CHAPTER
SIX
Homecoming was not a totally joyous occasion for Eduardo Cabral; those moments he felt welcomed were few and far between, but one was special.
There was Mother, of course, her face pressed to his shoulder, tears staining his dress blues, and she hugged him so tightly he could scarcely breathe. Luiz and Marcelino had picked him up at the central elevator and babbled about a grand party, well stocked with young women, all the way back to the house. But Father had other plans, and in the end it was a boring, social affair for the finest families, and half the young women there were sims who could only prattle on about trivialities drawn from software written for the occasion. And when Mother heard he was home for only three days, before going out on another assignment, she became hysterical and clung to him in front of Father, embarrassing him.
“The war is over, and you've served your planet honorably. There's no need for you to continue this, Eduardo,” she said angrily. “Your room is ready, all your things. Nothing has been touched. Your art waits for you. That is your life!”
“Angelina, stop it. The boy has just been promoted to captain, and you're asking him to throw it away instead of being proud of his accomplishment,” said Father. “His future is in the military. Stop living in the past!”
Mother let out a shriek, and ran away from them, remaining alone in her room the entire morning of Eduardo's first full day at home.
“Let's talk,” said Father, and they went to the study, the door closed and locked behind them. Father offered him a drink, but he refused it, so Father took a cigar from the box on his desk and began to chew on the end of it as they sat down on opposite ends of a plush sofa to talk.
As usual, Eduardo felt tense and uncomfortable in the presence of his father. Since childhood, he'd been taught never to make an unsolicited statement, but only to respond to direct interrogation. He sat there silently for a long moment before Father finally spoke.
“You're looking well. You seem to be fully recovered.”
“No bones were broken. The main concern was infection, but I had to build my strength again. I've just spent another six weeks in basic training to get it back.” Eduardo looked directly at his father, gaze steady to mask the lie, but Father looked doubtful.
“You look better than recovered. Your body looks hard. Even your walk is different than I remember; there's a little spring to your step. The training must be intense.”
“It is, sir,” said Eduardo.
Father fingered his cigar, and looked closely at him. “Your eyes are also different. There used to be a sparkle there, a hint of amusement. I don't see it now.”
“War changes people,” said Eduardo. “I've been told it makes you old in a hurry, and now I believe it.”
Father shook his head sadly. “It must have been terrible for you — all those men — then Guzman getting away. That bastard. His days are numbered, Eduardo. If the military doesn't find him, I will. He is a walking dead man.”
Eduardo pressed his lips tightly together and said nothing, but Father seemed to sense the question in his mind.
“Governor Monsarez has told me everything because I asked him, Eduardo. I know the truth about Guzman and Perez. We're working together to bring them to justice, but there will be no trial for those two. The vengeance for what happened to you will be terminal, I promise.”
“It's a military matter, Father,” said Eduardo. “Right now, I just want to put it behind me, and get on to my next assignment.”
Father's gaze was still intense and probing. “Of course. I just want you to know those men will be pursued and punished. I see you looking fit, but I wonder how you've changed inside, boy. Your eyes are hard. Very hard.”
“I have dreams, Father. I hear my men dying, and feel them falling down all over me. It will pass.”
Father nodded sagely. “I like that in a man. You recover, and move on. Your experience has only strengthened you, Eduardo. Remember what I taught you; there's no room for weak men in this or any other world.”
“I remember, sir,” said Eduardo, “but Mother doesn't see it that way. She still sees her little boy with his paints and sculptures. Right now, she's furious with both of us.”
“For the moment,” said Father, smiling now. “Women are the emotional, nurturing ones, but duty is for the men. So you have a new assignment that takes you away from us so quickly?”
“Yes, sir,” said Eduardo, bracing himself for the next question.
“I presume you can't tell me what it is, or where you'll be. Your mother is certain to ask.”
“The war isn't officially over yet, sir. All military movements of any kind are still classified. But any messages sent to Central Command in Valdez will eventually reach me, wherever I am.”
“I'll tell her before she has a chance to badger you about it,” said Father.
There was an awkward moment of silence before Father spoke again.
“You got my message at the hospital?”
“I did, sir, thank you. It was good to hear from you.”
Father's fingers fondled his cigar nervously, and he looked away towards his desk. “That message came from my heart. I tried so hard to get away, but with the war going on there was one mess after another, and your brothers lacked the necessary experience to unscramble things.”
“I understand, sir. I know you were thinking about me.”
The fondled cigar was beginning to unravel at the chewed end. “I couldn't work for a week, but now it's over, and here you are, at least for a couple of days.”
Eduardo was amazed at the sight of tears in his father's eyes, and he felt a lump in his own throat. Father's fingers were now mangling the cigar, the man struggling for self-control.
“I love all my children,” Father croaked, “and my youngest has made me very proud.”
Do I love him? thought Eduardo. Yes, or no, he couldn't say it. “Thank you, sir. I've tried very hard to please you,” he said instead.
At that instant, Father seemed to notice the damage done to his cigar. “Oh, my, look what I've done. What a mess!” He stood up, Eduardo standing with him, and walked to his desk to deposit the cigar's corpse in a trash basket there. When he returned, his eyes were clear, and he was smiling. He put out his hand, draped an arm across Eduardo's shoulders, and led him back to the door. It was the first time since childhood that Eduardo could remember his father touching him in such a way.
“Now,” said Father, “let's see if we can coax your mother out of her room.”
Eduardo was on his way out of the house when Marcos called. He took the call in the foyer, while M-1 went outside to instruct the driver to wait for him. The screen of the videophone was black as he picked up the call.
“Marcos?”
“Hi, Eduardo. I just heard you were back, or at least I was pretty sure it was you. A guy here saw a ranger in dress blues picked up by two suits in a big limousine at central elevator two days ago. I figured that could only be you. You said I should call this number. Hope that's okay.”
“It's great, Marcos. Where are you?”
“I'm in Estevez, just a few blocks from your daddy's fabrication works. I got a job, Eduardo!”
Eduardo felt excitement for his best friend. “That's wonderful, Marcos. Are you working in the plant?” For one instant, Eduardo thought his father had done something to help, but he was quickly disappointed.
“No. There's nothing for me in the city. I was barely off the elevator, in uniform, when the police stopped me to check my papers and work card. I'm unskilled, Eduardo. They made it clear I wasn't wanted in the city, but said there was work outside if I was willing to look for it. They escorted me to a tram to Estevez, and told the driver I shouldn't get off until the end of the line, so here I am. I got a job the first place I looked, only three blocks from the tram station. It's not a good job, Eduardo, but it's a start.”
“So what are you doing?” asked Eduardo. M-1 had returned to the doorway, and was waiting for him by the open door. Eduardo ignored him.
“There's a Mission here. They serve one hot meal a day for destitute people, and have some beds. A lot of our customers are veterans, guys with one leg or arm, and one guy with no legs at all. You can't believe the poverty here, Eduardo. You won't see it in the city.”
“Yes, but what do you do?” asked Eduardo, feeling pressed for time. His appointment with Vicente was now only minutes away.
“You're in a hurry,” said Marcos. “I wish I could see your face, but we don't have a videophone here. Okay, I'll make it quick. I came in with my ranger uniform on, and asked where I could look for a job. Maria was here, so I was lucky. She isn't here very much, but she saw the way the veterans looked at me, with my Zed Force patch and all the combat ribbons, you know, and she hired me on the spot. She's a doll, Eduardo, but kind of cold. I think it's to keep the guys from hitting on her, because she really cares about people. Anyway, she hired me to locate veterans out of work, and that sure isn't hard to do. The Mission has a car, and I visit the outlying towns and all the shantytowns along the wall to find veterans and record their job skills. We have a kind of union here, with factory contacts. We've even placed a few guys who were living in shacks along the wall. The pay's not great, but it's satisfying, Eduardo. I get room and board, and two hundred cruzeiros a month for spending money. Any chance you can make it out here?”
Eduardo swallowed hard. “Afraid not, this time. I have a meeting this afternoon, and tonight's my last night with the family. I leave early in the morning. I'm glad you've found something, Marcos, and I want to stay in touch. Here's where you can reach me, and I want an address and phone number for you, too.”
They exchanged the information. Eduardo felt guilt at not meeting with his closest friend. “I really want to see you, Marcos, but my leave is short. I'm still with Zed Force, and they've bumped me up to captain. I'm being reassigned, is all I know.”
“Sure,” said Marcos, “I understand. Well, congratulations, captain, and you watch your ass out there. With Guzman still alive, the cartels aren't dead yet. There are still plenty of drugs around here. I see it all the time.”
“We still have a date, Marcos,” said Eduardo.
Marcos laughed. “Well, there are a couple of houses in the city, but outside the walls it's big business, and a lot cheaper. I'll look around while you're gone, and find the best bargains for us. Take care, Eduardo. No more hospitals.”
“You, too, Marcos,” said Eduardo, and the connection was broken before he could say another word.
All the way in to city central, he felt badly about not taking the time to see Marcos, but time was short, and the driver was determined to be prompt, speeding all the way. He swerved in and around traffic, flashing his lights as if on a diplomatic errand. Still, they arrived at the granite block of the Ministry building five minutes late. Eduardo bounded up the steps to the security office and passed through after scanning, and a call to the Defense Office on third floor. He took an elevator up, was met there by an armed guard who escorted him across a vast room filled with women and men working at terminals in little cubicles, then down a hallway lined with ornate, wooden doors, all unmarked. The guard knocked on a door, opened it for him, and left.
The reception office was surprisingly small for a Defense Minister: paneled walls, couches lining them on two sides, a desk behind which sat a distinguished looking woman with silver hair. She smiled as he entered the room.
“Eduardo Cabral to see Minister Vicente,” he said. “Sorry I'm late.”
The woman went to a door behind her, knocked softly, opened it and spoke to someone on the other side. She opened the door wider, and beckoned to Eduardo. “You may go right in,” she said sweetly. “He's been looking forward to seeing you.”
Vicente Pinzon's office was twice the size of the reception area, and the man met him half way across it, hand outstretched in greeting. They shook hands, then Vicente surprised him by clasping his biceps and squeezing them. “You look fit, lad. Those weeks in the mountains have done wonders for you. Please, sit down. I'm having lunch brought in for us in just a few minutes.”
They sat down on a thick, firm sofa in black leather. It faced a large window looking out at the lower stories of city spires across the street from the ministry, blocking out any view of the sky.
“So, how many kilometers did they run you in training this time?” asked Vicente, smiling.
“I lost count, sir. The last day it was thirty, with full pack.”
“I hear that one of the men dropped out.”
“Heart problem, sir, some kind of murmur. Command seems to think that eight of us is enough for the mission.”
“I'll trust their judgment,” said Vicente, “and forget the 'sir,' Eduardo. This is a social occasion. Please call me Vicente when we're alone like this.”
“Yes, sir,” said Eduardo, and rolled his eyes in dismay.
Vicente laughed, and patted Eduardo's knee. “Military habits,” he said. “Now, tell me about your training.” Eduardo told him. As he talked, a military aid wheeled in a table, covered it with linen, and served their lunch: green salad with sliced fruit, lean poultry covered with a spicy sauce, and a bottle of blush wine. They sat down across from each other, and began to eat.
“Have you enjoyed your leave so far?” asked Vicente.
Eduardo told him about the party, and Mother's hysterics.
“I warned her,” said Vicente, “but she was so certain you'd leave the corps after what happened. I hate to imagine how she'd react if she knew what you're getting into now. I must admit I'm a bit concerned about it myself. You've gone through a terrible experience. Are you ready for this — mentally, I mean?”
Eduardo described his dreams, and said, “I hear a scream, but mostly I hear that single gunshot, and the voices of Perez and Guzman. I want them, Vicente. I want them badly.”
Vicente looked into his eyes, and frowned. “Don't let it eat your soul, Eduardo. You're a ranger, yes, and one of the elite, but not a killing machine. Don't let the artist die. Do you still do anything with art?”
“A few sketches, now and then. It's just a hobby.”
Vicente's frown deepened. “That must please your father,” he said, and for an instant Eduardo felt a kind of hostility there.
“We had a nice talk. I think he's pleased about my promotion. You know him, Vicente. He's not good at expressing emotions or feelings, but he has them.”
Vicente wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, and took a sip of wine. “You're more like your mother. When we were in school together, your mother and I, she was the most popular girl around, always so bubbly and vivacious. There was a mob of us competing for her attentions.”
Eduardo smiled. “Did you have any success?”
Vicente laughed, eyes twinkling. “Oh, yes. We dated for over a year, but alas, her family was devout Church of Mother, and I was, and continue to be, an unbeliever. Her father made it clear I was not a qualified suitor, and after graduation we went our separate ways. Do you have any close friends, Eduardo?”
Eduardo told him about Marcos, and where he was working.
“I know that place. The police were watching it for a while, but it seems to be clean. There is terrible poverty growing on Nova Brazilia, Eduardo. I don't like what I see here these days, and even The Church seems to ignore it. I see no plan for positive reforms.”
Vicente lowered his voice, as if someone else might hear them. “I've been thinking about making a change in my own life, Eduardo. I've been a minister here for twelve years, and I think it's time to do something else. A man can be happy with a job for only so long.”
“What else would you do?” asked Eduardo. It seemed to him that Vicente had been Defense Minister forever, under Governor Monsarez.
Vicente poured a second glass of wine for both of them, then said, “President Cuervo is looking for a Planetary Policy Minister to fill a cabinet post, and has asked me to apply for the position. Even though it will take me away from old friends, I'm seriously considering it.”
Eduardo felt strangely uncomfortable, wondering why Vicente would tell him such a private thing. “Balinda is a beautiful world. There's a lake there, surrounded by mountains, and retreats for wealthy tourists.”
“Sorgova,” said Vicente. “I know the place well. Very peaceful. If I make the move, perhaps you can be persuaded to visit me, and we can spend some time together there.”
“I'd like that,” said Eduardo. “Sounds like you've made up your mind. We'll miss you, Vicente.” He suddenly had a strange feeling of attachment to the man, if only because he was such a good listener.
“I'm not gone yet,” said Vicente. He smiled, and looked at his watch. “One more thing, before our time is up. I want you to be very cautious on this mission. The cartels are dead, but there's someone out there who'd like to take their place, and they've taken Guzman for his knowledge and contacts. We don't know who or what we're dealing with yet, or their strengths. Trust only yourself, especially when you go after Guzman. Double check all intelligence you receive. Don't trust anyone. I want you back alive.”
Eduardo was momentarily stunned. “I'll take your advice seriously, sir,” he said without thinking.
Vicente smiled. “Now I have still another meeting, and on a full stomach. I hope I don't fall asleep too quickly.” He laughed, his mood bright again after a dark moment.
Vicente pressed a button on his videophone. “My aide will show you out,” he said, and walked up to Eduardo, put his arms around him and hugged him tightly. Eduardo was shocked, his arms rigid at his sides.
“In another universe, you might have been my own son. Be careful,” murmured Vicente, then released him and walked away, reaching the door just as his aide opened it. He disappeared outside as the aide came to attention.
“This way, sir,” said the aide, and Eduardo followed him, stunned beyond thought.
That night, his last in the house of his youth, and after Mother had talked herself hoarse and left him to sleep, Eduardo dabbled with his paints, touching up a portrait begun ten years past, and botching an attempt to laser etch a clear crystal of salt. He went to bed quite late, but awoke shaking only three hours later, kicking away a tangled mess of bed-sheets.
Once again, he had dreamed about a screaming man.
Marcos put down the telephone, and looked up to see Maria staring at him. It was obvious she'd just listened to his conversation.
“Old war buddy of yours?” she asked.
Maria was beautiful, but Marcos had not yet seen her smile. Her figure was slim, yet athletic beneath the green jumpsuit she wore. Her cheekbones were prominent, dark brown eyes widely spaced, hair cropped short.
“My former lieutenant. We got shot up together, but he didn't get mustered out like me. We've been friends since jump school, even though his family owns half the city. Good guy.”
“Really,” said Maria, seeming interested. “And what is the name of this friend of yours?”
Always looking for contacts, thought Marcos. “Eduardo Cabral. He's a captain, now.”
“Cabral,” said Maria, raising an eyebrow. “Armando Cabral. He's shown some sympathy for our people. I didn't know he had a son in military service.”
“Captain in Zed Force, quick and decisive, he saved our asses more than once. He's the best,” said Marcos in praise of his best friend.
Maria looked at him with piercing, cold eyes.
“How interesting,” she said.