Free Soul at War by Martyn J. Pass

hatches. Eventually we settled down onto the
landing pad and the hatch hissed open. Cool morning air smothered
me as I pulled myself out of the seat and stepped down onto the
gantry with a clank. Phillips was waking the others as I greeted a
Medic coming towards me.
    "Does that leg need treatment?" He
asked. I just shook my head and leaned against the grab rail. We
were on a raised dais, twenty metres above ground level. Gurneys
were being wheeled down towards the ship, Techs and Mechs swarmed
over the craft with tools and diagnosis devices. I took a deep
breath and stepped forward into the sun.
    "You must be Lieutenant Shap," said a
voice. I opened my eyes. Stood facing me was a tall, thin man with
graying hair dressed in a pale blue suit. He had dull brown eyes
beneath thick-rimmed spectacles.
    "I am. And you are?"
    "Eric. Eric Titus. I'm the Pastor here
in Dothon." He shook my hand but I don't remember raising mine, the
fatigue was that intense.
    That was the last thing I
remembered.
    *
    When I woke I found myself led in a
bed so soft I almost forgot where I was. I could so easily have
been back on earth in Canada, waking up to the birds and the
sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Then as I regained a
firmer grip on reality, I realised that it wasn't birds singing -
it was the gentle music of morning hymns being sung out in the
gardens.
    "You are awake?" A voice asked. I
looked around the sunlit chamber and found a young woman perched on
a stool by the door.
    "Where am I?" I asked.
    "Dothon University medical wing. You
collapsed upon arrival." The girl stood and walked over to me. She
was nothing but a fuzzy shape, my eyes bleary and sore. Then as she
leaned over I could make out short brown hair and a warm smile. "My
name is Rebecca. You must be John.”
    I tried to sit up and felt the sting
of the wound on my thigh, the stiffness of the muscles causing a
mild cramp. Eventually she helped me to sit up and she passed me a
thick gooey red mixture in a mug.
    "It's a pain killer and an
anti-inflammatory. Drink it all." I choked it down with a mouthful
of water, coughed up a little and she passed me a towel.
    "The others?" I asked.
    "In separate rooms along this hall.
The two deceased members of your party are in the Chapel of
rest."
    "Thank-you."
    "No need to thank me, Lieutenant. We
were glad to help. We just wish it could have been under better
circumstances."
    "I'd love to know what's going on," I
said, looking out of the window but could see nothing. "My rig, is
it here?" Rebecca went over to a cupboard and lifted it off a peg,
then brought it over to me. In one of the pouches was a photograph,
which reminded me for the first time in several days the reason I'd
come here in the first place. I held it up for Rebecca to
see.
    "You don't know a David St. John
matching this photo do you?" She looked intently at it, and then
frowned.
    "Sorry, I don't."
    "Well, it was a long shot I
suppose."
    "Who is he?" she asked.
    "A son of a friend. I've been told he
was posted here, to one of the missions in the Zion
system."
    "I'm sorry, no." She walked over to
the window and pushed one of the panes open a little. "Do you feel
strong enough for a walk?" I slid out from under the quilt, let my
good leg find footing first, and then dragged out the other. Using
the bedstead for support I pulled myself upright.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Morning service of
course.”
    “But I’m not...”
    “I know.”
    We walked a fair distance to the
Church, a good mile at least. I had a walking stick for support but
the stiffness was resilient and refused to ease even as I sat down
on one of the pews of the great building. It was enormous in size,
enough to accommodate the entire city, but humble enough not to
risk becoming more important than the message it preached. Unlike
most Earth churches there were no elaborate decorations or gold
trinkets - just a wooden cross at the front and a wooden altar to
preach from. Along the walls were speakers