The Long Goodbye

CHAPTER TEN

Lehman awoke, in his bed and alone. The sheets beside him had been thrown back, and there was
no trace of Kyndi. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and reached out to his comm device, checking local
time. It was late, early evening by local time. No doubt his partner was still glued to her dataslate.

Well, who can blame her?
The man felt a twinge of guilt as he rose from bed. He’d wanted to have been there for her, to be
at her side as she explored her broken past. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d succumbed to his fatigue and
fallen asleep, leaving the woman alone.
There was no urgent need to leave, so the man pulled on a pair of flight trousers and collarless
shirt that buttoned on top, slipping his jacket over it. Like most vessels the B​ etrayal​ was naturally a bit
cold inside, by design and because a slight chill was more conducive to pilot awareness than comforting
warmth.
The living area was empty, as were the corridors. There was no noise, nothing that suggested the
presence of another human being on board the ship. Lehman chuckled.
Probably lighting up some o-head on the hangar roof like last time. It’s been awhile for her.
The man turned back, having a cup of coffee and pulling on some socks and flight boots. It was
an emotional time for Kyndi to be sure, and he still wasn’t certain whether being at her side or respecting
her privacy was the better course of action. But coffee in the morning always was.
Lehman finished the beverage, alone and with still no sign of his partner. He shook his head and
placed the mug in the washing unit. Kyndi was probably high. Or still glued to her dataslate. Or passed
out.
That woman…
There was business to see to and things to pack. Shopping for a new ship was simultaneously
simple and complex. For members of the Pilot’s Federation it was a straightforward purchase- but the
actual task of choosing one far from easy. He’d need her to be at his side, her input as valuable as his. It
was ​their f​ uture ship, after all.
The hunter- was he still one?- strode down the main corridor, approaching the entryway. He
paused, eyeing the controls. The ramp had already been lowered.
So she is outside. Figures.
The man opened the door and descended down the ramp, the evening chill nipping at his skin.
Like inside the ship, the hangar was deserted save himself. Outside he could hear the background noise of
heavy rain falling against the roof. At his feet was a now-familiar object. Matt bent down, picking up
Randy the Raccoon. Its back had been torn open, a powdery substance mixing with the stuffing. He
scooped a pair of fingers into the mass. It was fine and almost invisibly coated his skin, leaving the same
chalky texture he’d felt on Kyndi.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. ​What the hell?
His eyes drifted upward. The door to the roof was cracked open.
Something’s wrong.
One foot stepping cautiously in front of the other, Lehman made his way up the flaking industrial
stairway. With an outstretched hand he pushed on the door, hearing it creak and seeing the rain falling in
torrents. Outside the sun was low on the horizon, casting a dying pallor over the township through the
rainclouds. For a moment, the man saw nothing. Then a familiar whimper greeted him.
In the corner of the roof was Kyndi, soaked and hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes were
dark and bloodshot, her body rocking slightly back and forth. It was obvious that she’d been weeping.
Matt’s breath died in his throat. ​Oh, hell. What now?
“Darlin’- what’s-”
Her gaze focused and snapped to him, wet hair clinging to her face.
“Stay away from me!”
Lehman halted, swallowing. Slowly, he held up a hand.
“Look- darlin’- I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but-”
The woman scrambled to her feet, reaching behind herself and drawing the same Cauldus pistol,
pointing it at Matt. The hunter was stunned, unable to speak. Kyndi’s eyes were wild, dominated by feral
fear and anger. For a long time, neither spoke. Matt dropped the stuffed animal, the mysterious powder
bubbling and dissolving in the rain.
Finally, Kyndi’s lips moved, trembling words escaping them.
“There wasn’t a dogfight, was there? Over New Accra.”
Swallowing, the man put his hands up.
“No.”
A manic smile lifted the woman’s lips.
“I k​ now​ there wasn’t. But I remember it. I remember it as clearly as flying out here and finding
you between those two airheads. I saw the laser fire, and the smoke from their engines, and them crashing
down outside the city…”
“Darlin’...”
Kyndi’s manic smile widened, holding her arms wide in a nihilistic shrug, rain dripping from her
clothes. “But it didn’t happen. None of it did.”
Matt took a cautious step forward, his heart pounding. A quick glance around confirmed that
there wasn’t any narcotics paraphernalia. His mind raced to explain what Kyndi was thinking.
“Look… I don’t know what’s happening. Just put down the gun, okay? Put down the gun and tell
me-”
He took another step towards her. Kyndi re-centered the pistol on his chest.
“I​ said to stay away!”
Lehman froze, breathing hard and not knowing what to do. Kyndi’s words fell from her mouth.
“It was all a fake. All of it. My parents, my memories- everything. It was in the encrypted part of
the disc- the r​ eal​ security recordings. Who my parents ​really​ were. Who ​I​ really am.”
The woman’s eyes were darting back and forth, her hand still gripping the gun. Matt swallowed.
There was real fear in her features, not the instability of narcotics. The woman was terrified, her gaze on
Randy the Raccoon.
“Darlin’, I-”

“It was the stuffed animal, Matty. Stuffed with some kind of drug. Something that gets absorbed
through the skin. Something that wipes out your memory and replaces it with whatever someone ​else
wants. That’s how they did it. That’s why my memories are so simple.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t underst-”
The woman’s eyes flared. “T​ hey were kidnappers. I​ was different, a child who could code and
hack like it was a game. Worth a fortune to the right interest. So they took me and stuffed me full of drugs
with that damn toy. And whenever it was time to shove a new memory into me, all they had to do was say
the trigger phrase.”
“Darlin’... I-”
A tear rolled down Kyndi’s cheek.
“‘It’s a big universe, and anything can happen’. Ring a bell?”
Matt froze. ​Oh, hell…
“It was the only thing I remembered them saying. The thing I clung to. They took me, they tried
to sell me, but the deal went south. So they stole a ship and fled.”
The women lowered the gun, pacing back and forth.
“All this time. All this time, and I never questioned it. But you were right. W​ hy​ should some kid
and her family always have to hack their own ship? To never have a life outside of each other? But I
never questioned it. It was just how things were, my normal. There was only the month of security
footage. I thought ​that​ was a glitch, too- but it wasn’t.”
The woman’s face hardened.
“They were flying around, looking for a buyer, and keeping their heads down. And ​I​ was keeping
Randy the Raccoon on me, living some blissful bullshit life and absorbing the drug that let them re-write
my memories whenever they felt like it.”
Matt kept his hands up, the rain running down his jacket.
“Darlin’... just come inside. This ain’t-”
The woman spun, bearing her teeth.
“This ain’t w​ hat,​ Matty? Sane? Real? Healthy? They weren’t just kidnappers. They were fugitives
who destroyed who I was. And when the Kumos finally caught us, they weren’t boarding some innocent
explorer ship. They were b​ ringing me back to my home.​ They even told me. They told me again and again
and again. But I didn’t believe them. So they wrote me off, sent me to live as a common slave with
nothing but my false memories.”
Matt’s jaw dropped. “Wait- you’re sayin’-”
Kyndi’s mouth hardened. “I​ ’m from Pegasi.​ Always have been. But that’s not the worst of it.”
The man hesitated, afraid to say the wrong thing. Kyndi’s face twisted into desperate contempt.
“Y​ ou​ knew. ​You ​knew the trigger phrase and you used it. ​You u​ sed it to make me think you were
some hero.”
Matt’s breath caught in his throat.
Oh, hell. She thinks that-
“Darlin’, I-”
The woman raised the pistol, stopping him.
“​You knew.​”
Matt shook his head. “I swear that I didn’t mean to-”

He was cut off. “But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? You walking into the same bar
as me and flashing the same artifact that I​ ’d​ been looking for. Getting my attention. Gaining my trust.
Telling me that sob story from when you were a merc and then rescuing that little girl. Making me think
you were in it for us.”

“I-”
Kyndi exploded, spittle flying from her lips.
“W​ as there ever a little girl? Was there ever an us?”
Her unstable eyes bored into his. Matt swallowed.
“Look- I don’t much know what’s goin’ on, but you’ve got to trust me. We can figure this out.”
The gun remained pointed at his chest. A look of heartbreak spread over Kyndi’s face.
“And why should I believe you? You, the man who keeps turning up in my life? You, the man
who just h​ appens t​ o know the trigger phrase? You, who wants to take me all the way to Colonia? How
did you find out about me? ​Why should I believe a fucking word you say?”
Matt drew himself up to his full height, standing tall amid the rain. He was losing her, and he
knew it.
“B​ ecause I love you, Kyndi Jane McCaskill!”
The woman shrunk, a single sob escaping her lips. Mascara-stained tears now flowed from her
eyes. Her voice was a broken whisper, her head slowly shaking.
“No…”
Her finger squeezed the trigger.
“No, no, n​ o…”
The first energy bolt hit Matt squarely in the chest, sending him staggering. The second impacted
his shoulder, spinning him around. The man tried to cry out but couldn’t, his muscles and lungs seizing
up. A third bolt dropped him to his knees, splashing in a shallow puddle.
Kyndi stepped forward, a trembling hand still keeping the gun pointed at Matt. His face was pale,
his eyes rolled back into his head as he fought his own body for control. He squeezed his eyes shut and
refocused them, channeling all his strength into holding out an arm, barely able to breathe.
“Darlin’... ​please…​”
Kyndi swallowed, allowing her heartbreak to consume her. “I t​ old​ you not to follow me.”
A final blast to the stomach toppled the man forward, his face hitting the hard rooftop. The
splashing of heels on water filled his ears as she walked away, pausing to look over her shoulder.
“Just like old times, huh? At the end of the day, we are what we are. I’m Kyndi Jane McCaskill,
and I stay free. Even from ​you.”​
Without another word, the woman walked away, the pistol dropping from her hand. On the
horizon the sun finished setting, enveloping the man in darkness. His body gave out and he rolled to his
side, muscles twitching and nerves on fire. The last thing he saw of Kyndi was a confident stride away
from him.
Just like before...
Gulping, the man willed himself to rise to his hands and knees, crawling after the woman. But it
was no use. His body collapsed, his limbs refusing to obey the commands screamed at them.
Kyndi...

The nighttime rain wetted the man’s hair. A nonstop ​tap tap tap​ fell around him, drowning out the
sound of the woman’s boots as she walked away. The rain fell hard, soaking the paralysed man. He paid it
no mind. Hopes of times to come cried out from within him, doomed to die a lingering death.

So this is how it ends. Not from old age. Not from a job goin’ south. It was the truth that
destroyed us, and the role I had in helpin’ her find it.

The first tears from the man’s eyes mixed with the rain soaking his face. He found it within
himself to laugh, embittered to his soul. He had given his all to Kyndi, prepared to leave everything
behind for the sake of making a life together. He’d endeavored to build her up, to make her whole again-
only to watch her be destroyed by the quest for her past. From the depths of his misery, his father’s words
came back to haunt him.

“Son, there’s only one thing worse than not getting what you want: getting it.”

EPILOGUE

The woman was drawn and haggard, wearing clothes better suited for someone decades younger.
Her hair was dead and split at the ends, streaks of dull grey mixing with an unnatural shade of purple.
Tooth pits formed around her lips, jowls forming along her jaw. Her neck was beginning to wrinkle, her
breasts slack beneath a stained tank top with a faded Pilot’s Federation logo on it. Once-brilliant tattoos
were faded and distorted, the looser skin of her chest and arms doing them no favors.

She was drunk, but that wasn’t unusual. No one else at the bar knew her story- or at least her real
story. The woman wasn’t employed as far as they knew, and didn’t have a life beyond sitting by herself
and telling tales to anyone who would listen. She’d once been a pilot, she insisted. A real one, too defiant
to paint the familiar wings of the guild on her ship. But then she would have another drink and her tales
would turn to the fanciful. Her life had been one of adventure and romance, running with outlaws and
bounty hunters alike, back when independent pilots had been the royalty of the void.

Night after night for years, the same scrubby townsfolk had listened to the same tired tales of
smuggling and roguery, rolling their eyes when she insisted that she’d once had her pick of handsome
young men. But the polite excuses to sit elsewhere didn’t come until she’d arrive at her tale’s inevitable
conclusion- the rambling, self-pitying monologue of how she lost her way. It was her fault, she always
liked to say. Her fault that life had offered her true love only to have her scorn it in a moment of tearful
weakness.

From there she would sit by herself, speaking to no one in particular but slurring out the rest of
her life story regardless: that she’d continued as before, competent at her trade but never forgiving
herself for what she’d done. Then she broke down, selling her ship and living off the proceeds, waiting
ever since for her long-lost love to walk into the right bar at the right time.

One day, she always said. One day he’ll find me. It’s a big universe, and anything can happen...

Kyndi woke, covered in sweat and stinking of booze. She’d had the dream again, the one that
robbed her of sleep no matter how hard she saturated herself with alcohol. For a moment she gulped air,
her eyes burning and her heart pounding. Everything was different since she’d discovered the truth. She

was adrift, not knowing who she was or where she came from. Certainly she didn’t know who could be
trusted.

The smuggler rose, one hand braced against the bulkhead for support. Her bare feet kicked aside
empty bottles of liquor on the way to her ship’s washroom. She was in midst of another bender, financed
by flying out into deep space, loading and then selling a secret haul of onionhead, stashed away inside a
derelict T-9. Her plan had been to wait until prices were sky-high and reap the profits, but the herb was
from the original Federal crackdown and had grown stale. She sold it for a pittance, but didn’t care.

The image of her down-and-out future self haunted her vision, and for a long time Kyndi stared
into the mirror. Her perception floated and distorted, the alcohol playing tricks- but she was still her old
self. She was still young, she told herself. Still beautiful. Yet her mind knew no peace.

She thumbed a lock of purple hair, thick and luscious between her fingers. Yet it wasn’t like it had
been even a year ago. The ends were splitting more than they used to, and it was slightly easier for her to
rake her fingers through her long tresses than it had been in times past.

Her hand drifted down to cup a breast, still full and firm. Yet there were tiny marks on her chest,
slowly stretching from the weight of the fatty tissue. The pink tip between her fingers sat lower than it had
in her teen years, a definite fold gradually forming against her chest at the bottom of the swell. She
swallowed and leaned in closer.

Her face had ever borne the worst of her self-abuse. The whites of her eyes were shot through
with red, her body ever trying to repair the damage done in the name of self-medication. Her skin was
mottled in places, bags forming around her eyes more often than not. The first hints of lines were growing
over her face, years of poor sleep taking their toll. Her pores were fighting a losing battle against the
narcotics that seeped from them, giving her features a ruddy texture.

The woman frowned. It wouldn’t be today or tomorrow or even this decade- but one day she
would be the woman in her dream, drunk and pathetic and washed up, telling tales of her youth to anyone
who would listen. And she would be alone.

There was still time, a tiny voice insisted. Time to make things right, to get clean and make
amends. Yet the voice was drowned within a larger tide of despair. The damage was done and the bridges
burned. She was what she was- a lost soul, knowing nothing of itself or the love it craved. She was a
waste, a nobody who would only poison the journey of those around her.

In that moment, the woman known as Kyndi Jane McCaskill- was it even her real name?-
succumbed to the darkness within. Her fingers groped around the ship’s sink, finding a half-drunk bottle
of cheap liquor from Alliance space. Without even tasting the liquid she drained it in one pull.

The woman steadied herself, looking at the reflection from the other side of the mirror. Who is
she, she found herself wondering. Who am I? Her mind dwelled on the question for but a moment. In the
end, all she had was herself and her mantra. Once it had been a source of strength. Now it was a sentence
of lonely damnation.

My name is Kyndi Jane McCaskill, she thought. And I stay free.