Jimmy Fox woke to the sounds of someone shouting. His bunk shook as someone leaped off the top. He struggled to make his weary brain work. This wasn't his bunk, he realized, as the events of yesterday rushed over him, it was the bunk assigned to him on the Corelean, the Other's medical ship that had rescued them when his ship, the Cambridge, was hit by a nuclear blast.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"It's Davies," Clower said.
Across the narrow room Davies was thrashing in his bed. His eyes were open and vacant. Fox forced himself up. He reached out with his right arm to brace himself and nearly fell.
Memories of the day before flashed through his mind. The explosion from munitions locker, the searing pain, seeing the bleeding stump of his arm and being sure he was going to die. Less than twenty four hours later and it barely even hurt. The stump ended about midway down his bicep and it had been fitted with some black rubbery sort of device, medical gel on the inside. They had said something about nerve dampening.
The thought was pushed out as quickly as it came. He focused on the current issue. Clower and Jensen were staring at him, skin pale and eyes wide. "It's some sort of seizure," he said. He ran to the door.
Petty Officer Dan Oleson was just coming out of the opposite room, his bunkmates behind him. Fox wasn't sure if protocol was required, but the situation overrode it anyway. "Oleson, we've got a problem," he said. "Davies, he's seizing or something."
Dan stuck his head in the doorway and looked at Davies, still jerking on the bunk. "Crap," he spat. He spun towards his bunkmates. "Kleppie, we need one of their healers. Go find them. Tell them its a medical emergency."
It must have been some sort of signal. A holographic male head appeared in the hall. "State the nature of the emer- oh crap," the head said. It spun, talking to someone off screen. "We've got a seizure, down forward." The head spun back. "I've got a crew on the way."
Another voice was talking to the head, but they couldn't make it out. "We're out of range," the head snapped, and then, "security stun, good thinking."
Davies stopped seizing.
"Roll him on his side," Dan ordered. Clower moved to obey.
"Won't stop what's wrong, though," the head was saying to whomever was beside it.
They heard the sounds of footsteps running down the hall.
Two healers in white were first to arrive. They were followed by a third woman. She wore tan pants with many pockets on the sides and tight fitting sleeveless top. Her skin was dark and her hair had been woven back in cornrows, except for one braid that hung down the right side of her face. Tattoo work ran down both arms. She stopped at the doorway and observed the healers as they worked.
Fox had stepped back against the wall to let the healers pass. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's got a fever. His electrolytes are off..." one healer began.
"It's the radiation," the other broke in. "We've got to get him to a meditank, pronto. He'll be fine."
"Eh," the woman said with a nod. She slid four pieces of metal to one of the healers. They placed the metal above and below Davies. Lights emanated from the curved ends of each rod. When the lights met, the entire thing became a single solid piece.
"Quicksilver," the woman said to Fox's raised eyes.
The healers hoisted the stretcher with Davies on it and started negotiating it out into the hallway.
"Keep me posted about his condition," Fox said. He went to wipe the sweat on his brow and remember again that his right arm was gone. He sighed and wiped with his left. "Hell of a way to wake up. I wonder if these people have any coffee."
He looked up to find the woman watching him. The side of her mouth twitched up in a hint of a smile. "Coffee?" she said. "You guys might be civilized people after all. End of the hall, take the lift up and then backtrack about halfway. You'll find a mess. Breakfast service should be going."
With that she was gone, following the healers.
#####
Cheyenne stood on the deck of the Cambridge. The sky was slate gray. Wind whipped the peaks of the waves white.
She looked around, trying to place what was wrong. Wind was whipping the waves, but she couldn't feel it against her skin. She stood alone on the deck but she heard...noises.
The memory of the attack swept over her. She looked up at the clear sky. Her movements were slow and choppy. They, too, did not quite match the visual stimulus and she wondered, what she seeing this? Or remembering it?
She thought she could hear voices talking. She tried to move toward the sound.
A voice spoke in a strange language, followed by English. "I think she's awake. Are you awake?"
"Hello?" she replied. "Who are you?"
"This is Janda," the voice said. "Are you awake?"
"Janda? Where are you?" Cheyenne asked. She heard a thudding noise. She felt, dimly, a pressure against her hand.
Another voice appeared, one she did recognize. It was low but feminine. "Cheyenne, this is Lana," the voice said. "Calm down, you are okay."
"But where are you?" Cheyenne persisted. "I can't see you."
"We are here. You are on board the Medical Evac ship, Corelean. Janda and I are your healers. We are with you."
"But," Cheyenne began, the Cambridge was gone. Her mind, deprived of visual stimulus, flipped through a half dozen images. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She could hear the two of them, Lana and Janda, having a quiet conversation, something about nerve dampening, pain and would she go into shock again?
"Cheyenne, listen," Lana commanded. "Stop thrashing." Cheyenne froze, unaware that she had been thrashing. "You are in a medical tank. Your eyes, your whole body, was badly injured in the attack. We are treating you and we promise we will get you better. Okay?"
"Okay," Cheyenne said.
"We have dampened most of your nerves. We are going to slowly back off a little bit, just a little. You will become more aware of you body, your surroundings. You must talk to me, though, let me know when you start to feel pain."
Dimly she began to sense she was swimming, no floating, in some warm fluid. She reached for the surface but her hands started to tingle and then burn. "My fingers," she said.
"Enough," Lana said, though it sounded like it was directed towards someone other than Cheyenne.
"I can't feel my fingers," Cheyenne said.
"It's going to be okay, just relax and float. I am here," Lana repeated.
Cheyenne tried to do as she was told, but she couldn't escape a vague sense of panic. Lana hadn't said why Cheyenne couldn't feel her fingers. Did she want to know?
#####
"Good Morning, Chief Bankim," Shana Dowlings said as the door opened for her chief of security.
Big ships, really big ships, had separate quarters and offices for the Captain and other high level officers. A ship the size of the Corelean did not. Her sleeping quarters attached directly to her work place. It was convenient. The orbital hopper she had captained for many years was too small to have an officer's anything. She simply sat in main drive room with the pilots. The Corelean's set up had struck her as familiar, comfortable. Now she was wishing she was on an even bigger ship, to hold at least some of her officers more at bay.
Bankim was a broad man, dressed in a red shirt with gold trim. He snapped a precise salute while regarding her from under his bushy eyebrows. "Ma'am," he said.
"I'm prone to waking with my hair a mess," Shana said, "but this morning I would swear I found a boot print there."
"Ma'am?" Bankim said. His confusion sounded genuine.
He is too literal a soul. "You went over my head," she snapped.
He stiffened. "After our conversation yesterday..." he began.
"You did not get the reply you wanted. So you contacted command yourself."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "My duty as chief of security demands that I do everything in my power to protect this ship and the personnel onboard it."
"Well, you will be disappointed to know that the answer has not changed. Command spoke to Kavinda..."
"Kavinda?" Bankim spluttered. "What does that old..."
In the corner of the room, Kavinda gave a polite cough. Bankim spun around and looked at him. "Why did they talk you? This is a military issue."
"What you are suggesting would be a serious breach in the quarantine, I'm afraid. There is no way I can countenance such an action."
"I specified the men were to be volunteers, only. I am sure there are men onboard the base ship that would agree. And we are out of the radiation now. The small amount coming off these earthsiders themselves, can't be that much, can it?"
"The risk is there," Kavinda said, "even now. To bring more people onboard..."
"Not to mention that crew space, heck just plain space, is pretty tight as it is," Shana said. "Where would I put a bigger security crew, even if I could bring them onboard. And why? What problems have we had?"
"None, yet," Bankim said, "but when it comes, it will be too late. We've brought on board over three hundred of these, these..."
"Barbarians?" Kavinda finished.
"You've seen the news as have I," Bankim responded. "The atrocities that go on down there, daily."
"Are not being done by these three hundred, surely," Shana replied.
"In Africa, Middle East, China, many places," Bankim insisted.
"They don't come from those places," Kavinda said. "And there are many places on the planet where people live together in peace much of the time."
"America! That's is where they are from. The same people who were in Syria."
"Yes, but only a tiny fraction of those men were involved, or even knew about, those atrocities," Kavinda replied, "why else did we let them go?"
"Still, they are military. And we've seen them fight, simian on simian. Can we really trust them?"
"In ancient times," Kavinda said, "wars between simians, humans on humans, Hanuman against hanuman, this was common. Then we learned better."
"They haven't."
"Their technology, their culture, it's no more advanced than the most ancient records we have. But this philosophical discussion doesn't matter. I don't believe these men and women pose us a threat. They are sick with radiation poisoning. We have rescued them. What possible reason would they turn on us?" Kavinda said.
"I trust them because they are military," Shana said, putting a hand on Bankim's shoulder. "Their command tells them to do as we ask. They will not break discipline."
"They are sick now, but when they start to get well? Will their discipline hold?"
"If it does not, we can discuss more security then. The radiation will be less and maybe the answer will be different. For now, the issue is done. Understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good, I've sent word to their captain, asked him to join me for breakfast. We will see what sort of manner of men we've brought on board. Okay?"
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