The man looked past her. “How long was she connected to that wretched machine?”
A voice behind her said, “Maybe half an hour. They were keeping Professor Roland alive, and no one thought to go look in the lab.”
“And it didn’t shut itself off?”
“He had all sorts of menus opened. He said he didn’t know that all of the open menus would execute. He knew how to run the machine, but he hadn’t been trained, he was just using the manuals. Wouldn’t her brain stop receiving information after a while, anyway? Just fill up?”
The man reached out and put his hand on her head. “There are a hundred billion neurons in the human brain, and it has ways to layer information that go beyond the numbers. Ever see one of those paintings that looks like one thing, and then another? Hidden pictures, three dimensional images. A single neuron in her brain could be a part of many different bits of information.”
He pulled his hand away. “And the information from the machine was put down everywhere, not just in her memory lobes but the parts that see and hear and move. She almost died because the part of her brain that tells her how to breathe was stuffed with information.
“Now her mind is rearranging it all, like unpacking after moving in to a house. Only in her case, everything is still in boxes, she can’t move around, and there’s no room to unpack.”
A tall man entered the room, a man with strong angles to his jaw and deep, dark eyes.
He looks familiar. Have I seen him before?
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Better every day,” said the doctor. “Talk to her, Rasora. It’s good for her.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to keep her here?”
“This spaceport is better guarded than your training camp was. When there’s space on the shuttle, we’ll take her up.”
“Both of us.”
“Both of you.”
Rasora nodded and sat down beside her. “How are you feeling today, Cosette?”
She had discovered how to smile. His smile was comforting, so she smiled too.
*
They moved her to another room that shook and roared. Then she felt light-headed and dizzy until they moved her to yet another room, and then she felt normal again.
“No,” said the man in the pale lavender laboratory coat, “we don’t have a record of this happening before. The Central Committee restricts the number of downloads per person for security reasons. We have no idea how much progress she will make, or whether she’ll continue to make progress.”
“In other words,” said the tall man with the dark eyes, “she could stay like this forever.”
“She feeds herself now, and takes care of her personal needs. She doesn’t seem to remember us from day to day.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Her vital signs are good; she’s healthy. But we don’t have a clue how to help her along.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t try. Let her exercise, let her walk around, read, maybe. Her book was logged into romance novels. Would she remember how to read?”
“I doubt it. That would take a lot of free brain, to visualize what the words were saying.”
“But…”
He lifted his hand. “Maybe I’ll get a book for her. But remember, the last thing she needs is more information. I’m not sure she even knows she’s on a space station.”
“Well, now she knows.”
The man in the lavender coat looked closely at her, so she smiled back. “No, I don’t think she does.”
Space station.
Snap.
Snap.
A multitude of space stations floated through her brain, tucking themselves into her mind, and she knew every one of them like the back of her hand.
Her vision cleared.
Where am I?
There had been a machine, and a man with thick glasses. Then there was the darkness. Now she was here, on a space station. She almost opened her mouth to try to speak, but thought better of it.
Who are these people?
She didn’t trust them.
The tall man held her hand and talked, but when he left, she didn’t smile.
*
“Hold the railing. That’s a good girl. Just a little further.”
The tall man, who had introduced himself as Rasora, urged her down the corridor. She knew that up ahead lay two rooms; the one on the right was an exercise room, the one on the left had a whirlpool and some massage tables. She knew all about this space station, but she pretended not to know, because she didn’t trust him.
She also kept to herself the knowledge that, if she had walked the other way, turned right, past two corridors, and then left, she would be at a shuttle bay.
She knew how to pilot a shuttle.
The tall man guided her to the right, where the exercise room was, and he showed her how to use the equipment.
There was no need for him to show her. She knew how they all worked. She walked to the bicycle, and put her hand on the screen.
Computers.
Snap.
With a few quick taps, she set up a gentle bicycle course around a lake on a planet with orange and green trees, and bubbly life forms that dodged as she drove the course. She had never ridden a bicycle before, but it was fixed to the floor so no skill was necessary. She steered with one hand and swiped at the bubbles with the other, laughing as she bounced the rubbery creatures up in the air.
She worked up a sweat, and then luxuriated in the whirlpool.
Back at her bed, a man who said his name was Rasora asked her how she was doing.
She opened her mouth and tested her speech. “I…fine. I’m fine.”
He grinned widely, looking very happy. “They made me a cadet so I can be near you as you recover. Do you remember me?”
She didn’t want to disappoint him, because he looked kind. “Yes.”
“What’s my name?”
“Ah…” She shrugged.
His smile faded. “That’s okay. Can you tell me your name?”
“Yes. I’m…. My name is…” She frowned and shook her head.
“Cosette. That’s your name.”
“Okay.”
His smile was wistful, and he reached over and gave her a hug.
For some reason her heart started beating faster.
After he left, she lay back on her bed and looked at the ceiling. Why had she enjoyed the hug so much?
I should ask his name, the next time he comes in.
Chapter Six
Annabelle ran across the sunny field just the way a large tree wouldn’t, a large tree that shaded her boyfriend Kullin, who stood under the tree waiting for her. Annabelle preferred keeping her boyfriend in the dark, because in the sun he glittered.
Kullin was a vampire! Not the evil sort, no, he preferred Bloody Marys to biting the necks of…
A knock at the door interrupted the perils of Annabelle.
Just as well.
For some reason the name Renée Chevalier had stood out in the list of authors, but her novels seemed poorly written and artificial. It was difficult to concentrate on reading, anyway. After a few pages nothing made sense. She set the book aside. “Hello?”
The doctor in the lavender laboratory coat entered and reached out his hand. “How are we doing today?”
His name tag read DOMINIC PARKS FSMD. She assumed his last name was not “FSMD,” so she shook his hand firmly and said, “I’m fine, Doctor Parks, but the food is bland.”
He sat down beside her. “You’re getting more perceptive. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about the food.” He crossed his legs and interlaced his fingers. “Seriously, how do things feel to you? There’s no way I can tell by looking at your vital signs.”
She blew out her breath while she thought. “I can’t remember names. I think you’ve been in here before, but I cheated and I read your name tag.”
“I know.”
She glanced around the room. “I’m on a space station, and I’m
in the infirmary because I got an overload from a teaching machine.”
“That’s right.”
“If you wanted me to assemble an E7 field rifle, I could do it.”
He laughed. She liked Doctor Parks. He had a sense of humor.
“And your name is…”
She snuck a glance at the electronic chart lying on the small table beside her bed. “Cosette de Nicholas.”
“Ah. You cheated again.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know who I am, I just can’t remember my name.”
“You seem to be keeping your bearings pretty well. We haven’t found you wandering the halls recently.”
“Did I do that? Wander?”
He nodded. “Don’t be concerned. You’ve come a long way. You can now get yourself down to the exercise room and back, take care of yourself, feed yourself. I think you’re making excellent progress.”
“When will I start remembering names?”
“In time. There is so much knowledge stacked in your brain that you don’t have much room for long-term memories, and names are more complex than you think. They carry images and history with them, or they would just be meaningless….”
Before he could finish, a middle-aged man in dress uniform, black with gold trim and several pins over his shirt pocket, stepped into the room. The doctor quickly stood. “Lieutenant Garale.”
“Doctor,” acknowledged Lieutenant Garale with a nod. He was trim, lithe, and his dark hair was carefully groomed. His eyes were firm, his posture military. “This is Cadet Cosette de Nicholas?”
“Yes, this is she. I don’t think she has been sworn in yet; she was in basic training when the Alliance rebels overran the base.”
“Not a problem. I’m pleased to meet you, Cadet Nicholas. That was an unfortunate accident you had, and I’m glad to see you are recovering. I understand you’re physically fit. Are you up to doing some work?”
“I guess so.”
If you need some rifles assembled.
“Is that necessary?” asked the doctor.
“We’re short on personnel; Central Command hasn’t decided whether to send the men necessary to pacify the planet.” He turned his attention back to Cosette. “The equipment in our bays hasn’t been serviced since it was uploaded from the last planet, and the cadet we have available is doing two other assignments already. Do you have any work uniforms?”
She looked at the doctor. “Do I?”
“I’ll have the staff bring you some this afternoon.” The doctor made a note.
“Doctor,” said the Lieutenant, “Major Selkrigg wants to know if she can be shifted to the crew quarters and receive an assignment. It would free up some staff.”
“I don’t know. She’s learned how to take care of herself, but…”
The lieutenant looked directly at her. “What’s your assessment, cadet? Can you handle yourself without assistance?”
Can I?
“I suppose so.”
The doctor’s lips thinned; she must have given the wrong answer.
“Don’t worry, doctor,” said Garale. “You know that sensitive areas are sensor keyed, and she can’t wander off the station into outer space. You can check up on her during her down times.”
The doctor shrugged, obviously outranked. “Very well. Cosette, I’ll let Rasora know you’ve been moved.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Whoever he is.
“Cadet Nicholas,” said Garale, “there are rewards for serving the Union well. Look at this as an opportunity few people on your planet have, that of starting your service in space rather than in a warehouse.” He smiled at her with bright even teeth. “You should be happy.”
Are my teeth bright and even?
She would have to check when these two men left. She smiled back, trying not to show her teeth.
That probably made me look like an idiot child.
Work uniforms arrived almost immediately, but they didn’t fit well. The cuffs had to be rolled, the chest measurement was snug, and they were used.
At least they’ve been freshly laundered.
Something told her that uniforms ought to fit exactly, that they ought to be spotless and that she should be proud to wear them. Had she used work uniforms in a previous life? She wished she knew.
A stiff and uncommunicative male cadet led her to her new quarters. She knew exactly where quarters would be on the space station, but she didn’t know which one had been assigned to her, so she followed obediently. He also gave her a metallic pin which said CADET NICHOLAS.
I am Cadet Nicholas.
Her room was miniscule, with a fold-down cot, enough room to turn around and change clothes, and bathroom facilities shared by several females. The room across from her was assigned to a sturdy bubbly woman who said hello, asked questions without waiting for the answers, and hurried off to her assignment for kitchen duty.
The drawers in her room were adequate, and the tiny closet had room to hang several uniforms. She already wore a pair of excellent fitting shoes, though where they had come from she hadn’t a clue.
A tall woman with a dark skin, who said her name too fast for Cosette to hear and stood too far away for Cosette to read her name tag, greeted her and reminded her of the station schedule just inside the door. “And don’t be late for meals. They feed us on-time, three meals and no snacks. You can grab some extra to take with you, though, in case you get hungry. I always do.”
The last meal was not scheduled for a couple of hours yet, so she decided to do see what needed doing in maintenance.
She knew clearly how the station was constructed; she had no risk of getting lost. She took the lift to the maintenance bay, and walked through the sturdy double doors.
My pin is registered – the doors opened for me. Very efficient.
She looked down at the pin on her uniform and read it upside down: Cadet Nicholas.
Something’s wrong with that name, but I don’t know what it is.
Raw photon panels arched across the ceiling, revealing a huge bay that housed several assault vehicles and a couple of fighter craft. She heard the echoes of someone hammering behind a heavily armored tank.
As she walked the grid that served as a floor, she looked at the tank appraisingly. Her mind had information about tanks; this particular model was an EMCON 4 multitread, carried six soldiers but could be remotely operated, and could do 2500 kilometers on a single charge. The oil stains on the rider wheels showed her that the seals needed replacing, so this particular tank must have logged over 10 thousand kilometers already. Scorch marks on the front armor, side dents, a sprung access port – she could picture the action that this unit had seen recently.
She grabbed a handle on the side of the tank and climbed up so she could look inside, but the power was off and the interior was dark. She walked across the top to the other side and found a workman pounding away with a hammer on a stubborn wrench. “Excuse me?”
The workman startled, removed his safety goggles, and peered up at her. He had close-cropped hair under his cap, acne, and a puzzled expression. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been assigned to maintenance.”
“Yeah? Maybe you can help me get this wheel off?”
She vaulted down to the grid and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m….” She glanced down at her pin. “…Cadet Nicholas.”
“Jason.” He shook her hand briefly, and then kicked the wheel and cursed. “This stinking wheel needs to come off and the nut’s frozen. I need a bigger hammer.”
The wheel he had kicked was an idler wheel used to support the back right tread. “Why do you need to take it off?”
“You can see it’s shot. See here? It’s leaking oil. It’ll seize up in combat.”
“Why don’t you just replace the seal?”
He looked at her as though she had lost her mind. “You can’t replace the seals on these. That’s a factory job. You just put on a new wheel.”
“But all you need is…” She loo
ked around, trying to figure out where parts and tools would be located. She had spoken too soon. She had no idea if the bay had the equipment to pull the seals on the EMCON 4 tanks, or if it had replacement seals if they did.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m new here.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“Would you like me to help you get that wheel off?”
“Actually, there’s no hurry, uh, and I ought to start cleaning up, get this grease off my hands before dinner. There’s no rush.” He pulled the wrench off the frozen nut and rested it on his shoulder. “See you later.”
“Bye,” she said to his back, as he walked away.
That didn’t go well. I don’t think he needed to shower this soon.
She had probably annoyed him with her suggestion.
While she was here, she might as well look around and find out where everything was located. Maybe she would run across some replacement seals.
Rows of catwalks lined the sides of the bay and they held boxes and crates. Above the catwalks, a ceiling winch ran on tracks, useful for lifting damaged vehicles or for moving inventory. Stairs led to the lower cat walks, but metal ladders were the only access to the upper ones.
What did I do before the accident? Did I work in the city, making things like this tank? If I learned all about them by the teaching machine, then how did I make my living before?
I should ask the doctor where I came from.
Then she laughed out loud, realizing the doctor would probably start talking about how babies are born, and climbed the steps to the first cat walk.
She went down each cat walk, checking what was stored. Some crates were new and some were old, spotted with oil and dust. She lifted a small container and read the part number. Her brain responded with replacement hinge for the cargo door of a JUKE class Shuttle. She patted the box and went on. The inventory had no organization that she could tell, not by number or name or vehicle. How anyone could find anything in this mess was a puzzle.
She climbed the ladder to the highest catwalk, held on firmly, and looked down.
I’m not used to heights!
She walked more carefully, grateful for the secure metal railing.
Captain Cosette Page 6