Firmament: Machiavellian

by J. Grace Pennington

  “Indeed?” He raised one eyebrow.

  I nodded, but didn’t volunteer more information. The ensign, a young man I knew only by sight, was more communicative. “A landing party found life on a planet several sectors away,” he explained, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “We’re on our way to report it.”

  Napoleon raised both eyebrows now, keeping his eyes fixed on me. I smiled weakly. It wasn’t a secret. Our initial report was already public on Earth. And I could have told him. I had been a part of that landing party, along with the Doctor, the Captain, and four others. But something about the memory of the tired, hopeless people we had found there kept me from talking about it, even with the Doctor. I winced as the ensign used the generic word “life” to encompass an entire living, breathing, hurting society.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Napoleon let me exit first, then he followed, and laid a hand on my arm.

  “Miss Lloyd,” he said softly, still holding the cloth to his chin with his other hand. “Is anything wrong?”

  I smiled at him. “No. I just…”

  I stopped. He smiled knowingly, detecting the lie with an ease that surprised me. Shrugging, I started sauntering down the hall without looking at him.

  “What is it, Miss Lloyd?” he prompted, taking quick steps to come beside me.

  I watched my boots take slow, even steps. “I saw the people,” I said, surprised to hear my voice forming the words.

  He didn’t prompt me further, but after a moment I went on, letting the words tumble out into the silence as we walked.

  “They were people, like us. From Earth… it’s a long story; you can read about it in our public logs.”

  He touched my arm again, somehow seeming to warm my personal space rather than violate it. “What were they like, my dear?”

  The words spilled out now. “They were amazing… strong, and kind… but it was sad. It’s very dry and hot there. They have to work very, very hard. All the time. They just… have to. A lot of them die of heatstroke.” And there was a young man named Elasson who risked everything to save us, who could be dead or dying right now.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about that.

  He let go of my arm as we reached the door of sickbay. “Dear me... I can just see how hard it must have been to leave them that way.”

  I nodded, then gestured into sickbay, contriving a smile. “Be my guest.”

  With a genuine smile, he ambled in and I followed.

  The Doctor stood halfway down the room, bending over a pajama-clad man who lay on one of the cots. He straightened up as we entered, and asked “Where have you been?”

  “Sorry. Captain Holloway needs a little fixing up.”

  “Just Holloway, please.” Napoleon stepped forward with a graceful bow in the Doctor’s direction. “And it’s nothing, really, just a scratch.” He removed the cloth from his face to demonstrate.

  The Doctor frowned and walked towards us. Leaning down, he studied the trickle of red on Napoleon’s chin. “Hmmm,” was all he said, but he turned to me. “You can handle it.”

  “Where’s the regen kit?” I asked, exchanging my uniform jacket for a blue medical tunic.

  “Where it belongs.”

  “Okay.”

  Napoleon blinked. “Regen kit? A simple band-aid won’t suffice?”

  I headed towards the main cabinet and searched the shelves for the Doctor’s regen kit. “Quaint, but ineffective, Captain.” I grabbed the kit off the shelf and slammed the metal doors.

  “Just Holloway, please.”

  Ignoring his words, I gestured to a nearby cot. “It won’t hurt, and your chin will be as good as new.”

  He shrugged gallantly, and I once again had the impression of a valiant man of the past. Sitting graciously on the cot, he folded his hands in his lap and watched as I prepared for the procedure.

  I set the regen kit on the tray beside the cot and opened it. I pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a clean cloth, a little vial of procaine, and a sterile mini-hypo.

  “This will just take a second,” I reassured, seeing his glance at the sharp needle. I snapped on some rubber gloves, then poured some peroxide on the cloth and clapped it to his chin. “Hold this here. Didn’t you have a doctor on the Copernicus?”

  Napoleon shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. They are not standard personnel for most science stations.”

  I cocked my head and looked at him as I opened the procaine.

  “Region one stations are so close to delivery routes that it’s considered unnecessary expense,” he explained without being asked. “We expected a utility or delivery freighter to rescue us. Not a class-A, not at all, but I am pleased to be aboard a starship again!” He patted the wall next to his cot and smiled around the room.

  “Ah.” I poured the procaine into the hypo and pointed it upwards to eject any air from the little tube.

  Reaching for the cloth, I wiped his chin with it before injecting the local anesthetic. “Your chin will go numb,” I explained as I carefully performed the task. “Without it, the regen would be very painful, but this way you won’t feel anything. It will wear off in about an hour, and you shouldn’t have any lasting effects from the procedure.”

  He nodded, and as I tossed the cloth in the wastebasket next to the cot, I noted that the chemical smells from his station still lingered on him.

  Remaining silent, he moved his jaw slowly from side to side, then smiled. I smiled back, feeling the usual thrill of fulfillment that came from professionally dispatching my medical duties, then I turned to check his monitor.

  “Talking may be difficult until the anesthesia wears off,” I informed, and pulled out the fast-acting AG drug that corresponded to his blood type. “This will speed up the natural inflammatory and proliferative phases of wound repair. It’s mainly a collagen-fibroplasia compound, but there are several other elements involved.”

  His face showed no understanding, and I hid a smile. Perhaps I was a bit too proud of my medical knowledge, but flaunting it was so fun. Even though most people could as soon read Japanese as understand my words.

  I injected the drug and watched as the cut slowly closed. Moments later I nodded, and stood back to let him up.

  He smiled again and spoke slowly and carefully. “Thank you, my dear. You’ve been most helpful.” The words were slurred slightly, and I tried to keep an amused smile from showing.

  “You’re welcome.”

  With another military bow, he left the room.

  The Doctor stepped beside me, frowning and rubbing his palms together as he stared after Napoleon’s shining blue uniform. “He came to ask you to take care of that cut?”

  “No sir.” I yanked one corner of the sheet off the cot, even though Napoleon had barely touched it. Sickbay protocol. “I was reading in your room, and he came to ask you for an electric razor.”

  He furrowed his brow still more, and bent over to help me with the sheets. “Did you notice anything unusual about the cut?”

  “No sir.”

  He wadded the sheet into a tight ball and looked at me. “No shaving cream mixed with the blood.”

  Beeping from the one active monitor in the room punctuated the silence as I recalled the pure, red stain on the little captain’s skin. “Maybe he wasn’t using shaving cream.”

  He turned one corner of his mouth up in a wry smile. “Possible, but not likely. Besides, that was an awfully deep cut to be caused by a little slip of a razor blade.”

  “It wasn’t as deep as it looked, it was just bleeding a lot.”

  He smiled at me, and the smile made me want to not look at him. I grabbed the bundle of sheets from his arms. “Well, what are you insinuating? That he cut himself on purpose and came down here just to see what our sickbay looks like?” I strode to the laundry chute and dropped the sheets in.

  “I’m just saying it was a little strange, that’s all.”

  Shrugging, I pulled more sheets out of the linen c
loset and started making the cot, leaving him to go check on his patient.

  When I finished, we both headed down to the mess hall for breakfast and found Napoleon already there, along with several of the Copernicus personnel. I noted idly that Doctor Pearson was not present. Their blue group sat at three rectangular tables in the middle of the room, interspersed with a few of our own green-coated officers. Both uniform colors stood out against the brown walls of the large open room, and smiles and laughter blended with the warm smells of cinnamon and bacon.

  The Doctor made no move to join the group, but sat several meters away at a small, round, empty table. I hesitated, but then slid into a chair across from him.

  While we munched away on our hot breakfast, a scientist with the identifying blue and silver jumpsuit staggered over to where we sat, clutching his stomach and contorting his face. “Doctor… you are the ship’s doctor?”

  “Yes.” The Doctor stood up immediately and briefly felt the back of the man’s neck. “Warp stomach?”

  “I… I guess so.” The man uttered a low groan. “Been—awhile…”

  “I’ll take you to sickbay.” Taking the man firmly by the arm, the doctor led him out, calling back to me, “Finish up and come help.”

  “Yes sir.” I watched him lead the man out, then shoveled the rest of my toast into my mouth. If all of the Copernicus personnel were going to need our services, then it would be a long morning.

  I was downing the last dregs of my milk when I saw another scientist grimace, grip his stomach, and stand shakily. Napoleon laid a hand on the man’s arm, looking concerned, and then turned his eyes to me.

  I stood up and hurried over. “Come with me, sir. I’ll get you to sickbay.”

  He nodded, his facial muscles tensing, and staggered out after me.

  Warp stomach was a common reaction to a first journey at warp speeds, which usually wore off after the initial trip. If there was a very long time between warp trips, however, a person’s defenses to the symptoms could decline.

  Only recently had a faster cure had been discovered, long after my own system had adjusted to warp. I remembered with a shudder those first few weeks on the Surveyor, during which time I had been tortured with constant nausea, frequent vomiting, and a loss of coordination that made ordinary duties impossible. The Doctor had been no better off. But now, adjustment could be sped up to a few hours.

  By the time the man made it to sickbay, his gait was too unsteady to allow him to walk straight on his own, and I had to keep a tight hold on his arm.

  I led him straight to one of the cots and bade him lie down and relax. The Doctor worked on the other side of the room, and called to me without taking his eyes off his patient.

  “These cases aren’t too bad, Andi. I put the supplies in the cabinet for you.”

  “Thanks.” Reaching into the indicated storage space, I pulled out a little bottle of scopolamine and a sterile hypo, then advanced to the heat storage and retrieved some hot compresses. They would be needed to help sooth the turbulence in the patient’s stomach while the sedative took effect. Then, once the muscles were completely relaxed, we could use a serum that conditioned the body to deal with the unusual pressure caused by the subspace motion.

  After applying the compresses, I quickly checked the patient’s records on his monitor, filled the syringe with the scopolamine and gave it a quick upward squirt to remove any air from the needle.

  No sooner had I injected it and instructed the patient to relax for another hour or so than I heard a low groan from the door. The Doctor turned with me and we saw another man in a jumpsuit standing there, the characteristic grimace on his face.

  It was definitely going to be a long morning.

  Chapter IV

  I had injected my fifth patient, a dark-skinned man not much older than me, and was in the process of strapping a muscular sensor to his arm when I heard a familiar voice “aheming” behind me.

  Napoleon watched with interest, his little eyes darting from the patient, to the monitor, to the drugs on the nearby tray. “How are things down here?” he asked.

  I looked down at the patient, whose face was set in a frown.

  “It's busy. You haven’t been feeling any ill effects, sir?”

  He shook his head decidedly. “Oh no, no, dear me, no. I was assigned to starships and transports and freighters and what-not for too long to let a little subspace warping bother me now. I do feel sorry for my poor men though, dear me, I do.” He looked at the scientist on the cot with a deep sigh.

  “They’ll be fine, Captain,” I assured, reminding myself that his name was not really Napoleon, and I must not call him that. “Things have changed since you had warp stomach.” I smiled.

  “I do have a respect for you doctors, I most assuredly do, my dear. I am so very pleased that you will be able to help my men, indeed I am.”

  I checked the connections on the sensor before stepping away from the young patient and turning to face Napoleon. “I suppose Doctor Pearson will be down here soon?”

  “Oh, I do not believe so. He is not at all prone to illness.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” I explained. “Warp stomach has nothing to do with germs or sensitive inner organs—it’s the body’s natural reaction to trying to deal with an unnatural velocity.”

  “Well, well, perhaps he shall be down here then. However, he does not seem to think he shall get it, so I wouldn’t wait up for him.” He flashed a smile at me, tipped his cap gallantly, and left sickbay.

  I let my eyelids droop and my sore shoulders slump, taking advantage of my first free moment in hours.

  “Strange that Doctor Pearson wouldn’t get it.”

  A glance over my shoulder revealed the Doctor standing just behind me. I chuckled, and rubbed my neck. “Oh, Na—Captain Holloway doesn’t know anything about warp stomach. Probably Doctor Pearson will get it, just like everyone else.”

  He placed a thin hand on my shoulder and squeezed, then brushed past me to check my patient’s monitor.

  But the hours wore on, and Doctor Pearson did not come. One by one the other Copernicus personnel appeared, doubled over in pain, and one by one they left a few hours later, looking a bit weary but more relaxed. I counted twenty-two as the last scientist left, and the cots were finally empty.

  “Workaholic,” Olive accused, and pinched my arm. “You’re going to make me look bad. Or at least tempt them to transfer some of my undeserved paycheck to yourself.”

  I laughed, and fell back onto one of the cots, letting one arm hang over the side. “I’m not even official, silly. How could they pay someone who doesn’t technically work for them?”

  She just shook her beautiful dark hair out of her face and bent to start yanking sheets. I jumped up. “Not again. You did it earlier!”

  Clutching the sheets to her chest, she laughed as she ran away from me. “I have a regular shift, silly. Besides, I had the audacity to have lunch. I deserve the overwhelming workload of stripping a few extra sheets.”

  My stomach agreed with her by growling loudly. “But it’s…”

  “Shoo,” she insisted, dumping the armful of cloth into the chute. “And Gerry too. Both of you, off to dinner.”

  I looked hesitantly towards the medical cabinet, where the Doctor was putting away the drugs and equipment for the evening. “Doctor, Olive’s insisting on dinner.”

  “She should,” he grunted, closing the doors with a bang. “I’m starved, and Almira should have food ready soon.”

  I glanced at my wristcom and found that it was only half an hour until dinnertime. “Fine. But this job stealing must stop.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Olive chirped. “So long.”

  The Doctor strolled up beside me and we started towards the mess hall. “Four men unaccounted for,” he remarked.

  I nodded, my smile fading slightly. “Doctor Pearson, Captain Holloway, and Lee… I don’t know who the fourth man is.”

  He humphed. “They should have been
here.”

  I shrugged as we stepped into the hall. “Captain Holloway has been on subspace flights more recently than most of them. The others may have also.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Lee maybe, and I don’t know about the other one. But Doctor Pearson is the head scientist, he wouldn’t have been away much.”

  Shrugging again, I sped my pace slightly. “What possible motive could he have for not coming here to be treated? And if he didn’t, what difference would it make? You seem awfully suspicious.”

  “Of course, a couple ccs of the pre-warp serum before coming aboard would have prevented warp stomach,” he mused.

  “Dad, there was no doctor on the Copernicus. Captain Holloway said they weren’t standard personnel.”

  “That’s true.” We reached the mess hall, which was still mostly empty. The snack bar was occupied by a few officers, and a smattering of crewmen was spread through the room, letting off a soft buzz of unintelligible conversation. Seated alone in the far left corner of the room, a single navy figure almost blended with the dark walls.

  The Doctor saw him at the same time I did, and started in that direction. I followed, feeling the mild adrenaline of strong curiosity rejuvenate my tired body.

  Lee looked up as we approached, and smiled at the Doctor. “Hey, Gerard.”

  “Care if we sit here?” the Doctor asked.

  Lee shook his head and gestured to the chairs across from him. I sat down and leaned back, feeling the relief of rest after being on my feet all day. The Doctor dropped into the chair next to me and took my hand in his.

  “I know dinner will be a few minutes, Lee, but perhaps you would go ahead and say grace?”

  Lee’s face relaxed into a more natural smile. “I would be very glad to.”

  We bowed our heads, and he spoke in a clear, simple tone. “Father, we ask that you would bless this food to nourish our bodies, and we thank you for those who prepared it. Keep us safe on the journey back to Earth, and help us to be kind and loving to those around us. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”