by KC Klein
He was all wide chest and broad shoulders. A light dusting of blonde hair narrowed down over a washboard stomach and disappeared, causing a riot within my imagination. Though his body wasn’t perfect, far from it. Thick scars puckered the otherwise smooth skin. A circular mark of an old bullet wound hollowed the flesh beneath his ribs. A branding in the form of an S had been burned into his right peck. But the body beneath was rock hard and solid. A refuge one could cower behind in a storm.
He glanced around the room with a renewed interest toward the bed. “I wouldn’t mind. I just thought since you were from another time and all that, I would give you a little space to adjust to our ways before we, you know, . . . co-inhabit. But if you’d prefer not to wait, then now works for me also.”
Oh please, the time “now” would work for any guy I knew.
“No.” I gritted my teeth together and tried to focus on the task at hand. “I don’t want to, not now, not at anytime in the near future.” Okay, so that was a small white lie, but for some reason it didn’t seem to bother my conscience.
“Why not? It’s not because you would like to co-inhabit with another soldier, is it?” His eyes narrowed slightly. Arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexed.
“No, it’s not! Listen . . .” I said, trying to take a deep breath and pull patience out from the bottom of my toes, “I don’t want to co-inhabit with anyone. But regardless, if that ever changed, then I will be the one to decide, not you.”
“But you already are.” He raised his hand in a gesture of resignation. “You’re co-inhabiting with me.”
“Not any longer!” My God, could anyone be that obtuse? I know he is a male and all—thus the weaker sex—but it was almost if he was trying to. . . . I stopped and drilled him with a look. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“Pulling legs? What?”
“You’re kidding me, you know, having fun at my expense.”
He laughed. “Got you real mad for a minute. Sorry, I just couldn’t seem to help myself. You walked in all self-righteous. It was just too easy.”
I was surprised. He didn’t seem to be the joking around type. There was a glint to his eyes that I’d never seen before, a relaxed stance where before he’d been spine-crushing straight. But my surprise turned to shock when he stepped over to the bed, picked up his clothes and . . . dropped the towel.
A loud gasp sounded in the quiet of the room—it was me. I quickly turned around and felt my cheeks flame with embarrassment. I knew I was acting like a school girl, instead of the sophisticated woman I wanted to personify. My fears were confirmed after hearing him chuckle.
That’s it. I was done with this locker room mentality. I was a doctor on a serious mission and it was time he was reminded of that. Of course, having an entire conversation to the back of a door does something to one’s professionalism.
“Oh, so you thought it would be funny to get me all riled up when I’ve been up all night trying to save a soldier’s life.” Immediately a cold front blew into the room, dropping the temperature to downright chilly. Did those words actually come out of my mouth? I hesitated, then turned and saw a completely dressed soldier with the usual deadpan expression back on his face.
“Of course, I apologize. How is he?” Iceman was back. All eye contact was gone, all the warmth in the room frozen.
Kris, you are such a jerk. He was actually smiling, and I had to go and shoot him down.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I can take a joke, really.” But all I got from him was a slight nod in response. He was in commander mode now.
“How’s the goddess? Has she awakened?”
“No, not yet.” I took a deep breath. I’d been prepared to lie to him, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—that he’d do the right thing, before I’d just assumed.
“I’m not sure if there’s really anything I can do. It may be some type of brain injury, but again, I’m not sure. All we can really do is wait and see. But Zimmion might have a chance. I need the key to unlock the microbiotics. It’s his only hope.”
ConRad sighed. “That’s too bad.”
“If you’re saying that you’re not authorizing the use of the microbiotics just because he is a soldier and not a goddess, then you are going to have a real fight on your hands.” I needed to hear his motive. It was j {ivee a rust too awful of a concept for me as a doctor, as a human, to realize someone would sit back and watch another person die.
ConRad shook his head. “If you’re sure there’s no chance for the goddess, then I don’t think Zimmion has a chance either.”
“But that’s just it. I do think he has a chance, if only you could just trust me.” Please, please don’t be this man. Please have a heart somewhere hidden far beneath the ice you’ve capsulated it in.
ConRad walked over to the door and prepared to leave, which signaled to me this conversation was quickly coming to an end. “There are very strict rules regarding the use of microbiotics, and all of them refuse the application of them on any soldier, regardless of the reason.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he put his hand up to stop me. “I know you are not aware of all of our rules and some of them might even seem callous to you, but they are in place for our survival and for the overall good.”
Before I came in here I already knew how this conversation would play out, but I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Knowing this was a losing battle, I switched tactics. “Fine, you win. I’m not backing down because I think you are right. It’s just I don’t want to waste the precious medicine unless I know it will work. More than likely, Zimmion will not make it through the night.”
He nodded assuredly, happy that I wasn’t going to put up more of a fight. “You did the best that you could. He had more of a chance with you than he would’ve had without you.”
I nodded my head with sorrowful acceptance and waited for the appropriate moment. “But you know . . . there is something . . . I may have overlooked a possibility.”
“With Zimmion?” he asked, beginning to look like he was impatient with the conversation.
“No, the goddess.”
Immediately his eyes lit up. “The goddess, really? If there is any chance at all, then you need to try it.”
“Well,” I said, trying to sound as if the thought had just occurred to me, “it could be an infection that’s keeping her unconscious.”
“Could a blow to the head cause an infection?” He sounded doubtful.
He had every right to be doubtful, but he didn’t need to know the truth. “It’s possible. See, sometimes when a person is hit hard enough, especially in the head, the blow could dislodge a bacteria or virus and possibly contaminate the bloodstream, causing an infection. If bad enough, it could lead to loss of consciousness.”
My God, that was the stupidest thing I have ever said, but would he buy it? I could see him watching me with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out if what I said made sense. I fought the urge to give him more information, knowing from experience that liars always got caught up in the details.
“All right, if you think there’s a chance.”
I nodded as he walked over to his locker, unlocked it, and grabbed the key. Relief swept through me, but it was quickly taken over by panic. What if I got caught? What if someone found out? I didn’t know what the consequences were, but knew it wouldn’t be good. Regardless, I got the heck out of there, not wanting to wait around and find out.
When I finally made my way back to the infirmary, I found Quinn sitting on Zimmion’s bed, his head in her lap. The gesture was a little too intimate for simple workmates, but I said nothing. ConRad had told me that administering the drug sublingually was the best method, and since I had no knowledge about the medicine, I couldn’t disagree. So, before I could change my mind, I administered the medication. There was nothing more I could do except wait. I wanted to tell Quinn to go on ahead to bed, but one look at her haggard, worried face and I didn’t bother.
Ahh, stop it, Kris.
I always got punchy when I was tired. I decided I could work out my living arrangements better with a clear head. Was sleep worth the risk?
When I stumbled into ConRad’s quarters, I thankfully found them empty. Thankful or slightly disappointed? No . . . no definitely thankful.
I rallied myself with a Scarlet O’Hara moment by deciding that tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow I would find other living quarters; tomorrow I would find a way back to my time. Tomorro {timris.
Chapter Thirteen
My vow was broken in less than twelve hours.
I didn’t find new living quarters, I didn’t find my way home, and I sure as hell didn’t fight the good fight. Instead, the days passed in a parade of sameness, me avoiding ConRad, and everyone else for that matter, as I hid in the infirmary. I’d wake up every morning, stifle a scream at my reflection, and shuffle over to the infirmary. Then I’d send Quinn to get my breakfast (I was not going to step a foot into that cafeteria) of bitter coffee and bland goop that tasted like oatmeal minus any of the good stuff like salt, butter, or sugar. The rest of my day would alternate between monitoring my patients and daydreaming about fried cream-cheese puffs from my local Chinese restaurant that I used to frequent more than my own refrigerator.
Today I was in a particularly bad mood as I sat hunched on a metal stool and watched Quinn flit around our two patients, Zimm and the goddess, as if she’d been doing this her whole life. Quinn had a Mona Lisa smile hovering at the corners of her mouth as if all her secret dreams had been answered. And why not? Zimm was healing rapidly, his color was excellent, and though he slept most of the day, he woke to take solid food and shoot goofy grins in Quinn’s direction. Even the goddess seemed stable, though no real change in her status—still unconscious.
I lifted my mug and finished off the last dregs of what I nicknamed stomach cancer in a cup. Coffee grounds slipped between my teeth, I crushed them, enjoying the bitterness—it suited my mood. Where did Quinn get off being all happy and helpful? It wasn’t as if anything had changed, she was still a goddess-in-training and Zimm was still a soldier. Relationship aka heartbreak.
I wanted to snap my fingers in her face and yell at her to wake up and smell the disgusting stuff that was brewed in the cafeteria every morning. Whatever. I didn’t really care if she got hurt. It wasn’t as if I had anything invested here. Sure, I was leaving (God, please let me be leaving), and she’d realize soon enough what a mistake it was to wear her heart on her sleeve. A twinge of guilt settled between my shoulders, telling me that years of lying to myself still pricked my conscience. Grrr. Okay, I did care, but why?
Maybe I had a thing for pathetic, love-sick creatures, though at this moment Quinn and Zimm were pushing my limits. Watching them act like school children with their first crush would annoy even fans of the Hallmark channel. If I had to watch her lift his head so he c ~ildould sip some vegetable broth and then pat his mouth dry with her napkin one more time, I might grab the bowl and throw it against the wall.
That wasn’t the only thing that had me feeling as if someone pissed in my Wheaties. For the last several days I had been trying to get Quinn to divulge her plan for my escape, but all she would say was the time would come when I could make my choice. What kinda crap was that? I’d made my choice. About three seconds after I came here. But pushing her harder didn’t work; she just shut me down like a frigid wife with a headache.
“Are you going to sit there and sulk all day?” Quinn asked as she tucked the sheet snug up around Zimm’s chin.
“I’m not sulking, I’m observing. It’s what doctors do.” I pushed my goop over to the side, no longer interested. Maybe I’d go on a diet.
“Is that what you call scowling and snapping at everyone you talk to?”
“Since you’re the only one I am talking to at this moment, I guess that means yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest and threw a darkened glare.
“Why don’t you go talk to the Commander?” Her tone was the same my mother used when I told her I wanted to learn how to pee like my brothers—standing up.
“I’m not talking to him right now.” Wow, was I really picking a fight with Mother-Teresa-in-training? A new low, even for me.
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Brilliant comeback, Kris.
“You’re acting like a child,” Quinn countered.
She was right. Quinn wasn’t nearly as fun to fight with as ConRad. When I shot a sarcastic response, she would merely shrug or smile at me in some knowing way as if she knew my inner child was really a grumpy old man. How do you fight with someone like that? The answer—you didn’t, it just makes you feel like a loser.
There wasn’t much I could do here anyway. Zimm was in more than capable hands. When I’d originally given him the single dose of microbiotics, I planned to cut the dose in half and give a little to each patient, but the amount was so small it seemed pointless to jeopardize both of their chances. And there was no way I could convince ConRad to give me more medicine. Even though I knew I’d made the right decision medically, I couldn’t help thdn Jensone feeling of dread, like I was missing an important piece.
But the benefits . . . a medical wonder. His vitals were normal, perfect in fact, and his coloring, not what one would expect after losing so much blood. His complexion was pink, rosy as if in the prime of health. I’d checked his incisions, once, twice, a thousand times, and was still in complete disbelief. They looked weeks old, not days. The flesh had started to mend together, and the scabbing was sloughing off.
I’d peppered Quinn with every question of how this was possible, but she knew even less than me. In her world the “how” wasn’t the concern, just the “if.” She told me the microbiotics killed infection and helped speed up healing. How could I argue, Zimm had been close to death mere days ago and now . . . the evidence was too convincing.
Of course, the goddess wasn’t fairing as well. I let my gaze roam over my other patient, assessing, for the thousandth time, how I could help her. She was so young, a pretty thing really. Her black hair had once been shiny and thick. Now it lay limp against the dingy cot. From checking earlier I knew her eyes were a soft brown that reminded me of warm tequila. A sense of hopelessness washed over me. She was sleeping so peacefully it almost seemed like nothing was wrong. I went over and did the same exam I’d done throughout the week, in case I missed something. But with such limited diagnostic tools I was guessing more than diagnosing. All I could do was wait and see.
“What’s her name?” For some reason it always felt wrong not to know even the most basic information about your patient.
“She’s known just as goddess.”
I shot Quinn one of my specialty looks.
Quinn shrugged. “Some people call her Sari.”
I broke my rule about not getting too involved with patients and started to stroke her hair. She seemed so young, and this place was so cold and sterile.
“I can’t believe no one has come to visit her.” No one had been in to hold her hand or talk to her besides Quinn and me. There was something fundamentally wrong with a child dying alone.
“Her mother’s been here.”
“What?” My head snapped up to look at Quinn. “Her mother? Who? Where? Here at this compound?”
Panic fla000
“Quinn, look at me! Is Sari’s mother here?”
Quinn turned and put her palm up to ward me off. “Kris, stop. You need to let this go. I slipped up. I can’t tell you anything else.”
�
��Then who can?” I was undeterred. I wanted to let Sari’s family know that they could be with her. That she didn’t have to go through this alone.
“No one. This information could get people killed. Is that what you want, another death on your conscience?”
My breath sucked in cold and quick. A stab of pain shot to my heart. Whose death was she talking about? No patient of mine had died, yet. Was she talking about the two soldiers who died during my rescue attempt? But something told me that wasn’t it, either. The images of my reoccurring nightmare popped into my head. My small incompetent fingers, shaking as I tried to put the bits of skull back together. My sheets soaked with sweat so often that my closet could be mistaken for a linen warehouse.
“What do you know about my conscience?” Then another thought hard on the first. “Have you been using mind-invasion on me?” I stalked her around the flimsy wood table. If she had, I was going to tear her from limb to limb, no half measures for being a nice, sweet girl.
She backed up, her eyes wide as she shook her head with denial. “No I haven’t. It was a lucky guess.”
“I don’t believe you,” I growled. Trust didn’t come easy for me. I had a hard time opening up to anyone, and to think that someone could peer inside my brain and poke around was unforgivable.
“You have to. I don’t have those types of powers. Besides, I could never do that without you knowing.”
“She’s right, Kris,” Zimm said from behind me. “Only the most powerful goddesses have access to mind invasion.”
I whipped my head around at glare at Zimm. His concern for his puppy love interest had him propped up on one elbow, looking as if he was ready to fling himself between Quinn and me.
Maybe they were right. I could be becoming paranoid. I was more on edge than I wanted to believe. More than likely her comment was just a coincidence, but something didn’t feel righttobe. Quinn was too perceptive. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion at her. “Stay out of my head, Quinn. I mean it. You have no right.”