Milo

Milo was lying half awake in one of the two passenger quarters in the Final Sight. The bed sheets smelled fresh and the water on the table tasted crisp. A two day stubble covered his cheeks and it was already getting itchy. Milo licked his lips, they were unusually dry. Sam had put him under lock and key until the situation cooled down. The thugs’ friends might want to retaliate. Rachel sat in a plastic folding chair on the side of the room. A book rested open in her lap. Dad’s book. She looked fully absorbed by it. How long had she sat there? Why would she?

“Enjoying it?” Milo asked.

Rachel finished the page, closed the book. “Yes, I am. It is captivating. How are you feeling?”

“I feel sore. In muscles I didn’t know I had,” Milo said and smiled.

Rachel smiled. “Not surprising. Thanks for saving me. I wanted to thank you personally.”

“Hah. You and Sam saved me. I was floored and cut,” Milo said.

“You shoot lightning from your hands. It caught the bad guys’ attention real quick. That was cool,” Rachel said and walked over to him. “How are your hands?”

“Hands? What are you talking about?” Milo asked and brought forward his hands from underneath the blanket. His left hand looked normal, but on his right bore black scorch marks curling from the tips of the fingers all the way down to the wrist.

“Doc says that the burns were caused by heat,” Rachel said. “Whatever he meant by that.”

Burned? When he had decided to grab the cable he had expected a surge of energy, so that he possibly could fire a second bolt of lightning. He flexed the fingers into a fist and released. Weird. Stiff and painful, almost nauseating. Why had this time been different from all the other times he had touched an electrical output? Why had his body absorbed so much more? For a moment he thought he remembered being connected to computer processors. Strange.

“Doc says that you will be fine, Blue,” Sam said, leaning against the door frame. Sam always had a cleanly shaven face, a bald head, and not a wrinkle in his shirt. Navy discipline. “We need to talk,” Sam said and eyed Rachel.

Rachel stood up and left the book on Milo’s bed. “I should get going either way. Sleep safe. See you around.”

Rachel left.

“But why would she not need to be locked in here?” Milo asked.

Sam smiled, pulled up his hand terminal and held it towards him. A video started playing. Security camera. But this source was public, the video had been leaked. Oh god. Milo watched himself reaching for the access hub, grabbing for the cable and how tendrils of electricity erupted around him. Surging into his hands and unleashed against the assailants. But the moment was brief. Video Milo stumbled to his knees, but someone outside the frame had managed to kill off the big man.

“Alright, I see. Why would anyone remember anything other than a man throwing lightning at masked criminals,” Milo said and swallowed. What a mess. How would work react to this? How would Linda react? Damn. “Do you think I will keep my job?”

Sam pulled away the hand terminal. “That is not your main concern now. We will see what happens after the dust has settled. What did happen this time? It didn’t look like this when you touched the cables of my ship. You certainly didn’t burn your hand last time.”

“Sam, I have been thinking. The city's electrical grid carries a lot more power than that of your ship. Maybe my body is not capable of handling it. I held onto the cable for too long, maybe. My body can only hold so much energy. In line with the battery theory, I tried to absorb too much so I overheated and my hand burned,” Milo said. “But just like last time, the charge was temporary. Even though this time I absorbed more, I also used it up quicker.”

Sam frowned. “And so when the charge was used up you fell back into your normal levels. It took a toll on you. From high to low. Like a drug addict.”

“Funny,” Milo said. “I am serious. Maybe my body can be trained to store larger amounts of it. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“And maybe the lows will be even lower,” Sam said.

“I don’t know how it works!” Milo said, frowned in irritation. “Why do you call me Blue?”

Sam laughed. “The lightning bolt you threw was of the bluest color I have ever seen! Vivid and vibrant.” Sam imitated being electrocuted.

“I hurt him. Killed him!” Milo said. “Don’t make a laugh out of it. Please.”

Sam shoved him lightly. “Violence has consequences. Don’t give me that look. I am not talking about physical injuries. I am talking about your mind,” Sam said and tapped with a finger repeatedly at his head.

“I didn’t like hurting him. I will never forget the smell of burnt human flesh. This thing is not to play with,” Milo said and brandished his blackened hand.

“That is exactly the point, Blue. It should be difficult to kill another living human being. Humanity at its core. All military men and women go through rigorous mental conditioning to accept the notion to kill. To make a person willingly kill another person is not easy,” Sam said.

“But you have never shown qualms about hurting people. When you tell your stories it sounds like you enjoy violence,” Milo said.

“A limited group of people are not as burdened by the consequences of violence and killing. That cannot be trained. It is just how we psychopaths are wired. Psychopaths make great soldiers,” Sam said.

Milo looked at his old friend in a new light. “I have never thought about it like that before.”

“Blue, it is fine. No one thinks about it until it happens. I like it that you are disheartened by the violence you have done, it makes you humane. I know I should be feeling something, there is nothing. But sometimes I am glad for it. How otherwise would I have stayed sane after the ground assaults on Mars? Those lucky enough to survive the Americans’ onslaught relive the nightmares every time they close their eyes. Violence has consequences,” Sam said.

Milo became quiet, stuck thinking about Sam’s words. How would violence shape him? Would he lose his mind? Hopefully not.

“It is important that we don’t forget about talking about how you feel. I have experienced soldiers who killed themselves because of the haunting demons in their heads. I know you don’t like to talk, much less when it comes to emotions, but this time I will goddamn shake the words out of you. You will not kill yourself on my watch. You are my best bud,” Sam said.

“And you mine,” Milo said and smiled.

Sam responded with a short laugh. “Coffee?”

“Captain, did I hear someone say coffee?” Diego Rubalcava said and strode into the room, wearing a white doctor’s coat. “Then my patient is awake and ready for treatment.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I will fix you a mug too, doc.”

“Gracias, but do not let Claire do it. She brews it too weak. Please do it yourself,” Diego said and pulled up his hand terminal.

“Good luck, Blue,” Sam said and left.

Diego grabbed Milo’s scorched hand and Milo flinched. Doc grabbed without regard to the pain his patient felt.

“Ahh, do not whine,” Diego said and studied the burnt skin. “To run into combat like that. Loco arsehole.”

Milo frowned. “What a good mood you are in today. Did you blow your date with Claire?”

“You are my patient. You answer my questions, I decide what we talk about. You are the one to be studied. Alright?” Diego said without leaving his attention from Milo’s hand.

“Roger that, doc,” Milo said. “So you did blow it. I know you Diego, if the date had been successful you would never have shut up about it.”

Diego pinched sharp on Milo’s hand.

“That hurts!”

“It is simple, do not be an arsehole,” Diego said. “I have synthesized an ointment for you. Rub it into your burnt skin two times everyday for ten days.”

Milo grabbed the tube Diego handed over.

Diego got up and walked out. “Well, good day to you.”

Milo massaged his hand where Diego had pinched him.

-

Was this how it felt to be a hero? Sad and discouraged. Empty. Not at all what he had believed or how it was displayed in movies.

“Milo!” Dad said, entering the room with a concerned look in his wrinkled pale face.

Milo sat up in the bed. “I am fine. Just a little shaken.” But that was obviously a lie. Dad would not understand.

“I met this nice girl in the ship’s mess hall. She said that you saved her. That is fantastic!” Dad said, rearranging a strand of white beard.

“You could say so,” Milo said.

“Ha, don’t be so humble. Captain Samuels told me how you charged into the situation. With no regard for your own life. You were determined to handle things,” dad said and noticed the book. “Oh. You have started to read it! Great. I am sure you will enjoy it.”

“Me too,” Milo said, fingering at the pages.

“I will let you have your rest. I just wanted to see you for myself and tell you how proud I am. You did great,” dad said. “But I want to talk about this dream I had the other day.”

Milo looked at the book in his hands. “Go on, dad.”

“It was like I had other people’s thoughts inside my head. Strange, indeed, and disgusting. The feeling is weird to describe,” dad said. “Imagine everyone’s thoughts in your immediate vicinity bleeding and mingling into your own thoughts.”

“You dreamt of reading people's minds?” Milo asked. “Why would that be disgusting? It sounds cool.”

Dad frowned. “Naive of you. People’s privacy should remain private. Your thoughts are littered with strange details, dreams and nightmares. Fantasies that should not be shared. I was not able to turn it off, so in the dream, or rather the nightmare, I was showered with people’s nasty thoughts and dirty secrets.”

“You are right, dad,” Milo said and shuddered. “But it was only a bad dream.”

“I know, but I have a hard time letting it go. Maybe I am just growing old. I should print some sleeping pills,” dad said. “I should leave. Let’s have a coffee next week.”

“Do that. I hope we both feel better soon,” Milo said.