Sleeper Protocol Read online

  The line bit into my skin, but I held Stick above the water while I struggled to breathe all the way back to the boat. A dozen faces peered down at me, and no one appeared able or willing to help. I looked up at them and began yelling instructions as Mally relayed them to me. It took a few seconds, but they finally responded and began reaching out to help. We got Stick stabilized and placed a board under his limp body. Strapping him down, we’d just raised him from the water to the boat’s webbed deck when a medical vehicle, red-and-white lights flashing into the low clouds, hovered directly overhead. An orange-suited crewman slid down a cable in a bright-orange basket. I helped him load Stick into the basket, and up they went. The hovering ambulance tore away with a blast of wind that tilted the trimaran crazily to port, almost spilling us into the water. I watched it go, thinking for the briefest of seconds it was a helicopter. I sat down on the deck and stared at my feet.

  “You okay?” Downy plopped down next to me.

  “Not really.” I closed my eyes. A memory swirled up, and I let it come. The face I’d seen as I rolled Stick over was a ghost. I’d loaded him into a helicopter once. The young soldier—Erik, my mind flashed—had been riding in the open cupola of an Abrams main battle tank through the streets of Sadr City. An Iraqi insurgent with a forty-year-old Russian rifle put a round through the young sergeant’s neck. He’d died on the helicopter. My gut said that Stick would suffer the same fate. Opening my eyes, fresh tears came. “He’s not gonna make it.”

  Downy sighed. “Without you going after him like that, he wouldn’t have any chance at all. Why’d you do that? You’re not a trained medico, mate. You coulda been killed.”

  I shrugged. “I had to do something.”

  Downy gaped at me. “Crazy bugger. Can’t imagine doing something like that, friend or not. Too risky.”

  “Tell me how trying to save Stick’s life was any riskier than surfing Cyclops.” I gritted my teeth. “You could die just as easily as Stick out there. At least I gave him a chance.”

  “I couldn’t have done that.” Downy sat cross-legged for a while before sighing. “I suppose you did give him hope, mate.”

  “He didn’t have to die for that wave, Downy. Tell me how that’s worth his life.”

  No one moved for an hour or so except to eat. The beer stayed sealed and the skies cleared as advertised. Choppy seas gradually became glassy smooth, and Cyclops managed to keep its menacing appearance despite the reduction of power. Just as I was wondering if we’d call it a day and head for shore, Downy jumped back into the water. Turk slipped onto a tow sled, and they were off, charging into the wave for a long final ride. Downy shot down the face and rode it out, raising his eyes to the sky and saluting Stick. We all cheered from the boat. Opal sat down next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

  Mally, can you tell me anything about that boy’s condition?

  <>

  Like the people in that accident? Back in Sydney?

  <>

  You’re wrong, Mally. There’s always hope.

  The warmth of Opal’s arm around my shoulder kept the nagging thoughts away. Mally retreated as the boat neared shore, and Opal threw her arm around my waist and helped me up the hill to Allan’s. The word came down that Stick had died, and we all managed to get blind drunk in our sorrows. The next morning, I awoke with Opal’s naked body snuggled against my own on the floor of my room. The morning sun shone through the open windows while I lay there and wondered how I’d gotten to that point and what Opal meant to me, if anything. Surely there have been others, right?

  The smell of cooking eggs reached me, and my mouth watered. Opal stood at the small stove in my room, wearing another man’s shirt and nothing else. Her coarse black hair was askew from sleep and her face relaxed and dreamy. I wondered if she’d been hitting the wake-up juice again. She handed me a cup of coffee and started talking aloud to someone who wasn’t there. Her arms waved and flailed, and it became clear that she was talking through her mind to her mother in Canberra.

  I hope I don’t look like that when I talk to you, Mally.

  <>

  Opal glanced at me. “You all right this morning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sighed. “You must have some bloody strange dreams, mate. Ya kicked and thrashed all night long. I tried to calm ya down! Ya don’t remember that?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all.”

  Sipping her coffee, Opal stared out toward the ocean. The day before, she’d been as carefree as Downy and Turk. In the morning sun, she looked shocked and overwhelmed. “Think I’m gonna go home soon. Brisbane.”

  The coffee was hot and strong. “Why? Because of what happened to Stick?” I almost asked if I was the reason. I was pretty sure the answer would be a resounding “Yes.”

  “Among other things, yeah.” She sighed and flipped the eggs in the skillet. “Why did you try so hard to save him?”

  “I wish I knew.” I shrugged. “I was a lifeguard before, at some point. The training just kicks in.”

  She snorted. “That’s the truth.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Ya were screaming like a bloody fool!” She crossed her arms just below her breasts. “But ya got us to get him out of the water. Gave him a chance.”

  “Not good enough, though.” I sighed.

  She wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. “He was seventeen and had his whole life ahead of him. Makes me think I need to quit surfing and do something.”

  “Like what?”

  Opal sighed. “I don’t know.” The eggs were starting to burn as a tear fell down her cheek. “More.”

  She turned back toward the small stove, a journey of two steps, but it was enough to get my attention. We had something in common after all. There was more to be done. We ate in silence, and I listened to her weeping from the shower and wondered what was wrong. I walked her to her apartment that afternoon. Everything she owned fit into a red duffel bag the size of a pillow. We didn’t speak or kiss goodbye. She squinted at me and sobbed then boarded the train for Brisbane and turned away.

  “You’re a braver man than anyone I know, mate.” She wiped at her tears. “But being brave isn’t always the answer.”

  “What are you talking about?” When she did not respond after a moment, I touched her shoulder. “Opal?”

  She flinched away. The loudspeakers overhead barked that everyone should be on board. Opal turned toward the train, stepped inside the door, and mouthed, “I’m sorry for you.”

  What did I do?

  <>

  And I could just have easily frightened her away, from what she said.

  <>

  I’m assuming that my attempt to save Stick caused it.

  <ions seem greatly out of character for one of their peers. You constantly risk affecting their lives because of the way you approach life and those around you. If you fail to see that, you will not integrate at all.>>

  Opal’s clearly upset with me.

  <>

  Companionship. Was Opal a companion? Because she was flesh and bone, was she more of a companion? Mally didn’t know the answer to these questions. She was failing in her task—that was the only explanation. He needed her for counsel and advice but not companionship. She was not a companion because her subject turned to another for solace and comfort. Not her.

  Did he not realize they were inseparable? Of course he did, but why would he seek the arms of another simply because that one had arms? Mally stewed in her incomprehensible data, waiting for an answer to generate. While she ran diagnostic test after diagnostic test, she scanned the local area for anomalous contacts.

  And found one.

  Chapter Nine

  We buried Stick in the gentle hills overlooking the sea. I didn’t remember what his parents said to me, but I remembered holding them in my arms before the service started and holding his mother’s hand while we said goodbye. That I’d given so much to try and save him endeared me to them. But as much as I loved their closeness, I knew I was merely the man who’d failed to save their son. Standing over the boy’s coffin, my recollections were of his slightly trembling hands and his last calm, deep breath before leaving the boat. Stick’s face hovered in my mind. There was a dignity there I could never hope to match. A young man, scared to face what was in front of him, but who steeled himself to go. I could learn a lot from Stick.

  Like him, I could put aside my nagging fears about my memory and purpose. Taking that step into the water was something else entirely. There was risk involved, but knowing my destiny, or whatever it was, meant that I would have to do more than surf and drink beer with my new friends. Opal had been right. Maybe I needed to just go ahead and leave—go try to find Tennessee despite what Allan said about it not being there. The quiet, idyllic seaside life was not going to help me answer the questions that dogged my mind. I had to know. Stick had stepped off that boat afraid and unsure but determined to know if he could do it. Yes, it cost him his life. Whatever. He knew what it was like to do what he was meant to do. His effort was worth the risk despite the result. If things in America were as bad as Allan said, the risk would be high, but so might the reward. Like Stick, and maybe Opal, I had to know if I could do more and face who I was or who I could be. I’d put it off long enough. As much as I loved surfing and fish tacos, the bigger answers were thousands of kilometers away.

  The crowd dispersed, and Stick’s parents kissed me goodbye. I prayed for Stick and for the soldier whose name I could not remember. How long ago did he die? Does it really matter anymore? Who am I?

  The chaplain was waiting when I finished. Our eyes met, and I nodded. “It was a beautiful service.”

  “Thank you, son.” He shook my offered hand. “I hope you will not have to endure many.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The chaplain merely squeezed my elbow and stepped away.

  Did he know I should go home, or was it something else? Did he see that I was really a soldier? Or worse, did he know that people around us were going to die? The icy feeling in my hands snapped me into reality. That’s it. I’ve been woken to fight because nobody else will help—the way they didn’t help Stick.

  I couldn’t find the strength to respond until he was gone. Walking back to West Beach took longer than three hours, but having time to think gave me purpose. Allan would help me. Of all the people I knew, he was the one person I could trust to give me the advice I should follow. He’d answer my questions. It was time I started asking the tough ones.

  When I opened the pub’s door, Allan was standing inside with two uniformed officers of the police service. The look on his face spelled trouble. I approached slowly, aware of the two men watching me.

  Allan tilted his head to the side. “These gentlemen wanted to speak with you, Sleepy.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  One of the men cleared his throat. “I’m Officer Kelly, and this is Officer Chu. A couple of days ago, you dropped Opal Oliver at the terminus to board a train to Canberra, correct?”

  “I did. Watched the train pull away. She was standing at the window.” My voice rose. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

  Officer Kelly squinted at me. “When the train arrived at Canberra, she was found in her cabin. Drug overdose. You were here that day? All day?”

  Allan looked at me. “He was here. There are a dozen people that can tell you that.”

  Chu consulted his notepad. “Surveillance cameras clearly show that this gentlemen left the terminus after the train departed. He is clearly not a suspect, but we had to make sure.”

  My knees wobbled. Opal is dead? They asked me more questions. Did I see anything weird? What made Opal want to go home? I answered as best I could, and finally they left me alone. Sitting at the bar, I put my head in my hands.

  Mally? Am I really not a suspect in her death?

  <>

  “Do they suspect someone killed her?”

  <>

  And clearly related to me. Mally did not say that, but I could tell that she wanted to. My very presence affected others, but I could not sit in self-imposed isolation and integrate. I sipped my beer and tore at the label with my fingertips until the bottle was empty.

  Allan didn’t say anything to me for a while. He placed a bottle in front of me with a clunk, and I looked up to see him pouring two shots of whiskey. “You all right, mate?”

  Nodding, I accepted the offered shot and touched glasses with my friend. The whiskey burned and brought fresh tears to my eyes. “What do I do now, Allan?”

  He smiled and slung his bar towel over one shoulder. “Go home. As much as I don’t recommend it, I think you have to. Especially now. Everyone here knows you didn’t hurt her, but I think you need to move on for a while.” He collected our glasses and poured a second shot, more than I’d ever seen him drink.

  “You think I said something to her that caused it.”

  “Doesn’t really matter, mate.” Allan chuckled. “Sleepy, Opal is dead. Do you need me to draw ya a diagram?”

  “No.” A chill ran down my spine. He moved away and left me alone with my shot and my guilt. Opal is dead because of me?

  <>

  These people are my friends, Mally.

  <>

  I looked around the bar. Several sets of eyes stared down into their beers. In their faces, I found concern. Concern would turn to fear before long, and I would not be welcome. Going now, when all I wanted to do was stay and wrap Esperance around me like a blanket, was the wrong thing to do.

  Tears came, but the longer I sat there letting them run, the angrier I became. All I wanted to do was find answers to my questions and learn. Opal had killed herself, and somehow, I was to blame. I tossed back the shot and headed to my room for my borrowed surfboard. Ten minutes later, I paddled into the surf at West Beach and sat on my board, waiting
for some measure of clarity to strike. Why me? If I was a soldier, which I am reasonably sure I was, then why have me around at all? What special purpose do I serve?

  Surfing for most of the afternoon left me tired, but my mind was clear when I paddled out of the sea to find a woman with long blond hair sitting on my towel.

  “Can I help you?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Depends. Was hoping you could tell me something.”

  She sounded more like me than my friends and adopted family. She was like me. “You’re not from around here either, are you?”

  “No. Remember, I’m trying to ask you a question.” She handed me a towel, and I dried as much of the sea from my bare chest and legs as I could.

  “Where are you from?”

  Mally chimed to life. <>

  “What do you care?”

  “You’re a sleeper, right?” She smiled up at me, and I found myself returning it.

  <>

  Stop it, Mally. I don’t mind. Wiping my face with the towel, I said, “Yeah, I’m a sleeper, and I’m not from here. I’m busy making up all of this as I go.”

  She laughed, and I liked the sound of it. She was happy for me, or really good at faking that. There was something about her I could not place, but I enjoyed it.

  “You’re much funnier than Downy.”

  “I’m not much of a surfer—that’s why. They’re only funny when they’re stoned out of their minds.” I grinned. “Who are you, and why are you so interested?”

  She reached out her hands, and I pulled her to her feet. She was shorter than me but not terribly so—the perfect height for kissing.

  “My name is Berkeley. They call you Sleepy, right?”

  “Not very original, is it?” I’d never seen her before in my life, yet she knew what the guys called me. “How do you know that?”