plan. Now I’d better go see what the Colonel wants with me. Perhaps I’m being reclassified too.’
~ * ~
The Colonel welcomed him with surprising cheer. ‘Ah, there you are, Lazarus. I was hoping you’d join me for a drink.’
Pete noticed the Colonel’s lodgings were very different to his own, with many touches that added to the comfort: recliners with blankets and cushions, a sideboard littered with trinkets, the leather armchair he had carried to him whenever he would be sitting somewhere long, and a thick rug that almost entirely covered the slab floor. The central light above was dimmed by a lampshade that looked to be made of animal skin. Something about the eclecticism implied that every piece was a memento of some sort.
‘Real Scotch? I’m not sure what there is to celebrate, but a good drink is cause enough for me.’
‘I’m not sure what there is to celebrate either,’ the Colonel grumbled as he broke the seal of the bottle and fumbled about for a matching pair of glasses.
‘Oh,’ Pete responded emptily, trawling through what was on his superior’s mind.
‘Don’t read ahead, Pete. Talking may be redundant to you people, but I still require the outlet.’
‘Of course. If I may ask, how did you know?’
‘You’re too obvious. Despite the assumption that a telepath is always reading your mind, you struggle to do two things at once.’
‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘A good thing to practise in your line of work.’
The Colonel poured two-finger measures into the crystal, watching the light playing through the caramel-gold liquid. ‘I was once stationed on the Skye Isle, some time ago, and became quite close with a young couple who had inherited a distillery. Every year they send me a bottle.’ There was more behind the story he didn’t speak of, but he had no intention of taking it further than the twitch of a smile he couldn’t control. ‘And every year,’ the Colonel continued, passing one of the glasses to Pete, ‘my wife and I would have the first drink together. It is a little tradition we have continued since we were married. This year, of course, we can’t be together and she has sent the bottle on.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not all your fault.’ The old man raised the glass to his nose and swirled the liquid about. His soft eyes melted a little more. ‘She’s chosen to be rejuvenated. Do you know what that means?’
‘Yes.’ Pete decided he wouldn’t take a sip until the Colonel did. It was important for him to talk this through.
‘It means when I go back to her, she will effectively be forty years younger than me.’
‘Perhaps that’s not all bad?’
‘No, no ... of course not. She was a beautiful woman at that age. A most beautiful woman.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She insists that nothing will change between us, that she will still be my wife, but...’
‘She is going to suddenly be a young woman with her life ahead of her.’
‘And I will be an old man with a life behind him.’
‘You could rejuvenate.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his aged heavy head. ‘I don’t think I have it in me to be young again.’
Pete was silent. He found older minds harder to read, memories overlapped so much and the consciousness switched between them almost without connection. The Colonel’s thoughts circled his options: divorcing his wife, or staying with her and growing older until he died, not being able to satisfy her. He could hardly blame her for wanting to live longer — most people wanted that. If only he did. Mixed with the present was his Serviceman life with all the horrors and victories he had been a part of.
‘You’re right. There really isn’t much to say.’ The Colonel bobbed his head until the thoughts passed, then lifted his glass slightly to meet with Pete’s own. ‘Here’s to a good drink then.’
For a long time
~ * ~
The Colonel welcomed him with surprising cheer. ‘Ah, there you are, Lazarus. I was hoping you’d join me for a drink.’
Pete noticed the Colonel’s lodgings were very different to his own, with many touches that added to the comfort: recliners with blankets and cushions, a sideboard littered with trinkets, the leather armchair he had carried to him whenever he would be sitting somewhere long, and a thick rug that almost entirely covered the slab floor. The central light above was dimmed by a lampshade that looked to be made of animal skin. Something about the eclecticism implied that every piece was a memento of some sort.
‘Real Scotch? I’m not sure what there is to celebrate, but a good drink is cause enough for me.’
‘I’m not sure what there is to celebrate either,’ the Colonel grumbled as he broke the seal of the bottle and fumbled about for a matching pair of glasses.
‘Oh,’ Pete responded emptily, trawling through what was on his superior’s mind.
‘Don’t read ahead, Pete. Talking may be redundant to you people, but I still require the outlet.’
‘Of course. If I may ask, how did you know?’
‘You’re too obvious. Despite the assumption that a telepath is always reading your mind, you struggle to do two things at once.’
‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘A good thing to practise in your line of work.’
The Colonel poured two-finger measures into the crystal, watching the light playing through the caramel-gold liquid. ‘I was once stationed on the Skye Isle, some time ago, and became quite close with a young couple who had inherited a distillery. Every year they send me a bottle.’ There was more behind the story he didn’t speak of, but he had no intention of taking it further than the twitch of a smile he couldn’t control. ‘And every year,’ the Colonel continued, passing one of the glasses to Pete, ‘my wife and I would have the first drink together. It is a little tradition we have continued since we were married. This year, of course, we can’t be together and she has sent the bottle on.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not all your fault.’ The old man raised the glass to his nose and swirled the liquid about. His soft eyes melted a little more. ‘She’s chosen to be rejuvenated. Do you know what that means?’
‘Yes.’ Pete decided he wouldn’t take a sip until the Colonel did. It was important for him to talk this through.
‘It means when I go back to her, she will effectively be forty years younger than me.’
‘Perhaps that’s not all bad?’
‘No, no ... of course not. She was a beautiful woman at that age. A most beautiful woman.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She insists that nothing will change between us, that she will still be my wife, but...’
‘She is going to suddenly be a young woman with her life ahead of her.’
‘And I will be an old man with a life behind him.’
‘You could rejuvenate.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his aged heavy head. ‘I don’t think I have it in me to be young again.’
Pete was silent. He found older minds harder to read, memories overlapped so much and the consciousness switched between them almost without connection. The Colonel’s thoughts circled his options: divorcing his wife, or staying with her and growing older until he died, not being able to satisfy her. He could hardly blame her for wanting to live longer — most people wanted that. If only he did. Mixed with the present was his Serviceman life with all the horrors and victories he had been a part of.
‘You’re right. There really isn’t much to say.’ The Colonel bobbed his head until the thoughts passed, then lifted his glass slightly to meet with Pete’s own. ‘Here’s to a good drink then.’
For a long time