Authors: Vincent Trigili
“Interesting distinction,” I commented, but it made sense and was worth noting. “Whatever is going on, I’ll be happier once that’s behind us.”
“Then you’re in luck,” said Raquel. “Resden will have an agent here in a few hours to speak with them.”
“Did you report all of this to the council yet?” I asked.
“Yes. They are up to date, and I was assured that they’d back me on this,” she said.
“Great,” I said. I left the bridge and headed for the station. I figured Marcus and Purwryn would probably already be heading for Marcus’ check up.
On the two occasions I’d previously visited the station, I had stayed on the Night Wisp. It wasn’t common practice for patients to actually come into the hospital unless their need was beyond what could be dealt with on the ship. Dr. Hawthorne had invited me to his office; otherwise I would have stayed on the Night Wisp as I had last time. I gathered that being citizens meant the station was now open to us.
The hospital was a very large station, and I quickly found myself lost in its twists and turns. I kept wandering around until I found what I thought to be an information desk.
“Excuse me, but I seem to be lost,” I explained.
The woman behind the desk looked up at me and smiled. “That happens a lot. Where are you trying to get to?”
“Dr. Hawthorne’s office,” I said.
“Ah. Well, you’re in the wrong section of the station for that. This is the maternity wing,” she said and gave me directions to the correct section, which was quite a walk from there.
While I walked, I took some time to look at the staff and visitors to the station. Most seemed normal enough, but some really stood out: they were dressed in robes instead of more traditional clothing, and everyone gave them a wide berth. Most of them were physically unimpressive and none of them was armed, but it was clear that they were respected and possibly feared by most.
As I turned down the final corridor to the section with Dr. Hawthorne’s office, two uniformed men stopped me. They were wearing battle armor and looked like warriors, apart from the lack of weapons. I wondered if weapons were banned on the station.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this corridor is restricted,” said one of the guards.
“I have an appointment to see Dr. Hawthorne,” I told him. I was surprised by their posture. It should have been obvious that even with their battle armor I could easily toss them aside, and their lack of weapons meant they couldn’t stop me, but they had no fear of me at all. I was easily twice their bulk and that normally caused people to be intimidated.
“Wait here,” said one of the guards as he walked off. The second guard stayed in position, blocking my path. It was so rare to see anyone stand before me completely undaunted by my size that I was tempted to test him, to see if he could back up that fearless stance with action
.
I knew that would be foolish so I distracted myself with idle conversation. “I’m new here. What’s the deal with the people in robes?”
A look of surprise crossed his face. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they seem to have some authority, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone dressed like that before,” I said.
“You mean the wizards?” he replied.
“Wizards?” I repeated.
“Yes. The robes signify that they’re wizards and the color indicates their rank,” he said.
I wanted to hear more about that, but the second guard came back and said, “All right, follow me.”
He left the other man alone at the entrance, which I felt was foolish, but maybe it was because there was no expectation of real problems on the station. That would be odd, considering that just a few months ago the station had come under attack and had a long history of living on the edge of danger.
We traveled down several corridors filled with offices until he finally stopped at one.
“He’s in there,” said the guard.
“Thanks,” I replied.
He nodded and walked away.
On entering the office, I found Dr. Hawthorne sitting at his desk working on something on his computer. His office was neat and decorated with various paintings and sculptures which I couldn’t identify. I assumed that they were valuable in some way or at least significant to him
, but to me it was all just random decorations.
He stood to greet me as I came in. “Ah, Zah’rak! I’m glad you could make it!”
I was at a loss for a reply. Narcion had been much smoother at dealing with officials than I was; it was another thing I would miss about working with him. “Thanks for having us.”
“Please sit down,” said Dr. Hawthorne. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks,” I said. I found a chair that looked sturdy enough to hold me. “You wanted to talk about Shira?”
“Yes,” he said, sitting on his desk. “Shea contacted us and sent on Shira’s records just before they left the region. Last time we spoke I hadn’t made the connection, but after further research into her case I identified her as Shea’s patient.”
“She met with Shea for a few hours when we crossed paths with the Nemesis,” I said.
“Yes,” said Dr. Hawthorne, nodding. “Shea’s report is that Shira is suffering from depression and post-traumatic stress from her experiences. This is of course completely normal, given what she went through, but I wanted to let you know.”
“What can we do about it?” I asked.
Dr. Hawthorne smiled and drank from a mug next to his computer. “Based on my last conversation with her, I’d say keep on doing what you’re doing. You gave her a job on the craft, one that’s solely her responsibility and is valuable to the ship. You also involve her in the missions; while they are dangerous, that means she feels she’s doing penance for her actions.”
“But it wasn’t her fault! The necromancer had an implant in her brain. She has nothing to feel guilty about,” I said.
“On a purely logical level you’re right, but she still experienced it; she went through the actions. She heard the screams and saw the devastation. Logic has no sway over this,” he said.
“What’s my next step, then?” I knew he was right. All freed slaves dealt with negative emotions on some level, but I didn’t know any who had seen the things she had. Shira refused to talk about that time, but I knew it haunted her sleep. I wished there was something more I could do, but nothing I had tried so far had worked.
“I think we should evaluate her psychological condition again, and see how it compares to Shea’s report.”
“She doesn’t want to come on to the station to see you,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“She didn’t say, but I think she fears being around crowds. She did agree to see you if you came on board.”
“Astute observation; I suspect you’re right. Very well, then. Once I’m finished with Marcus, I’ll get Dr. Leslie and we’ll meet you at your ship.”
“Dr. Leslie? Is she the doctor you had with you when we spoke last?”
“Yes, and she’s a former slave herself. As she and Shira are both human females and former slaves, that may help to ease the tension a little. That’s merely an educated guess, however, and we’ll have to see how it plays out as we go. I assure you we will do everything we can for her, but not without your permission.”
That seemed reasonable, though I hardly felt qualified to make any decisions about her mental care. “Okay. That seems like a wise plan. Could we schedule it for tomorrow, after the breakfast hour?”
He got up and checked his computer. “Sure, that will be fine.”
Purwryn looked pensive. He asked, “Marcus, are you ready for this?”
He and I were in the ship’s mess as the Night Wisp docked with the hospital station. Thanks to my Cyborg connections to the ship’s systems, I realized we were landing in a bay instead of docking externally. “Interesting. I wonder what’s happening?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
I had to remind myself that he couldn’t hear or sense the things I could. “We’re landing in a bay.”
“Odd,” he said. Then his face lit up with a smile. “I bet Crivreen is trying to get the Night Wisp some upgrades.”
The Night Wisp was an older craft, but she was solid and reliable. Crivreen was too young to appreciate the advantages of tried-and-true stability over cutting-edge upgrades. “He might get them this time.” My internal communications system was picking up unsecured traffic between Crivreen and the dock. He was excitedly talking over options with someone station-side and, despite his excitement, he was making very reasonable and sensible requests. The station engineers seemed to be enjoying his interest and encouraging it.
“You never answered my question,” Purwryn said, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, puzzled. “Oh, you asked if I’m ready. Ready for what?”
“To go openly onto the station as a Cyborg,” he replied.
I struggled to understand his point. There was no sense in doing what he suggested. “Why would I do that? I’m just going to see the doctors as I’ve always done. They’ll keep things confidential and no one will be the wiser.”
“So you’re going to keep your cover, then?” he asked.
Primitives like Purwryn were hard to understand sometimes. I couldn’t fathom why he thought I would drop my cover; all that would achieve would be more trouble with the locals and more people at risk. I searched through my memory net for the most appropriate response in this kind of situation and went with a lopsided grin. “No reason to change now.”
He shrugged. “I’ll check with the station and find out the time of your checkup.”
I didn’t need a checkup. I knew the exact condition of every one of my implants, but there was no harm in getting one and it would allay everyone’s concerns. It was important that I kept up my cover as someone who’d needed help and luckily fell among them. If they ever suspected the truth, my mission would fail.
They were a strange group, behaving like a family even though there were at least three or four races of primitives represented among them. I had even been treated like family, although they barely knew me. It was hard not to like them and want to be part of their team, but I had obligations to fulfill. I couldn’t be drawn into caring about them; that might jeopardize my chances later.
“Sounds like we have a couple of hours,” said Purwryn.
“Good. Let’s go on board and check the station’s vendors,” I said.
“Marcus, this is a hospital, not a trading hub,” said Purwryn.
“I know that, but hospitals sell medical supplies and I could use some spare parts. I had to leave mine behind when our ship crashed.” I actually wanted to see the current top-of-the-line technology for implants. This hospital had a reputation for being advanced far beyond the rest of the sector; no doubt it was greatly exaggerated, but even allowing for that they should have some very interesting options. I might even ask for some upgrades while here, if I could think of a good excuse.
“Oh, sure. That makes sense. I’ll download a map of the station onto my armor’s computers,” he said.
It was strange that primitives hated the idea of Cyborgs having enhancements wired into them, but they went out of their way to carry similar equipment on their person or in their pockets. Unlike most of the crew, Purwryn always wore his battle armor. This armor was amazing; I had not seen the like of it anywhere before. It looked normal to the untrained eye, but it was far from that. The armor fitted perfectly, almost like a second skin, and it was capable of self-repair. It was closer to an exoskeleton than anything else. If I could figure out how it worked and modify my own skin to work the same way, I’d be nigh unstoppable.
They all had armor like that, but the others only donned it when needed. Zah’rak was apparently making a set for me also but needed more supplies, which would hopefully be delivered to this station soon. Having my own set would be both a blessing and a curse. It would be great to have extra protection, but I’d be foolish to compromise it by trying reverse engineering. No, I’d have to get a second set somehow.
Purwryn had a small computer console on his wrist, and another in his helmet computer to control the systems in his armor. I had the same type of controls; they were simply part of me instead of separate. It was such a small step for a primitive to evolve by melding with the equipment they already used. I couldn’t understand why they hated the idea so much. Shrugging off that thought, I downloaded the map to my local memory net and followed him off the ship.
We left the docking bays and headed towards the center section of the station where most of the visitor facilities were located. The station was very busy and apparently in the middle of a massive remodel. Everywhere I looked there were construction crews doing something.
Men and women dressed in full battle armor were patrolling, but they had no visible weapons. This worried me. If something went wrong I had a good chance against armed primitives, but if these guards were unarmed that meant they were probably magi. A quick search of public records for the region confirmed my suspicions. This was a wizard-controlled station, and that meant the guards were all battle wizards. That was far worse, as battle wizards would be combat-trained, unlike the local magi who were often more of a danger to themselves than anyone else.
Men and women in robes also came and went throughout the station, and these posed even more of a threat than the battle wizards. The battle wizards were a new order of wizard, according to my internal database; each was deadly, but still in early training. The station staff wearing robes, however, were a different matter. The purple and green clothes indicated that they were higher-ranking and far more powerful than the newly-formed battle wizards, most of whom wore red armor to signify their lower rank.
“We should be able to find what you’re looking for around here somewhere,” said Purwryn, interrupting my internal survey of the station.
I smiled at him while he worked on the map and tried to figure out where we were in relation to it. Gently turning him, I pointed to a sign that clearly indicated where we needed to go. “You could fight with that map, or we could just go that way.”
“Sure, if you want to cheat, I guess we can,” he said and headed towards the store.