Fourteen graves lay
quietly on the crest of the hill overlooking the creek. The markers are plain,
just a line of wooden posts already weathered gray. A fast-growing creeper vine
has spread from the line of old trees nearby and is overtaking three at the end.
I shift my cane to my left hand jangling the chain link necklaces, then yank at
one end of the vine clumsily and fling some of it back to the shade beneath the
trees. After a few more attempts most of the vine has given up for now, but a
few stubborn ends lurk just beyond the posts in the grass. I slowly rub the
accumulated dirt out of the engraved names. The letters are carved deep into
the wood, but not as deep as the list of names has been carved onto my heart.
I stand there for
several minutes, leaning on my cane for support like an old man. A gentle
breeze rushes through the trees and the cluster of chains I am clutching in one
hand. For a moment the clinking of the metal discs is the only sound in the
world. Then the breeze dies and the clamor in my head is quiet.
We had all joked and
laughed at the beginning at having to wear dog tags. We had tried to act tough
like we actually were in the military. It wasn’t like we were ever going
to need them. We were not going off to fight in a war. We were just scientists,
immature, overly gifted scientists filled with our own importance, our secret
mission, our dog tags, our certain knowledge that we were about to change the
world.
Today the sky is
clear and the sunshine is warm on my hair. It's a nice grassy spot here next to
the trees. Peaceful, really. I can imagine Wilson and Stevens in their eternal argument
of hard sciences versus soft sciences like there was actually a difference
between them. Or Albertson, the most awkward of all us super-geeks failing
miserably to impress the pilot Julie White while the rest of us tried to keep
out of sight and keep from laughing.
So many memories.
Things that didn’t matter at the time are now so precious, like a child’s
string of glass beads held up to the light and seen anew as beautiful. Too many
memories. Too many ghosts; I don't stay long. Slowly I start down the hill, the
gentle curve of my cane handle caressing my palm as I limp my way back down the
slope. Across the creek, about a mile away from the Big House and the hill with
fourteen graves is the twisted heap of metal that brought me here.
We were all young and
brilliant, the best of the best, the elite handful carefully selected by the
government to work on a secret assignment. Too young and brilliant for our own
good. We all had a history of doing some of the incredibly stupid things that
only geniuses trying to show off their smarts can manage. But that's why they
wanted us. We all had to be young, single, and willing to take a risk. Well,
fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Not that any of the
numerous old, gnarly instructors we had in our rigorous training were angels. No,
they were simply human, nothing more or less. They had traded in their spirit
of adventure for common sense and the rush of risk for a solid paycheck and a
family.
None of us had known
each other at first. We were mostly kids right out of high school who were too
cocky to think that college could teach us anything. Most of us already had a
record, because we were far too smart for rules to apply to us. After three years of the most
mentally challenging training on the planet, those of us who made it through
were close friends. Closer than friends. Our tight-knit team was a motley
family. We were all surrogates for the families left behind by the training.
I remember the
excitement when we finally finished, the anticipation. Teleportation had
already been proven and rapidly hushed up “until we know more and the public's
ready for it.” We were the first group
of interplanetary teleporters, looking across the universe for other worlds
like ours that we could colonize and - if there were any - to find other races
so humanity would no longer be alone.
We were eager, we
were ready. We were glad we were finally finished learning everything and
setting off to do our jobs. We were all puffed up to be in our twenties and
making history, even if no one would know until several years after our
success.
No comments:
Post a Comment