by Zen DiPietro
Brannin was the first to speak. “Physically, you’re the same as you were the last time I examined you. Remarkably healthy. There are only the smallest indications of previous trauma to your brain. Some people might even miss it, if they weren’t looking for it.”
“But none of the doctors in this room,” Jerin cut in with dry humor. She stepped closer to the techbed and examined an image, then shook her head. “I’m as puzzled as Brannin. The trauma to your skin and skull was relatively minor. The brain injury you experienced is not something you would typically see from such a wound. We see much more damage inside than outside, and there’s an epicenter of damage surrounded by undamaged tissue. Very strange.”
“What would usually cause something like the injury I had?” Em asked.
The three doctors exchanged a professional look of contemplation. “A localized trauma of great force. Say, getting struck in the head by a very small object at a high rate of speed,” Brannin explained.
“Like something flew across the shuttle and hit me in the head?”
Jerin nodded. “Yes, exactly like that. As if something had exploded or burst, sending a small object right at you. But something like that would have caused more external damage than you had. Possibly even a cracked skull.”
“What if the external injury prompted an aneurysm or something like that?”
Brak shook her head. “That would have been easy to diagnose. That didn’t happen. Though the pattern of the damage is roughly similar. Intact tissue surrounding trauma.”
Em frowned. They didn’t seem to have a solid answer for her as to the nature of her injury. Not what she’d hoped to hear, but even if they couldn’t explain exactly how she’d lost her memory, maybe they could help restore it. “Are there any treatments that might help me remember what I’ve forgotten?”
Again, the three exchanged a look. Em was getting tired of that. It didn’t seem to bode well for her.
Brak’s expression remained cool and professional, not giving away any of her thoughts. “I could try stimulating your nerve-fiber tracks in the area. It would be similar to the process of getting the brain ready to accept a neural implant. If that were successful, we might be able to stimulate some regrowth of the area that was damaged.”
Brannin’s lips twisted into a slight grimace. “There’s a risk there, though. I’m not sure I’d recommend that.”
“Why? What’s the risk?” Em was comfortable with a degree of risk, but not if it meant a potential accidental lobotomy or something.
“First off, it would be very painful. Brain matter doesn’t register pain like other parts of the body, but a growth stimulator forces the body to self-replicate cells at a tremendous rate. It’s an inherently painful process. We could help with that a little, but we can’t give you anesthetics that would make you sleepy or cloud your perceptions. We’d need you awake,” Brannin explained, looking regretful.
“I can handle pain.” She didn’t relish the idea, but she wasn’t afraid of it either. Not if it meant reclaiming her life.
“There’s another issue,” Jerin said. She seemed slightly less reluctant than Brannin, but more sympathetic than Brak. The three of them together sure were an interesting team. Perhaps it was best that most of the time, patients were treated by only one doctor.
Jerin continued, “It’s possible that we might sensitize your pain receptors, causing chronic headaches. These could be mild or serious. Migraine headaches are possible, and they can be completely debilitating, making it impossible to stand, eat, or open your eyes.”
Oh, great. Couldn’t she just be at risk of death or something? “What are the odds of that?”
“About fifteen percent,” Brak said.
At least they were low odds. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”
Brannin looked conflicted. “If you were going to try this procedure—and I’m not sure I’d recommend doing so—the sooner, the better. The more time you give your neural pathways to atrophy, the less likely they can be restored to functionality.”
That wasn’t really a problem for Em. She wasn’t the sort of person who dithered over a decision, waffling this way and that. She’d make her choice and live with it.
Brannin frowned. “Working with Grayith and giving your brain more time to rewire itself would be a much safer option. You’re physically healthy, in the prime of your life. You’ve been moving forward quite well, doing your job, socializing. I don’t like risking that with a somewhat experimental procedure. Gray might be able to help you discover some of your memories with hypnotherapy.”
Em looked to Jerin and Brak. “So this is experimental? You don’t normally do this?”
Jerin answered, “No. But your memory loss is not a typical injury. I admit that Brak and I are of a different school than Brannin. We push boundaries. Flying around out there, trying to see to an entire sector of the sick and dying, we’ve learned to take calculated risks. To operate at the edge of medical science’s abilities.” Her eyes cut to Brannin. “But he’s your doctor, and knows you better than we do. You need to do what’s right for you, but objectively, I’d say you should weigh his opinion more heavily than you do ours. He’s a brilliant doctor, and rarely loses a patient.”
Jerin and Brak must have a much higher fatality rate. That unspoken truth rang in the air.
“In your opinion, is the hypnotherapy as likely to help me as the surgery? Before, Gray didn’t think it was even an option,” Em kept her eyes locked on Jerin.
“He was under the impression that the nature of your injury was different than it is, so hypnotherapy is an option. But no, I don’t think it’s as likely to help.” Jerin’s response came without hesitation.
“Then I want the surgery,” Em surprised herself by saying. She hadn’t realized she’d already made the choice, but the certainty on Jerin’s face, and on Brak’s, convinced her. Em needed to know who she really was. Who she’d been. She’d take the risk.
“Don’t you want to talk it over with Wren first?” Brannin asked.
Scrap. She was a terrible wife. In more ways than one. She sighed. “Yeah, I probably should.”
Jerin reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “We’d want you to take a couple days to think it over, anyway. The Onari has five more days here before we disembark, so you have time.”
“Right.” Em flipped her legs over the side of the techbed and stood. “I should get back to work, then. Thank you, doctors, for your expertise.”
She gave them a moderately deep bow to convey her appreciation and respect. As she straightened, she impulsively reached for Brannin’s hand. His eyes sparked with surprise. “Thank you for looking out for me. It’s good to know that someone is.” She dropped his hand and left the infirmary quickly.
It was early for her to do her Deck One rounds, but she had the urge to move, to keep herself busy. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. So she took a leisurely stroll around the boardwalk.
Walking along, she felt more grounded. More like she belonged. The fragrance of food drifted past her. The excited conversation and laughter created a comforting hum. She liked the commotion of the boardwalk. The bursting vitality of daily activity. The intersecting of so many lives.
She nodded and waved at those who greeted her, stopping to exchange pleasantries here and there. It wasn’t until she went past Cabot Layne’s shop that she got pulled off course. Arin, standing with Kellis, had noticed Em from the doorway and waved her inside.
“Hey, Chief,” he said. “You’re early today.”
“Yeah. I needed to stretch my legs.”
Kellis smiled at her. She and Arin made a very attractive pair, standing together. “Cabot was just about to show us some artwork. I’d love your opinion, if you have the time.”
“Oh. I’m not an art expert, but sure, I can give an uneducated opinion as well as the next guy.”
Kellis chuckled, and Cabot cut in. “Bah, expert or not, Em has a great eye for craftsmanship.” He gestured
for them to come in from the doorway and turned to lead them to one side of his shop.
“Along this wall we have paintings, mosaics, and some three-dimensional wall art. On that side—” he gestured to the opposite wall, which housed shelves and pedestals, “—you’ll find freestanding pieces. Any idea what sort of thing you’re looking for?”
“Not really.” Kellis looked down at the floor, suddenly seeming self-conscious. “I’d just like to personalize my quarters. I’ve had them six months now, and my rooms are as plain as they were the day I moved in.”
“Ah.” Cabot didn’t need to say more. They all knew how little refugees from Atalan started out with. “Well, hopefully you’ll find something you like. Any idea what styles you prefer? Ancient art? Modern? Atalan-inspired? Industrial?”
Kellis shook her head with good humor. “No idea whatsoever.”
Cabot made a thoughtful humming noise. He pointed to a gold-framed nature scene. “This is an impressionist-style painting of a pond on Earth. Popular among collectors of ancient art. What do you think of that?”
“It’s…interesting,” Kellis hedged. “I think I’d prefer something less…”
“Old,” Cabot finished for her. “I’m not a fan of that style either, personally. Don’t worry, my dear, I won’t be offended by your opinion. Art is a very subjective thing.”
Kellis relaxed a little, giving Cabot a grateful smile. Em wondered where the woman’s reserve had come from. When she’d met Kellis before, she’d seemed outgoing and earnest. Was she uncomfortable shopping? Or perhaps her discomfort came from spending money on nonessentials. Refugees sometimes had difficulty with that.
“I kind of like that one.” Kellis pointed to a textured painting of a brilliant blue quasar.
“Ah. Postmodernist Briveen artwork. It’s considered edgy and flamboyant even today,” Cabot explained.
“I like the brightness and the subject matter, but it’s a little big for my quarters.” Kellis scanned the other artwork on the wall, then walked to the opposite side of the shop. Arin stayed right with her, Em noted with interest.
“Oh.” Kellis stood in front of a pedestal that held a brown ball that represented a planet. Atalus. She touched the metal tip of the display with her index finger, looking sad. Arin put his arm around her and they stood, looking at their homeworld.
“That’s a globe. More of an antiquity than art. People used them like maps, before electricity. That one there is almost a thousand years old.”
Kellis turned away from it, causing Arin’s arm to fall to his side. “I don’t think antiquities are my thing.” She seemed to regain her confidence, and her chin lifted almost defiantly.
She moved to a crystalline sphere composed of twisting, intertwining swirls of a smooth, clear material that shifted from one color to the next. “I like this.”
“That’s a Sarkavian rainbow fetish,” Em said.
“A fetish?” Kellis laughed. “That’s a funny thing to call it.”
“Ancient Sarkavians worshipped the sun and rain, and rainbows were the children of the two. They remain a very popular symbol, even in pop culture. Most houses have a fetish or two.”
“How much?” Kellis asked. Cabot named a low price and she looked surprised. “Is that all?”
Cabot shrugged. “It’s a modern reproduction, and very common.”
“I’ll take it.” Kellis beamed at Arin. “And I have enough cubics for a second piece as well, provided it’s not too valuable.”
Cabot pursed his lips. “You know, I think I might have just the thing. One moment.” He swept away, exiting the shop’s showroom through a doorway behind the sales counter.
“Thanks for coming,” Kellis said, smiling at Arin and Em. “It’s nice to have friends to shop with. Yesterday, I did some clothes shopping with Brak. There are some crazy styles these days! Everything from way too many layers to not nearly enough to cover my skin.”
“We see some of everything here,” Arin said. “There are days I have to really work to keep my face blank when people walk off their ships.” He snorted with laughter, apparently remembering something outlandish.
“I like all the variety on the boardwalk,” Kellis protested. “It makes it seem like there’s some big party going on, but no one was told how to dress.”
Em liked that fanciful description. Before she could say so, Cabot returned, carrying a porthole-sized picture. He turned it around for Kellis to see with a flourish.
“Oh,” Kellis breathed.
Em hadn’t seen the picture before. It was a painting, rendered with photographic realism. It depicted Dragonfire Station, hanging in space at a slight angle, with the nebula blazing behind it. A small ship had docked on the lower section of the station, colloquially known as the stem, where larger ships usually docked. Three other ships hovered in space, approaching.
“I just got this in yesterday,” Cabot said.
“I love it,” Kellis said.
Em did too. “Who painted it? I don’t see a signature.”
Cabot’s face went all sneaky-like. “The artist wishes to remain anonymous, but I don’t mind saying that it’s someone who lives here on the station.”
“How much is it?” Arin asked.
“Three hundred cubics,” Cabot answered.
Kellis wrinkled her nose. “That wipes me out financially, but I want it. It’s beautiful.”
Cabot smiled, looking extremely self-satisfied. “I knew you’d like it.”
Out of nowhere, he produced an infoboard, punched in commands, and then presented it to Kellis. She input her credentials and took ownership of her new artwork.
She didn’t seem to mind being a few hundred cubics poorer.
“I’ll have these delivered to your quarters, if you like,” Cabot offered.
“No, I’d like to take them with me.” Kellis picked up the fetish.
“I can carry the picture if you like,” Arin offered.
“Thanks.” Kellis flashed him a grin.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Cabot gave his new customer a deep bow.
“Likewise. I’ll stop by next time I’m on Dragonfire.” Kellis returned the bow.
“Be careful,” Em warned. “Once he knows your taste, he’ll save things for you, and you can forever say goodbye to your bank account.”
Kellis and Arin laughed, as did Cabot.
“No worries,” Kellis said. “I’m careful about keeping my savings in order. I only spent my discretionary budget. It’s not like there’s much to buy on the Onari.”
Em was glad to hear that Kellis was being so responsible. No doubt it took great restraint to maintain a savings account when she had very few personal belongings and a universe of shopping opportunities.
The two Atalans took their leave, which left Em alone with Cabot.
“Any new knives?” she asked.
“Not yet. I’m always on the lookout.”
“Have you had a lot of business, with the Onari docking?” She wondered how much he made in a year. He seemed to live a very modest life, so far as she could tell.
“A moderate uptick. Nothing to hasten my retirement.”
“How much money would convince you to retire?” she wondered.
“Ah, you got me. I enjoy my work too much to ever retire, no matter how many cubics someone offered me. My love for business isn’t really about the money anymore.” He gave her a mock-severe look. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, though. Bargaining is the fun part.”
“You didn’t bargain with Kellis. Or me.”
His eyebrows raised. “Of course not. That’s for the others.”
“What others?”
His eyebrows crawled all the way up to his hairline. “The ones who aren’t family. Really, Chief, it’s like you don’t know me at all today.”
“Just checking, Cabot.” She gave him a wide smile and his features smoothed.
“I’ll let you know if I get anything new in for you,” he promised.
She finished the rest of her rounds with a smile.
On her way up to her office, her comport alerted her to an incoming message. It was Brak. Since Em was alone on the lift, she took the call, though she doubted it was an emergency.
“I need to see you right away,” Brak said without preamble.
“I’m just headed to my office. I’ll send you a temporary passcode to get on Deck Four.”
“I’ll be right there.” The line closed.
Odd. Em wondered if Brak had some bad news about her health. Why else would she want to see her immediately?
Once in her office, Em paced restlessly. It seemed to take forever for Brak to get there. Finally, the soft, hollow sound of dried bamboo pieces knocking together indicated her arrival. Em signaled the doors to open and Brak entered.
Em immediately smelled anise and smoke. Worry and suspicion.
“What is it, Brak?” Em faced her in the middle of her office.
“I hope I’m wrong. I hope I’m being paranoid. But I think I know what happened to you.”
Em’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest, then began thudding hard, as if to make up for lost time. She found herself sitting on the couch, with Brak sitting across from her, without remembering moving there.
She noticed her hands nervously twining around each other, so she pinned them, palms together, between her knees.
Brak clacked her teeth in agitation. “This room is secure?”
“Of course. I sweep my office for devices every time I return to it. My quarters too, actually.”
“A wise precaution. If what I suspect is true, you might be in some serious trouble.”
Em didn’t find that idea as foreboding as she probably should have. Just the idea of having her crack at figuring out all of the recent events was enough to shove concerns for her safety to the background. “Tell me.”
“About six months ago, Admiral Krazinski contacted me about doing some private research for them. That’s not unusual. The PAC often has particular functions they require from cybernetics, and pay me well to engineer them. The research has also been helpful to advancing the field, so it’s been a mutually beneficial relationship. The unusual thing about the request was that they wanted me to do something I found morally wrong. Implants that weren’t simply therapeutic. They wanted me to adapt the neural implants I use for cybernetic controls for another purpose. Memory augmentation.”