The Archer's Paradox - The Travis Fletcher Chronicles (4 page)

She got the impression that he was being flippant and oversimplifying the situation for the sake of a quick explanation and that there were some deeper and more painful memories that he had no intention of sharing with her.

“There was nothing that we could do for the survivors.” he looked down at the floor for a moment. “They were beyond even the resources of this ship. We managed to get two hundred and fifty out before it was too late. They live with us and work on the ship’s systems. It was their payment for our help.” The Journalist looked puzzled. “We are mercenaries when all is said and done. Their planet was dying and will be uninhabitable for over a hundred years, but they want to be able to return home eventually and they are probably the best engineers in the galaxy. They have made some modifications to this ship that even the original designers never thought of. The arrangement works well
for both of us.” he shrugged slightly. “After a while, if we find a planet they can live on undisturbed until they can go home again, they will be free to leave, if that’s what they want, but I would be sorry to see them go.”

An unbidden tear streaked The Journalist’s cheek, how could a whole race be destroyed because of another’s greed? Then she remembered Earth’s less than exemplary history: the Aztecs, the American Indians, the African pygmies, all decimated because of greed, stupidity and arrogance. She turned her attention back to The Mercenary who had just had his vodka refreshed.

“So, the train crashed. What happened next?”

**********

“He’s awake.”

“Hello, can you tell me your name?”

“No reaction.”

“Hello, can you hear me? What is your name?”

“Still nothing.”

His head felt stuffed with cotton wool and his vision revealed nothing more than indistinct blurs moving against a blurred background, like trying to watch television through frosted glass. He tried to form words but nothing came out, the effort tired him and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

He awoke again, feeling disorientated and momentarily unsure of where he was; as if he had just come out of a long deep sleep. He brushed the cobwebs from his mind; his sight cleared enough to see a nurse in a clean, starched uniform passing by the end of his bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” she spoke in a very matter-of-fact manner that only nurses use; “I’ll fetch the doctor.” Travis was in a small clean room, alone. He could see a door at the extreme left of his field of view.

A few minutes later the doctor appeared. He was a short, stocky Sikh with a sparse black beard and was wearing a grey turban. He smiled, his white teeth contrasting his swarthy complexion. Travis thought idly that he looked like an urban guerrilla and should be wearing camouflage and carrying an Uzi, rather than a white coat and stethoscope.

“Hello, I am Doctor Lota. Do you know where you are?” His English was impeccable, just a hint of an accent.

I’m guessing by your attire and my surroundings that I am in hospital, something to do with a train crash probably.
Travis replied sarcastically, attempting to mimic his off-hand style.

“Can you tell me your name?” A light shone in each eye momentarily.

You can call me Mr …

“Still no reaction.” the doctor shook his head and muttered to himself as he scribbled on his clipboard.

Oi, I’m talking here!

“Can you hear me? Blink if you can hear me.” Lights flashed in his eyes again.

He tried furiously to comply.
Yes I can hear you and I’ll poke you in the fucking ear if you ignore me again.
The doctor shook his head and tutted to himself as he left the room. The nurse bustled round the bed tucking in the corners.
Where’s he going? I haven’t finished talking with him. Where’s everyone else? Where’s the rest of my family?
The nurse looked at him, a slight pitying look in her eyes and headed for the door. Bewildered by everyone’s attitude he called out,
Nurse!
He made to get out of bed and follow the nurse but nothing happened. He tried again, nothing moved. A lock of hair had fallen over his eyes and he tried to push it out of the way. No hand appeared in front of his face. Bewilderment gave way to concern as he cast about the room to find a bell to call a nurse. His view remained unchanged, his head did not move on command, not even his eyes would swivel. Concern now gave way to panic. He felt as though he was being held immobile by unseen forces. The more he struggled against his unseen bonds with no result, the more panic stricken he became. His heart began to race and his breathing came in short sharp pants as he began to lose all sense of reason. He screamed, long and loud. An alarm sounded in the distance.

“He’s hyperventilating, going into shock! Get the doctor!”

“Ease off on the oxygen, he’s getting too much.”

“Dopamine, ten mcg!”

“Pulse is slowing, breathing normal, ok I think he’s stable again.”

“Nurse, introduce PHP into his IV, that should help to keep him stable”

“Yes doctor.”

Extreme fatigue washed over his body and he slipped into troubled sleep. He was flying over the train again as it careered out of control. His vision zoomed in and he saw his sister with a piece of metal the size of an arm through her chest, his father, flung through the carriage window as it then toppled on to him. His grandmother, already dead of heart failure, never felt the table that ripped from its moorings and crushed her frail body. Big cousin Pat desperately dragged the injured out of harm’s way until the girder ripped open the carriage and cut Pat in half. The vision took Travis from one end of the carriage to the other, showing all his family lying dead in the mangled wreckage. The vision zoomed back outside where he hung upside down for a long moment before plummeting head first towards the ground.

He awoke with a start. The room was empty but he could see movement beyond the door.

Hello?
No answer.
Can anyone hear me?
No answer. He tried to get a better view of the door but nothing moved. He waited, troubled by his dream. Was it a dream? It was too vivid, he remembered every detail. His brain recoiled in shock as he unwittingly brought up the carnage that had been laid before him.

Two men entered with Dr Lota. One wore a cheap suit that was crumpled and shiny from too much wear, the other the uniform of a police officer.

“You say he had no identification on him when he was brought in?” The one in the cheap suit was saying.

“No,” replied Dr Lota, “We know nothing about him except that he was in the toilet when the train crashed.”

“How did you determine that? I gather he was thrown clear of the train.”

“His trousers were round his ankles.” said the doctor, matter-of-factly. The officer sniggered.

Oi, do you mind?
Interjected Travis,
I am here you know
.

“Can he talk?”

Of course I can, shit for brains
.

“He has been totally unresponsive since he regained consciousness.”

No I haven’t, you’re just not listening!
Travis was getting annoyed.

“What are his injuries?”

“We have surmised that he struck a telegraph pole after being flung from the crashing train and has multiple fractures in his arms, legs and chest, his spleen is ruptured, he has one collapsed lung, a pierced kidney and his spine is broken in a number of places. He is completely reliant on life support machines.” Travis was stunned; his brain locked on the conversation and replayed it again and again.

“The Railway Inspectorate are crawling over the wreckage now,” the detective in the cheap suit said in an offhand manner, “we should know more about your mystery patient soon, but it looks like he was the only survivor from the front carriages.”

The men left, he was alone to relive his nightmare and contemplate this disturbing conversation.

**********

Time passed. A routine was struck. He knew it was morning when the nurse came in to check his charts and said “Good morning”, he would reply but the nurse would ignore him. The same thing happened in the afternoon and the evening. He had no other visitors save the occasional doctor. He got to know the shift patterns and gave each nurse a name based on their looks and voice. Three times a week a doctor, usually Dr Lota, would come in and test his reflexes. They always asked his name and always ignored the answer. He was waiting for ‘Nurse Marylyn’ to come in; she was blonde and had that husky voice you only get from smoking forty cigarettes a day.

“Good morning, Mr Fletcher.” Right on queue but this morning was different. Accompanying Nurse ‘Marylyn’ were Dr Lota and four colleagues. Dr Lota conversed in hushed whispers and compared notes with two, while the other two, a man and a woman, stood at the end of the bed regarding him with curiosity while Nurse ‘Marylyn’ busied herself checking his IV drip.

“They’re discussing whether or not to switch off these machines that are keeping you alive.” the male waved an elegant arm at the array of devices surrounding Travis’ bed.

What?
Travis was alarmed, firstly by what the man had said, secondly because no one had spoken directly to him for weeks without asking his name and ignoring the answer.

“They’re going to end your life, but then to them you are already dead.” Nurse ‘Marylyn’ continued checking drips and needles, oblivious to the conversation taking place. “Your whole family died in that accident, you have no one left and they cannot cure you, so they are going to turn off these machines and let you die.” the man continued.

The nurse looked at him sympathetically for a moment before turning to Dr Lota. “Do you need me, doctor?”

“No, thank you nurse.” Nurse ‘Marylyn’ left. The three doctors approached the bed and repeated tests that had been done so many times before, ignoring the two strangers at the end of the bed. They retired to a corner in a huddle of shaking heads then left the room.

The man made as if to speak but the woman cut him off, “Are you sure? Is this the best we can do?” her tone was tinged with venom. “He is barely sentient, only just managing to walk erect and his link to The Originals is tenuous at best. He disgusts me, this whole place disgusts me.”

“Your views are noted, Xnuk Ek’. He is the best and the only.”

“Have you considered the others?”

“They have been considered and rejected. They have families and acquaintances so would be missed. Their leaving would upset the equilibrium of this planet and The Originals no longer wield any influence here.”

“Let the equilibrium of this cesspool be damned!” her silver eyes flashed with contempt. “Our existence is at stake. If we fail, we are extinct, and everything we have ever achieved will die.”

They turned to consider the broken form before them, but there was neither pity nor compassion in their eyes. Travis felt like a lobster trapped in a tank in a restaurant and he was the only choice for dinner. The visitors were both about seven feet tall and wearing close fitting grey jumpsuits. She was slimly built with silver irises which stood out against her dark tanned skin, whereas he was stocky with ebony skin, a wide flat nose and dark golden eyes. His wiry hair was jet black and pushed back over his high forehead. Hers, in contrast, was long and silver, augmenting her tanned skin and complimenting her eyes, and also pushed back over her forehead into a tight, multiband ponytail. His attention was drawn to the woman. He felt something, a feeling, emotion maybe, he could not pin it down. It hovered tantalisingly on the edge of his perception. She looked straight into his eyes with utter contempt and the feeling was gone.

He had questions, many questions.
Who are you and what the hell are you talking about? I have been shouting and everyone has been ignoring me for weeks.

“We know. Anybody in this hemisphere would also know, if they knew how to listen.” the man replied, cryptically and with almost a hint of humour. “I am Wingu Kanzul, my companion is Xnuk Ek’,” he bowed slightly, Xnuk Ek’ scowled, “and we have an offer to make to you.”

Travis wondered if his medication had been changed, was this a hallucination or just a very vivid dream? He felt lucid and completely aware of his surroundings, yet here were two people who looked like they had escaped from an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, talking with him whilst being ignored by the rest of the staff.
As I have very little else in my diary, I am all ears.

Wingu Kanzul looked puzzled and then he registered understanding as if he had just deciphered a piece of code. He nodded. “Your body has been so badly damaged that it cannot be repaired here and cannot function without these machines, so your life is about to be terminated. The healers have no idea that your mind is still healthy and functioning.”

This much I know
, Travis said irritably, mostly to hide his sudden fear of imminent death,
so what’s your point?