Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) (72 page)

Alex nodded calmly.

‘
Thought
so!’ Ali seemed more pleased about that than otherwise; satisfied, at least, that he was right. ‘Simon wouldn’t say, but, you know, I wake up nine days out and all scraggy, like,’ he glanced down at himself and grimaced again, ‘Doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’ve been in a tank. So how bad was it? What’s the damage?’

‘You had serious head injuries – significant brain damage,’ Alex told him. ‘I am sorry, Mr Jezno, but I have to tell you that you will have some degree of memory loss. You were in a serious condition – so serious, indeed, that they had to call on me to make the decision.’

‘What? Oh!
The
decision,’ Ali realised, and did look shocked, then. ‘It was that close?’

Alex nodded. ‘It was that close,’ he confirmed. ‘Frankly, it came down to a choice – to accept that you were brain-dead, according to conventional medical practice, or to allow Simon to carry out radical, experimental surgery. I made that call, and you’re here, obviously, so you know which way I called it.’

‘Oh.’ Ali considered that, and was puzzling over it for more than a minute. It was a long time to sit in silence, but Alex just sat there, watching and waiting while Ali processed what he’d told him. ‘Well –
thanks
, skipper!’ he said. ‘Obviously, rather
not
be brain dead. But what’s he done, then?’ He reached up and was feeling with his fingertips around his skull and face, gently probing, mildly perplexed. ‘It
feels
all right,’ he said. ‘Am I missing a chunk of brain, or something?’

‘Or something,’ Alex said. ‘Part of your brain was damaged beyond repair, but Simon cloned replacement cells and rebuilt your frontal cortex.’

‘Cool!’ Ali said, looking quite impressed. ‘Is that why I’m feeling so funky? Brain in reboot, kind of thing?’

‘Something like that. Simon said you’ll feel disoriented for a while, till you can make sense of things,’ Alex told him. ‘Just give yourself time, Mr Jezno.’

‘Okay, skipper,’ Ali said, with a rueful look, but with some anxiety creeping in, too. ‘I
am
gonna be okay, though, right?’

Alex didn’t answer straight away, which was an answer in itself. Ali got very still, and his eyes were fixed on Alex’s face.

‘Am I gonna die?’ he asked, clearly suspecting that his condition
was
terminal and bracing himself to face it bravely.

‘What? No!’ Alex said, with instant and entirely convincing sincerity. ‘The surgery was successful and you’re making an
excellent
recovery – phenomenal, in fact, amazing to see you sitting up and talking – half the crew were in tears when they heard you were talking and having breakfast.’

‘Oh.’ He took some time to think about that, too, frowning with the effort.
‘That
close?’

‘We weren’t sure how much damage there would be,’ Alex said. ‘There was a chance you wouldn’t remember who you were, or have normal function.’

‘Oh. You mean I could have ended up a moron?’ Ali looked searchingly at him, apprehension rising again. ‘I’m
not
a moron, am I? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, skipper?’

‘No, you’re not a moron,’ Alex couldn’t help grinning at that. ‘The fact that you’re asking the question should
tell
you that you’re not. You have, I have to tell you, lost a small amount of brain function – Simon says that you have dropped a few IQ points, which is, as he says, an excellent outcome. You may find that you have to work a little harder to concentrate and learn things, but you’ll still rank high average IQ, all right? Our main concern is the memory loss. You lost a
lot
of memory, I’m afraid. Simon used a technique called rapid engramisation to help you rebuild as much of your memory as possible – that’s why you’ve been in the tank for so long. We’ve been showing you images, all the records we had about you. That’s why it feels like a dream – actually you
have
been dreaming, for days, forming new memories of what you did before.’

‘Freaky!’ Ali said, and having thought about it, ‘Like an upload from backup?’

‘No – more like running an algorithm to re-acquire scrambled data,’ Alex said. ‘The memories that seem dream-like are the reacquired ones. Simon says that, over time, you’ll reprocess and things will feel normal again. But that will take time, and I’m afraid that there will be blanks, some gaps.’

‘Yeah … I know, I’m missing some stuff,’ Ali said. ‘I know things that have happened but I don’t
feel
as if they really happened. And there’s stuff I can’t remember at all – like, high school, I know I
went
to high school and where it was and what exams I got, but I can’t remember anything about it, not who my mates were or anything. And I
can’t
figure out – I know my Dad died, but I can’t
remember
it, not when it happened or how I felt about it, and I know I don’t get on with my Mum. Simon asked about my family, see, and I told him my Dad’s dead and I haven’t seen my Mum since I was fourteen – I know I left home as soon as I turned fourteen, ran off to space and worked deckhand till I got in the Fleet, and I know, I don’t want anything to do with her, but I don’t know
why
. Will that clear up? Will I get my memories back?’

Alex shook his head. ‘Sorry. You may be able to fill in the gaps by asking people who know, but the original memories are gone.’

‘Oh.’ Ali looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together and gazing at the bone which showed through clenched knuckles. ‘I’m out, then, aren’t I?’ he said, in a trying-to-be-brave voice that was just desolate. ‘Brain damaged. Out on my ear.’

‘No.’ Alex said, and it would not have needed Simon pushing him to do the right thing. ‘Well, of course, if you
want
,’ he said, and as Ali glanced up at him, smiled. ‘You can certainly have a medical discharge if you want one, on full pension, go off and do whatever you want. But having snatched you from the jaws of death, as it were, I am rather hoping that you’ll stick around.’

Ali looked at him doubtfully.

‘Really?’ he said, because he knew Fleet policy on this as well as Alex did. ‘I could go back to work?’

‘Absolutely,’ Alex said. ‘Though I do have to tell you, I’m
really
sorry, but you will have to re-sit all your tests and exams to re-acquire qualifications.’

‘Aww,
skipper!’
Ali looked appalled. ‘Oh,
no!’
he lamented. ‘Eight years to do, all over again!’

‘No, it won’t be quite as bad as that,’ Alex assured him. ‘You do have quite a lot of your old memories and you’ll have picked up quite a bit from the re-acquire. We’ll have to identify what gaps there are, and there will be several months at least of retraining, but I will absolutely
not
bust you back to ordinary star and make you do it all over again – you’ll hold your rank while you’re in rehab, all right?’

‘Really?’ He saw the confirmation in Alex’s face, and relaxed. ‘
Thanks
, skipper.’ He let go a breath, shaking his head a little, ‘Woah. I really have taken a slammer, huh? You’re not joking with that ‘snatched from the jaws of death’ thing, are you?’

‘Not really, no.’ Alex said. ‘I have to tell you, Dr Tekawa wanted to call it. He was breaking his heart, but he said you were gone. Simon said he could save you but I had to give permission under medical power of attorney because it
was
experimental – you’re only the second patient he’s done this surgery on, it is radical, pioneering surgery, and it is still under review by the Medical Ethics Board. There are rules, ethical rules, about how much cloned material doctors are allowed to use in brain surgery, see. And Simon, he’s pushing at that limit… beyond that limit.’

Ali became very still.

‘How much?’ he asked, and seeing that Alex hesitated, pleaded, ‘I
have
to know, skipper.’

‘Thirty four per cent of your brain.’

There was another long silence while Ali took that in.

‘Thirty four per cent?’ He looked doubtful. ‘You can’t survive that.’

‘Evidently,’ Alex indicated him, ‘You can.’

‘But you’d be a
vegetable
,’ Ali said. ‘And I’m not a vegetable. Unless I am and I’m in a coma and just hallucinating this. I could be, right? I mean, how would I know?’

Alex reached out, took his hand, and gripped it, tight.

‘You’re not hallucinating,’ he said. ‘But you
are
a medical miracle. Your case will be studied by neurosurgeons right across the League, for sure, and written up in textbooks. You survived against massive odds, Mr Jezno. Simon saved you. He
is
a genius, as he frequently reminds us, and he has worked like a demon to save you – twenty seven hours of neurosurgery, for a start, and five days of round the clock intensive rehab.’

‘I owe him one, then,’ Ali observed. ‘Big time. But – thirty four per cent? If that much is gone, am I even the same person? Am I still me? Or am I like a ghost of myself, haunting my own body?’

Alex burst out laughing – just couldn’t help it, gripping Ali’s hand tightly again and grinning hugely at him.

‘Oh, you are very definitely and one hundred per cent
you
, Ali Jezno!’

‘Oh.’ Ali looked as if he wanted to believe it, but still, had his doubts. ‘Sure?’

‘
Positive
,’ Alex said, and Ali relaxed at that, breaking into an answering grin.

‘All right, skipper – I’ll take your word for it. But thirty four per cent, that’s freaky. Am I a kind of one third clone now, or what?’

‘You are Petty Officer Ali Jezno,’ Alex told him, firmly, ‘with a rebuilt frontal cortex. You’re not a clone or any other kind of thing, all right?’

‘Okay,’ Ali said, but his forehead was creased again, struggling with thought. ‘Out of the jaws of death by the skin of my teeth,’ he observed. ‘But that’s not it, is it, skipper? There’s
something
you’re not telling me.’

‘Would you accept ‘Trust me on this, you don’t need to know right now, leave it till you’re feeling stronger?’’ Alex enquired, and smiled ruefully as he saw the answer. ‘No, of course not. And fair enough, I wouldn’t, either. So, all right. Deep breath, Mr Jezno. There is a word, all right? Just a word – let’s call it the zed word. Doctors use it as medical jargon – as far as they’re concerned all it means is someone with more than thirty per cent brain replacement. Unfortunately, though, in
common
usage, it’s a word which carries a lot of baggage. That isn’t a problem
here
, in any way, we all know it’s just a medical term. Once we’re back in the League, though, and people hear about the surgery… the media... well, I’m sorry, Mr Jezno, I really am, I wish there was any way to protect you from it, but I’m afraid you are going to have to contend with a good deal of stupid, ignorant, hysterical reaction from people using the zed word about you.’

‘The zed word…’ Ali said, very slowly, and Alex could see him putting the pieces together. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, and the face he turned to Alex was wondering. ‘I’m a …’ he hesitated, stumbling over the word, then blurted it, ‘I’m a
zombie
?’

Alex was starting to speak, to tell him emphatically that he was
not
any kind of zombie or clone or anything other than himself, but he broke off as he saw that Ali was actually laughing.

‘
Cool!’
said Ali, his face alight with excitement. ‘I was dead! And now I’m a zombie! Can’t wait to tell
that
one at Jacksy’s!’

Jacksy’s was the Fourth’s hangout of choice, back at Therik – a traditional spacer bar aboard a freight station where they could have a drink and ‘swap the goss’, exchanging news and telling stories.

‘It
is
just a word, and no you’re
not
a zombie,’ Alex said, but he grinned, too, with relief at the way Ali was taking it. ‘It does have to be said, though,’ he conceded, ‘that I doubt you’ll ever have to buy another drink, again.’

‘I never do anyway,’ Ali said, and then looked thunderstruck. ‘Hey, I
know
that! I mean, really know it, for real. I remember, all these memories, hopping up on the bar…’ he held out a hand in unconscious echo, and Alex saw the Ali he had seen so often, getting ready to spin some yarn. He was known for his ghost stories, particularly, throughout the spacer community, and the news that Ali was going on the bar would pack any hangout to capacity. ‘Beer in the hand,’ Ali said, and took a ceremonious sip of an invisible drink, ‘Take a sup – look around,
got
them. That’s real, I
know
it is, that’s actually me.’

‘It certainly is,’ said Alex, and gripped his hand again, briefly, before releasing it. ‘You’ll do,’ he told him, and seeing that laughter was turning to tears, got up, then, tactfully heading over to the other side of sickbay and taking his time about getting Ali some tea.

Ali was wiping his eyes when the skipper came back, accepting the tea with a rather shamefaced ‘Ta.’ He knew what it would taste like, before he sipped it, and he knew that it was just the way he liked it, too. ‘Thanks, skipper,’ he said, and settled back down, then, with a sigh. ‘I’m shattered,’ he admitted.

‘Good,’ said Alex, and smiled. ‘I would be worried,’ he explained, ‘if you thought you were fine. Feeling shattered and emotional is absolutely normal and healthy at this stage of post-op recovery, all right? So just rest, now – let Simon take care of you. I know, he is the most annoying person in the universe, but you could not be in better hands.’

‘Hey!’ Ali was starting to say something, then realisation dawned.
‘I
said that! I told him that if there was a competition for the most annoying person in the universe, he’d win! That was
weeks
ago, when he was on at me for skipping breakfast. Oh, that is so weird! It’s like thinking something was a dream but then something clicks and you know it was real.’

‘You’re assimilating memories,’ Alex told him. ‘Simon said you’d do that, as you make sense of things. And that
will
take time, so don’t try to force it. Just rest, and get your strength up.’ He grinned. ‘You’re going to need it,’ he predicted, ‘to cope with all the visitors.’