Eduardo's mother fairly ran to his bedside, took one look at him, and burst into tears. “Oh, Eduardo!”
“I thought I heard you,” he said. “I'm not hurting, Mother. Give me a kiss.”
She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, holding back her hands, afraid to touch him. “Oh, my darling, my baby, we thought we'd lost you. You were so pale, so still. You wouldn't answer me, and I —”
She sobbed again, and then another familiar face appeared, a man standing next to Eduardo's mother and smiling down at him,
“Senor Pinzon!” gurgled Eduardo. “This is a surprise.”
“Well, I am in charge of ground forces, so you can consider it my business to be here. How are you, Eduardo?”
It had been three years since Eduardo had seen the man, and he felt pleased and honored the minister had come to see him. Since Eduardo's childhood, Vicente Pinzon had always seemed to have a particular fondness for him, and had listened to his youthful problems with a concern Eduardo had not enjoyed with his own father. He was, in short, an extremely close, family friend.
“Terrible,” said Eduardo. “No pain, but I think I'm full of painkillers. Not a single part of me wants to move.”
“Listen to your body, dear,” said Mother. “We've just talked to your surgeon. He says you should lie absolutely still for at least a day more.”
“You slept through the first three days, lad,” said Vicente. “They took three bullets out of you, one of them close to your heart. You are one lucky soldier.”
“Am I the only survivor?” asked Eduardo, thinking of Marcos' voice that last instant before unconsciousness.
“There were four of you, but one died on the operating table. I don't know their names, but I'll get them for you,” said Vicente.
“Thank you,” he said, then “Mother, please stop crying. I'm alive. Is Father here? I thought I heard someone else come in behind you.”
His mother scowled, and looked over her shoulder. “You may deliver your message, now. Eduardo is awake.”
There was an instant of joy, then disappointment when Eduardo saw the new visitor who stepped up to his bedside. “I see,” he said, then, “You have a message for your son Eduardo?”
He said this only to assure voice recognition by the sim as it looked passively down at him.
There was a pause, then, “You are Eduardo Cabral? There are discrepancies in the pattern.”
“Sorry, it's the best I can do with these tubes in my mouth. Yes, I am Eduardo. Please give me your message,” he said slowly.
The sim straightened a bit. “I hope to be with you soon, son, but in the meantime my heart goes out to you with love and my wish for a speedy recovery from your wounds. I want you to know I'm very proud of you. How many times I've worried when you've gone into battle, and when word came of your injuries I was numbed. My youngest son is special to me. Your room is as you left it, and reminds me of the little boy who has the soul of an artist, and is now a brave soldier. That room waits for you, Eduardo. Come home to us, son, come home to us alive and well. You are loved.”
Vicente smiled faintly at him, but Eduardo's mother looked away, still frowning.
“Please tell my father Eduardo has received his message, and hopes to see him soon.”
“Noted,” said the sim, and it stepped back a pace, its function completed.
“I'm sorry, dear,” said his mother. “He was so terribly busy, and —”
“I understand, Mother.”
“I think there's more to it than that,” Vicente said quickly. “We were told you were near death, Eduardo. Armando confided in me that the thought of you dying was more than he could endure.”
Angelina looked up at Vicente. “He really said that?”
“In so many words, yes. He's a deep, complex man, Angelina.”
“Well, two of us are here, and I'm not leaving until I see you walking,” said Angelina. “And we had to wait to see you. Why was that officer in here?”
“Debriefing on the operation, Mother. Nothing I can talk about. Vicente, would you get the names of the other survivors for me? Now?”
“Of course. And your mother needs time to fuss over you.”
Vicente left, and took the sim with him. Angelina pulled up a chair to the edge of the bed, sat down, and reached out to stroke his forehead and cheeks. “My baby. I prayed to The Mother, and she answered me. She has saved your life for a reason. I want you to come home when you're recovered. I want you to leave the Corps, and do what you really want to do.”
“I'm a soldier, Mother.”
“You're an artist,” she said softly. “Art is the first love of your life.”
“It was, but that's in the past. Did the doctors say anything about permanent injuries?” he asked apprehensively.
“No. They said you should have a full recovery. Again you are fortunate, Eduardo. I see limbless veterans begging in the streets every time I go into the city these days. The Corps doesn't care about them, and the war is over. There's no reason for you to be a soldier, except to satisfy your father's pride.”
Eduardo winced. “The war is not over, Mother. Colomban criminals are still at large, and I have obligations. I'll never forget art, and I do love it. In fact, you can bring me a sketchpad and some pencils if you like. I'm going to be here awhile.”
“I want to take you home with me,” she said sorrowfully, and laid her head on his chest. “Promise me you'll think about what I've said.”
“I will, Mother, but you already have my answer.”
He was rescued by Vicente's return to the room.
“There were indeed three others, and one did die in surgery. They wouldn't give me his name. The other two are Yimez and Soldan.”
“Marcos Soldan?”
“Yes. He's in surgery again as we speak. It's something to do with his legs. Yimez is in a coma, but seems stable.”
Eduardo gurgled a laugh. “Marcos, you devil! We have a date to keep after all!”
“What?” asked Mother.
“Just something we were going to do after the war, Mother. Marcos is my closest friend, and he's alive!”
“More reason to be thankful, dear,” said Mother.
“I am! I am!” he said, and winced as a stab of pain ran down his leg. “Ouch,” he said. “Have to lie still.”
“Long enough, Angelina,” said Vicente. “We should go, and let him rest. Eduardo, I have to leave in the morning, but your mother will be here. Be sure to call me when you get back to Nova Brazilia, and give me your plans for the future. I want to know all about them.”
“I will, sir, and thank you again for coming.”
Mother leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “The Mother is with you, darling. I'll be back again this evening.”
Vicente escorted her from the room, and Eduardo was alone again. The effort to speak had exhausted him, and he was beginning to feel real pain in his left side and leg. The sight of Vicente and his mother leaving the room haunted him strangely. He wondered about it, but then a military nurse, a captain, arrived to check the readings on the array of equipment displays by Eduardo's bed.
“Feeling any pain?” he asked.
“Some, along my left side.”
The nurse put a hard object in his left hand. “Body's waking up again. If the pain gets too bad, press the button three times. Only three, understand? We don't want you addicted to this stuff. The tubes come out in the morning, and we'll want you on your feet.”
“Up and on, sir,” said Eduardo, then, “Sir, will I be able to visit Marcos Soldan tomorrow? He's one of my men.”
“I don't see why not. He's in surgery, now, having a knee replaced. His war is over, lieutenant. He's going home.”
To what? thought Eduardo, and he pressed the button in his left hand three times.
Ortez came back again in the evening, and Eduardo had to repeat his story from start to finish, only this time the man wanted to know any details he could remember from the time leading up to the drop. The line of questioning left him baffled.
Mother came in right after Ortez had left. “That man, again. I'm always waiting for him to finish his business with you. Do you know there are two armed guards outside your door, and several others along the hall? What's going on?”
“It's a military hospital, Mother. Security, that's all.”
My eye. I'm being guarded, and so are the other survivors. Why?
“I brought you something, for later,” said Mother. She held up a sketchpad, and a box of colored pencils. “They're made for children, but it's the best I could find after running all over Valdez. So many of the shops are closed.”
“Thank you, Mother. They'll do just fine, and I'll be getting up tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“They seem to think I'm ready.” Eduardo paused, thinking, then said, “It was nice of Senor Pinzon to come all this way to see me.”
“He's very fond of you, Eduardo,” she said.
Eduardo smiled as best he could past the bundle of tubes in his mouth. “I think he's also fond of my mother.”
“Eduardo!” she cried, and blushed bright red. “Oh, you are feeling better.”
“You like him,” he said, teasing now.
“Yes, I am fond of him, and so is your father.”
“For different reasons, I suspect,” said Eduardo.
“Oh you, the artist with romantic fantasies. Now you're teasing me. Oh dear, I almost forgot. This arrived for you, from Luiz and Marcelino. It came in this evening.” She handed him a plas-sheet flimsy down-loaded from cube.
A message from his older brothers. A grand welcome home party was being planned. Father was badgering the military and even the Governor about what had happened to his youngest son. Litigation was threatened if Eduardo was permanently disabled.
Eduardo chuckled, and handed the message to his mother, who read it quickly. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Now he's angry. I hope he doesn't pursue this. I think he'll feel better when he sees you.”
Eduardo felt a quiet satisfaction with his father's outrage. “Yes, if he comes, but now he has new business to attend to.”
“Oh, sweet, I'm here,” she said, stroking his forehead, but then the nurse arrived again to check the instruments and install a new supply of the wonderful, clear liquid that seeped into Eduardo's veins at his own command.
“Hate to chase you out,” said the nurse, “but this man has a big day tomorrow: tubes out, some liquid food, and sprints down the hallway. He needs his sleep.”
The nurse remained in the room to enforce his desire. Angelina glared at him, then relented, kissed her son and tucked him in for the night. “I will be here early in the morning,” she said loudly, and the nurse smiled.
“Good. You can help me herd him up and down the hallway.”
“Goodnight, darling,” she said at the doorway.
“I love you,” said Eduardo.
“Oh yes,” she said, and left the room. The nurse paused to turn off the lights.
“Three clicks of the button. No more,” he said, and the lights went out.
Eduardo lay quietly in darkness, and was immediately drowsy. The pain in his side was steady, now, but dull, and his chest ached all over. He pushed the button in his hand three times, and in seconds felt a delicious relief. He thought of Ortez, and all his questions. Was he believed? Would they arrest Perez, or try to cover things up out of embarrassment? And why were there guards by his room?
He thought about Marcos. The Corp would muster him out, a man whose life was the military. Perhaps Eduardo could find a place for him in the Cabral empire. He vowed to talk to Father about it.
Father. I don't think you'll visit me, he thought. You have so much to do. But it was good to see Vicente again, and I will call him when I can. He is a friend.
Vicente and Mother, together, and I noticed the smiles between them. I'm glad Father wasn't here to see that.
Eduardo drifted off, and his last vision was that of the girlish blush on Mother's face.