Emerald Flight: “Human Factors” (continued)

Hope waited until the First Officer and Chief Engineer left the Infirmary. When she heard the main hatch close, she tapped out the code on the console in front of her to open the inner hatch to the isolation pod. She entered the chamber and, closing the hatch behind her. Waiting until she heard both the containment seal and lock engage, she moved toward the Tactical Officer.

She checked the displays on the monitoring systems. As she had expected, they displayed the same data as the ones within the outer chamber, but she wanted to be certain. She looked now at the screen that displayed the transmitter’s results. A list of frequencies scrolled down the display, but each of them had failed to receive any kind of response from the implant embedded deep within the Tactical Officer’s mind. Hope wondered if they would achieve any results at all and, if not, what they might attempt next.

Studying the medication feed, she considered whether she should reduce the amount of sedative. She did not know whether it might make any difference, good or bad, in the length of time that the Tactical Officer might have left of existence. She reduced the dosage slightly and studied the results.

The displays showed a very slight increase in brain activity, but no change in his other readings. She reached out and touched his forehead lightly, wondering whether she should intervene. The Essence of many beings, which Humans called its “spirit”, often lost their way as the body healed enough to continue to sustain it. She did not believe that this could be so for the Tactical Officer, for the will that bound his Essence to his body was very strong.

There.

She sensed his Essence still within him, as she knew it would be. It was indeed weakening, but there was something unusual in its patterns. It was the Tactical Officer . . . and yet it was not. Its voice felt . . . primitive. The core of intelligence that she knew represented the Tactical Officer’s Essence seemed masked, hidden for persistent waves of . . . what?

Hope disengaged herself from the Tactical Officer, taking a moment to reorient herself back into the physical world. The transition was sometimes difficult, even more so when she had been in contact with an alien Essence.

She looked down at the Tactical Officer. He remained still. Checking the readings again, she saw little change. The small increase in brain activity continued, but she could not tell yet whether it would aid the Tactical Officer’s survival.

“Hope?”

Lieutenant Ramsey’s voice sounded over the chamber’s intercom. Hope turned before answering, seeing that the outer chamber was empty, that her attempt to contact the Tactical Officer’s Essence had not been directly witnessed. She had no concerns over the video feed, for she knew that her body had shielded her actions. Had anyone been watching, they would have assumed that she was checking closely on the condition of her patient.

“Yes.”

“I need help with Lieutenant Owens,” Lieutenant Ramsey said. “I think he might have hurt himself.”

Hope looked at the Tactical Officer and then at the monitors that reported on his condition. They remained unchanged. She entered the code to unlock the hatch, her thoughts shifting to Engineer Owens.

Lieutenant Ramsey’s words troubled her. “Hurt himself” held many meanings in the Human’s core language. One of which signified a deliberate intent to inflict harm on oneself, often as an attempt to end one’s existence. Alarm grew in Hope.

Contagion?

Had she missed something? she wondered. Was it possible that the Tactical Officer’s atypical behavior might have a biological cause, such a virus or other pathogen? None of the tests she had conducted—and they had been thorough and complete—had revealed any such cause for his condition. She knew, of course, that the tests could only detect what they were designed to detect, but they could do little to reveal unknown factors.

She thought of all of the Crew who had been in contact with the Tactical Officer during the past several hours. If an infectious agent was involved, nearly of the members of the command crew might have been affected, as well as the Engineers and Security Officers present in Cargo Bay One. In addition, they had all been to the bridge, and now the First Officer and Chief Engineer were in the Galley. The chance of containing the pathogen now was small. It would require placing the entire vessel under a total Quarantine lockdown.

Entering the recovery bay, Hope saw Lieutenant Ramsey assisting Engineer Owens in adjusting his position on the bed. His mouth grimaced, conveying his severe discomfort.

Lieutenant Ramsey took a deep breath and turned to face Hope. “He thought he’d try to use the bathroom himself without any help.”

She shot Engineer Owens a sharp look. His cheeks reddened and he looked away, taking a sudden interest in the proper placement of his blanket.

“He went down like a ton of bricks,” Lieutenant Ramsey went on. “I think he might have torn something in left leg—or at least strained it.”

“Engineer.”

Hope stared at Engineer Owens. He looked back at her and swallowed hard. He did not appear defiant or irrationally violent, as the Tactical Officer had been.

“Okay,” Engineer Owens said, his eyes turning downward, but he still faced Hope. “It was a stupid thing to do. I just wanted . . .” He waved his hand in a vague gesture toward the personal waste facility.

Exchanging a look with Lieutenant Ramsey, who expressed no sympathy, he then grunted, shifting his left leg stiffly on the bed.

“Can you at least take a look at it?” His tone was almost pleading.

Hope assessed that Engineer Owens remained sane, if somewhat foolish. From her perspective, this was a general state for most Humans. As it also seemed to discredit her alarming hypothesis of an infectious pathogen, she felt relieved.

She approached the diagnostic bed. Lieutenant Ramsey handed her a portable medical scanner as Hope joined her. Hope saw that it had been configured, but not yet used. She held it out to Lieutenant Ramsey.

“Continue.”

Lieutenant Ramsey looked at her in surprise, first at Hope’s face and then down at the medical scanner.

Oh,” she said quietly, and then, more firmly, “Okay.”

She took the scanner from Hope and positioned it over Engineer Owen’s left thigh. The scanner hummed softly for several seconds and then Lieutenant Ramsey lifted it and examined the data that it displayed.

“Mmm hmm,” she said, making those odd, non-content sounds that Humans often made. “Just a strain.” She handed the scanner back to Hope.

Hope read the data and then looked at Lieutenant Ramsey.

“I concur.”

A long moment of silence passed before Engineer Owens spoke.

“So you both agree,” he said, his mouth tightening in a grimace. “Are one of you going to give something for it?”

Lieutenant Ramsey looked overly thoughtful. “What do you think, Hope?”

Hope looked at Lieutenant Ramsey, trying to discern a deeper meaning to the question. The answer seemed to be quite evident.

When she could arrive at no other logical answer, Hope spoke.

“Yes.”

Lieutenant Ramsey turned toward Engineer Owens. “Doctor’s orders,” she said. “It’s your lucky day.”

Engineer Owens’ expression did not appear to reflect Lieutenant Ramsey’s assessment. Hope sensed that there were nuances to the conversation that she was missing, but decided that they were of little importance in terms of providing Engineer Owens treatment. She might ask Lieutenant Ramsey later for clarification, but only if she determined that it was truly important to do so. Hope turned and headed over to prepare the injection.

Behind her, Engineer Owens whispered, “You’re even colder than she is.”

Hope sensed Lieutenant Ramsey’s grin.

“I’ve had a good teacher.”

#

He sensed a presence. It was more than just a shape or a voice. He was no longer alone in this strange void. He could not see it, nor could he hear its movements. But he knew it was there. He tried to speak, but he had no voice.

It touched him.

No . . . not him. Not his thoughts. His mind.

He thought that he could almost hear it.

It comforted him. Or that was how it seemed to him. Its presence soothed him, even before he wondered whether he should fear it.

It felt . . . familiar, somehow. It had not one of those who had intruded into his cave, who had managed to defeat and capture him. Yet, it felt a part of those who had.

He felt comforted to know that he was no longer alone, that the eternity in which he now found himself might not be one of total solitude.

The presence began to withdraw. It was a gradual thing, the connection growing thinner and thinner, like smoke from a dying fire, until it could no longer be felt.

The featureless white universe is which he now existed seemed suddenly smaller. He still could neither see nor feel its boundaries, but he sensed that it was no longer limitless.

He continued to drift, although there was still no sensation of motion.

And waited.

And tried to understand.