Across the Line pt. 5
Despite the colossal size of the Kaalakiota Corporation’s space station which orbited a moon of the seventh planet of the Evati solar system, the walk from The Fighting and Drinking Pub to the capsuleer medical center was a short one. All capsuleer-oriented services and living quarters were sequestered from the general public, and capsuleers were generally loath to rub elbows with the masses in any case. Countless millions of words had been written in articles and studies regarding the capsuleers’ VIP status in modern civilization, analyzing the effect this cloistered lifestyle had on their already strained sense of connection with the human condition. Seemingly oblivious to the controversy, capsuleers mostly took their position as given and paid it no mind, the same way a fish pays no mind to the water in which it swims.
Hap arrived at his destination, the medical center in which capsuleers entered (and sometimes departed) their cloned bodies. Scanners embedded in an alcove above the security doors scanned Hap and recognized the retired capsuleer as one of those allowed to enter the facility. The transparent doubled doors parted smoothly, sliding into recesses on either side of the doorway. The lobby of the medical center was small, no more than an antechamber with a short padded bench, an AIMed (AI Medical) terminal set into the opposite wall, and a Quafe vending machine. A video player mounted high on a side wall droned to itself, playing an entertainment program despite the lack of an audience. Hap crossed the foyer in three steps, walking to the AIMed console.
“Good day to you sir,” The AIMed spoke in a smooth and artificial voice, which to Hap’s ear seemed to have been programmed to have a hint of a Sebestior tribal accent. “How may I be of assistance today?”
“I know there’s a live doctor on staff,” Hap said to the machine, matter-of-factly. “I’m not going to discuss this with you.”
The AIMed sorted Hap’s reply through various branches of logic and analysis, following its program. Obsequiousness to capsuleers carried a higher value in its hierarchy of responses than security, so it replied:
“The resident doctor has been summoned and will be here presently,” the AIMed said after a short pause (which had been designed by the programmers to emulate thoughtfulness).
Hap eyed the bench and wondered how long he would be kept waiting. He turned to the bench to take a seat for what he hoped would be a short wait. His life no longer moved at the frantic pace of a capsuleer’s, but he still had no desire to wait around needlessly. Before he could take a seat, a concealed door which lead deeper into the medical center slid open, revealing Doctor Cassandra Heywood.
“Hap,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Doctor Heywood. What brings you here today?” Cassandra did not know Hap personally, because she had transferred to this space station after he had retired from active duty. The AIMed had informed her of the identity of the visitor. Visitors to the medical center were rare, so she guessed correctly that his visit had something to do with Persephone Astrid’s discharge earlier that day.
Hap smiled involuntarily at the doctor, as he had a weakness for professional women, and the things that she did for a white laboratory coat and short skirt made him feel at once both ten years younger and ten years older. The murderous impulse which had propelled him out of his pub and through the station corridors quickly faded like a smothered fire, and Hap spoke plainly and reasonably. He had anticipated that the doctor would have been a man, and he also had anticipated rearranging the doctor’s face with his knuckles.
“It’s about Persephone Astrid,” Hap said, putting his hands into the pockets of his sweater now that he would not need them for violence. “You discharged her today.”
“Yes, about that,” Doctor Heywood said slowly, forcing herself not to feel fear. She’d expected trouble, but not this promptly. “Why don’t we talk about this in my office?” She tipped her head gesturing to the corridor behind her.
“Let’s,” Hap said as he reshuffled his thoughts, changing his approach on the fly as if this were combat between starships. His plan for the encounter had not survived first contact with the opposition, and thus he improvised. He followed the Doctor to her office and was saddened to discover that her loosely-fitting lab coat had looked better from the front than from behind. Cassandra’s office, he discovered, was not especially large and was mostly devoid of decoration. He sat without invitation in the plush chair opposite her desk.
Casandra sat down in her office chair and clasped her hands together, setting them on the desktop. She leaned forward.
“Just for the sake of understanding, how much have you been told?” she asked Hap.
“I know–to use the term loosely–that Persephone’s download got botched and from what I hear she’s now got a male brain,” Hap replied crossly. He too leaned forward and planted his right elbow on the armrest and punctuated his thoughts with hand gestures. “I’m not going to lie: I’m not happy about that. In fact, I’ll just go ahead right now and confess that I’m extremely unhappy about that. I’ve been podded forty-three times, and I know for a fact that the sort of scenario she described to me today simply does not happen. What the hell is going on here?” Hap discovered that he’d almost begun to shout, and he tried to restore his calm.
“Ah-ha yes,” Cassandra half-laughed and half-sighed, drawing out her words to buy time. She took another breath and gathered her composure and adopted her doctor-informing-a-patient voice in an attempt to keep control of the conversation. “About that: it’s a put-on.” Her reply hung in the air for a long second. Cassandra’s gaze remained level.
“Oh really?” Hap replied incredulously, his voice rising and falling through the word really. His inflection was mirrored in the rising and falling of his eyebrows. With only two words he communicated that he expected a much fuller explanation than what he had just been given. Cassandra understood this immediately.
“Yes really,” Cassandra said quickly. “The client had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this so quickly, but I guess I ought to tell you. It’s a sham. The imagery we showed her was cooked up with image software, her peculiar urges are just the lingering effect of a testosterone nanopump. She’s perfectly okay, Hap. It’s just a practical joke, paid for by–” she paused, deciding not to give away the client’s identity just yet.
Hap put his finger to his lips thoughtfully and raised his eyebrows again, regarding the doctor.
“That’s the damndest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, sorting out his thoughts. He’d expected to confront a sinister plot, or simple medical incompetence, but the notion of a practical joke had not occurred to him. In matters of space combat his reflexes had been–probably still were–unparalleled. Stationside, Hap found peculiar situations to be slightly more confounding. He sat up straighter in his chair. “So this is someone’s idea of a joke,” he asked rhetorically, still flabbergasted. “You know, people die for a lot less than this–oh, not that I’m threatening you, I mean–but you do realize that capsuleers can be just a mite bit touchy.”
“Oh, you can be sure that immunity to retribution was essential,” Cassandra replied. “I would never have agreed to this without it.” Now that the secret was in the open, she no longer felt the need to restrain herself from divulging more. “I have been promised the protection of The Hellcats. I’ll be fine.”
“Persephone’s a Hellcat,” Hap interjected. To him, what Cassandra had said did not make sense at first. He thought aloud: “But only a director of The Hellcats could make such a promise to you.” Hap then made the mental connection: A director of The Hellcats had set this up. Hap smiled in satisfaction; he’d just narrowed the list of possible pranksters to three people. With a very good idea of who had done this, he now could move on to investigating why they had done so. “It was Mynxee, Shae Tiann, or Venom Orchid who did this, am I right?”
“That would be a reasonable assumption,” the doctor said. The obvious meaning of her words being Yes, that’s exactly right. “I could–” she started to say, but Hap cut her off.
“No, no, don’t tell me,” he interrupted, waving his hand back and forth as if to shoo any stray words back to the source. “I can sort the rest from here, and you don’t have to betray your client. I just have one more question, though: Persephone, she’ll be okay after this right? No lingering after-effects?”
Cassandra shook her head.
“None,” she said with certainty, glad to be discussing medical technology again. “The nanopump will disintegrate within 48 hours, and the small dose of testosterone will have no permanent effect on her. She will be completely back to normal within a week. Until then she may be a bit moody, but it’s nothing dangerous. She can resume flight duty any time she wants.”
Hap nodded, relieved.
“Can I ask you a question, Hap?” Doctor Heywood asked, changing the subject.
“Sure,” Hap replied pleasantly with a shrug. His mood had improved vastly, and he’d allowed his guard to slip a little.
“What’s your interest in this?” Cassandra asked. She knew that Hap had retired years before, so he was not directly involved in Persephone’s career, and since he was a man he was obviously not in her corporation.
“She’s one of the regulars at my pub,” Hap said, telling only a tiny fraction of the truth. He tightly controlled his expression and gestures, hoping to reveal nothing. “We talk a lot about the business,” he continued, meaning the bloody business of piracy. “She’s a good kid.”
In Hap’s thoughts, he winced. Should not have said the last sentence, he realized. If Cassandra had drawn any inferences from his slip, he could not discern it from her expression.
“I understand,” she said blandly. “For my part, I’m very sorry if this has caused you an–” A sudden soft chime interrupted Cassandra. Without preamble, the voice of the center’s AIMed quietly spoke from a panel embedded in her desk’s top.
“Incoming voice comm, Doctor,” it said. “From Venom Orchid. Do you wish to take the call?”
Hap nearly fell out of his chair. He watched Cassandra closely.
“Open the line in twenty seconds,” she instructed the AI. She looked to Hap and smiled while spreading her hands. “What can I say?” she asked ruefully.
Hap chuckled as he rose from his chair and backed toward the doorway.
“You don’t need to say a thing,” he replied genially. “I’ll show myself out. Thanks so much for your time.”
“Any time,” Cassandra replied, meaning it.
Hap resisted the urge to eavesdrop and stepped quickly to the foyer. As the door slid closed behind him, he thought that he faintly heard Venom Orchid’s voice, but that didn’t tell him anything which he he didn’t know already.
Hap walked back to the Fighting and Drinking Pub. He had a name. Now he needed a reason. But first, he had to tell Persephone.
To be continued.
[Author's note: I'm really sorry for the intolerable delay between the previous installment of the story and this one. I was especially proud of part 4, and I simply could not think of any way to continue the story without letting the audience down. Even the best novels have slow bits in which the plot must be advanced, and the prospect of writing such an uninspired passage filled me with dread. How could I willfully write something and give it to the readers, when I am not confident that it will be worth their while? Kurt Vonnegut wrote that an author should "Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted." That's the standard I hold myself to: to not waste your time with an uninteresting story. After a long hiatus, I think that I've found a way to present the next part of the story in a way that you find interesting and not a waste of your time. Please let me know if I was right or wrong. --NP]
You know. Getting killed outside of your pod would mean that you lose all knowledge of anything that happened since the last time you were in your pod (and it was recording your memories/skills): thats got to hurt.
So, I really like the story so far. Any plans to pick it back up?
Soon, soon. I just have a few more plot threads to tie up.