The apology hit like a blast of ice water on a bad tooth. What the fuck good did being sorry do? It couldn’t bring back her family and the billions of others who perished. It didn’t restore her freedom and peace of mind. She’d forever be looking over her shoulder and peering around the corner. An apology couldn’t restore the electricity, the transportation system, communication, agriculture, the availability of medical care. She could bandage and suture a wound, dispense medications until they expired, but she couldn’t take a simple X-ray. No electricity.
What somehow made it worse was that she believed he was sincere in his own way. She’d seen the sympathy in his disconcerting eyes.
Until today’s conversation, she'd begun to feel compassion for the scared little alien boy. Her parents had died waiting for her, and his couldn’t be bothered to visit him once a year. His people parented like sea turtles, leaving the hatchlings to fend for themselves. The oppressive, repressive, loveless culture had produced remorseless annihilators.
Before his apology, she’d sensed Grav was different and didn’t share the Progg’s murderous intentions, that maybe he had a conscience. But maybe her judgment was skewed? Maybe she’d fallen into a twist on Stockholm syndrome. He was the prisoner, she the guard, but she’d started to see him as having been wronged.
How dare she empathize with the enemy who’d killed her family and destroyed civilization?
Yet, she’d always rejected the notion of original sin, that people present and future bore the debt of transgressions committed by their ancestors. She’d judged people ontheirdeeds not the actions of others. To require future generations to pay for crimes committed by people long dead did not serve society. Such action had fueled centuries of resentment, strife, and warfare.
If she still believed that way, how could she in good conscience convict Grav of atrocities he hadn’t committed? He hadn’t fired on the cities.
She needed to get out, get away, be alone to settle her mind. There was no place in the cave where she wasn’t hyperconscious of him. She’d give the weather one more day to clear up.
“Tomorrow, no matter what, I’m going out. If I have to swim across the creek, I’ll do it!”
Chapter Eleven
Grav watched Laurel leap from the bed and race out of the chamber. She returned about ten minutes later in a coat and boots, her ever-present accessory strapped to her hip.
“It stopped raining.” She tossed some power bars onto the table and refilled his water. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” She whirled for the exit.
“Laurel, wait! I need to tell you something.”
He’d thought about it all night long and decided to tell her the whole truth.
He would be committing treason, but what did it matter at this point? He doubted there was a tribunal left to convict him. The conquest of Earth had destroyed Progg-Res, if not the entire empire.
“Later.” She disappeared into the passage.
“The invasion is over!”
He didn’t think she’d heard, but she reentered. “What did you say?”
“The General Ministry called off the invasion. There will be no more air assaults. The ships have returned to Progg-Res.”
She blinked slowly, her body otherwise still. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I got left behind.”
“Just you?”
He shook his head. “I assume others got left behind, too, but officially the conquest is over. There will be no more air assaults, no more cleansing of small towns by ground troops.”
“Why are you telling me this? How can I believe you?”
Because? Because, on some gut level, it seemed like the right thing to do. The truth would be his parting gift to her. Knowing the campaign had been called off couldn’t bring back her family or anyone else who died, but it would give her more personal freedom and perhaps greater peace of mind. “Because time will prove it. The GM pulled out and left standing orders to avoid the towns and not approach any humans. However, individuals you encounter still pose a threat. If you see any, steer clear.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion while her face darkened with anger. “Why?” She shook her head. “Why halt the invasion? You were winning.”
“No, we lost.” His throat clogged up. Allegiance was so ingrained he struggled to reveal a vulnerability to the “enemy.”
“When Admiral Drek fell ill and shuttled to the command vessel, he infected the entire crew. Before they realized the severity, some of them had left for our home planet where they spread the disease. My last communique from the home world reported millions had died, and millions more had sickened.”
“You’re saying we caused a pandemic?”
“Yes. It devastated our world. I don’t know if those of us left here will ever be able to go home. I was informed I would be extracted when it was safe to do so, but I’m beginning to doubt that will happen. I haven’t received any communication in months—and whoever shot me took my communication device. I may not have a home world to return to. There are other planets in our galactic empire, but I suspect the GM—or what remains of it—will wish to avoid any possibility of infecting those worlds.”
