Hammer and Crucible by Cameron Cooper (easy books to read txt) 📗

I had been a white-hot magnet for all the ills of the empire, and all the bad graces, too. And I was claiming my right to live on his barge.

The last forty years of letting the world pass by should have made up for that. Last night had been an aberration.

I visited the park level and stressed my hips with walking too far in summer-level heat. Was there a single joint anywhere in my body which hadn’t noticed the impact with the deck? It kept me from admiring the roses and the willows as I usually did.

That just made me cranky.

I went back to my apartment and scowled at the table and two chairs and the second armchair. I broke them down and fed them back into the recycle chute. Shoved my armchair back into its usual position, facing the beach, and sat.

My battered old pad was tucked between the cushion and the arm. There was years’ worth of distraction on that thing, but I stared at the waves instead, until the headache was too bad to focus.

Andrain’s knock-out painkiller sounded really good, by then. I pushed my finger into the printer, got the shot and rolled onto the refreshed cot and sealed it tight.

Deep twilight, cool air, white noise. The perfect conditions for sleep.

So, of course, I didn’t. For two hours.

Until I did, and then I dreamed.

And I’d been hoping the analgesic would shove me into the deep sleep phase and by-pass all the crud in my sub-conscious.

Yeah, wishful thinking. More fool me.

Noam looked younger than he did when he died. Younger than he had before his first rejuvenation. He sat on my beach, with his bare feet pushed into the cool sand under the trees, his arms on his knees, staring out at the waves with his eyes narrowed against the glare. His golden hair ruffled in the sea breeze, brushing his brow in a way he’d never let it do while in uniform.

“Tide will turn soon,” he said.

How the fuck he knew that beat me. He’d never stepped foot on a planet that wasn’t a war zone.

“We’re good, this far up the beach,” I told him.

He considered and shook his head. I wanted him to look at me, only he wasn’t reading my mind, right then. “Nope,” he said simply.

Look at me! I tried to shout, but my throat wouldn’t cooperate.

“You’ll stay here, though, right?” he added.

I looked at the flat ocean, my heart screaming, my pulse thready. It was the same ocean. It never changed its essential nature, even though it could have moods. Only, what was that on the horizon?

My focus wouldn’t kick in, yet my pulse jumped another notch or two. What was going on out there? Was that…a wave?

The horizon threshed and shifted. I couldn’t see properly, damn it. And the pain in my head was building, the harder I tried to make my eyes cooperate and focus properly.

Something was coming.

Something was coming.

Something was coming.

I blasted out of the cot like a silk-skinned smart bullet, to sprawl on the cold floor, sweat-soaked and breathing way too fucking fast.

The fear from the dream had followed me into wakefulness. I propped myself up, shivering, trying to off-load the sensation of doom heading in my direction with a loaded shriver and bad intentions.

I didn’t need an analyst to interpret the dreams—they were nearly all the same theme these days. I was sick of the repetition. I get it, okay? Clock’s ticking. Message received. Dismissed.

The concierge was flashing.

Grateful for the distraction, I got to my feet in slow stages, taking my time, then moved over—okay, I shuffled. Over to the panel, pressed my finger against the pad.

The screen cleared and wrote the message.

You spent a year digging into the Drakas thing after Dad died. What if your breakdown was their way of getting you out of there, where you were digging too deep?

J.

Damn stubborn. Relentless. Irritating…

A storm brewed over the ocean. Dark clouds on the horizon. I shivered and switched off the wall and left it smooth obsidian black.

Then I went back to the park. At least there, the sun was shining and birds were singing, even if it was too fucking hot to walk. I could sit on a bench.

I walked, instead. Sitting let me think too much.

I’d learned not to probe the blank spot in my memory, or anywhere near its borders. The year after Noam died was too damn close to the event horizon. It didn’t stop me from juggling the meta-question in Juliyana’s message, though.

Discounting any hidden agendas, one came down to the fact that the blank spot was damned convenient. It pushed me away from examining anything in that time period too closely.

I shivered despite the heat and kept walking. The turbines were running, so the leaves rustled overhead, sending leaf-shaped shadows skittering over the path, dancing like motes.

That was the last thought I had.

It wasn’t like waking, this time.

Things came together very slowly. For a while, I didn’t feel the need to make sense of anything. I drifted.

I listened to sounds with childlike wonder, none of them familiar to me.

Sense does return, eventually. With it comes dismay. A sinking sensation.

“Oh, your pulse just jumped. You’re back with us. Hold on—I’ve sent for the doctor.”

The AI nurse’s voice was pleasantly professional, caring, and horribly familiar.

I made my eyes open and forced them to focus. The railings were up on both sides of the bed, of course. I was on my side, a hand under my cheek. The classic therapeutic recovery position.

I didn’t bother trying to move. I knew I didn’t have the strength. It would take a while to come back.

“Water,” I told the nurse, my voice croaky.

The tube extended, touched my lips.

“Just a sip or two,” the nurse said.

A sip or two was all I could manage, anyway. I had to hold the water in my mouth, and let it soak the parched flesh, until my throat was moistened enough to swallow.

Footsteps. Andrain bent to