by Doug Farren
“Okay,” he replied, yawning. “Get some sleep.”
She didn’t show up until later the next day. Tom was playing a game of cards with a couple of his friends when she walked in.
“Hi Shawn, hi Christy,” Laspha greeted them as she squeezed into the now crowded room.
“How did your training flight go?” Christy asked. She was an athletic brunette scheduled to have her first surgery in a few days.
“I hear it’s pretty grueling,” Shawn added, slapping a card down on the table. “Beat that!” he added, leaning back with a smug look on his face.
“I was exhausted at the end but I learned a lot,” Lashpa said. “Take the instructor’s advice, get lots of sleep before you head out.”
Tom looked at the cards in his hand, selected one and laid it next to Shawn’s. “Just because you got your new legs today doesn’t mean you have to rub it in by beating the tar out of us.”
“I told you I was good at this game,” Shawn replied. Looking to his left he said, “Come on Christy, show us what you got.”
“I got noth’in,” she said, throwing down a card.
Shawn raked in his catch then, with an exaggerated motion, slapped down another. The other players groaned. Five minutes later, Shawn declared victory and invited Christy to his room for a celebratory beverage.
“I hope your surgery tomorrow goes better than the last one,” Tom told Lashpa after the others had left.
“The doctors have assured me that I’ve been permanently cured of the disease which attacked me earlier,” she replied.
“I won’t be getting my legs for at least a week,” Tom said. “We’ll have to be satisfied with video visits for awhile.”
“Why?” Lashpa replied, tilting her head. “I’m having one arm removed. My legs are working fine. I can still walk.”
“I doubt the hospital staff will allow you to wander around right after your surgery,” Tom smiled.
“Then I shall have a talk with them.”
“Good luck with that,” Tom replied. After repositioning the pillow behind his back, he said, “I believe I owe you an explanation.”
“Of what?”
“My family.”
“I assumed you would tell me when you were ready,” she replied.
“Toward the end of my third year of college, my parents had to make a trip to Earth to attend my aunt’s funeral. Because of finals, I remained on Bellish. My older sister, Cassandra, liked to party and a couple days after the funeral she returned to the house late at night. She was drunk and didn’t bother to turn on the lights when she came in. She threw her coat over what she thought was a footstool in the mudroom. It was actually a portable electric heater put there because the wall heater wasn’t working. She fell asleep on the couch in her clothes. About an hour later, the coat caught fire starting a blaze that quickly spread to the rest of the house.”
Lashpa patiently waited as Tom wiped his eyes. Even though the event he was describing had happened over ten years ago, the memory was still painful.
“My uncle woke up when the smoke detector went off. My younger sister was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom along with my cousin. After getting them up and out of the house, he tried to rouse Cassandra. She was too drunk to respond so he ended up carrying her out of the house. By the time he went back inside, most of it was engulfed in flame. My parents were sleeping in a spare bedroom in the basement. The stairs to the basement were in the mudroom. He—”
Tom stopped and sniffed. Lashpa had moved closer and gently laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tom reached up and squeezed her arm.
“My uncle said he could hear my parents screaming for help through the living room floor. There was nothing he could do! He died a couple months later. The cause of death was listed as a heart attack but I know it was because he was haunted by my parent’s screams. I haven’t spoken to my older sister since.”
“You blame her for the death of your parents,” Lashpa summarized.
“We all did,” Tom said, wiping his eyes again.
“She is your sister,” Lashpa said. “Does that not warrant forgiveness? I am sure she has been emotionally scarred by this event—perhaps even more so than you.”
Tom’s only reply was to shake his head. “How many others know about this?” Lashpa asked.
“Other than the family, just Bill Owens, a friend of mine on the Dragon. He was nosy and looked up the details of the fire on the network. I told him I’d put him in the hospital if he ever told anyone else.” Looking up at Lashpa, he added, “And now you.”
Chapter 13
The next day, Tom was visited by the psychologist. She asked a series of questions while carefully observing and recording his response. Partway through the interview, she set her pad down and asked, “Why do you keep looking at the clock? Are you expecting a visitor?”
“Sorry,” Tom replied, glancing at the clock again despite an effort not to do so. “My friend Lashpa is having surgery this morning and I’m just a little nervous.”
Doctor McKinsey nodded her head and smiled. “The female Rouldian—I’ve heard about you two.”
“You what? She’s my—”
“Don’t worry,” the doctor interrupted. “Rouldians and Terrans have always gotten along well together. There’s nothing wrong with the friendship you two have established.”
Friendship? Tom wondered if the doctor was aware of just how close he and Lashpa had become. “I can imagine some of the things people might be saying about us,” he said.
“Actually, I think a lot of people are envious.”
“You think so?”
“I do. Now—”
“Wait a minute,” Tom interrupted. “Why would they be envious?”
“Because you have befriended a dragon,” she replied. “They do kind of look like dragons you know.”
“She does at that,” Tom admitted.
Picking up her pad, she said, “I would like to continue our interview as long as you try to stop watching the clock.”
About an hour after the psychologist departed, a nurse stuck her head in the door and said, “I thought you might like to know, Lashpa is out of surgery. Everything went fine.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, relieved. “Thank you very much.”
An hour and a half later, the academy Director walked in. "Good afternoon Peacekeeper Wilks," he began. "I have been informed that your psychological evaluation has been completed and it appears as if you will be able to continue with the remainder of the conversion process."
"That's good news Sir. How have my classmates faired?"
"Quite good. Two have experienced adverse psychological reactions, and another's nerves are refusing to respond to the stimulation drugs. I'm afraid all three are no longer eligible for full conversion."
Five days later, a cybertech walked into the room with a small device cradled under his arm. A robot followed behind pushing a cart with a pair of cybernetic legs on top. Tom looked at them longingly. They were shaped much like human legs only bulkier and coal-black, the color of high temper duralloy, the hardest metal known to Alliance science.
The robot picked up one of the legs. Tom eagerly threw the sheet aside giving the robot access to the implants in his torso. Ten-minutes later, he was fitted with his new legs. The cybertech connected a cable from the device he was holding to each leg.
"This device will activate the biological feedback and control circuits in the legs. I’m going to take it slow because you’ve been unable to feel anything ever since the surgery. We don’t want to hit your nervous system too hard at first. Over the next several minutes, you will begin to regain the feeling in your legs. If at any time you begin to feel pain, let me know. Any questions?"
Tom had none. The technician finished connecting the device, turned a switch, checked several indications, and waited. It started as a tingling sensation. The technician periodically tapped on each leg until Tom indicated he could feel the tapping. A few minutes later, he could
feel the sheets as well as cold and heat. The feelings were not as precise as those of his biological legs but they were sufficient enough for him to feel whole again.
Biomaster Tzel and a nurse entered the room as the cybertech made some final adjustments. They patiently waited until he was finished then they asked Tom to stand up. He swung his legs over the bed and carefully put his feet on the floor. Tzel kept a close eye on him as he carefully walked around. His new legs responded just like his old ones, but he knew these legs held in them a power far greater than anything his old biological ones could have hoped to muster.
After putting on a pair of shorts, an act that seemed far more difficult than it used to be, he was subjected to an hour of testing. His new legs never grew tired. They were hit with a force sufficient to break his normal legs yet he felt no pain, only a sharp sensation where he had been struck. Walking, bending over, and sitting initially required careful concentration. The cybernetic limbs were considerably heavier than his original legs, dramatically altering his center of gravity.
As a precaution, he was required to spend an additional night in the hospital. Even though he had passed his psychological exam, there was still a remote possibility of an adverse reaction to his cybernetic limbs. Doctor McKinsey had also warned him of another reaction he would almost certainly experience at some unknown time in the future. It was a condition called cybershock. Nobody completely understood why it occurred but almost every Peacekeeper experienced it. According to what he had been told, there will come a time when he will miss his old body. Many Peacekeepers became depressed. Tom dismissed it; he was perfectly fine with his cybernetic limbs.
The next morning he was pronounced perfectly fit and discharged from the hospital. He was now a first stage Peacekeeper.
His first stop after leaving his room was the other wing of the hospital. “How’s my favorite dragon!” he said, through the partially open door.
“Come on in,” Lashpa called from the other end of the room. “Let me see those new legs of yours.”
Lashpa met him halfway. While she inspected his legs, he inspected the implant where her right arm used to be. The skin surrounding the implant was pink and healthy.
“Nice,” she complimented him. “How do they feel?”
“A lot like my old ones,” he said. “You were right about having to learn how to walk again. How are you feeling?”
“Bored! I don’t know why I have to stay in the hospital,” she complained. “I feel perfectly fine.”
“Perhaps because they just cut off your arm,” Tom quipped.
“Funny, but true,” Lashpa admitted. “I’m already more than a day ahead of my required training. I’ve had several people volunteer to escort me on a walk but the staff refuses to budge.”
“When do you get your cybernetic arm?”
“Not for another week. I’ll be trying to find a way to escape before then.”
“Maybe you should talk to the psychologist,” Tom suggested.
“I just might do that—maybe he can get me a pass out of this prison.”
The two friends chatted for a few more minutes. “I should get going,” Tom finally said. “I’m running behind in my computer-based training and I’m scheduled to be in the simulator tomorrow morning. I’d like to brush up on a few things. I certainly don’t want to fail.”
“That’s right!” Lashpa exclaimed. “You’re heading out on your first training mission in a few days. Make sure you get plenty of sleep.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
The next seven weeks were a mixture of dull boredom and time-altering excitement. Tom’s series of operations followed Lashpa’s by about a week. His left then his right arm were replaced with cybernetic limbs. The days following each operation seemed to pass with excruciating slowness. No amount of argument could convince the hospital staff to allow the patient to leave the hospital wing. The days in between zipped by so fast that Tom was beginning to wonder if the academy had somehow managed to master the science of altering time.
While his body was being transformed, he became intimately familiar with the workings of the Seeker-class ship that would become his mobile base of operations for the remainder of his life. The academy maintained a small fleet of modified Seeker-class scout ships allowing them to take 15 students and three instructors at a time on three day training flights.
Following the attachment of his right arm, promoting him to a third-stage Peacekeeper, he was shown the ship that would become his. It was a space-black disk measuring 115 meters in diameter and 30 meters thick resting on its five landing struts. An enormous particle beam cannon was mounted on the top section. Other than the hull number, no other external markings were evident. Although it was sitting quietly in the hangar, powered down and quiescent, it radiated a sense of power.
Each Peacekeeper was assigned one of these ships. The Seeker-class heavy scout was specifically designed for their use. They were the largest scout-class ships built by the Alliance as well as the most complex. The ship’s computer system was a semi-intelligent technological wonder. It could autonomously operate the vessel with only simple instructions from its biological master. It was armed with a massive, Tholtaran-built, anti-matter enhanced, particle beam cannon, two free electron lasers, and a large capacity missile rack. It also carried five highly specialized automated probes.
The ship was protected by a Rouldian-built shield similar to those used in their Mishpa-class interceptors. The power required to operate the vessel was provided by three 1,100 mega-watt fusion reactors and one 4,300 mega-watt main reactor, which supplied the defense screen and stardrive.
The Seeker-class scout had been designed for one purpose, to assist the Peacekeeper in the performance of his duty. The ship would be his home, office, workshop, and transportation for the rest of his life and was designed to be operated by a single individual. Small maintenance robots performed routine maintenance and repair. The Seeker's personnel accommodations consisted of three staterooms. The stateroom for the ship's master was large and furnished according to the owner’s wishes. There were two significantly smaller staterooms along with a shared bath for the rare guest.
Tom quickly learned something else about his Seeker; it already knew his habits and personal likes and dislikes. His servant robot had been learning about his individual preferences since the day he had arrived at the academy. During the final outfitting of his ship, this information was transferred to the ship's main computer.
As Tom's body was being prepared for the final conversion operation, he got to know his ship. He spent a great deal of time on it, learning every passageway, every instrument, and every sound it made. He knew its capabilities to the last decimal place. Once a week, he would take it into space. He practiced manual piloting as well as verbally commanding it to perform various maneuvers.
Lashpa’s final conversion surgery was scheduled to occur 12 days before Tom’s. The two inseparable friends spent a day together wandering around a wooded park. As the day drew to a close, Tom found it harder to contain his growing concern. He became withdrawn and quiet until Lashpa finally confronted him.
“What is wrong Tom?” she asked, pulling on his arm to bring him to a stop. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. You’ve hardly said a word for the past 20 minutes.”
“I’m worried about your surgery tomorrow,” he finally admitted. “Rouldians have a 6% fatality rate. I don’t like those odds.”
Lashpa regarded her true-mate. “If you had a 6% chance of dying, would you still have volunteered to be a Peacekeeper?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? Why is it okay for you to make a decision but it is not okay for me to make the same one?”
Tom reached out and put his hands on both sides of Lashpa’s face. He gently pulled her toward him until she was mere centimeters from the tip of his nose. “I’m not questioning your decision,” he practically whispered. “I’m worried that you might die.”
Lashpa’
s tongue shot out of her mouth and fleetingly touched the side of his neck. It was amazing how much control she had over that particular appendage. “We are gragrakch,” she said. “We will never lose each other. Whoever leaves their physical body first will wait until the other does so as well. When that happens, we shall be reunited and we will be one in unity with each other. I have chosen my path and you have chosen yours. I have faith in the doctor’s skills.”
Tom dropped his arms. “I can’t help but worry. It’s human nature. You will be in a medical coma for two weeks. When you awake, I will have just had my surgery.”
“Then I will be the first to come visit you.”
Tom insisted on staying just outside the operating room during Lashpa’s surgery. The staff seemed to understand his concern and was kind enough to provide him with periodic updates. After 19 nerve-wracking hours, a tired doctor told him that her surgery had gone well. Tom was allowed to see Lashpa only once, four days after her surgery, and only after he had donned a bubble suit. She was being kept in a medical isolation ward under intense observation, surrounded by so many instruments and monitors that he could barely get a glimpse of her face.
“She will be fine,” he kept telling himself. “She will be fine.”
Tom was scheduled for his final conversion surgery one year and seven months from the day he had arrived at the academy. He had completed the entire training program with no setbacks. The final operation would complete the process of transforming him into a full cyborg. The risk involved was slight and he felt confident in the Omel biomaster’s abilities.
He was directed to report to the medical complex on the day before the surgery was to take place. He was subjected to an extensive medical examination by a team of doctors. Afterward, he was given an injection and told to lie down. He found himself getting sleepy. As he drifted off to sleep, he kept thinking, "When I next wake up, I will be a full cyborg."
Chapter 14
Consciousness returned as if someone was slowly lifting a veil from Tom’s mind. He opened his eyes but saw only blackness. Silence, like no silence he had ever experienced before, caused a sudden surge of panic. No sound, no sight; something must have gone wrong! He cautiously moved an arm and felt the roughness of the bed underneath. At least he could still feel. He opened his dry mouth and tried to speak. He could feel the vibration of his vocal cords and throat muscles work at the attempt but he remained absolutely and totally deaf.