Lord Banshee- Fugitive

by Russell O Redman

  So did I. I was beginning to wonder if MacFinn had a future with Toyami beyond the shared trauma of the operation.

  He continued, “It does make ye a good demo, though. Ye ready for a little pain now? I am goin t’cut the pain killers so ye’ll start t’feel everything that’s wrong.”

  Over the next few minutes, I started feeling twinges all over my back that merged with an ache in my legs, arms and belly. It got harder to breath as my lungs began to burn. My stomach developed sharp spikes of pain that grew into an overall agony. Finally, my whole body began to feel like a glowing ball of embers filled with jets of flame and snapping logs. It hurt too much to talk.

  MacFinn checked the flow rates in my med monitor. “Mmmm, need a wee bit more. Can ye feel y’jaw?”

  What a question. Did he mean, could I feel my jaw at all, or just could I sort that excruciating ache out of all the rest? I decided I could feel my jaw, which meant it was also hurting. I nodded gently, and immediately regretted the motion.

  “Definitely need some more. Ye should na feel y’jaw for another half day at least. Hmmm. I b’lieve ye’re now a fair approximation o’severe radiation burns. Can ye tolerate that for an hour?”

  I did the quick calculation. A second of this pain felt like an hour with a broken arm, so an hour of real time would be like half a year with a broken arm. Less than I deserved, but much more than I wanted. I tried to shake my head, a barely perceptible motion to anyone who could not share the pain of my head being ripped off. MacFinn made another adjustment to the pain killers and I could tolerate my own existence again. Also, I could talk with a bit of effort.

  “Ohhh, that was bad. But I think I can live with the levels now.”

  “Aye, ye were startin t’drain the field station just t’control the shock. This’s only moderate radiation burns, but should still do for the demo. Let us go out and meet y’fellow invalids.”

  He slipped me into a hospital “gown” that was scarcely more than a poncho with clips on the sides and over one shoulder. There were flaps that could be unclipped and folded down on the front and back sides. It would serve for privacy and to keep the cool breeze off, but not much more.

  He swung into the hall and I immediately told him to stop. The hall was more beautiful than the room. It held a huge panorama of the view in Vallis Marineris. Underfoot, the magnetic floor was painted as a scruffy field of dark sand with windblown ripples. Overhead, the nominal ceiling was the salmon pink of a Martian sky. Spaced along the hall were portraits of famous people. I recognized some of them and asked him to take me to one of a tall, stately woman with steel-grey eyes, one of the early rebel leaders. I had met her and admired her as the Agent, then came to revile her as the Assassin, and as the Ghost had briefly mourned her early death, killed in the fighting around Hellas Guilin.

  The surgeon appeared and told us to hurry up because everyone was waiting. Together, they floated me and the field station around the curving hall, past the hero/villains of the First War for Liberation, many of whom I recognized and could have told gossipy stories about. To me, the hallway was haunted by a past I could not escape and did not want to. I had been on Mars for only eight years, yet to me these were the faces of home.

  We turned into a room that was starting to fill with medics and patients. I took in the pale blue walls, institutionally uniform after the first room and the hallway, before focussing on the patients. Three of them were in gowns like my own, but two of them were naked and shivering violently.

  Each patient was attended by a medic. I quickly looked over the uniforms. Three of the medics wore thick, tight, white uniforms with an insignia in the top left that had a large red circle in the centre flanked by smaller blue and grey circles, tied together with a black bar. This matched the insignia on the Imperial warships, making an obvious claim to rule Mars, Earth, Moon and Belt, with the Belt dominant in front.

  Two Mandarin characters, 青海, meaning Qinghai, were printed on the left breast of the loose, grey gowns and black pants that comprised the uniform of the medics for the two naked patients. They were presumably visitors from the Clan Qinghai Mining ships.

  Two officers hovered near the ceiling, one bearing the Imperial insignia, the other bearing the Qinghai characters. Their ethnic background, if I could guess it, was a mixture of European, African, and possibly Polynesian, typical of several large regions on Mars and an unknown fraction of the Belt. I wondered if anyone else in the room even knew where the ancient province of Qinghai had been located.

  The two naked patients were older people, possibly officers from one of the rebellious ships. They were bound onto frames much stronger than my own, with iron bands holding their ankles, thighs, wrists, shoulders and necks. The man had an erection, the woman an insert into her vagina that seemed to be a urinary catheter but was bizarrely large. As we entered, they blanched and tried to cringe away. In very thick Mandarin, the man cried out, “You promised us an honourable execution. Why have you brought the Earth uthikoloshe?”

  I was unfamiliar with the last word, but in the context, I guessed it meant savages or enemies. I turned my attention back to the two officers. The Imperial officer looked angry, the Qinghai officer seemed to have a facial tick. Experimentally, I opened my comm unit to find any available channels and immediately noticed one with a lot of traffic. It was encrypted, of course, but every burst of messages seemed to cause another tick in the Qinghai officer’s face. Someone was fuelling the Qinghai officer’s hatred and contempt using an emoji attack, and I longed to pass the Law Enforcement token that would strip out the offensive emojis. There were messages to half a dozen other recipients in the stream, but I could not identify them without pinging everyone in the room. That would surely cause a diplomatic incident that could easily escalate into open war, so I controlled myself long enough to turn off the extra channels again.

  I was about to risk a message to MacFinn when the LR surgeon spoke to both of us,

  Surgeon Leigh Kaahurangi/private, “Two of the patients are clearly officers from one of the factional ships who expect execution and have already been abused. They fear dishonour more than death. I fear that they will be murdered and we will be accused of the crime. Should we proceed?”

  To MacFinn, Kaahurangi/private, “Yes, but as a sign of good faith we should first have all medics switch patients and be sure the Qinghai Mining medics treat Imperial patients. Best if we are treated by Imperial medics. You two should treat the factional officers.”

  Kaahurangi/private, “Good. Let us suggest the change to the Imperial poloff as soon as we fetch Agent Lakshmi-Lee.”

  The two by the ceiling were political officers? I wanted to speak with them, but had not intended to start so soon, nor in such a politically charged arena.

  The Qinghai poloff demanded, “What are you saying that you are ashamed to speak out loud?”

  I spoke up, “Sirs, I often have to work with our equivalent of political officers and was just informed that you hold that rank within your own service. I would be very grateful if we could speak later, after the demonstration.”

  He replied, “Who are you and why should I care about Earth scum?”

  I replied, “I am nobody. My rank is Head Accountant. I pursue disloyalty and crime through our financial system. I suspect we may have some interests in common, since criminal fraud and treachery usually harms everyone. I would be greatly honoured by your attention.”

  The Imperial poloff took offence at that. “Why do you pander to a subordinate? Power resides with the Imperium, not with the factions.”

  “Superior Poloff, forgive me. I speak only from my subordinate status. And one of the last issues I have encountered has been harmful to all our interests. But it is not my case to speak of. Our final patient, I believe, can speak deeply and knowledgeably about the damage done to the Langara Unitary Viticultural Nursery. They may have found a means to supply effective cancer drugs to the whole Belt and at lower cost to Mars itself. From our brief conversation o
n the transport here, I believe the Imperium may have indirect economic and family connections to Langara Unitary.”

  Both poloffs tried to speak at once and the Qinghai poloff suddenly understood that he was offending someone who had the power to throw him off the ship. He bowed before the Imperial poloff and begged forgiveness. The Imperial poloff asked, “What kind of cancers? Are they effective against cosmic ray induced tumours? When can they make deliveries?”

  MacFinn intervened, “May we have leave to bring Agent Margaret Lakshmi-Lee? It was her case, and I believe she has requested permission to contact Langara Unitary through the Imperial communications to try to answer those kinds of questions.”

  The Imperial poloff nodded, so MacFinn and Kaahurangi vanished quickly down the hall. Immediately after they left the Qinghai Mining poloff addressed one of the two Qinghai medics, “Healer Brunei, are you well? You are exhibiting signs of distress.”

  The healer replied, “I am honoured by your concern Benevolent One. I am distressed. Perhaps my second should handle this patient.”

  “You are relieved, and I thank you for your service. Tell your second to hurry.”

  The nominally distressed healer bowed out of the room and whirled to run down the hall, showing not the least sign of distress. Before MacFinn and Kaahurangi had time to return, a third healer appeared. She was much older than the first two and had tattoos in two vertical rows on her left cheek. She also had a large tumour growing on the right side of her skull. Looking closely, the other healer had a single tattoo on his left cheek, but so far as I could remember, Healer Brunei had none.

  Neither poloff made any further conversation, and we, along with the assembled medics and healers, waited in silence until MacFinn and Kaahurangi returned with Agent Lakshmi-Lee.

  Kaahurangi began the demonstration in flawless classical Mandarin, “Honoured Sirs, we are grateful that you have offered your valuable time for this series of demonstrations and tutorials on the use of the Terrestrial Defence Force Medical Field Station and the Lunar Recovery Portable Medical Units, which can assist in the diagnosis and treatment of many injuries, diseases, and conditions. These are intended to be used by first responders under trying conditions, with full treatment available on TDF and LR ships and base hospitals.

  “As an aid to the learning process, and as a demonstration of our good will, we request that all our surgeons, medics and healers shift along our line of patients by two spaces, so Surgeon MacFinn and I will be the acting physicians for our two patients from the factional ship.

  “This will permit Surgeon MacFinn and I to introduce the equipment with what are likely to be the two simplest cases, while the other patients will be better examples of battlefield injuries. Our most challenging case is Head Accountant Benjamin Lomond, who has had an extraordinary set of injuries that we will address at the end of the demonstration.

  “You will note that Agent Margaret Lakshmi-Lee chose to endure the indignities of the demonstration in a medically induced coma. This provides an additional useful case and makes diagnosis of her injuries easier because she will not be making even involuntary motions. After the demonstration is over, we will waken her and provide her with appropriate clothing to allow her to discuss the LUVN case.

  “With your permission, may we introduce ourselves to our new patients?”

  They wafted over to the two naked patients, whose faces distorted with the rictus of horror and fear. The two healers looked frightened and confused, but at a curt nod from the two poloffs moved along to the next pair of patients, whose medics moved along in turn.

  Surgeon Kaahurangi fastened his magnetic boots firmly on the wall and bowed low before the woman who had become his patient. He said, “Honoured Sir, I beg your leave to introduce myself. I am Surgeon Leigh Kaahurangi. It would be my great honour to be your physician, if you agree to accept my services.”

  The Qinghai poloff interrupted, “This is a traitor and a criminal who is due to be executed. Why do you waste our time with these frivolities?”

  Kaahurangi turned slowly and bowed to the Imperial poloff, then to the Qinghai Mining poloff, and replied, “Honoured Sir, in the ancient traditions of Lunar Recovery, every patient is equal. I would treat a Qinghai Mining patient with the same respect and would hope for the same honour on board a Qinghai Mining ship. I can do nothing else.”

  He turned back to the woman. “Honoured Sir, may I request the honour of your rank and name?”

  The woman was still terrified, but stammered out, “I was formerly Gunhild Fangiya Hala, the Master of the Western Textiles galleon Worstead. My former family is a sub-halla of Western Textiles. Forgive my presumption. I am nobody and nothing now.”

  He bowed again, “Great Lady, I seek only to heal your diseases and repair your injuries. May I have your permission to attach the sensors from my portable medical unit?”

  The Imperial poloff spoke, “Do it. The traitor has no right to accept or deny treatment.”

  Kaahurangi turned and bowed gain to the Imperial poloff, but turned back to the woman, “Forgive my great presumption, but the ancient traditions of Lunar Recovery forbid me to do any treatment or diagnosis without the explicit permission of the patient if they are capable of giving such permission. Although the Political Officers have legal responsibility for the final decision, I must ask again of my patient, whose permission is required for me to proceed. Normally, of course, this is not a difficult issue. Great Lady, you bring honour to your ship through your fortitude. May I attach the sensors?”

  Her terror almost freezing her voice, she croaked, “She said to do it, so do it. Be quick and merciful, I beg you.”

  “Great Lady, the first sensors are purely external. I will lay them against your skin but will not pierce the skin at any point. You should feel nothing but the warmth of the device.”

  He drew a series of sensors out of the box and smoothed them over her skin, across her forehead, around the front of her neck, over the top of her chest, two across her belly, and one each along her arms and legs. He then turned and addressed the assembled medics and healers, unleashing a torrent of medical terminology that I could barely recognize, much less understand. Pointing to the monitor on the front of the unit, he started a basic diagnosis.

  She was suffering from acute and worsening hypothermia from her nudity in such a cool atmosphere. This was easily cured with clothing and a blanket, which should be ordered immediately. The Imperial poloff nodded, and one of the medics stepped out the door, returning with the requested clothes and blankets.

  Kaahurangi continued, saying that she had three abnormal masses in her left lung, which would need closer examination. Her heart appeared to be larger than normal, but otherwise in fair condition. She had at least ten small melanomas visible as brown and black patches on her arms and legs that were easily treatable. The number suggested they had metastasized. If so, there would be additional tumours inside that could kill her if left untreated. Otherwise, she seemed to be in reasonable condition for someone who spent most of her life in low or zero-G. It would take no more than three weeks to completely treat all the melanomas in the LR hospital on the Moon, or in the Quetzalcoatl if a patient swap could be arranged.

  He turned back to the woman, “Great Lady, with your permission, I would like to take samples of your hair, skin and blood, to analyze for a better diagnosis of the masses in your lungs and the possible presence of internal melanoma tumours. May I do so?”

  She stared at the two poloffs with eyes filled with horror. When the Imperial poloff nodded she whispered, “My life is hers to command. Do it.”

  Looking up, the two poloffs were having an intense, but very quiet conversation. I wondered who else, or rather, how many others, had melanomas and deeper cancers in the Imperial fleet.

  The blood tests indicated that the lung masses were also cancers, and the hair analysis suggested they had been induced by heavy metals and radioactive contaminants in the food, possibly the result of recycling the bodie
s of those who died at metal refineries without proper cleaning of the heavy nucleotides.

  I remembered a few similar cases that had occurred at L1 some years before when one of the refineries had experienced financial troubles and began cutting corners. Their financial problems were complicated by extensive fraud within the food and entertainment services at the refinery. My attention had been drawn when boredom due to cheap, coarse entertainment created a market for edgier ways of passing the time, like illicit drugs. The two-month investigation resulted in ten charges and a massive cleanup operation. The most serious charges, of criminal negligence and attempted murder, arose when it was discovered that the employees suffered from heavy-metal poisoning, including numerous cancers induced by radioactive dust from the worker’s laundry being recycled back into their food. For me, it was a memorable lesson in the medical and economic hazards of taking short-term savings out of the recycling and entertainment budgets.

  Skin samples from the former captain showed that one of her melanomas had indeed metastasized recently but was still treatable. The portable unit could stabilize the tumours and remove the external melanomas, but the internal tumours would require the full facilities available on the Moon.

  MacFinn then turned to the poloffs. In Mandarin, his language was clear and precise, so unlike the folksy English he used normally. “Honoured Sirs, I do not believe the TDF has an established tradition of protocols for an occasion like this, so I am setting a precedent and would like to follow the traditions of Lunar Recovery. With your permission, Sirs?”

  He waited first for the Qinghai Mining poloff and then the Imperial poloff to nod, then turned to the naked man and repeated his introduction and the request for permission. Fearful, and seemingly baffled at being treated like an honourable human being, the man stared at the two poloffs, then gave permission for the sensors and samples. The man’s rank and name were Weapons Master Befeqadu Singh. He claimed responsibility for ordering the attack on the Quetzalcoatl and begged only that his execution be quick and honourable.