by Doug Farren
“Your surgery went well,” Tom said. “You’re going to be in a lot of pain and you’re going to have a long recovery. I’ll be here, with you, until you’re back on your feet.”
“What … happened?” she asked, her voice raspy. “Last memory … is waiting to run … to Krish.”
“You were hit by a laser,” Tom explained. “You almost didn’t make it.” Tom carefully placed his left hand on the side of Lashpa’s jaw. “You’re going to be okay. Rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up and then I’ll explain everything.”
“Hurt like hell,” she said.
“For now, yes. Believe me, if you didn’t feel like you’ve been run through a meat grinder, I would be very worried. Get some sleep.”
Lashpa closed her eyes and slipped into a natural sleep.
For the next six weeks, Lashpa was restricted to her bed and received her nutrients from a large bag that hung over her bed as her new second stomach, intestines, and a small collection of supporting organs finished growing. Tom remained by her side the entire time, keeping her company and providing support.
About a week after her surgery, Biomasters Arguoon and Kintra walked into Lashpa’s room together and closed the door behind them.
“This can’t be good,” Tom said.
The biomasters sat down side-by-side at a small work desk at the front of the room. Biomaster Kintra was the first to speak.
“Peacekeeper Wilks, I have the results of the first neurological test of your damaged shoulder. I’m afraid the news is not very good.”
“But it’s been only six weeks,” Tom said.
“Six weeks is enough for us to know if the nerves are responding to the drugs. Some are, some are not. We will continue to perform weekly checks to monitor your progress. You will regain the use of your arm, but there will be a loss of fine motor control. It will be another six to eight weeks before the regrowth is complete at which time we will be able to fashion a new cybernetic arm for you.”
“And my status as a peacekeeper?”
“I cannot certify you as a field agent. It will be up to Peacekeeper Command to determine how you will be reassigned.”
Tom was disappointed but he had mentally prepared himself for the expected bad news. “I understand. Thank you for at least trying.”
“I find myself compelled to inform you that if you had allowed someone to operate on your shoulder sooner there’s a good chance you would have fully recovered.”
Tom looked at Lashpa. “I’m aware of that and I accept full responsibility for my actions. I have no regrets.”
Tom and Lashpa looked at Biomaster Arguoon, both expecting even more bad news.
Biomaster Arguoon put a hand on Lashpa’s chest. “You are very lucky to be alive,” he began. “If the laser had been angled a little more, it would have burned through your major anterior artery. Even if it had been cauterized, you would have died almost instantly. Everything downstream of your first stomach has been replaced and is doing well. It will be several more weeks before we can begin introducing you to solid food.”
“That’s good,” Lashpa said. “I’m getting tired of being fed from a bag.”
“A third of your liver, most of your spleen, one of your kidneys, and a rather large list of other organs were all severely damaged or outright destroyed. They are also recovering well. Your spinal column was severed just forward of your 87th vertebrae. We did the best we could to reconnect as many of the nerves as possible but many were too damaged. After you have fully recovered from this event, there is a chance we could use nerve grafts to restore additional functionality.”
“When would this be?” Lashpa asked.
“Not for at least four to six months. Nerves are slow to regenerate and need a significant amount of time to recover from trauma. We will reevaluate your case then to see if you are a viable candidate.”
“What do those nerves control?” Tom asked.
Arguoon looked at Lashpa and said, “Most are associated with your tail. You will also no longer be able to control when you empty your bladder or your bowels. We will be implanting a small device that will alert you to when you need to eliminate your wastes. It will also be used to ensure the proper functioning of the lower part of your digestive tract as well as providing you a way of manually controlling your elimination.”
Lashpa reached over, grabbed Tom’s hand, and squeezed. He knew how important a Rouldian’s tail was and how devastating it would be to lose the ability to control it. Rouldians relied on tail movements to express their emotions much like Terrans relied on their facial expressions.
“Obviously,” Lashpa said, “I am also disqualified for duty as a peacekeeper field agent.”
“Correct,” Biomaster Arguoon replied. Turning and giving Tom a stern look, he added, “But in your case, your injuries could not have been prevented.”
By the end of six weeks, Lashpa was craving solid food so bad she was ready to tear the needle out of her chest and force her way to the kitchen. When the day finally came for her first meal, her mouth was watering in anticipation of devouring a heaping plate of food. Instead, the doctors arrived with a large glass of something that looked more like green goo rather than real food.
“You must sip on it—slowly,” Biomaster Arguoon instructed, handing the glass to Lashpa.
Lashpa took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “What is it?”
“A nutrient solution containing a collection of microorganisms that naturally live inside the gut of your species,” Arguoon explained. “At the moment, your gut is completely free of all naturally occurring bacteria. If you were to attempt to eat normally, hardly anything would be digested. You would probably become violently ill as well.”
Over the next two weeks, she was allowed to eat more solid food and in greater quantities. Medical technicians collected her waste and analyzed it. When they were satisfied that her new digestive tract was functioning properly, her IV was removed and she was released.
The Hoornah had been in orbit around Roulda for the past four weeks and was needed elsewhere. Lashpa would need several more weeks of close monitoring before the doctors would be completely satisfied that her new organs were responding properly. She was fitted with a wheeled device that allowed her to move around using only her front legs and placed on a shuttle.
“You don’t have to be with me all the time,” Lashpa told Tom as they boarded the shuttle. “Why don’t you stay aboard your ship instead?”
“The Orion will be parked on the medical campus’s airfield,” Tom replied. “If the gravity starts to bother me, I’ll spend some time there. I promised to be with you until you were fully healed and I intend on keeping that promise.”
“I’m going to be here for a long time,” Lashpa argued as the shuttle doors closed.
Tom put his left hand against Lashpa’s jaw and gently forced her to look at him. He knew she was depressed—facing a life without the use of her back legs and tail would make any Rouldian depressed. “I don’t want you to face a long recovery alone. We are gragrakch. That means a lot to me.”
Lashpa’s tongue flicked out and touched Tom’s forehead. She leaned in and laid the side of her jaw against Tom’s. “Thank you.”
Chapter 33
Tom reached out and tipped over his king. “Either I’m losing my edge or you’re getting better,” he said. “That’s the fourth game in a row.”
“I spent eleven months with nothing to do while the Omel tried to get my nerves to regrow,” Lashpa replied. “Do you know how many games of chess you can play against a computer in that amount of time?”
Tom waved the board away and leaned back against the tree he found himself next to. “Hundreds I imagine. So that’s your secret—play against an unbeatable opponent to sharpen your skills.”
Lashpa curled into a comfortable position on the grass. “From the results of our last few games, it worked.”
“Excuse me,” Krish said. The AI didn’t bother to generate an image. “We have
received permission to land.”
“Proceed,” Tom and Lashpa simultaneously replied.
“God mode,” Tom added.
The simulated park dissolved and the two peacekeepers found themselves floating in space. The blue marble of Earth spun below them.
The Omel surgeons had attempted to perform a nerve graft four months after Lashpa’s initial surgery. It had only been partially successful. After months of rehabilitation, she was now able to walk and had regained control over when she went to the bathroom. Her tail, however, would never be the same.
For a Rouldian, losing the ability to control their tail was the equivalent of a human who lost the ability to control their facial muscles. Humans express their emotions with tiny facial signals. Rouldians did the same with their tails. Such people often become outcasts because they can no longer fit in with normal individuals. All social creatures expect to be able to tell when another member of their species is happy, sad, angry, confused, hurt, or curious. For humans, a laugh without a smile is not a true laugh.
Although they had been told of her condition when they came to visit, Lashpa’s parents and family had a hard time dealing with the realization they could no longer read her body language. They constantly asked her if there was something wrong. Even Tom, who had become used to reading Rouldian emotions from the way they moved their tails, had a difficult period of adjustment.
Tom’s right arm had been replaced with a new one and his interface programming adjusted. Many of the nerves were permanently damaged and there had been nothing the Omel could do to repair them. He had full control over everything from the shoulder down to the elbow but virtually no feeling or control over his fingers and wrist. With Orion’s help, he could eat, drink, and perform other simple actions, but more complex tasks such as working a computer keyboard or writing were limited to being done with only one hand.
“What is the local time?” Tom asked.
“We adjusted our speed to arrive at a convenient time,” Orion replied. “We will be on the ground at approximately 1530. Your sister and her husband are waiting.”
Tom watched as the Orion took care of bringing itself in for a landing. Hovering in space like a pair of godly apparitions, he watched the ground approach. Plainwell, Michigan was a small town with a close-knit community of farmers and a few remote workers such as Cassandra’s husband, John. Cassandra, Tom’s sister, was a hair stylist and John worked from home as a software developer at a small Internet company located in Detroit.
Tom could see two people waiting outside a car parked at the edge of the air strip. There was a light coating of snow on the ground making everything look as if it had been covered in a thin layer of powdered sugar.
“Cancel god mode,” Lashpa ordered.
Tom found himself back in his body, sitting in the command chair. He heard the soft thump of the landing struts locking into place on the way to his stateroom. He grabbed a small, pre-packed travel bag off his bed and headed for the ramp. It began to drop as he approached.
The air outside was cold and crisp. Cassandra met him at the bottom of the ramp, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing as hard as she could.
“Welcome home!” she said, her eyes wet with tears.
“Thanks sis. It’s good to be back.”
Tom released his sister, allowing her to run over to Lashpa. She was about to throw her arms around her when she suddenly stopped, through her hood back, unzipped her jacket, and tilted her head exposing her neck. Lashpa clearly understood the gesture and flicked her tongue out, gently brushing it against Cassandra’s neck. A second later, she wrapped her arms around Lashpa and squeezed.
John walked up to Tom and the two men embraced. “Cassandra has been worried sick about you two,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You gave us quite a scare, especially Lashpa.”
“It was touch and go there for a while. But, as you can see, we’re both doing well.”
John turned and allowed Lashpa to taste him then stuck his hand out so they could shake. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good,” Lashpa replied.
“I hope you two are hungry,” John said. “We weren’t too sure when you’d be arriving and we didn’t want to miss you. We’ve been out here since after breakfast and we’re both starving. Mind if we grab a bite to eat at the Country Diner?”
“Paula’s place?” Tom asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lashpa nod her head and quickly added, “We would be delighted.”
“I’m sorry Lashpa,” John said. “Would you mind driving separately? We looked everywhere for a vehicle you would be comfortable in but came up empty. We certainly didn’t want to make you ride in the back of a pickup.”
“I don’t mind at all,” she replied. “It’s cold out. You should wait in your car while I get my tricycle unloaded.”
Tom joined his family in their car. As soon as Lashpa was ready, they left the airfield. Ten minutes later, Paula’s Country Diner was in sight.
“They don’t look very busy,” John remarked as they pulled into the parking lot.
A minute later, Tom understood why—a huge banner with the words ‘Welcome Home!’ was stretched behind the checkout counter. Paula, the diner’s owner and cook, greeted them as they walked through the door.
“Welcome home Tom!” she said. “There’s a thick steak on the grill with your name on it.” Turning to Lashpa, she added, “I have a special treat for you.”
Lashpa’s eyes lit up. “Anchovies?”
“Have a seat and I’ll show you.”
Paula led the group into the dining room. It had been rearranged to accommodate Lashpa’s larger size. A chair closely approximating a Rouldian one was positioned at one end of the table. Next to it was something hidden under a large sheet. The table was laid out with plates and silverware appropriate for both Terrans and Rouldians and a basket of hot rolls.
After everyone took a seat, Paula walked over to the sheet and pulled it aside revealing a short tank filled with aquatic delicacies.
“When I heard you were coming,” Paula explained, “I did some research on Rouldian cuisine and then made a few phone calls.”
“I recognize the anchovies,” Lashpa said, peering into the tank. “What are the other ones and what are the orange things with the big claws?”
“The other fish are sardines. They’re very similar to anchovies. The three orange things are lobsters. And,” Paula reached under the tank and pulled out a small bowl, “I managed to get some of these.”
She set the bowl down in front of Lashpa and lifted the lid revealing a slowly squirming pile of snails.
Lashpa couldn’t believe her eyes. Looking up at Paula, she asked, “Snilfs? Where did you find them?”
“They’re not snilfs,” Paula admitted. “When cooked and served in a classy French restaurant, they’re called escargot. Finding them still alive took a long time.”
Lashpa picked one of the snails out of the bowl and popped it into her mouth. There was a muffled crunch as she bit down. “Not quite as salty as a snilf, but very tasty. Thank you.”
The door to the kitchen swung open and a man dressed as a chef came into the room pushing a large tray of food. Sizzling steaks, a huge bowl of potatoes, green beans and ham, gravy, and a small bowl of mushrooms.
Paula pulled out a chair and joined the others at the table. “This is a special occasion,” she said. “It’s not every day I get to be served in my own restaurant.”
Soon, everyone had a plate of food in front of them.
“Lashpa,” Cassandra said. “Since Tom managed to sidestep the issue on the way here, maybe you can tell us how long you two are planning on staying this time around?”
Lashpa was closely examining a lobster, trying to figure out how best to eat it. She quickly spun it around, stuck the tail in her mouth, and crunched down. She mumbled an unintelligible reply and proceeded to crunch away.
Cassandra set her fork down and looked at Tom. “Alright! Out with it.
What’s the big secret?”
Tom looked at the succulent piece of steak stuck to the end of his fork then decided it was time for them to come clean. “Lashpa and I have an announcement to make.”
Chapter 34
Everyone at the table focused their attention on Tom. He waited until Lashpa had stopped crunching, then said, “Lashpa and I are retired and we’ve decided to settle down here, in this town.”
“That’s wonderful!” Cassandra exclaimed.
“I agree,” John said. “But I’m wondering what prompted this. Are you two okay?”
During Lashpa’s recovery, Tom had kept Cassandra informed of everything that had been happening. He never held back on telling her the extent of his or Lashpa’s injuries but he never went into any details concerning their recovery. Given the current state of medical science, Cassandra had assumed that her brother and his closest friend would be fully repaired and they would once again head out into the galaxy to enforce the rule of law.
“Cassandra,” Tom began. “Am I right or left handed?”
“You’ve always been right-handed,” she replied, giving him a quizzical look. Looking across the table, she noticed he was holding the fork in his left hand and a knife in his right, typical when a right-handed person was eating steak. “Are you telling me you’re not?”
Tom set the knife down and transferred the fork to his right hand. His fingers gripped the fork but not in the way that most people would do so. It looked awkward and uncomfortable.
“I’ve been eating with my left hand ever since we sat down,” he said.
Cassandra leaned forward and looked at her brother’s hands. “I guess I just didn’t notice,” she admitted. “What’s wrong with your fingers?”
“The nerves controlling my right hand and wrist are damaged. The Omel were not able to repair them. My ship’s AI is still learning how to control my fingers. Most of the time, it does a great job and nobody notices. Because of this, I’m no longer able to be a field agent.” Tom reached over and touched Lashpa on the shoulder. “How’s the lobster?”