She reached her quarters and paused before opening the hatch. Three storage compartments separated her quarters from those of the other officers on this deck. While an unusual arrangement, it was necessary. She would have preferred to have been provided quarters adjacent to the Infirmary, but the Captain had refused. It was one of the few times that the Captain had not granted one of her requests. The Captain had explained that she thought it was a bad idea for crew members to have quarters close to their usual duty posts.
“It encourages bad habits,” the Captain said. The tone of her voice, though, implied that she was quoting a phrase from someone else.
Hope opened the hatch and stepped inside, not waiting for the lights to illuminate the room. Crossing into the sleeping area, she began unfastening her uniform, grateful to soon be out of it. Normally, she did not mind. While it might be viewed to some as merely another set of clothing, for her it was a symbol. Far different from the design of Aerian attire, it was a mark of her acceptance among the Humans—and her acceptance of them as colleagues and, yes, even friends. That set her apart from nearly all other Aerians. It was not that her people were necessarily xenophobic, but there were insular and isolationist. And, Hope knew, those attitudes had doomed her race.
Shrugging out of her uniform, she hung it neatly in the shower unit to be cleaned. From her closet, she chose a loose-fitting robe of a fabric so pale and translucent that it appeared to be woven from strands of alabaster and silver. Those were not, of course, the Aerian words for those materials. The Captain had used them, one evening when she had been forced to consult with Hope during off-duty hours and Hope had not had a chance to change back into more appropriate attire.
After donning the robe, completely bare beneath it, she crossed to the small desk mounted against the bulkhead. As she expected, she had received no personal messages during all of the time that she had on duty, although she had three inquiries as to her availability to attend three different medical conferences. She was unfamiliar with any of the requestors or their organizations. She made a mental note to research each of them, although it was unlikely that she would choose to attend.
These were not the first such offers that she had received, but the Chief Engineer had informed her that, while they might claim to be interested in her medical expertise, what they really wanted was the bragging rights to claim that they had the one and only Aerian medical officer in the Fleet at the conference. He had told her, and she had been forced to agree with his hypothesis, that she would be as much on display as any of the other planned exhibits. While slavery had never been conducted on her home world, she was aware of the practice. The idea of her being placed on display, even if not literally so, made her uncomfortable in ways that she could not wholly explain. Although fully accepted by this Crew, she was fully aware of the attention that she drew when they visited other Human colonies and stations.
She crossed to the sleeping platform and lay upon it. Its firm padding barely yielded beneath her. Staring toward the ceiling, but not seeing it, she reviewed the events of her day, organizing them so that she would be able to access them more efficiently when she awoke. While all of the injured crew members would almost certainly survive, the cause of the Tactical Officer’s abnormal behavior unresolved. The results from the tests that Lieutenant Ramsey had run so far had revealed no obvious cause. She would need to study it further.
Although Hope attempted to maintain her focus, it kept slipping away. With effort, she was able to regain it, but her periods of productive concentration grew shorter each time. Finally, almost realizing that she had done so, she surrendered to her resting state.
#
His world existed as a thick haze. It was mostly white, but indistinct shapes moved within it. He did not believe that he stood inside it, nor did he think that he floated within it. What faint sensations he experienced told him that he still dwelled within his body. It was not, he believed, death.
Although his surroundings appeared to have no substance, its state seemed to change. Gray shapes passed across it, but none of them take on form. He heard sounds, faint hushed noises that might have been voices. They seemed to come from far away. He could not fit them into patterns that he could understand.
He was no longer in the cave—he was certain of that. He had been captured by the intruders. He had defeated some of them before they had used their strange weapons to subdue him. He remembered falling to the ground, his limbs no longer under his command. Strange, bright lights had shone around him. There had been voices then too, but those he had almost understood. And then there had been darkness.
Images of faces flashed through his mind, teasing at memories that he could not recall.
Were they the intruders from his cave?
That seemed to be both right and wrong at the same time, but he did not know why.
He thought that he might be able recognize them, to . . .
. . . to what?
His thoughts became unfocused again, as if caught in the currents of the haze that surrounded him. Despite his efforts, they drifted . . .
The haze dimmed, turning gray,, but more solid than smoke. Darkness gathered at its edges like clouds before a storm. The darkness deepened around him and, without knowing it, he once again slept.
- 7 -
“I can’t do that, Captain,” Ramsey told Devereux. “Hope’s instructions were very specific.”
Devereux opened her mouth, but to her surprise, Ramsey interrupted her.
“I’m not allowed to release you,” Ramsey said, the words taking on an almost melodic cadence.
She sighed, but still faced Devereux.
“Captain,” she said. “Hope’s scheduled to be back on duty in two hours. Can’t you wait that long?”
Devereux knew that she could force her authority as commanding officer of the ship, but felt some measure of sympathy for the young officer.
Who’s she more afraid of? Devereux wondered, eyeing Ramsey. Me or Hope?
She had a hunch—and really did not want to find out whether or not it was correct.
“Fine,” she conceded, settling herself back into the bed. “Two hours,” she added, but without any real heat.
“Thank you, Captain,” Ramsey said.
Devereux could see by the young woman’s posture that she was even more relieved than her words indicated. As for herself, Devereux had reached that stage in her recovery where she found it difficult to remain in bed. Her head still ached slightly, but the discomfort was easily ignored.
I’ve had worse from taking a ball to the head during a match.
She almost winced at some of those memories from the Academy rugby field. She had completed her mid-term examination in—what?—slipstream physics and nearly aced it. But she had no memory whatsoever, then or now, of ever having taken the test. It was not as though someone else could have taken for her, but she did not remember it.
After watching Ramsey for a few moments as the medical assistant tended to the other patients, Devereux activated the tablet that she held and reviewed the shift status reports. She was almost two days behind on them and did not any more of a backlog than she already did.
She read with approval that all of the damage to Cargo Bay One. Repairs to the bulkhead had taken quite a bit longer than expected, but the impact to other maintenance tasks on the ship appeared to be minimal.
Certainly nothing critical, Devereux noted as she read the reprioritized list of tasks.
Ensign Chien’s readings of the nearby star cluster had yielded nothing extraordinary. Devereux was sure that Chien was disappointed, but she knew that even unremarkable readings could be valuable in trying to unlock the secrets behind the design of the universe. If most star systems they surveyed turned out to be “unremarkable “, then that might mean that a great many of the ones scattered across this part of the galaxy might be as well, making it easier to determine which ones might be more interesting to study.
Devereux looked over toward the next bed. It was empty. Choy and Nang had both been released from the Infirmary. Each had been approved only for light duty for the next two days. Owens remained in a coma. According to both Hope and Ramsey, though, his condition continued to improve. On the last bed, Bayer was asleep, probably from a sedative. Unlike Owens, he was almost free of support bandaging. Most of his more severe injuries had been internal ones. Hope had repaired them, but the Security officer needed time to recuperate.
That brought her thoughts back to Hawkes.
Ramsey had been frustratingly uninformative about what she and Hope had managed to learn about the Tactical Officer’s condition and what had caused it. Devereux had finally relented when she realized that Ramsey probably did not understand what the results of the tests had revealed.
And if she doesn’t know, Devereux admitted, then I certainly won’t be much help figuring it out either—even on my best days.
She was tempted to bring up Hawkes’ personnel file again, but after reviewing as many times as she had already, she doubted that she might uncover anything new. Hope had indicated that neither his medical history nor psychological profile showed anything that might explain his behavior. Both had been stymied, however, by the mysterious five-year gap in his service record. Based on her experience in the Special Operations branch, Devereux could understand how that could happen. Still, it was possible—even likely—that something that happened during that period might provide some clues as to what drove Hawkes’ behavior now.
Hope entered while she was considering that, and wondering whether she had enough pull with the right people to possibly to get a peek at the sealed portion of Hawkes’ file. It would depend, she knew, on which branch of the Fleet had ordered it to be sealed. Some of the organizations were more than just a little bit touchy about other branches knowing their secrets.
“Captain.”
Devereux turned and flashed Hope her brightest smile.
“Hope!”
Hope studied her for only a moment before she walked over to examine the medical displays linked to Devereux’s bed. She took a long time doing so, which concerned Devereux at first, and then made her wonder whether Hope was doing it deliberately. Finally, Hope stepped back and stared at Devereux.
“You’re going to release me, right?” Devereux asked, although she made it sound a lot less like the question it was.
Hope surprised her by continuing to study her in silence for a long moment before answering.
“Yes.”
Devereux was torn between relief that her captivity within the confines of the Infirmary, and wanting smack Hope for dragging it out.
“Great,” Devereux said, sitting up and sliding onto her feet from the platform.
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