Freedom's Myth, page 16
part #3 of Freedom Saga Series
Pikeman looked stricken as his hand rested on the sealed crates. “I need my equipment. I… I am a doctor, a healer. Maybe before I was something else, not now. Please, Captain. It’s all that’s left of me.”
Rowan watched Pikeman as he caressed one of the cases.
“We’ll try to work it out with Star Searcher. Did you get transport of your equipment as part of the bargain for going to Murack Five?” asked Rowan.
“I did, I think. The U.E.S. Space Combat Corps Lawyer… Hammerman, handled the details.”
“I’ll contact him.” Ryan turned to Rowan. “Tim’s met him and may have some insights.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Rowan nodded. “Blair, would you care to join us for breakfast?”
“Good idea,” agreed Ryan. “We need to get on with the day, or we’ll never get all this loaded. Star Searcher is insistent about our gate transit time.” Ryan gestured at the cargo in the hangar, then led the way into the Star Hawk.
Pikeman spared his equipment a lingering look, then followed.
* * *
“Doctor McPherson to emergency.” The voice blasted out of the speaker in the bland hospital hallway.
“I’ll get the forms filled out by Friday. I have to go.” Gunther nodded to the chubby Asian hospital administrator who had accosted him in the hallway.
“Doctor.” The man tugged down the jacket of his ill-fitting, grey suit.
“Emergency calls. I’ll do the forms.” Gunther rushed to the elevator.
He better if he wants to keep his privileges. Doctors! Always a nova blasted pain. You’d think they did something more important than paperwork. Gunther heard the administrator’s thoughts as he waited for the elevator, then he was away from the tiresome man.
Gunther reached with his mind as the elevator descended to the hospital’s first floor, touching the thoughts of Trixy, the Emergency Room’s head nurse.
“Stardust, a suicide,” he spoke into the empty elevator. He emerged onto the floor and strode to the nursing station.
“Doctor McPherson, I’m glad you’re here. We had a suicide, a teenage girl. Her mother is hysterical. They’re both in treatment three. Mother’s name is Penelope Michaels,” explained the fit, blonde woman just entering middle age dressed in nursing scrubs who stood behind the nursing station counter.
“Thanks, Trixy.” Gunther pushed past a pair of uniformed paramedics who were rolling a gurney down the hall.
Treatment three was a large room separated into three sections by curtains. In the area closest to the far wall, a brown-haired woman in a business skirt suit sat clutching the hand of the body of a young woman. Gunther moved closer, then he recognized Armina lying on the bed.
“Divine,” he muttered. He took a breath to steady himself as he thought of what to do.
This is sure to be recorded. I can’t let on I knew her. It’s just like any other case. Divine, how did this happen?
The woman by the bed continued to weep.
Gunther moved to her side. “Mrs. Michaels, I’m Doctor McPherson. I’m a psychiatrist. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Are you?” demanded the woman. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and there was a pallor to her complexion. She glowered at Gunther, then broke into sobs. “My girl, my little girl.” Her mood shifted again, and she grabbed Armina’s shoulders and shook her. “Why? Why did you do this?”
Gunther laid a compassionate hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It is hard to say why. Sometimes we never figure it out. All I can promise is, the pain dulls with time.”
“How would you know!” The woman pulled away.
Gunther sighed and thought, Play the role. “My daughter was recently taken from me. It’s what I tell myself. I suppose it helps, a little, but, to be honest, nothing really does.”
Mrs. Michaels looked at Gunther. “Did… did your daughter kill herself?”
Gunther locked down on his emotions and gave the official answer they’d slipped into the records. “A poisonous spider bit her. Some idiot’s exotic pet.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said mechanically.
“As I am for you. What was her name?” Gunther could feel his mood unaccountably lighten and surmised that the controllers were playing their games.
“Armina. My little girl. I… Why? Why? Why?” Mrs. Michaels sobbed, collapsing to bury her face in the sheets.
Gunther gripped her around her shoulders and let her cry.
“Penelope, what happened?” demanded a short, stocky man with a shaved head dressed in rugged work clothes.
“Tom, she’s gone. She took pills. I got home from work, and there she was in the tub. I—” Penelope’s voice cut off in another sob.
Tom rushed to the bedside and looked down at his daughter’s corpse. His face went deathly pale. He took her pulse as if all the equipment around him was wrong. He stroked Armina’s hair, then his chest convulsed. His quiet sobs joined his wife’s.
Gunther scanned their minds. Their thoughts were of their daughter. Penelope was lost. She couldn’t think why. Tom was looking for someone to blame, some way to fight back. Both were dying inside. Gunther stepped away, opened one of the folding chairs kept in the treatment room’s corner, and sat. Emergency was slow, so he could give the couple their time. Forcing his emotions to a clinical detachment, he wondered why this happened. Why a girl at the start of her life would choose to end that life. He feared the answer but did not dare feel that fear.
* * *
“Star Searcher, you agreed to the volume limit for cargo, and it is recorded. The fact that I, through extraordinary effort, have accommodated your excessive demands does not change that contract. If you wish me to take any additional cargo, it will be on my terms and reflect my limits, which I know better than you.”
The crab-like organizational component stared out of the main screen on the Star Hawk’s bridge. “But this collective agreed with the Pikeman individuality to transport his equipment. That too is recorded.”
“That is, as my people are fond of saying, your problem, not mine.” Ryan glowered into the screen.
“What can this collective do? I am caught between conflicting contracts.”
Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Rowan, who stood beside the captain’s chair, laid her hand on his shoulder.
A stretch of seconds later, she spoke. “Star Searcher, this individuality may have a solution that will allow you to fulfill these conflicting contracts without looking as if you have organizational components deserving of consumption.”
Ryan flinched and watched the screen.
Silence ensued. The crabzoid organizational component tapped its claws on the floor and waved its cilia. “What is your solution?”
“Due to inventive packing and superior spatial configurations, the Star Hawk will have a few cubic metres extra for cargo space above what we agreed on. We will agree to carry Pikeman’s equipment, which constitutes six cubic metres, for a base rate of fifty Republic trade credits per cubic metre paid in advance of our departure to Victoria Hart. Further, we will pick through the cargo beyond our assigned shipping and select pieces that can be loaded into what space we have remaining at the same rate per cubic metre.”
“How much more can you accommodate?” demanded Star Searcher.
“We’ll tell you when we have finished packing,” stated Ryan.
The crabzoid component waved its cilia. “And none will know of me accepting conflicting contracts?”
“None will know,” stated Rowan.
“This component will accept these terms. You must keep a log of the additional cargo you take and forward it to Star Searcher so that the inventory remains current.” The crab-like being on the screen stood absolutely still.
“It will be done,” agreed Rowan.
The voice from the speaker became strained. “This individuality finds that it must convey gratitude to you for rectifying its technical error.” The screen went blank.
Ryan moved to the communications station and pressed the button that closed the channel.
“That went well,” remarked Rowan.
Ryan smiled. “You are an amazing trading officer. The way you phrased the insult so that it only came into effect if Star Searcher didn’t accept your advice. Brilliant!”
“I’ve been working on that one since I saw Pikeman’s cargo.” Rowan smiled. “At least it will pay some of Vicky’s fee for defending me.”
“Most, if not all. She gave us a break after I saved her life. If we fill the rail system with E.S.T.C.s, we should be able to clear that debt.”
“Is that safe?” Rowan looked concerned.
“Safe enough. After the Batzoid Pirate Suppression, I managed to get command to upgrade the rail system and outer hull. If we were stock for a second-gen Hawk, I wouldn’t try it, but the Star Hawk is a special kind of lady. Besides, not even Crapper could be so stupid as to attack us travelling under a Republic Writ of Passage. Until we get back to the station, we’re untouchable by any official forces.” Ryan smiled.
Rowan rubbed her arms. “More loading. I—”
“Hey, hotties, the ugly sister here. Kitoy says she needs you on the loading ramp. Would that it was me.” Henry swivelled the computer station chair so that he was looking at his friends with his android eyes.
Ryan nodded. “Thanks, Henry. Tell her I’m on my way.”
Ryan held his hand out to Rowan. She took it before they left the bridge.
* * *
Gunther opened the door to the shed at the back of his lot that had been retrofitted to serve as a prison. Angel sat on a folding chair beside Valaseau, who lay on a folding cot. The felinezoid’s chest still heaved. An IV flowed into her, and her fur looked damp.
“How is she?” asked Gunther.
“You’re the doctor. I’ve changed the IV bag twice since you left and kept her sprayed down with water.” Angel glanced to a garden hose with a sprayer clipped to the wall. “And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sucked the snot out of her nose. I mean, gross! I never wanted to be a nurse. Why am I stuck with this?”
“Because you and I have been exposed, and I had to go to work to get supplies.” Gunther set the case he was carrying on the floor.
“Sorry. I… What’s wrong?” asked Angel as she examined her friend.
“A very bad day. A young girl committed suicide. I had to deal with her parents.”
“Stardust! I’m sorry, Gunther.”
Gunther smiled sadly, then looked resolved. “We’ll talk more about it at the telepathy session.”
“At the… Oh,” breathed Angel, picking up on the implications.
“Toronk can’t be there. I want him to have as little contact with anyone as possible until we work out what’s up with Valaseau.”
“Right. Should we maybe try to contact the pirates? They might know something.” Angel unclipped the hose on the wall and gently misted the fast-drying Valaseau.
“I have Carl on it.” Gunther moved to the incubator that stood on a shelf in the corner of the shed and took out a culture plate. Pulling a microscope from the bag he’d brought, he began examining the cultures.
* * *
Ryan emerged onto the Star Hawk’s hangar bay ramp and scanned the space dock. Krakkeen worked behind him, stacking the storage containers that the rest of the crew brought to him out of the cluttered jumble in the hangar. Kitoy stood on the ramp with a male batzoid whose wings were scorched scar tissue. Flanking him stood a k-no-in with a cybernetic in place of the middle of the three legs on its left side and an octozoid, its body in what looked like a fishbowl on top of four corrugated legs. Fibre optics transmitted light from the front of the bowl to its bottom so the bowl’s occupant could see ahead of it. A stream of bubbles rose through the water in the bowl. Three grav-carts, each with piles of possessions, floated in the hangar behind them.
“This is the captain,” introduced Kitoy.
“And the beautiful Rowan.” The k-no-in dipped its head in imitation of a human bow. Its voice was rough and guttural, unlike the normal tones of the translator nanobots.
Rowan shifted uncomfortably at the way the k-no-in gaze took her in.
“You are the Scholar Asalue of Grey Sky Sect, Doctor Yipya Gripp, and ‘Coral cave in tropical zone second hatched in the month of small, fast fish with blue scales, during the year of the sea worm’, I presume.” Ryan bowed.
“Just call me Jacques. In translation, octozoid names are a beak-full. A Homo sapiens colleague suggested the name. She said he was of one of her personal heroes from myth.” The octozoid moved the limb of its land-scuttling suit in what Ryan took to be a dismissive gesture.
“It honours me that you know my name, Captain. Word has spread that you are allowing relief workers to board early. We were hoping to accept your hospitality. We all have reasons to want to get out of our sectors as soon as possible,” remarked the batzoid.
Ryan fixed a smile on his face. “Welcome aboard. Rowan, please show our guests to their quarters. I’ve prepared them for you.”
“That is very kind of you, Captain,” said Asalue.
Yipya moved to Rowan’s side. His cybernetic limb made a slight clunking sound with each step. His guttural voice fought through several human words. “So rappy you meet. I…” The voice changed into a deep soothing tone that bore nothing in common with the shape of the being’s lips. “I am sorry, I sought to honour you by speaking Homo sapiens, but I fear I’m not very proficient at it. It is a true pleasure to meet you. I have followed Angel Black since the series began. Sadly, the episodes available in the k-no-in sector are over a year behind the ones shown on Gaia. Did you get accepted to your advanced studies program?”
“Yes. Knowing what I know now, there wasn’t much doubt of it.” Rowan smiled.
The k-no-in’s artificial leg buckled. He gasped painfully as he compensated with his organic ones. He thought he felt pressure on his chest, helping him stay upright. “Stardust! Stupid thing is always cutting out.” He kicked the cybernetic leg with his hind leg, then steadied on his feet. “I am sorry. I’m behind on the maintenance.”
“You should let Ryan or Tim look at it. They both know their way around cybernetics.” Rowan started into the Star Hawk.
“I don’t have much to pay with,” said Yipya.
“If there is time, I’m sure they’d be happy to do it for free. It’s a long trip, and I know Ryan likes to keep busy.” Rowan kept her voice even. In her experience, k-no-in could mistake kindness for something else.
“That would be kind of them. Regarding your advanced studies, I know in retrospect your worries may seem unfounded, but you did not know then, and it was such a worry for you. I felt for you.”
The three sentients followed Rowan, pulling their grav-carts.
“At least we won’t have a rush to board at the end. How bad is the housing shortage on the Switchboard Station?” asked Ryan.
Kitoy flicked her tail and cocked her head in thought. “It depends on which sector. In the felinezoid sector, it is full. The spiderzoids have lots of tree space.” A slightly confused expression came to her face. “The batzoid section has space. Maybe you should tell Henry not to let anyone but passengers and crew aboard. Just to be safe.”
“Just what I need, two passengers with batzoid vengeance geasa on their heads. How about the k-no-in sector?”
“That is a strange one. K-no-ins provide a basic stall to all citizens living off Srill. I can’t guess why Yipya would want to be away from his species.”
“As long as it doesn’t blow up in my face.” Ryan stroked Kitoy’s arm, then moved to a pile of E.S.T.C.s, checked a bar code and started loading.
* * *
Medwin looked at the empty space on the couch beside him. Obert and Kendra both stared dully across the central coffee table of the shabby living room. Neither of the aging chairs they sat in matched the threadbare couch. The walls needed painting. A picture of a robust, dark-haired man in a police officer’s uniform hung on the wall over the couch.
“It has to be a mistake,” said Kendra.
“Her parents called me. They let me see the body.” Medwin started to sob.
Kendra moved to hug him. He held up a hand to forestall her. He didn’t want comfort yet. It was still too raw. The image of his Armina, so still, so pale, was burnt into his mind. His heart literally ached.
* * *
Ulva sat in the Freedom’s Run control room. She felt numb inside, and when she scanned her charges, she wanted to weep. Medwin was heartbroken. Obert was shaken, mostly sadness but a strange tendril of relief running through his emotions. Kendra was sad, but behind that, there was a paired optimism and guilt.
The door opened behind her, and Michael stepped in. “How are you holding up?”
“I knew her. I mean, really knew her. I shook her hand. Told her that she and Medwin were cute together.” Ulva focused on the screen. “I shouldn’t feel like this. She was just….”
“A human being,” Michael spoke softly. It was a voice to calm nervous horses and wounded soldiers. “Ulva, part of why I have you here is how you reacted when Grandmother García died on A Cat’s Life.”
“Fluffy missed her so much. Some people don’t think cats grieve, but they do.”
“And you liked the old woman. She was kind to Fluffy. If we could have prevented that death, we would have. She was everybody’s sweet granny with a spicy past. The clone’s cancers were too aggressive. She had a good run, principal on three series and secondary on six. In short, you’re here because you care. Never be ashamed of that.”
“But to die like that. I swear, she was just taking a bath. I started working on the recordings from the Ryan and Rowan storyline. I didn’t see her take the pills. When the metabolic alarm went off, I tried to intervene, but it was too late.”
“I know, it’s in the log. You did nothing wrong. For the rest of the studio, they’re all listed non-vital. In a way, this may be for the best.” Michael moved to Ulva’s side and gently squeezed her shoulder.
“How?”
“Gunther needed to learn about the responsibility that comes with the power of knowing. We can’t just let Sun Valley explode. For one, the other show runners wouldn’t tolerate it. For another, the clones can’t win an outright conflict. Obert’s observations about pressing the big red button are essentially correct. We need to compartmentalize, like any other show. Armina’s death will bring home to Gunther the necessity of being circumspect.”
