Wait for Me

Light streamed in through Dorothy’s half-open eyes, warming her out of a light sleep. As the haze of drowsiness cleared, she saw Charlie standing at the window in his boxers. She hadn’t heard him come in last night; he must have arrived late on the shuttle. He was pushing back the open curtain with one hand, the lively sunlight sparking in his dark hair, and his eyes shining.

"The light is so… different here, than on the colonies," he said, leaning on the windowsill. "Up there, it’s always the same, but here it’s different every hour."

Dorothy pushed back the covers and stood up, her feet sinking into the deep hotel carpet. She walked around the bed and stood behind Charlie, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her chin on his shoulder. It was warm. Her cotton T-shirt was soft against his skin, and he placed his arms over hers, gently massaging her hands. They stood that way for several minutes, the sunlight baking on their skin.

Dorothy’s eyes fell on a photograph sticking out of Charlie’s wallet on the nightstand. She reached down and picked it up. A little girl and a woman, apparently the mother, smiled up at her. The little girl’s hair was a shimmering dark color.

"Is this your family?" Dorothy asked.

Charlie turned, still standing close to her, and put his hands around her waist. He looked down at the picture. "Yeah, my mom and my sister," he said.

"I’d like to meet them some day," said Dorothy.

"Of course," Charlie said. "They’re on L4. Waiting for me."

Dorothy put the picture down and continued to gaze at it. "My father always used to tell me to wait for him, when he went away." She looked down at Charlie’s hands, resting on her hips. "I waited for him most of my life. But I knew, one of those times, he wasn’t going to come back."

"I’m sorry," he said.

No, Dorothy thought. She wanted to apologize to him, ask his forgiveness for leaning on him so heavily. Now that Father was gone, she needed Charlie to be there for her. She wanted him to accept her weakness, and tell her that she wasn’t a burden, that he really needed her, like he had said–

Charlie put a hand on the side of her face. She could feel him moving closer to her, when the phone rang.

Charlie grunted in annoyance and went to the wall to answer it. "Yeah?" he said as he picked it up. He listened for a moment; his back was to Dorothy, and she couldn’t see his face. Then he said, "What? But it’s only been three days!" Another pause, then, "All right." He sighed. "Oh-nine-hundred. Gotcha. Bye." He hung up.

"What was that?" Dorothy asked.

Charlie walked over to the bed and started looking around on the floor. "I’m being activated," he said. "They say it’s an emergency."

"Activated?" Dorothy said. She sat down on the bed and began fingering the ring on her finger, watching as he found one of his socks and put it on. "But I thought you were on leave."

He found the other sock. "Emergency," he repeated.

Dorothy watched as he picked up his trousers, which were draped over the back of a chair, and stepped into them. He buckled them as he walked into the bathroom, and she heard the water running behind the half-closed door.

A minute later he emerged, and retrieved his shirt from the chair. As he slipped his arms into the sleeves, Dorothy stood. "How long will you be gone?" she asked, and didn’t listen to the answer.

"Don’t know," he said. He was almost finished buttoning the shirt, and Dorothy walked over to him, to fasten the last one for him. He looked down at her, and when she was finished, he closed one hand over hers in a firm grip. He kissed her, and then went about the room, picking up his small number of things and dropping them into his duffel bag. Finally, he took his military coat out of the closet and put it on. With that gesture, he changed instantly from the boy into the soldier.

He stood by the door and looked at his watch. "I have a few minutes," he said. They stood for a moment in awkward silence, Dorothy wishing she had something to say to him.

Finally she stepped forward and leaned against him. He dropped his bag on the floor to put his arms around her, and she inhaled deeply the smell of rusted metal and old synthetic leather that came off his coat.

She closed her eyes and let her mind relax, drifting away from the harsh reality that would be waiting for her when he let go. After several minutes, when she had almost forgotten about the world around them, Charlie’s arms loosened and he stepped back. She saw in his face an indecipherable look. Subdued fear, or confused guilt, or a noble resignation; they were all familiar in the eyes of a soldier.

He picked up his bag and slid the chain off the door with a jerking motion. When he was standing in the hallway, he turned to her and said, "Wait for me."

Dorothy did not answer, but let the door close as he turned to leave.

The screen’s glow bathed the room with chilled light, blue like ice. Dorothy’s eyes saw nothing but the blur of the darkness mingled with that strange glow. She lifted her head and the dampness on her cheek made her cold. Her eyes at last focused on the words etched in light on the screen.

MAR 13 AC 194

––––––––––––––––––-––––––––––

LEFTON, BARTHOLOMEW

LEMMON, MARCUS

LEPH, JOSHUA

LEWIS, CHARLES

LEXINGTON, ALICE

LEYTON, JOHN

––––––––––––––––––––-–––––––––

ßà

The door to her room opened. She started and sat up in bed, but didn’t have time to turn off the computer before the man stepped into the room. He didn’t even have to glance at the screen to know what was on it.

"You knew about us," Dorothy muttered, but didn’t have enough courage to sound angry with him.

Duke Dermail reached over and switched off the computer himself.

"The wedding was secret, but I know you did," she said, even quieter. "That’s why you sent him to the front line."

Dermail’s face didn’t change.

"You killed him!" she finally screamed, jumping to her feet.

Dermail grabbed her by the wrist and gripped it firmly. "He was making you weak," he said.

Dorothy began to cry again. Dermail waited until she started to quiet down, then suddenly tightened his grip on her wrist and twisted it harder.

Dorothy cried out, and he released her, letting her fall onto the bed. "You must learn not to cry," he said.

She looked up at him with the face of a stunned animal.

"If you cry, you admit defeat, and you are sure to be destroyed." He waited for her to respond. "Understand, Dorothy. This is what you must learn in order to survive this war."

Dorothy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She didn’t look up; her voice was low. "Father would have understood."

"Your father didn’t know what was good for you," Dermail responded. Then, without pause, "Collect your things. We are leaving for Antarctica tonight."

She looked up at him. "Antarctica?"

"I am to make a tour of our key bases over the next several months," he said. "I think it would be good for you to see them. You will learn much."

Dorothy waited until he had left the room to let herself cry again, but found that she couldn’t, even though he was no longer there. She lay breathing on the bed for a minute, then stood. The strengthening had already begun.

She knew Father was gone; she could not tell him of her troubles any more. She didn’t believe that he was somewhere up in the sky, sitting on a cloud, watching over her and listening to her woes. She knew that he was floating in a million burnt pieces, out there somewhere, scattered across the Earth Sphere. He could no longer hear her.

And Charlie? He was gone too, rotting in a ditch somewhere underneath a mobile suit, or lying at the bottom of the ocean. His soldier’s eyes, his warm skin, his beautiful dark hair…. He could never hear her again, either. He would never see the beautiful, changing light of the Earth again, and his family would wait for him in vain.

She couldn’t even tell her problems to herself; that was the worst kind of weakness, and no doubt Grandfather would find some way to destroy that as well, no matter how painful for her.

As she packed her clothes, her mind wandered away from her, and she did not think any more. Charlie and his dark hair must be forgotten. Without Father, without a soldier to wait for, she had nothing.

A soldier was always waiting, for death, or for freedom. And if that was what Grandfather wanted her to become, so she would become.

"Shinigami," she whispered. "Tell your soldiers to wait for me."

THE END