Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [43]
“And now you’ll never know if it might’ve been something.”
“Exactly.”
“We all lost people we loved on Venice Minor, and we can only go on as they would’ve wanted. Suffer the aftermath. War is bloody and awful . . . It leaves terrible wreckage to clear away. There are no heroes, only survivors.”
“That’s not what they believe on Lachion,” he says. “They sing of great battles and people who died well for their clan.”
“Do you still believe that’s true?”
“No. After what I’ve seen, I don’t see how it could be good or glorious.”
I feel sad for him, as he’s grown too much, and he can never return home. He cannot believe in their stories. But maybe a better life awaits Argus elsewhere, after a long career as a jumper. I can hope for that, even if I do not believe. Navigators like us don’t wind up surrounded by our grandchildren, full of satisfaction at a life well lived. Like most, he will die in the nav chair, unable to speak a farewell to those who love him.
A small part of me pricks up in protest. Times, they are changing, and that may alter his end, too. Despite Doc’s death, his gene therapy lives on. Unlike Evie, he wasn’t paranoid about theft, and I know where he backed up his data. We can use his science to save jumpers from burnout. Maybe one day, there will be no dire tales about what happens to navigators who give too much to grimspace.
But first things first. I’ve got to prepare this facility for training in volume, then run the classes. Gene therapy can wait until after there’s FTL movement on the Star Road again. I give Argus a list of things he needs to requisition, and he’s happy to have a job he can do while he’s on the ground. The stress flows away from him as I take charge; I can only imagine how tough it’s been for him to pretend he could do what they demanded of him.
Half an hour later, Vel and Dina show up, tools in hand, ready to begin revamping the existing equipment. By this point, I’ve learned the school layout, so I lead the way to the training room, which is inadequately equipped for the number of experienced navigators who need to be retrained. If I can’t find someone who can teach the new signals alongside me, then I’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future. That would be just as bad as prison.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, as they set up.
Dina dismisses it with a wave of her spanner. “No problem. The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can move on.”
We. She might not realize it, but that word means everything to me. It means I have friends who will stick by me, no matter how rocky it gets. I know better than to mention it, though, or she would rib me unmercifully. She hasn’t changed that much.
Soon, workmen deliver chairs and cables, stacking the crates three deep against the far wall. While Dina and Vel go to work, I unpack, sorting the gear as best I can. If I were better with my hands, I’d help them with installation, but I suspect I’d just end up creating more things for them to fix. So it’s better I just facilitate setup.
As it turns out, I wasn’t kidding when I told Argus we’d work through the night, but by morning, we have twenty training seats successfully patched into one nav chair. With Vel’s help, I tweak the programming to reflect the new pulses. That takes several more hours as I tinker, looking for precisely the right pitch. It’s a lot of trial and error, until I find the correct setting.
After that, I wake Argus to test them, and he tries them one at a time while I sit in the center. Each time he joins me, I sense his tension easing a little more. He knows I’ll handle the situation; I’m humbled to realize the depth of his faith, even after the mess I’ve made.
“It looks good,” he says, after we complete the testing. “Are you going to be up to doing the first classes today?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “I’m pretty tired, and I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”
“Another day won’t kill them. I suspected you wouldn’t want to start so soon, so I gave them two days off instead of one.”
I give him a tired, admiring smile.