Charles Gannon - Raising Caine

“Them? Well, I should think they’ll be happy to go home.”

“Yeah? Will they?” Caine opened his collarcom, his eyes on Downing’s. “Hey everyone, I need you to listen to a situation that’s come up. Richard, tell them what you just told me.”

“Caine, if I do that—”

“Richard, since they are already intelligence risks because of what we saw during our trip into Slaasriithi space, how much more hot water can they get into by hearing about current events on Turkh’saar?”

Downing returned Riordan’s stare, then shrugged and told the whole tale again.

There was a long silence, broken by Miles O’Garran: “Man, that is some serious shit.”

Caine couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, it is. And here’s why I had Mr. Downing share it with you: you’ve got a choice to make. Either you go straight back to Earth or you go straight back out into the field to investigate this very serious shit. I have no idea what we’ll find there or if we’ll make it back. Frankly, I’m not sure of anything about this mission; my ignorance is absolute. But you all know what going back to Earth could mean: extended debriefs, protective custody, God knows how many years living in secure facilities, safe houses, whatever. You’ve seen, and you know, too much to be allowed out in general circulation. Or am I exaggerating, Richard?”

“Caine, I would not impose that kind of cloistering on any of your—”

“I’m not talking about you, Richard. I’m talking about the people you answer to, who can trump any assurances you might give us. On a whim. Am I exaggerating what they are likely to do?”

Downing looked away. “No.”

Caine turned and stared up at the nine faces now crowded against the bridge windows, spoke into his collarcom. “I can’t guarantee you anything except that whatever we face, we face together. And maybe, when we come back, we can cut a deal to stay out of a facility for people who know too much. If, on the other hand, you want to go back to Earth, I can get Richard to promise you, with one hand on his heart and the other on the Bible, that you won’t wind up in one of those ultra-secluded country clubs. But how much that promise is worth — well, you’ll have to make that decision for yourself. I realize you might need some time to think about it, so there’s no ru—”

“We’re coming with you.” It was Karam. “We’re not stupid; we know how this would go down.”

Bannor’s voice went over the top of Tsaami’s. “We all make a pretty good team. We think it best if we keep it that way, if that’s all right with you. Commodore.”

Caine felt a tightness behind his eyes, nodded at them, turned back to Downing. “They’re coming along for the ride.”

Downing was gazing steadily at Riordan. “So I hear. They seem a fine group, Caine.”

“They are. Every damned one of them.” He realized his collarcom was still on, slapped it off. “So are we done with business?”

“We are.”

“Then I’ve got some personal questions to—”

Downing suddenly looked nervous. And tortured. “Caine, about Elena, about what happened—”

“Richard. This is not a prelude to recriminations.” Riordan swallowed; it felt like there was a baseball in his throat. “I get it; I get what happened. I thought about it a lot on the way out here. You didn’t really have any—”

“No, Caine. No. Enough is enough. My culpability goes deeper than you know and I’d rather have you angry — homicidally furious — at me, than live with this any longer.” Downing’s eyes were suddenly red-rimmed, almost rheumy. “Elena should never have been in Jakarta; she should never have been involved in any of this. For bloody Christ’s sake, she’s my godchild; I held her on my knee. She called me Uncle Richard as soon as she could talk.”

“Richard, I know you must feel—”

“You know what I feel? Really?” Downing jabbed a finger at Caine. “You have every right to hate me, to despise what I’ve done and how I’ve failed her. But don’t tell me you know what I feel, Riordan. Added all together, you’ve known Elena Corcoran a few weeks. I knew her for almost her entire life. If I had one meal with her, I have had, literally, a thousand. She babysat my daughter, took her around with Connor sometimes when they were both small — and when she was still devastated by losing you, though none of us knew anything about that at the time.” His face contorted, grew red. “And this, this, is the life to which I led her? Boxed up somewhere in a Dornaani medical facility, hovering in a twilight between life and death?” He looked at Caine, furious and pleading. “Why was she ever inducted into IRIS? Why was she a member of the delegation to the Convocation? Why was she in Jakarta? Why was she part of the team who entered the Arat Kur headquarters with you? Why was she anywhere in range of that murdering bastard Shethkador? Because of me, goddamn it. Because of me.” He averted his head, his teeth clenched, his whole body leaning sharply away as if he was trying to get out of it, somehow. “God, I could use a drink.”

Caine nodded, then stopped. Come to think of it, Richard’s desperation didn’t look merely emotional, but tinged with need, dependence. And was he putting on weight, the kind of waste-flab that comes from drinking too much?

But there wasn’t the time or the opportunity to surreptitiously look for other signs of a man who might be descending into a bottle. There was just enough time for Caine to say the words that had to be said, no matter how much he didn’t want to utter them, but which Downing needed to hear: “Richard, you were just the accomplice. It was her own father who performed the deeds, who got her tangled up in IRIS, albeit indirectly. Who put her through all the misery. You weren’t in a position to stop it. Ever.”

Downing was only half listening. “This is a dirty game, a dirty life, Caine. I’m sorry I got you into it, into all the lies and manipulation and secrets. I’m sorry I ever—”

“Listen,” Riordan said sharply, which got Downing’s attention. Which had been Riordan’s intent: he needed to steer Downing away from the edge of what might become a self-destructive precipice of grief. “Listen,” Caine repeated, “long before any battles were joined, we were at war. But only you and Nolan Corcoran and a handful of others knew it. And you had to get us ready, had to prepare all of humanity. Without us knowing you were doing so. We had to be ready to fight species that were more advanced and expansive than we were. That didn’t give you two any margin for error. And if you and Nolan made mistakes along the way — well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, but real-time is a bitch. The bottom line is, we’re all still alive to complain about it. And maybe patch together a few pieces of our normal lives.” He reached into the front pocket of his duty suit. “Here. I want you to take this back to Earth. It’s for Connor.”

Downing, his eyes still haunted but his face no longer contorted, took the data chip. “What is it?”

“A collection of letters. I wrote one every day of the journey from Disparity to here. Some recordings as well; anything to give him a sense of who I am.”

Downing turned it around in his fingers. “Did you — did you know we were going to send you right out again?”

Riordan shrugged. “I didn’t know . But like I told you, it always seems to happen that way. I just presumed that nothing would really be that different this time. And see? It wasn’t.” He exhaled. “So, Elena’s in a Dornaani facility?”

Downing nodded. “On their homeworld, according to Alnduul.”

“Her recuperation seems to be taking a long time.”

Downing raised a hand, let it fall. “Too bloody long, if you ask me. But I haven’t been in direct touch with Alnduul for six months now, and none of the Dornaani I come into contact with have any knowledge of Elena. I’m not even sure her transfer was approved by the Dornaani Collective. Or the Custodians. Alnduul may just have done it on his own authority. May have been skinned alive for it, too.”