I pushed another button to open the door, and it slid upwards, revealing the bright, open room.
A hearty laugh rang out as I stepped in, and I saw the three men I was looking for seated around a small table, each with a drink. A checkers game lay between the Captain and Guilders, half played, but neither of them seemed to have much interest in it. The Doctor sat back in his chair, fingering his glass, and I thought he still looked exhausted. When he saw me, he smiled.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, walking forward.
He shook his head, and the Captain said, “I’m trying to convince him to go lay down. I think he’s coming down with something.”
As I crossed the room, I glanced around. On the walls hung shelves which displayed mementos of the Captain’s past journeys, and a shelf of electronic books. Included were everything from engineering manuals, to history, to Tennyson and Shakespeare.
The room was well lit, and had a large window on one wall, which at the moment showed the stars flying past. A plain but comfortable bed stood against one wall, and on the other side of the room were two upholstered chairs and a small leather sofa, clustered around a silver heater.
Positioned near the window was the small table, where the Captain and one or both of his close friends often shared a drink. I approached the Doctor and stood behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
He shrugged, and I let my hand fall away. “I’m just so tired. Maybe I’m getting too old for this job.”
“Oh, nonsense, Gerry.” The Captain finished the dregs of his drink and pushed his cup away. “You do a fine job. You’re just a little run down. Maybe I’ll hire a nurse sometime, let you take a vacation. It’s been too long since your last shore leave.”
I hated when the talk of nurses came up, and I cut him off as soon as I could without being disrespectful. “Did you get any rest earlier?”
The Doctor shook his head. “I tried, but couldn’t sleep.”
“Go rest, Gerard,” Guilders suggested, pushing his drink aside and moving a checker.
The Doctor shook his head. “I’ll go in a minute. What did you need, Andi?”
“Nothing, I just...”
“Would you do me a favor, then?” the Captain asked.
“Yes sir.” I straightened up, prepared to take orders.
“It’s just that Crewman Baker always forgets to dust my books. I would do it myself, but Guilders wants me to play...”
By Guilders’ quiet scoff, I gathered that it was more the other way around, but I smiled. “Of course.”
“Cloths are in the cabinet. Thanks, Andi!” The Captain moved his piece.
The Doctor grunted. “Trent, you’re a big boy. Can’t you keep your room clean yet?”
“Never learned,” the Captain said, studying the board.
I reached into a cabinet next to the bookshelf and pulled out a soft dusting cloth. Then I turned to the books. He had more than most people on the ship. Most officers could fit all their titles on one electronic reader, and didn’t mind having all of them mixed up together. Not so Captain Trent. He liked to have smaller readers and more of them, and he had them all organized by author. Byron, Dickens, Milton, Plato—he had every classic anyone could name.
As I pulled the books off the shelf one by one, I thought about my own readers. I was not quite as organized, and I owned six readers, five of them full and the sixth still with some room left. I didn’t think most of the crew owned any conventional books, other than the Doctor, who distrusted electronic readers and preferred to turn real, paper pages.
I myself had only one conventional book, and I smiled as I imagined the soft brown leather cover underneath my fingers. It was fitting that my most important book should be my only “real” book, I thought.
The conversation over the checkers game went on, the Doctor leaning back and criticizing each move.
“Don’t take so long to think, Guilders,” the Captain complained as the older man sat observing the board. “I need to get back to the bridge in—” he consulted his wristcom “—ten minutes.”
Guilders reached forward and picked up a black checker. “If you took a little longer to think, you might win sometimes.” He jumped his piece over two of the Captain’s.
The Captain groaned. “I do win sometimes,” he protested, handing his pieces over.
“I would think you would have noticed that, Trent,” the Doctor scolded.
I smiled as I dusted the books.
“By the way, Gerry,” the Captain spoke up after a moment of silence, “what have you found out about Andi’s problem—her knee, I mean. What happened on the bridge?”
I didn’t turn to look, but a slight shiver tickled down my back in the momentary silence that followed.
“Nothing,” the Doctor said. “I mean—something happened, but I don’t know what.”
His voice dismissed further questioning, and I bit my lip as I dusted a crimson copy of Shakespeare’s plays. There was no further conversation for several minutes, and a bold question entered my mind. I had to work up the courage to ask it, so it wasn’t until a few books later that I spoke.
“Have any of you ever heard of Langham’s Disease?”
For a moment, no one answered. I didn’t turn around, but tried to hide my red face among the books.
“No,” said the Captain. I hadn’t expected him to be the first to speak. “Why do you ask?”
Before I could answer, the Doctor’s voice, weary, spoke. “I know something about it.”
That was all. The chill of nervousness chased down my spine again. Somehow I didn’t want to face him, but I wondered what his expression was. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
I wasn’t planning on pursuing the topic further, but Guilders stated his own answer to my question.
“My niece and grand-niece were both diagnosed with it, shortly after my grand-niece was born.”
This interested me. “What happened?” I asked, still dusting.
“They both died.”
IX
His voice was as flat as ever, but it didn’t stop my heart from going out to him. I turned around at last and looked at him. “I’m sorry, Guilders.”
He nodded and moved a checker. I stole a glance at the Doctor’s face, but he wasn’t looking at me. He just looked tired.
“What is it?” the Captain asked, taking his turn.
Since Guilders and the Doctor didn’t answer, I volunteered the information. “It’s a lymphatic disorder. Some congenital organism that eats the lymphatic vessels. I just heard of it today—I don’t know that much.”
“That doesn’t sound enjoyable.”
Guilders spoke quietly. “My niece said it wasn’t.”
I took a step nearer the little group. “You saw her after she was diagnosed?”
“Yes. “
“And there’s no cure?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and jumped another of the Captain’s pieces. “I don’t know. I heard rumors of a cure being developed about that time, but nothing definite.”
The Doctor abruptly stood up. “I’m sorry—I can’t focus. I’m so tired. I’m going to have to go try to get some rest.”
I nodded, and the Captain said, “Yes, please do, Gerry.”
He turned his tired gray eyes on me, and I reproached myself severely for my absurdity, and stepped to his side.
“You can take care of things, Andi?”
“Yes sir.”
“I might not come down to dinner. I’m just—so tired.”
I nodded once more, then impulsively kissed him on the cheek. “I hope you feel better soon, Dad.”
“Thank you.” He brushed my arm with his hand, then turned and left the room.
I watched him leave and felt that pang in my heart again.
The Captain shook his head. “Poor Gerry. He is looking old.”
Feeling fierce, I wheeled around. “He’s not old!”
&nb
sp; Shrugging, he stood up. “I suppose I shouldn’t talk, when he only has six years on me. I’m heading up, Guilders. Good game.”
“I’ll come,” was all Guilders said.
“Thanks for the dusting, Andi,” the Captain smiled.
I tried to return the smile, but didn’t think I’d quite succeeded. “Any time.”
Guilders walked out, and the Captain gestured me towards the door with a flourish. I smiled half-heartedly and hurried out. The Captain followed, closed the door, and started towards the elevator.
I wished I hadn’t asked that silly question. If the Doctor had heard about it—then how didn’t he know I had it?
Stopping in my walk down the hall, I reined my thoughts in firmly. I didn’t even know if I had it yet.
As I thought about my earlier meeting with Commander Howitz, I remembered the reason I couldn’t seek him in engineering. My knee implant. Surely that had something to do with the pain! It was too much of a coincidence. But why should it just suddenly start hurting, when no impact had ever made it hurt before? And if I did have Langham’s Disease, was it just a coincidence that the “sudden, intense joint pain” had occurred in the one joint in my body that was not fully bone?
That kneecap now—that was something of a mystery. It wasn’t even the whole kneecap, just a tiny bit of metal implanted in the middle of an otherwise bone patella. I remembered when the Doctor had first told me that I had it.
“Why did I need that?” I’d asked, puzzled.
He’d shaken his head. “I don’t know. You had it when I found you.”
It had never hurt me before. Why should it start now?
If it was the Langham’s Disease that caused it to start hurting—
I couldn’t have had the disease since birth, or I would have died.
So it wasn’t possible. I dismissed the idea and hurried to sickbay, hoping that there would be work there to calm my overactive imagination.
………
I was just drifting off to sleep that night when a beep jolted me awake. I looked around groggily, trying to find out where it was coming from. Whatever it was, it beeped again, and I tried to place the familiar sound.
My wristcom. That was it. Startled, I picked it up and fumbled to get my finger on the button. “Yes?”
No answer. Neither voice nor static came, and as I brought the indicator into focus, I saw that the call had been terminated.
“Must have the wrong number,” I mumbled, setting the band down on my nightstand and snuggling under the covers again.
My mind had just begun to wander into dreams when the beep came again, and this time I sat up. I picked up the com and answered. “Hello?”
This time, there was static, and I looked to see who was calling. It was the Doctor’s com number.
“Hello?” I said again.
“Andi...” came his voice, weak and forced. Then I heard a grunt that was almost a groan, and then the call was terminated again.
Thoroughly aroused, I stood up and reached for the dressing gown I’d thrown over a chair the night before. Something was wrong with him—I had no idea what, but I knew he needed my help.
Trying to get my bearings, I stumbled towards the door, not taking the time to order lights on. When I reached it, I unlocked it and slipped out into the dim halls, blinking in the faint light.
The Doctor’s room was right next to mine, and I pushed the button to open his door. It opened readily; he rarely locked his cabin, even at night. I slipped in and let the door slide shut behind me.
A tiny beam of light from one corner of the room showed me the Doctor’s form, tossing and turning on his bed.
Tip-toeing, I made my way to the bed and sat down on the side of it. His face was twisted as if in pain, and I laid my hand gently on his chest. “Doctor?”
He stopped tossing, and his heavy breathing slowed, but his eyes remained closed, and his face didn’t change.
In a whisper which was only slightly louder, I said, “Dad?”
The eyes opened and he stared up at me, an empty, dazed stare.
“Dad,” I reassured quietly, “It’s me. Andi. Don’t you know me?”
His eyes remained void, and a voice that was not his own sounded from his throat. “Why do you call me dad?”
My heartbeat accelerated.
An intelligent look spread over his face, and his eyes grew confused. “Andi? What are you doing here?” His voice was back to normal now.
“You called me.”
“I called you?” His brow wrinkled in confusion.
I bit my lip. “Yes. Are you all right?”
“Of course.” He seemed gruffer than usual. “Just can’t sleep, that’s all.”
“Bad dreams?”
The question seemed to confuse him. He looked up at me as if he were searching for something, and then rested his hand on mine. “Yes.”
Somehow, I felt like he meant “no.” But I also felt that questioning him further would only make him uncomfortable. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
But as I rose to leave, his hand closed around mine spasmodically. “No. No, don’t go.”
I complied, and sat in silence for a moment. After continuing to search my face for whatever it was he sought, he said, almost pleadingly, “My mother...” He paused, and when he began to speak again, the other voice was back. “...She used to sing me a song when I couldn’t sleep. Will you sing it for me?”
His voice sounded so distant—almost lost.
I forced myself to speak calmly and lightly. “Do you know the name of the song?”
After searching my face again, he said, “No. Will you sing it for me?”
My hand trembled, but I again calmed myself. “I do not know the song your mother sang, but I will sing for you.”
His hold on my hand relaxed, and I began to softly sing him a lullaby. But before the first verse was over, I felt his body relax, his eyes closed, and his breathing became regular again. After I had finished the song, I whispered, “Goodnight, Dad,” and, leaning forward, planted a kiss on his cheek before rising to leave.
Extremely shaken, I made my way back to my room, shut and locked the door, and dropped onto my bed, breathing deeply and feeling my heart race.
I didn’t think I would be able to sleep at all after that. What did it mean? What was the unrest in his face? I’d never seen anything like it before. It made me so uneasy, that I had more than half a mind to go get the Captain. But it was so late, and I shrank from waking him.
Tomorrow, I would find out what was going on, somehow.
X
I didn’t know I had drifted off to sleep until my alarm awakened me. That meant it was seven thirty. Apparently I had been able to sleep after all.
Laying there in the dimness, I recalled the night before in my mind. I wanted to think it had only been a dream, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I could almost feel the moist pressure of the Doctor’s hand on mine as he begged me to sing for him, and hear the strange note of distance and confusion in his voice.
No longer would I be able to convince myself that things would get themselves back to normal. I would have to do something—what, I wasn’t sure yet. First I needed to figure out what was wrong with the Doctor.
As I jumped up and dressed, I tried to figure out just what to say to him. Should I just ask him right out what had happened last night? Or see if he brought it up first? I didn’t quite like to just walk up and say, “Hey Dad, what was wrong with you last night?” What if it had only been a bad dream, like he said? On the whole, I thought it would be better just to ask him in a less direct way—perhaps just see if he was still acting strangely, or if he referred to it himself.
Strapping on my wristcom, I hurried out the door and rode the elevator up to B-Deck.
As I trotted to sickbay, I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down. Then, straightening my jacket, I peeked in.
He was there, giving a crewman his regular checkup. Evidently he
hadn’t seen me come in, and I stood there observing him for a moment. It seemed to me that his hair was a little bit grayer than a few days ago, and his always thin form seemed even thinner. The lines on his forehead had multiplied, and his frown was more frequent than ever.
As I stood observing him, the patient got up, thanked him, and walked towards the door. I stepped aside, and the man passed me with a nod. The Doctor began changing the sheets.
Stepping into the room with purpose, I forced myself to call brightly, “Good morning, Dad.”
He looked up quickly, and then said, “Good morning.”
Hesitantly, I stepped a little closer. “Are you feeling better this morning?”
“Better?”
He looked confused, standing there with one corner of the clean sheet in his hands, staring.
“You know... you were tired yesterday.”
“Oh yes.” He went back to putting the new sheets on. “I think Trent was right. I just need a break. I might ask him to go ahead and hire a nurse...”
“No!” I said.
He looked at me, frowning.
I blushed and looked down. “I mean... we don’t need a nurse. We can take care of things by ourselves. Just you and me.”
Sneaking a look at his face, I found his eyes fixed steadily on me.
“Let me help you with that,” I mumbled, and moved forward to tuck the corners of the sheet under the cot mattress.
He stepped back and let me work.
“Did you sleep well last night?” I asked, remembering the strange incident.
It was a moment before he answered; just long enough for anxiety to begin to rise in my chest.
“Like a log,” he said at last.
I shivered. I should ask him about it. Now. But—did he not remember? Or did he just not want to talk about it? Other than a slightly absent manner, he appeared to be acting normal.
Firmament: Radialloy Page 6