Awake Page 12

  “Take care of what?”

  “That search party you mentioned. The bad guys. I'm going to take them out.”

  “That's a pretty bad idea,” Thomas said. “I can't allow you to do that.”

  “Don't worry,” Matheson said with a smile. “They're not going to know I'm there.”

  “Damn it Charles, you wait just...”

  It was too late; Matheson had disappeared.

  And a fraction of a second later, he reappeared.

  “It's done,” he said. “It was a small group.”

  “It's done?” Thomas exclaimed. “Already? How? It didn't even seem like you went anywhere.”

  “To you it might have seemed instantaneous, but I think that's just the side effect of jumping. It took a little longer than that.”

  Thomas glanced at Matheson's shoulder; he was bleeding through his uniform. “Christ, Charles! You're bleeding! What happened? We're you shot?”

  Surprised, Matheson glanced at his shoulder. “Ah. That would seem to be correct.” His face grew pale and he collapsed; Thomas caught him.

  After setting him down, Thomas headed back into the jet and pulled out the first aid kit. He cleaned the wound, packed it, and bandaged it.

  “It didn't look serious,” Thomas said. He handed Matheson a canteen of water. “You should be fine until we get back to the base, and the hospital.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Matheson said.

  “How could you have been shot?” Thomas said, sitting down next to Matheson. “How could anyone see you?”

  “I thought I could take them out camouflaged, like I did with our plane,” Matheson said. “But it doesn't work. It was like when the missile passed through us, the same thing happened when I shot my gun, the bullets just passed through. So I had to step out of that reality to do it.”

  “Jesus, Charles, I told you not to do that! How many were there?”

  “A few,” Matheson admitted. “They didn't see me, at first, but then when I had to reload...”

  “So you pretty much just disobeyed a direct order, leftenant?”

  “I had to, sir,” Matheson said. “They actually weren't that far away. They could have taken us prisoner, or something.”

  “True,” Thomas said. “That was a crazy risk, Matheson. I'm going to put you in for a medal when we get back.”

  “That's not necessary, sir,” Matheson said, weakly. “Just doing what I could to help.”

  “So you do have it in you,” Thomas mused. “That's good to know.”

  “In this instance it seemed appropriate,” Matheson replied. “I'm feeling pretty tired.”

  “Falling asleep would be a bad idea right now,” Thomas said. “You're in shock. If the pain is bad I can give you a shot of morphine.”

  “It's not so bad,” Matheson said. “I'll be okay.”

  “Just hold on until we get back to the base, and they'll patch you up.” Thomas' radio squawked, and he pulled it out. “It's the cavalry, leftenant. It shouldn't be long now.” He held the unit up to his ear and said into it, “This is Major Thomas. Do you have our position? Roger that. Leftenant Matheson has been shot, and he's doing okay. I've treated the wound. We'll need to be taken straight to the hospital. Roger. Over.”

  “Not much longer,” Thomas said. “Hang on.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Matheson didn't have to stay in the hospital long; it was simple surgery to remove the bullet, and would only require a couple of days recovery.

  Thomas came to visit, handing Matheson a sheet of paper.

  “What's this?” Matheson asked, looking it over.

  “Read it,” Thomas said.

  Matheson scanned the document. “You're putting me in for the Order of Military Merit?” he exclaimed. “That's not necessary, boss.” He handed the paper back to Thomas.

  “Sure it is,” Thomas said. “You put us down safely and you went in and took care of that search party. If you hadn't done any of that who knows what would have happened? We could have died trying to eject from the jet, or...or had been captured and tortured. Any of that. Of course in the debriefing I had to...change things up a bit. They got the...plausible version of events. I think they're going to be talking to you about it to you to verify things. I told them the basics: we were shot, I managed to land the jet, and you were injured after exchanging fire with the enemy. That part they believe, when the rescue team came to retrieve us they actually passed the bodies you left behind.”

  “I suppose...not like I could tell them how we actually managed to get on to the ground.”

  “Right!” Thomas said. “Well, you could, but who would believe it?”

  “Right,” Matheson agreed. “Who indeed?”

  * * *

  That answer would come the next day, when Warrant Officer Johnson came to visit.

  “How are you holding up, leftenant?” he asked, taking a seat next to the hospital bed.

  “So far, so good, Mr. Johnson,” Matheson said. “They're going to release me tomorrow.”

  “Good deal,” Johnson said. “I read the report on what happened. Pretty amazing. The brass is besides themselves on how Johnson managed to bring your plane down, especially since an entire wing was blown off by that missile.”

  “Major Thomas is a good pilot,” Matheson replied cautiously.

  “Oh, I'm sure he is!” Johnson said. “You know, when your accident is re-created by computer, it doesn't end with you and the major on the ground...well, it does, except as corpses.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What I'm saying, sir, is maybe things didn't go down exactly as Major Thomas said they did. Maybe you guys were able to reach the ground using...some other means.”

  Matheson sighed. “What if we had? Who would believe it?”

  “The issue isn't so much that maybe you did use 'alternate' means to land safely, but how you managed to pull it off.”

  “I guess it was a form of teleportation,” Matheson said. “I didn't really even think much about it, I just reacted.”

  “That's pretty amazing,” Johnson said. “So you just thought it, and it happened?”

  “Pretty much, that's how I've been able to portal jump. I think of it in my mind and it just happens.”

  “The scientists studying this have no idea how it's done. They need someone like you on their team.”

  “I'm not particularly interested in becoming a human guinea pig at this point.”

  “No, you wouldn't be a human guinea pig,” Johnson said. “I think the scientists might want to hook you up to a machine and have you do your thing, but that would be the extent of it.”

  “Mr. Johnson, that sounds like the last thing I'd like to do.”

  Johnson waved it off. “That's fine, leftenant, don't worry about it. So now you can teleport, any other new tricks?”

  “I seem to have discovered a way to create a kind of...camouflage. A kind of invisibility. I've only done it a couple of times.”

  “Really!” Johnson exclaimed. “There doesn't seem to be a limit to what you can do.”

  “I don't know about that,” Matheson said.

  “Eh, who knows,” Johnson said. “You're probably just at the tip of the iceberg. It would be exciting to explore this ability, don't you think?”

  “I suppose,” Matheson agreed. “To give me control over it, anyway.”

  “So, have you and the major had any other discussions about his little group?”

  “We've talked a little bit about it,” Matheson said. “I've agreed to join up with him. I don't know what he has in mind, yet. He makes it sound very altruistic.”

  “I'm sure he does,” Johnson said. “When you're out and about I hope you can follow through, find out what he really wants. Word is he really wants you on his team. My informant tells me when he talks about you the look on his face is like he just won the lottery.”

  “I don't think he's as bad as you make him out to be,” Matheson said, troubled. “He's never given me that impres
sion.”

  “Sir, you can believe that if you want to, but from all I've heard, the man is just itching to get into the international assassination business. And he needs someone like you on his team. None of his guys can do what you can – he's got one guy who can go back in time but it's limited to a certain range, and he can't even portal jump. The other guys are all limited in what they can do. You can do everything his entire team can do, all by yourself. If he had you he wouldn't need those other guys.”

  “I'll see what I can find out, Mr. Johnson. I hope it's not like anything you're suggesting.”

  “You know, I hope that as well, leftenant,” Johnson said. “It's a frightening thought.”

  “Very frightening,” Matheson said. “I wouldn't get involved with something like that.”

  “I didn't think you would,” Johnson said. “Major Thomas was pissed off at you once before for your refusal to help him.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “My informant has been telling me that the major talks about how he wanted you to fix the past after he was paralyzed...well, paralyzed in an alternate world, now, since he managed to get that fixed. Oh yes, we know he's been making that claim. No way to prove it, but the man might get pissed again if you refuse him a second time.”

  “I'll keep that in mind,” Matheson said. He thought for a moment of telling Johnson what he had learned going back in time, but thought maybe right now wouldn't be a good time.

  “Very good,” Johnson said, standing up. “I have some appointments to get to, leftenant. Speedy recovery to you. Just let me know what you find out so we can take the appropriate action.”

  “I will, Mr. Johnson,” Matheson said. “What kind of action would you be taking?”

  “No worries, sir,” Johnson said. “We have something in mind.”

  I'm sure it's something unpleasant, Matheson thought. “I'll be in touch.”

  * * *

  Matheson was discharged from the hospital and returned to active duty the next day. He and Johnson returned to patrol missions, and for the next few weeks life proceeded as if no one possessed a power to open up portals through time and space. That was just fine for Matheson, as he preferred a normal life to one of doing something too amazing to believe on a regular basis.

  On occasion he would practice using his ability, if only to master it; he discovered to his amazement that there really seemed to be no limit to what he could do, and he was able to do things almost by instinct alone. It also frightened him that he could do these things – the feeling the power gave him was troubling.

  He and Thomas spoke occasionally about the group Thomas was forming, and on the evening before Matheson was to receive his medal for bravery, Thomas suggested they meet at the officer's club to talk.

  “Big day tomorrow,” Thomas said, taking a sip of his beer. “Getting this medal will mean a big boost to your career.”

  “Yes it will, and I appreciate that you put me up for it.”

  “You deserve it,” Thomas said. “I suspect a promotion to captain will be coming up. Good things.”

  “I love flying, but I don't know if I want to do 20 years or not. It's hard to decide.”

  “I suppose it could be. If you didn't want to stay in the service, you know I can use your talents. Things are shaping up. In fact, I have an interesting job for you now, if you want to take it.”

  “A job?” Matheson asked. “Like what”

  Thomas produced a folder; Matheson hadn't seen him carrying one into the club. “Read this,” he said, sliding the folder across the table.

  Matheson opened the folder. Inside was a photograph and a sheet of paper. He glanced at the photograph and scanned the sheet of paper. It concerned a dictator of a small African nation best known for genocide and a large supply of oil.

  Matheson glanced up at Thomas. “What about this guy?”

  “He needs to be dealt with,” Thomas said.

  “Dealt with?”

  “Dealt with. Coups have been unsuccessful and he has a stranglehold on a huge oil reserve. That's not even the worst of it. He has squads going out to the small villages and they leave a trail of death and rape in their wake.”

  “How exactly would I 'deal' with this man?”

  “Do I need to spell it out, Charles? He needs to be taken out. There are people standing by ready to fill any gap in the power structure. Good people.”

  “And you want me to go in and...take this man out. Just like that.”

  “Someone needs to do something, Charles,” Thomas said. “This is for the greater good. You could go in and be done before anyone was aware anything had happened.”

  “So just go in and kill this man?”

  “Everything isn't black and white, Charles. There are moral gray areas. The good that is accomplished outweighs the bad of the act itself.”

  “The act of murder, you mean.”

  “You don't need to get dramatic. And don't be a hypocrite. You've taken lives, Charles. You're getting a medal for doing that. This isn't any different.”

  “It's different to me,” Matheson said. “It's one thing to be on the battlefield, in a kill or be killed situation, than the just pop into some guy's home and put a bullet between his eyes.”

  “It's not different, Charles. You're protecting the lives of a group of people who don't have the ability to defend themselves from this tyranny. And his troops don't have any qualms about who they rape and kill. Little girls, little boys, it's all the same to them.”

  “You can't lay that on me, Jeff, it's not fair.”

  “It's certainly not fair to the people being raped, Charles, and the ones who have been tortured. No one wants to do anything about this problem, but you could do something. It would be simple, and you'd improve the lives of thousands of people in doing so. How could the good not outweigh the bad in this scenario?”

  “Not to mention the fact I'd be committing an international crime. What good could I do sitting in a jail cell? I doubt the United States of Canada would look kindly to this act, no matter how much good it would do.”

  “Like a jail cell could hold you, Charles.”

  “And you want me to add international fugitive into this equation?”

  “Charles, this is a selective morality you're applying to this situation. What needs to be done is someone going in and taking action to remedy this situation. There's no one else who could pull this off. I don't have anyone that could do this like you could. Sure, I could send someone in and take that risk. You? You could just imagine yourself in this man's private quarters and be there in a fraction of a second. You could do it right now and be done before anyone knew what had happened. You'd never be caught.”

  “That's not the point,” Matheson said stubbornly. “It's not a matter of not being caught, it's the matter of how a murder would sit on my conscience.”

  “Murder is a pretty subjective term, don't you think?” Thomas said. “You need to stop thinking of this situation in those terms; what you need to do is consider the larger picture here. Think of the lives you can save! Not only that, but you can spare a bunch of kids the horror of having to re-live for the rest of their lives the fact that they saw their families killed in front of their eyes – or to re-live being raped by some strange men, who then go on to kill their families.”

  “Of course I don't want those kids to have to experience that,” Matheson said. “You're being manipulative, Jeff. I have to do what's right. There must be some other way of dealing with this dictator than killing him.”

  Thomas sighed. “That's fine, Charles. So what would you do, then? Have him put into a jail cell? Some punishment.”

  “No, I think there are other things that can be done. Maybe he could be...sent somewhere.”

  “Sent somewhere? Like where?”

  “How about nowhere?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I'm not exactly sure,” Matheson said slowly. “I think about a destination when I open up a portal and can
go there. What if I opened up a portal without thinking of where it leads to?”

  “That has possibilities, I suppose,” Thomas said. “But how would you know you sent the guy to...nowhere? What if he just ended up in some other city, or country, and just continued his terror there?”

  “I've never done anything like that before,” Matheson responded. “So, I don't know what would happen. It's an idea, and a way I could help you without compromising my principles.”

  “It sounds good in theory, Charles, but I need a definitive solution, it's not going to work knowing this guy could just pop up somewhere else and we'd find we'd have to deal with him all over again.”

  “That's the best I can offer right now, Jeff,” Matheson said. “I'm sorry if it's not the solution you're wanting, but if I'm going to help you, that's the way I would be able to do so.”

  “That's fine, Charles, I'll take it under consideration.” Thomas stood. “I've got some meetings to attend to. Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow for the ceremony.”

  “Sounds good, Jeff,” Matheson said. “Sorry I couldn't...”

  “No worries,” Thomas said. “Get some rest, that's an order.”

  Chapter Nine

  The ceremony to honor Leftenant Charles Matheson with the Order of Military Merit was attended by all the brass at the base, including some who flew in from Germany and Italy to attend. Matheson was a little bit embarrassed by all the attention; he wasn't the type of person who liked being in the spotlight.

  After the Commanding General pinned the medal to Matheson's uniform, Matheson turned to face the small audience that had turned up for the ceremony to accept their applause. As he saluted them, he caught a glimpse of Jeff Thomas, seated in the front row. And while Thomas was applauding, the look on his face was unreadable.

  Matheson was given the next 24 hours off, and he used that time to get caught up on sleep (sleep being something of a rarity for a pilot) and also to think about everything Thomas had told him.

  He contemplated everything while watching some bad television; as he stood up to grab a soda, there was a knock at the door.

  He opened it, not at all surprised to see Warrant Officer Johnson. “Good afternoon, leftenant,” Johnson said. “Congrats on the Order of Merit. Very impressive, especially for a young officer Well done. May I come in?”