The Abyss of Time

Chapter Fifty One

     "How you doing?" asked Lucy.

     The medical shuttle stank of antiseptic. Every hospital, every clinic she'd ever been in had had the same smell. She wondered if they scrubbed the walls with it, to kill the germs that caused infection. It was the only way she could think of for the air to be so thoroughly saturated with the sickly sweet aroma.

     Miller fingered the stitches in his chest. "Itches like crazy," he said, "but lucky to be alive. Physically I'm going to be fine. The speed healing salves will have me back on my feet in no time."

     His daughter heard the guilt in his voice, though. "No-one blames you for what happened," she said. "I've heard them talking. They know it wasn't your fault."

     "They're probably saying one thing and thinking another..."

     "Dad!" cried Lucy sternly. "I can tell when someone's saying what they think. So can mum. It's natural for you to feel guilty but it wasn't your fault."

     "Of course it was my fault," said Miller bitterly. "We screwed up. We screwed up royally. It couldn't have gone worse if we'd tried. That and the twenty people who died rescuing us in the desert. I've been a disaster of a leader. Maybe it's time for Jack to take over. A fresh mind. Not full of old, tired ideas."

     "Jack blames himself as well. He thinks it's his fault."

     "What? That's ridiculous. I was in charge of the expedition. I made all the decisions. How can he think it's his fault?"

     "Survivor's guilt," said Lucy. "Same as you. That's what it is, as you know very well."

     "We should never have mined the tantalum. We'd have had years longer to prepare if they'd had to get it for themselves."

     "Say we'd had five years more to prepare ourselves," said Lucy, staring down at him where he was sitting in his bed, propped up on pillows. "Could we realistically have defended ourselves against fifty thinking war machines? Port Harcourt was taken by less than fifty and we're not a New Commonwealth fortress."

     "The thirty six machines that took Port Harcourt were veterans of nearly ten years of warfare. The ones the cyborgs'll be sending against us'll be moronic infants. Given five years to prepare, we'd have had an excellent chance. I threw that away. Just pissed it up against the wall."

     "They'll still be moronic infants when they come, and we've got two weeks to prepare. Andy's got everyone tearing the shuttles apart to make weapons and defences. He doesn't think it's hopeless."

     "He's probably just putting on a bold face to boost morale. He has to know what the true situation is."

     "Or maybe he genuinely believes there's hope. Have you considered that?"

     "I believe in facing reality, and I taught you to do the same. The unblinkered eye sees best, no matter what it sees. Oh, we'll fight, and I'll be right there on the front line, fighting with everyone else. Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky. They say no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. Maybe it'll be that way for the cyborgs. Other armies have won against greater odds. I just believe in going in with my eyes open, that's all, and I believe in taking responsibility for my mistakes."

     "You didn't make any mistakes," Lucy told him firmly. "You got unlucky. There's a difference."

     "It might not seem a very important difference to those who die in the battle." Miller pushed himself into a more upright sitting position. His hand went to scratch his chest and he forced it back to his side. "There's something important we have to discuss," he said. "You may want to consider getting a suicide chip."