Across Our Stars: Victor

by A. Payne

“Got a patient for you, sir,” the on-duty medical technician called, announcing Zoe’s arrival at the examination lab. “Lovely piece of arm work on her.”

  “Thanks, O’Reilly. I’ll be right in with her.”

  Zoe peered through the doorway left open by the corpsman, wondering which doctor she’d be blessed with seeing today.

  I hope he’s not an arrogant ass who grabs a feel during exams. Zoe’s unpleasant experiences with doctors consisted of assholes who enjoying sticking her with needles. They liked to poke and prod at her arm while asking what it felt like. Occasionally, one asked about her eyes, questioned her headaches, and prescribed useless pain meds that didn’t even scratch the surface of her migraines.

  When she had been selected for the splicing program, Zoe had leapt at the chance. At eighteen years old, the idea of having eyes like a hawk appealed to her sense of adventure. She wanted to be a sniper, and the genetic therapy allowed her to become one of the best in the Royal Marines. Back then, youth clouded her judgment and downplayed the potential negative side effects.

  Her gaze dropped away from the hall and down to her boots. Her feet swayed back and forth while she hummed quietly off-tune. It kept her mind off the stabbing pain.

  Footsteps announced the arrival of her doctor, but she still didn’t look up. They all tended to look the same - bland and judgmental. Arrogant.

  “Sergeant Raines, right? This says you’re in for shoulder pain. Let’s have a look at you, shall we?”

  What the…? The unusually cordial voice drew her gaze upward where it froze on the medical officer’s face. Wow. I thought all doctors were supposed to be wrinkled old men or pinch-faced women. The hell is this? It took her mind a moment to realize the handsome sight in front of her was a doctor and not one of her fellow enlistees, but his Commander insignia shined against his lab coat collar. He looked too good to be true. Fortunately, he couldn’t see her visually digesting every inch of his appearance since his gaze was fastened to the datagram tablet held in his hand. A 3D holographic image of Zoe hovered above the slim bit of tech.

  “Yes, sir. I was throwing punches with Commander Daniels yesterday in training, and now my arm is all out of whack. The pain radiates into my back.”

  The doctor moved around the exam table and flashed a sympathetic smile. “I want you to show me exactly where it hurts.”

  Zoe caught herself before she gazed too long into the man’s smoky grey eyes. Her enhanced vision picked out blue tones in the misty color. Staring is rude. Get it together.

  “Er, sure thing, Doc. I noticed an ache here.” Her left hand touched the front of her right shoulder. “Figured that was normal enough at first, all things considered, but it lingered through to today. First it only hurt when I raised my arm. Now it’s constant. I feel it zinging toward my spine.”

  “I see.”

  The two most frightening words to ever be spoken by a medical professional left his lips. She winced inwardly and waited for his diagnosis.

  “According to your medical history, your entire right arm is a prosthetic, right?” The pale blue glow of a screen cast eerie color against his olive-toned face. He touched his finger down the delicate display screen.

  “Yeah, they fit me about two years ago. My arm was burned and… they couldn’t save it.” She mumbled the last bit and glanced away. Everything was in her files but doctors had a nasty habit of making her repeat it aloud. When the request for details didn’t come, she peeked back up. Doctor del Toro smiled warmly. It made his pale eyes stand out. God, he looks like a model from Paradiso someone threw into a lab coat.

  “And some bone plasteel lacing augmentation of your left arm and shoulder after taking a bullet.”

  “Yup, that’s it for the implants,” Zoe confirmed.

  “Have you ever had a problem with any of them before? Any sharp stabs, aches, irritation beneath the skin? Grinding?”

  “Not until that louse kicked my shoulder and wrenched it in a hold,” she grumbled under her breath. She quickly followed with a shake of her head. “No. No issues ‘til now.”

  “You’re in luck. Received my cyberware mechanic cert while on Paradiso this past year, so I’m familiar with these. The Royal Guard seems to be fond of this brand, too…” he mused out loud while reading the specifications. “Newest model. Very nice. It’s not a bad device, until, you know–” He lowered his voice quieter than a conversational tone, “Some prick decides to play dirty in a sparring match.”

  Zoe’s lips turned up at one corner. “Some people don’t like to lose to a girl,” she whispered back conspiratorially.

  “Guess that means you were winning.”

  “Yeah, ‘were’ being the operative word,” she responded dryly.

  “I need to have a look, Sarge. Mind unfastening your coveralls and lowering them to your waist?”

  She laughed softly and zipped down her suit. A fitted tank top beneath preserved her modesty, at least. As far as Zoe was concerned, her right arm served as a vast improvement over the missing limb and allowed her to return to normal function. It granted complete awareness of heat, cold, sensation of pressure and touch; everything had returned to her. The seam connected at her shoulder, where toffee-colored lab grown skin and advanced materials grafted to her natural body. It was a perfect match now, but during her cybernetic fitting the limb had been as pale as butter. At the time, she had been ashamed and traumatized, too embarrassed to show the ugly limb to the world. It had taken weeks for the melanocytes to gradually match her skin tone and for her confidence to return.

  “And here I swore I wasn’t going to let any of you ship-boys talk me out of my clothes.”

  Her doctor resembled a deer staring into hovercraft headlamps.

  Zoe shifted restlessly and bit her lower lip. “Sorry, I tend to blurt out stuff when I’m nervous, and I’ve never been fond of medical.”

  “It’s all right; I understand.” He recovered and flashed her a heart-melting grin. “I don’t like undressing for strangers either. Maybe that’s why I’m the doctor.” He guided her back gently against the table. A machine hung overhead, dangling from rails installed into the ceiling. He grasped hold of it, guided it above her body at torso height until the lens was aligned with her shoulder, and he peered into the screen.

  Her booted feet fidgeted, then she crossed one ankle over the other to still their swaying. She tried to stare up at the ceiling, but her gaze drifted toward the dark-haired man peering into the scope.

  “You’re probably familiar with this, but I like to talk everyone through what I’m doing anyway. This is a Neurogenetic Osteo Robotic Imaging machine. NORI for short. We only use it to perform scans in real time on cybernetic and organic parts. It’s not going to stab you or do anything freaky, I promise. I mostly want to see if any of your connectors came loose from the nerve plates. Clear?”

  “You’re the first one to explain it.”

  “Yeah well, most people who didn’t choose to have elective cybernetic surgery don’t have a clue about what’s inside of them. If you’ve never seen one of these, it can be a little intimidating.”

  “No, I mean… Usually they just tell me I wouldn’t understand, blah, blah, blah. So… thanks.”

  “You’re very welcome.” The doctor quieted for a time. He didn’t fill the empty seconds with meaningless conversation, but the silence didn’t feel awkward or unnerving. For the first time since her arrival to the exam room, subtle notes of classical music teased past her hearing.

  No… that wasn’t there when I entered the room. It started when he came in, she decided. “Is that your music?”

  “Yeah, it is. The ship’s A.I. likes to chase me with music ever since it found out I play the cello,” Doctor del Toro confessed. “This is probably going to sting.” He wiggled the pads of his index and middle fingers against the joint of her shoulder. Then he rotated her arm, sending unforgiving lances of pain into the socket. It felt like a hot poker sizzling into the core of her bone and sending molten met
al down every nerve fiber.

  “It’s prett– Shite!” The expletive ripped from her throat. Sting, he said…

  “He got you pretty good. You’re in luck though. We won’t need any invasive procedures to go in and surgically adjust it, at least, and the worst of the pain will be over by the time you leave my office.”

  “Good,” she wheezed, quickly clearing her throat afterward. “So… It’ll just settle back in then or…?”

  “No. I’ll nudge it and send you back to your bunk with a sick note. You can have a couple days off for it to heal. Sound good to you?”

  “Not how I’d hoped to make my debut at a new command, but I guess I have little choice in the matter.”

  “Absolutely no choice, really. Unless you’d prefer to go under the knife. I have some new surgical lasers I’m very excited to try–”

  “No!” She flashed a quick, bright grin up at him. “Absolutely no need for you to play surgery with me, Doc. Do as you will.”

  “Are you certain about that? This is only my second week, and I’m dying to do some real work.”

  Least he has a sense of humor, she thought. “Rain check.”

  The heel of his right palm pressed flush against her body, effectively pinning her to the table. Awfully close to her breast. She nearly uttered another nervous comment to him, but his brow furrowed with concentration. He stared at the screen, completely unaware of her awkward mood.

  Hadn’t one of the girls in the lounge promised that a hot doctor with good hands served aboard the Jemison? She quickly disregarded those whispers of gossip and braced herself for the pain. It hurt. It hurt every bit as much as she’d expected when his fingers pressed bone deep. He kneaded and palpated, until the loosened connectors met with their sockets. Each time, a wild zing of electricity raced down her nerves to her spine.

  “Be still,” he warned her.

  Good with his hands. Ha! Zoe grit her teeth and refused to cry out. The man is a sadist, she thought, praying she wouldn’t speak her thoughts aloud. As he completed the final pop, sensation exploded beneath the bone and raced down her spine to the tips of her toes.

  “Finished. Next time Daniels comes after you with an invitation to spar, I suggest you accept and begin the match by kicking him in the groin.”

  “So unsportsmanlike, Doc.” Moisture clung to the corners of her eyes, trapped by her lashes.

  “Hey, if you thought half the things about me that I think you did just now, then you know I’m right. Go ahead and sit up, roll your shoulder.”

  Zoe’s head swiveled around to face him. She stared, wide-eyed and alarmed. Please God, please don’t be a psychic. If you heard any of that… “You’re not a psychic, right?” Between her lusty thoughts and her wishes for him to walk out of an open airlock, she’d never find a hole deep enough to hide in.

  “Not at all, Raines. I just know how to read faces. I’ve been a doctor for a while now. I’ve also been called a lot of things in plenty of languages by many marines and airmen.”

  It took a moment to roll up into a seated position. Zoe quickly swiped at her eyes when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Her shoulder ached and the joint felt bruised.

  “I might have thought some unflattering things for a minute there. Sadist came to mind.” She smiled to soften the admission. “But it does feel better, so thanks for that.”

  “You probably won’t think that in a couple hours.” He plucked up his tablet and scribbled with the stylus. “Let your supervising officer know that you’ll be off duty while that settles. No sparring, all right? There’s a prescription waiting for you, too.”

  “I’m guessing target practice is out too then?” Zoe shrugged back into her coveralls and zipped them up.

  “You guessed right. Maybe you should apply to med school,” he replied.

  She rubbed at her arm and slipped down to her feet. “Funny, Doc.”

  “Glad to be of help. Come back if you notice anything that doesn’t feel right to you after the next three days. Don’t wait through the pain again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Three days of nothing to do, she thought with an inward sigh. I’m going to be completely bored.

  Zoe’s medication already waited for her at the counter. She signed for the pills and headed out. The lift took her three decks down and she headed directly for her supervisor’s open office door.

  “Sergeant Raines, what can I do for you?”

  Zoe held out her badge. “I’ve been assigned to my rack followed by some light duty, Chief,” she explained.

  Chief Obi Nwosu scanned the small badge with his datagram and perused the resulting readout. Zoe fought the urge to fidget. It was a new record for her. After only two days aboard her new space vessel, she’d already been thrown off-duty. Her embarrassment knew no bounds.

  “Some good drugs the doctor gave you.” His deep voice reminded Zoe of the old earth music her mother favored. There was a soothing quality to the rich bass tones.

  “Yes, Chief. Hopefully I won’t need them beyond tonight.” Doctor del Toro had fixed the misalignment in her cybernetics, but the rough handling dealt by Daniels under the pretense of training left a bone-deep ache in her joint. It practically thrummed with discomfort.

  “Take them if you need them, Raines. No shame in getting hurt, and better that you recover fully. I’ll take you off the armed watch and assign you to the armory in the meantime. Does that sound good to you?”

  Zoe nodded, relief flooding her senses. “I can do that, Chief Nwosu. Thanks. I need to familiarize myself with your inventory and procedures anyway.”

  “Go on then. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow in the main armory.”

  Zoe left without further delay. At the first water station, she paused to take her allotted pain meds. Her high threshold for medications tended to require double the dosage, unlike her weak tolerance for strong liquor. Alcohol always knocked her out quickly. By prematurely taking the pills, she hoped the effect would begin to disperse throughout her bloodstream by the time she reached her assigned berthing and prepared for bed. She looked forward to a painless, drugged slumber.

  Like all other enlisted personnel, Zoe shared a room with five other people. Three shared the day schedule and the others worked nights. Thanks to the personalized sleep bays they entered and left at will, and were able to chat and use the shared space freely without waking their slumbering companions.

  That especially counted for rendezvous with crewmembers of the opposite sex. Or sometimes the same sex. Opaque glass partitions surrounded each bed. Adjustable settings could make them completely soundproof and absolutely private. At least, they were private until some half-dressed serviceman stumbled out with his uniform over his shoulder and his boots in one hand.

  “You’re back early.”

  Zoe smiled faintly. “Doctor del Toro took me off duty.”

  “Hottie del Toro? Do tell. What’s he like up close? I’ve only seen him while serving his meals in the officers’ mess. I swear, it’s about time we got a male doctor who wasn’t a thousand years old.”

  “Er….” Zoe darted her glance between the two eager pair of eyes watching her. Radha and Angela seemed nice enough at first glance. Neither one worked in Combat, and both tended to put obscene amounts of time into their appearance. Zoe learned her first day that if she wanted hot water for a shower, she needed to crawl out of bed before them.

  Radha didn’t wait for Zoe to answer. “My cousin Padma is on the Glenn, and she recognized his name immediately. All the girls were crazy about him there too, right? Guess what she told me. You’ll never guess, Zoe.”

  “Guess what? He seemed nice enough. Fixed my arm right up.” And yeah, okay, he was all sorts of hot. But Daniels is good looking too and I know what a dick he is.

  “A few years ago he was supposed to marry some hotshot captain on the ship. Supposedly, he dumped her a month before the date for… get this… an Eloran!” Radha announced.

  “He’s into alie
ns? That’s really disgusting.” Angela crinkled her nose.

  “What’s wrong with aliens? Some of them are very nice,” Zoe protested.

  Radha fixed her with a quiet, disbelieving stare. Angela cleared her throat uncomfortably and focused on her painted nails. It was as if Zoe had spoken something blasphemous.

  “There’s nothing wrong with them, I suppose. Personally, I don’t see the appeal. Do we even have compatible parts?” Angela asked warily, judgment filling her blue eyes.

  Funny. A long time ago, people were discriminating against others for the color of their skin or which religion they followed. Now they’re doing it for the kind of skin a person wears, Zoe thought ruefully, shaking her head. She wisely chose to withhold her personal opinion on the matter.

  “I guess that explains a lot if he’s a xenophile. He’d rather have gills and scales over a real woman,” Radha muttered.

  “Maybe he just hasn’t met the right woman yet. Come on, Zoe. You’ve met him up close and in person. What did you think?” Angela persisted.

  “I think he knows his job.” And he has a nice smile. “I was there in pain. Staring at the good looking doctor wasn’t high on my list of priorities. Sorry.” But wow are his eyes something. Never seen that shade of grey before, Zoe thought.

  “Oh you’re no fun. C’mon, tell us. Are his hands as nice as they say? I saw him once after he arrived, but it was for a cold. But if he was looking at your arm, he must have touched you.” Angela leaned forward eagerly.

  “Like I said, pain. Pain I’m still feeling, so if you’ll excuse me, I just wanna get changed and hit the hay. These drugs are making me loopy.” As hoped for, the beginnings of a pleasant feeling swam through her brain, dissipating the discomfort that once radiated through her synthetic limb. The drugs had yet to affect her coherence, but she had no intention of continuing the current conversation.

  “Oh. Okay, we can talk about it tomorrow then. You get some rest,” Angela said apologetically. Radha mirrored her shallow concern.

  Not if I can help it. Zoe nodded, smiled, and then moved over to her assigned bunk.