“She seems to be coping,” Mongo said. “Jayne’s staying with her at the moment.”
Steve nodded. Once the wives had been told, they’d brought in the children and a handful of relatives. They’d all agreed to keep the starship a secret, although not all of them had wanted to travel to the moon — or anywhere else, for that matter. Steve had accepted their word, then put the newcomers to work scrubbing the decks. The starship needed to be made safe for human inhabitation.
He looked up as Keith Glass stumbled into the compartment, a faintly pole-axed expression on his face. Steve smiled at him, then held out a hand and waited. Eventually, the stunned writer noticed and shook it, firmly.
“Welcome onboard,” Steve said. “Will you be joining us?”
Glass nodded, frantically. Steve smiled, inwardly. Kevin had been right. What sort of science-fiction writer worthy of the name would refuse such an opportunity?
“Then let me tell you what we have in mind,” Steve said. “Kevin, are you ready to proceed with stage two?”
“I think so,” Kevin said. “There shouldn’t be any unexpected surprises.”
“Keep a teleport lock on you at all times,” Steve warned. “But try not to hit the panic button unless there is no choice.”
Kevin nodded and left the compartment. “We’re planning to found our own nation,” Steve said, turning back to Glass. “Are you willing to help us?”
The Ashcroft Residential Home was, in Kevin’s droll opinion, a testament to the failure of the country to stick up for its wounded veterans. Some had been able to get the best of medical care, others had had no families or friends willing to assist them in overcoming their conditions and returning to civilian life. Kevin felt a chill run down his spine as he walked up to the doorway and stepped into the lobby. If he’d been wounded in combat — or Steve or Mongo — he might well have wound up in a similar place.
No, he corrected himself. Steve and Mongo would never leave me here.
The receptionist — a pretty black woman — looked up at him and smiled. “Can I ask your business?”
“I’m here to see Edward Romford,” Kevin said. “It’s concerning a possible placement for him in the outside world.”
“I see,” the receptionist said. “I’ll have to ask you to fill out these forms.”
Kevin sighed — there were four pages to fill in — and cursed the bureaucracy under his breath. He’d never had to rely on the VA for anything, but he’d heard horror stories about wounded ex-soldiers struggling with the paperwork or being penalised for simple mistakes that would have gone unnoticed in a more decent era. Patiently, he filled them in with his cover story and handed them back to the receptionist, who didn’t even bother to look at them. Instead, she pointed him towards one of the gardens and waved goodbye.
He rolled his eyes as he walked through the building, noting just how boring it had to be for the wounded veterans. There were televisions and DVD players, but there were also large signs forbidding smoking, drinking and gambling. He had a strong suspicion that the latter two were completely ignored, provided the veterans could get their hands on drink, money and cards. Someone sympathetic might well have smuggled all three of them into the complex.
Outside, the garden was depressingly morbid, despite some attempts to cheer up the veterans with flowers. A handful of wheelchairs were parked on the grass, evenly spaced around the garden, making it harder for the veterans to even talk to one another. They ranged in age, he noted; some of them were younger than him, others were old enough to be his father. He caught sight of the man he wanted and walked forward, coming to a halt in front of his chair.
Up close, it was clear that Edward Romford was no older than Kevin himself — and crippled, crippled beyond the help of human medical science. According to the reports he’d downloaded from the residence home’s computers — their security was laughable, although they had no conception of the threat facing them — Edward Romford would never walk again and, without a family to take him in, he had simply been abandoned at the home. But how long would the home be able to look after him?
“Sir,” he said. “I come with a proposition.”
“Married already,” Romford croaked. He wasn’t, Kevin knew. His ex-wife had left him long before he’d been wounded, yet another marriage destroyed by the strains deployment placed on it. “Fuck off.”
He paused. “Unless you have alcohol,” he added, in a softer tone. “Bitch over there says it destroys our brain cells. Why else would we want to drink it?”
Kevin smiled. “You seem to be mentally sound,” he said. “Listen carefully.”
He leaned closer. “There’s a new residence home for veterans, in Montana,” he said. It was the cover story they’d established, after they’d worked out that there were no relatives who could simply take Edward Romford away without permission. “They’re pioneering a new treatment. You may be able to walk again.”
Edward Romford looked up, torn between hope and wariness. He’d long since lost hope of being able to walk again, let alone have a full life. Kevin understood just how easy it would be to give in to despair and just waste away, no matter how carefully one was treated by the nurses. Now… Romford had to wonder if this was real… or if it was just a trick. But there was no motive to trick him or anyone else.
“You can come with me, now,” he added. “Or you can stay here for the rest of your life.”
Romford smiled. “Take me away,” he said. “Hell, just take me outside the walls and leave me there. I can get away from there on my own.”
Kevin winced in pity. The residence home was hardly a prison, provided the inhabitants could walk. As it was, they couldn’t get up the steps or out past the gates without help. To someone who had once walked all over Afghanistan, it was a prison, made worse by the fact the nurses were genuinely trying to help. Or were they? Kevin was a cynical person at the best of times and he couldn’t keep himself from wondering if the veterans in the garden were meant to catch cold and die. It would take a burden off the residence home’s nurses.
“Just don’t say a word,” he said, as he took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it forward, back towards the house. “I’ve already cleared the paperwork.”
Somewhat to his disappointment, no one tried to bar their path as he pushed the wheelchair through the building and down to the van. Finding a van designed for a wheelchair had been surprisingly tricky — it seemed that there were additional requirements to drive one — but he’d found one eventually. He helped Romford into the vehicle, secured the wheelchair in place and then clambered into the driver’s seat. No one shouted in outrage as they drove out of the car park and onto the road.
“A daring commando raid,” Romford observed. He chuckled, harshly. “Bitches never let us leave, even with an escort. I used to pray for terrorists or even muggers, just to put us out of our misery.”
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. He felt another pang of bitter guilt — and rage. Surely their country could do better than this for their wounded veterans? No wonder Romford had prayed for death. Given the complete absence of security at the residence home, it was a minor miracle that terrorists hadn’t attacked the building already. “But it’s nearly over now.”
He parked the van — they’d been warned against trying to teleport away from a moving vehicle — and then sent the command to the interface. The world became silver — he heard Romford yelp in shock — then resolved, revealing the starship’s sickbay. Romford gasped and choked, then coughed violently as Mariko ran forward and caught him. Kevin watched, grimly, as she ran one of the alien scanners over his body.