Recombinant Bridgehead

Deathbed

Hanging over the valley were sprays of pearlescent mist that the happy couple dove through. Zhâng flew abreast of CJ, and Z team laughed with joy, racing one another in a game with no goal save, having fun. She flicked her head, welcoming the tickling wind pouring into her ears, when a hand flitted across her mohawk. "C'mon, Z-Dog. You're forgetting we have a mission."

"Your instruments haven't gone off," she playfully argued.

"You must still keep your eyes on the forest. If we miss a field cabin, the colonel won't be happy."

"Spoilsport."

They weaved over and under one another as they investigated the jungle. It was tedious and uneventful but still pleasant. To be cooled by the dense condensation and warmed up again by the sun's beaming rays, all the while breathing in the intoxicating rushing air, was almost a profound experience. They had both been killed by Pandora but could not deny she was something to admire.

Zhâng used his comm mic. "Z-Dog, let's stop for a moment. My dragon needs a drink."

Following the scent of water, they glided into a clearing shrouded by overhanging trees. It was a narrow landing for their banshees, but they managed, and the soldiers let themselves and their animals enjoy a short rest. Zhâng savoured the aroma of the tranquil setting, witnessing that its calming properties extended to even charming their beasts. The paradise boasted a small pond decorated with clusters of rainbow lily pads, and sunbathing on these buoyant stages were blue hexapodous amphibians. The bizarre creatures seemed to have no heads yet sang like opera singers, swelling the meadow with their forlorn mating calls.

CJ doused her head in the sweet water while Zhâng remained at the shore, his eyes lingering on the contentment of his best friend.

"I live upstream and you downstream.
From night to night, of you I dream."

"You do like your poems," CJ commented. "What's the story behind this one?"

"It's a love poem using the Yangtze River to describe longing."

CJ sat down on the lush grass. "That photographic memory of yours really makes things easy to remember—what a benefit that must be."

"Not really." Zhâng shrugged. "You remember everything too clearly. Good memories and bad."

"You never mentioned that before."

He sat down next to her. "Maybe I didn't want to bum you out."

"Too late." She smiled back and nudged her shoulder against his. "It must be harder then, for you—you know..."

Zhâng sighed. "Somehow, I don't think it is. All brains have the potential to be photographic. When someone goes through a traumatic situation, it records every detail."

"I suppose you're right."

"You okay?"

CJ exhaled. "Yeah..."

"You never mentioned how you died," he murmured.

Her ears twitched, and her full eyes met his. "I was shot with an arrow... Those things are the size of javelins... I distinctly remember this sudden pain and the helplessness of not being able to move my own body. Then, my whole world went dark. I'm told we weren't awake during those years, that our minds were floating in a jar, but I remember being surrounded by darkness—this feeling of complete loneliness. I haven't heard anyone else describe the void years yet. Maybe something went wrong with my transfer, and I was awake the whole time." She tried to grin, but her heart was heavy recounting the hard testimony. Zhâng rubbed her shoulder, and she put on a face. "If those bastards ever try preserving my mind again, do me a favour and pull the plug."