Free Allie's War Season One by JC Andrijeski

thought to have them enhance the view. Bone-colored, white with just the barest depth of yellow, the dull shimmers of the organics weren’t enough to distract him.
    He would have them put a fifth monitor there, for next time.
    The basics of his probable situation filtered into his awareness.
    A period of adjustment always awaited him on the other side; he should be used to it by now, but the very nature of the change made familiarity with its workings impossible, at least in those first, virginal moments. To ease his confusion, Terian had imparted a program into the transfer process itself that reminded him of the fact of his death and rebirth, even before bringing him fully awake. The disorientation would not desist entirely until that process was complete, however—which, despite its temporal insignificance, took no small amount of time to Terian’s subjective mind.
    He hated the quiet.
    He disliked the emptiness that lay between states of active consciousness. While every death remained unique from the one before, all instances shared certain similarities in physical sensation and mundane forms of psychological stress.
    In the beginning, silence always met him.
    Therefore, whatever the desirability of said state, the most intelligent course of action lay in accepting this fact with some attempt at grace...even introspection.
    Philosophical musings should accompany death, he thought, no matter how temporary. Death, like life, should not be viewed as being without consequence. This mental ritual contained a vestigial superstition and yet, Terian liked the idea of being appreciative of his own ample gifts, particularly those of his mind and character.
    Gradually, memory began its stealthy return, too.
    Pieces of his past filtered through Terian’s consciousness like leaves falling in cold wind. Some stuck, eliminating gaps.
    Technically, all of his memories had been connected to this new body since the raw technique of transfer, but with every body came a new set of nonphysical structures, a combination of Terian’s mind and the mind of whomever’s body he now wore. Gaps remained while his aleimi relearned pathways to access the material world.
    More time passed.
    He applied pressure to the process of his rebirth, trying to access his previous body’s final moments. This early remembering took work, mainly in the form of separating his own, multi-life memories from those of the body he now wore...which of course carried only one mortal life’s worth. Well, really, not even that.
    Terian liked his bodies young.
    When they finally surfaced, the images and sensations came with no warning, a movie that began and ended without prompt or fanfare. A shadow rose from the dark; Terian heard the sound of another’s stressed breathing. The touch of wet fingers flattened his forehead, grinding his head into soaked ground littered with pebbles and sharp leaves. He saw a dull flash of jagged metal, felt a shocking splash of warmth on his neck and face.
    Dehgoies Revik. Of course.
    If he could have, Terian would have chuckled. His friend was perhaps not so changed after all. Perhaps there was still a lot of the old Revi’ in him, even now.
    Terian should have brought more than one body.
    As he thought it, a shadow fell over him, blocking the white, pock-marked ceiling.
    “Sir?” a voice said. “It is too soon. You must rest.”
    Fatigue encumbered him, a stress borne of birthing, of straining back to life...even as drugs aided his return to a blissfully dreamless sleep.

    DOES HE REMEMBER? a familiar voice said over him.
    Terian cannot open his eyes.
    He floats over himself, watching as they speak within his mind like it were a conference room on one of Galaith’s many private planes. Terian hovers there, listens.
    He remembers his death, she comments.
    It was Dehgoies, was it not?
    Her thoughts turn affirmative. The images we’ve pulled indicate that is probable. Would you like to see?
    The other’s light indicates yes.
    She