We traveled down several corridors filled with offices until he finally stopped at one.
“He’s in there,” said the guard.
“Thanks,” I replied.
He nodded and walked away.
On entering the office, I found Dr. Hawthorne sitting at his desk working on something on his computer. His office was neat and decorated with various paintings and sculptures which I couldn’t identify. I assumed that they were valuable in some way or at least significant to him, but to me it was all just random decorations.
He stood to greet me as I came in. “Ah, Zah’rak! I’m glad you could make it!”
I was at a loss for a reply. Narcion had been much smoother at dealing with officials than I was; it was another thing I would miss about working with him. “Thanks for having us.”
“Please sit down,” said Dr. Hawthorne. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks,” I said. I found a chair that looked sturdy enough to hold me. “You wanted to talk about Shira?”
“Yes,” he said, sitting on his desk. “Shea contacted us and sent on Shira’s records just before they left the region. Last time we spoke I hadn’t made the connection, but after further research into her case I identified her as Shea’s patient.”
“She met with Shea for a few hours when we crossed paths with the Nemesis,” I said.
“Yes,” said Dr. Hawthorne, nodding. “Shea’s report is that Shira is suffering from depression and post-traumatic stress from her experiences. This is of course completely normal, given what she went through, but I wanted to let you know.”
“What can we do about it?” I asked.
Dr. Hawthorne smiled and drank from a mug next to his computer. “Based on my last conversation with her, I’d say keep on doing what you’re doing. You gave her a job on the craft, one that’s solely her responsibility and is valuable to the ship. You also involve her in the missions; while they are dangerous, that means she feels she’s doing penance for her actions.”
“But it wasn’t her fault! The necromancer had an implant in her brain. She has nothing to feel guilty about,” I said.
“On a purely logical level you’re right, but she still experienced it; she went through the actions. She heard the screams and saw the devastation. Logic has no sway over this,” he said.
“What’s my next step, then?” I knew he was right. All freed slaves dealt with negative emotions on some level, but I didn’t know any who had seen the things she had. Shira refused to talk about that time, but I knew it haunted her sleep. I wished there was something more I could do, but nothing I had tried so far had worked.
“I think we should evaluate her psychological condition again, and see how it compares to Shea’s report.”
“She doesn’t want to come on to the station to see you,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“She didn’t say, but I think she fears being around crowds. She did agree to see you if you came on board.”
“Astute observation; I suspect you’re right. Very well, then. Once I’m finished with Marcus, I’ll get Dr. Leslie and we’ll meet you at your ship.”
“Dr. Leslie? Is she the doctor you had with you when we spoke last?”
“Yes, and she’s a former slave herself. As she and Shira are both human females and former slaves, that may help to ease the tension a little. That’s merely an educated guess, however, and we’ll have to see how it plays out as we go. I assure you we will do everything we can for her, but not without your permission.”
That seemed reasonable, though I hardly felt qualified to make any decisions about her mental care. “Okay. That seems like a wise plan. Could we schedule it for tomorrow, after the breakfast hour?”
He got up and checked his computer. “Sure, that will be fine.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Purwryn looked pensive. He asked, “Marcus, are you ready for this?”
He and I were in the ship’s mess as the Night Wisp docked with the hospital station. Thanks to my Cyborg connections to the ship’s systems, I realized we were landing in a bay instead of docking externally. “Interesting. I wonder what’s happening?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
I had to remind myself that he couldn’t hear or sense the things I could. “We’re landing in a bay.”
“Odd,” he said. Then his face lit up with a smile. “I bet Crivreen is trying to get the Night Wisp some upgrades.”
The Night Wisp was an older craft, but she was solid and reliable. Crivreen was too young to appreciate the advantages of tried-and-true stability over cutting-edge upgrades. “He might get them this time.” My internal communications system was picking up unsecured traffic between Crivreen and the dock. He was excitedly talking over options with someone station-side and, despite his excitement, he was making very reasonable and sensible requests. The station engineers seemed to be enjoying his interest and encouraging it.
“You never answered my question,” Purwryn said, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, puzzled. “Oh, you asked if I’m ready. Ready for what?”
“To go openly onto the station as a Cyborg,” he replied.
I struggled to understand his point. There was no sense in doing what he suggested. “Why would I do that? I’m just going to see the doctors as I’ve always done. They’ll keep things confidential and no one will be the wiser.”
“So you’re going to keep your cover, then?” he asked.
Primitives like Purwryn were hard to understand sometimes. I couldn’t fathom why he thought I would drop my cover; all that would achieve would be more trouble with the locals and more people at risk. I searched through my memory net for the most appropriate response in this kind of situation and went with a lopsided grin. “No reason to change now.”
He shrugged. “I’ll check with the station and find out the time of your checkup.”
I didn’t need a checkup. I knew the exact condition of every one of my implants, but there was no harm in getting one and it would allay everyone’s concerns. It was important that I kept up my cover as someone who’d needed help and luckily fell among them. If they ever suspected the truth, my mission would fail.
They were a strange group, behaving like a family even though there were at least three or four races of primitives represented among them. I had even been treated like family, although they barely knew me. It was hard not to like them and want to be part of their team, but I had obligations to fulfill. I couldn’t be drawn into caring about them; that might jeopardize my chances later.
“Sounds like we have a couple of hours,” said Purwryn.
“Good. Let’s go on board and check the station’s vendors,” I said.
“Marcus, this is a hospital, not a trading hub,” said Purwryn.
“I know that, but hospitals sell medical supplies and I could use some spare parts. I had to leave mine behind when our ship crashed.” I actually wanted to see the current top-of-the-line technology for implants. This hospital had a reputation for being advanced far beyond the rest of the sector; no doubt it was greatly exaggerated, but even allowing for that they should have some very interesting options. I might even ask for some upgrades while here, if I could think of a good excuse.
“Oh, sure. That makes sense. I’ll download a map of the station onto my armor’s computers,” he said.
It was strange that primitives hated the idea of Cyborgs having enhancements wired into them, but they went out of their way to carry similar equipment on their person or in their pockets. Unlike most of the crew, Purwryn always wore his battle armor. This armor was amazing; I had not seen the like of it anywhere before. It looked normal to the untrained eye, but it was far from that. The armor fitted perfectly, almost like a second skin, and it was capable of self-repair. It was closer to an exoskeleton than anything else. If I could figure out how it worked and modify my own skin to work the same way, I’d be nigh unstoppable.
They all had armor like that, but the others only donned it when needed. Zah’rak was apparently making a set for me also but needed more supplies, which would hopefully be delivered to this station soon. Having my own set would be both a blessing and a curse. It would be great to have extra protection, but I’d be foolish to compromise it by trying reverse engineering. No, I’d have to get a second set somehow.
Purwryn had a small computer console on his wrist, and another in his helmet computer to control the systems in his armor. I had the same type of controls; they were simply part of me instead of separate. It was such a small step for a primitive to evolve by melding with the equipment they already used. I couldn’t understand why they hated the idea so much. Shrugging off that thought, I downloaded the map to my local memory net and followed him off the ship.
We left the docking bays and headed towards the center section of the station where most of the visitor facilities were located. The station was very busy and apparently in the middle of a massive remodel. Everywhere I looked there were construction crews doing something.
Men and women dressed in full battle armor were patrolling, but they had no visible weapons. This worried me. If something went wrong I had a good chance against armed primitives, but if these guards were unarmed that meant they were probably magi. A quick search of public records for the region confirmed my suspicions. This was a wizard-controlled station, and that meant the guards were all battle wizards. That was far worse, as battle wizards would be combat-trained, unlike the local magi who were often more of a danger to themselves than anyone else.
Men and women in robes also came and went throughout the station, and these posed even more of a threat than the battle wizards. The battle wizards were a new order of wizard, according to my internal database; each was deadly, but still in early training. The station staff wearing robes, however, were a different matter. The purple and green clothes indicated that they were higher-ranking and far more powerful than the newly-formed battle wizards, most of whom wore red armor to signify their lower rank.
“We should be able to find what you’re looking for around here somewhere,” said Purwryn, interrupting my internal survey of the station.
I smiled at him while he worked on the map and tried to figure out where we were in relation to it. Gently turning him, I pointed to a sign that clearly indicated where we needed to go. “You could fight with that map, or we could just go that way.”
“Sure, if you want to cheat, I guess we can,” he said and headed towards the store.
I gasped as I walked inside. It was filled with implants far more advanced than I’d even heard of. The rumors about this place weren’t exaggerated at all; if anything, they were understated. I moved excitedly through the aisles of holographic displays, reading each one and telling Purwryn what we were looking at.
“Wow, this one has a hundred times the memory of mine!” I exclaimed.
“Really?” he asked.
“And look at this: nano-rebreathers!” I said. On and on the aisles went, with seemingly an infinite number of options. It was overwhelming and beyond description.
“I thought we were here to look at spare parts?” Purwryn gently reminded me.
“Sure, but I’ve never seen anything like this stuff before,” I said.
“Why would a hospital have all this? Much of this stuff would never be medically necessary,” said Purwryn.
“True, but this station represents the height of medical technology for the region, and many people come here looking for the best of whatever they want. From what I’m told, it’s partly how the station has funded its operations all these years.”
I attempted to bring myself back to the task at hand, as I really did need to replace some of my tools and parts. I didn’t bother to look at the price tags on the equipment; I knew it would be well out of my range, especially since I was now unemployed. I would have to talk to Purwryn about that at some point. If I was going to serve with this crew, I should receive some kind of payment.
I found an order station and punched in my list, gasping a little as the total came up. The prices were fair, but I hadn’t realized just how much I’d lost.
“Hey, don’t worry about the bill,” said Purwryn.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Master Raquel gave me a credit account which will cover all your medical needs,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Your medical needs will be covered completely by the Wizard Kingdom as long as you are in active service. Now, before you get any funny ideas, a rebreather is not a medical need.”
I chuckled. “No, I guess not, unless we can arrange an underwater mission.”
“Is that everything you need?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. I knew it was exactly what I needed, but I found that making uncertain statements instead of precise ones helped me to blend in with primitives more easily. I also worked hard to make sure any external signs of my implants were either disguised or covered by my clothing, so that no primitive could guess what I was. It was remarkably simple to blend in, but one tiny mistake would spell the end of my cover for good.
“Great. I’ll have this delivered to the Night Wisp,” he said.
Once that was done, it was time to head to Dr. Hawthorne’s office for my appointment. I wasn’t sure what to expect after seeing what was in that shop. Would they look at my apparently obsolete implants and pity me? Would they push all kinds of upgrades I couldn’t afford but would desperately desire? I took some deep breaths as we entered the private office where the consultation would take place.
The office had several chairs organized in a semicircle around a small table. Another chair and terminal were close by. Behind the table was a large wall that seemed designed for a monitor but was empty. It was obvious by the layout where we were expected to sit, so we took our places in the chairs.
Purwryn looked over at me. “Do you want me to stay? This could get kind of personal.”
I raced through my memory net looking for an appropriate response. I’d never had a primitive friend before, at least not since evolving beyond them, but I knew there were certain expected responses. Failing to find any, I went with my one of my default replies. “Oh, I guess so. I’m sure it’s not going to be very exciting.”
“Marcus, ‘exciting’ would be bad in this kind of meeting,” he said with a grin.
We had no more time to talk, as Dr. Hawthorne had just entered. When formal introductions had been made, the doctor said, “Marcus, I wanted you to come out here for this appointment because I’m concerned about some of your implants. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I held up my hand to stop him. I didn’t want a sales spiel. “Doctor, just as you know your hand is fine, I can tell my implants are all in good condition and operating within their tolerances. Mostly, at least.”
He smiled. “I understand, but just as I wouldn’t know that a cut on my hand was infected until it became bad enough to cause problems, you wouldn’t yet see what we can observe.”
“What are you getting at?” I asked.
“I’ll show you,” he said, pressing a button on his terminal. The wall behind him shimmered briefly and then changed to a diagnostic readout of my implants. It was easy for me to recognize; I’d seen the same chart many times over in my life. I could even pull up a version of it and overlay my vision if I so chose. The only difference was that the large scale of his display allowed the display of far more detail than I was used to seeing.
Dr. Hawthorne got up from his chair and walked over to the wall. “I’m sure you’ve seen this before, but for Purwryn’s information this is a diagnostic readout of all Marcus’ implants. With this, Marcus, we can tell the exact condition of every part of your body, even the unenhanced areas. As you said, everything is operating within reasonable parameters for devices of this age and type.”
“I see,” said Purwryn. He p
robably understood a lot of what he saw, as it wasn’t very different to readouts from the testing gear he had used back on the Paradise to diagnose problems with the robots we maintained. “But if everything is within normal parameters, what’s the issue?”
The doctor returned to his terminal and used the controls to isolate parts of the screen. “These implants are already beyond their life expectancy, and those are nearing the end of their lives.” He changed the screen to bring up a network map of the wiring in my body that supported the implants. “Also, several main routes in this wiring show signs of being ready to fail. It’s likely that in the near future some or all of them will fail.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means you have three options,” said Dr. Hawthorne, returning to his seat in front of us. “First, you can walk out of here and do nothing. I think you’d be fine for a while, but sooner or later some of these are going to fail, and you might not be anywhere near this facility when that happens. That could leave you crippled or worse until you could get help. Second, we could replace the failing parts, but that would require extensive work, as we’d have to upgrade much of your control network to handle the replacements.” The doctor paused there.
“And the third option?” I asked.
The doctor smiled. “We could send you through the gate back to the Wizard Kingdom where, with the help of Master Kellyn, we could remove all the implants and make you a normal human again.”
“That’s not possible. Too much of my former body is gone; besides, I was a cripple before getting these implants.” Even if it were possible, the thought disgusted me.
“It is possible. Master Kellyn could regrow all your missing … parts, and you wouldn’t be a cripple. You’d be a healthy human being with all your limbs fully functional,” said Dr. Hawthorne.
“Wow.” Medical science had really moved on in the years since I’d last been in the hospital. I’d never heard of a Cyborg being able to go back; it was always assumed to be a permanent upgrade. But, despite what Dr. Hawthorne said, I would be a cripple compared to my current state. It was inconceivable for a Cyborg to even consider it. “How long would it take to replace my implants?”
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