The Ninth

by Benjamin Schramm

  “How is Brent taking the loss of his friend?” Jack asked hesitantly.

  “What are you taking about?” Dr. Benedict blinked in surprise.

  “The girl. She was fatally wounded in the trial.”

  “I think you’ve got your facts mixed up. The girl is fine. Brent’s the one in critical condition.”

  “Impossible!”

  Jack studied the scene carefully. He had naturally assumed Brent was leaning over the body of his fallen comrade; it was the other way around. Brent was the one perfectly still in the bed; several machines hooked up to him monitored his vitals carefully. The girl sitting at the edge of the bed was watching over him, stricken with despair and guilt.

  “The others told me the girl was the one in trouble, too. I thought as much myself until I got to the trial,” Doctor Benedict said.

  “The others, what others?” Jack asked.

  “Four troopers. One traumatized medic, one covered in his own vomit, and the two leaders of the SF.”

  “What did they say they saw?”

  “Not much, really; they had all passed out. Told me the girl was in bad shape, and that the boy had been paralyzed while trying to help her.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “The medic was rambling about seeing a bight green light before he passed out; the others don’t remember much past Brent getting paralyzed.”

  “A green light . . . so how are they?”

  “They are all at a loss, but they’ll recover. The odd part is the girl. Cassandra is in perfect health. I mean perfect. I had her in here not too long ago for one of her gravity treatments, gave her a full check up. Nothing major, just the normal wear and tear of life. When she got in here today I naturally ran the full gamut of tests.”

  “And?”

  “It was like she had just been born, all the wear and tear - gone. Look at this.” Dr. Benedict pulled up a Medical scan on a monitor.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “This is from today. Notice the ulna.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now this one is a scan from her last check up.” Dr. Benedict pulled up a second scan.

  “There’s a break,” Jack said quickly. “It’s not big, but it’s there.”

  “When Cassandra was little, one of the family’s animals went on a rampage and she was hurt. Broke her arm. That is what’s left of the old wound.”

  “And it’s completely healed.”

  “It was healed a long time ago. Now it’s as if it never happened. It’s the same story throughout her body.”

  “What about her chest? I’ve recovered the feed; the blast penetrated her armor.”

  “Now there I can agree with you. When we brought her here there was a large hole in the armor. However, her skin was in perfect condition where the charge should have hit.”

  “What about Brent? You said he’s in bad shape?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it before. He’s in some kind of coma right now. No reaction to any stimulus.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “I didn’t get to the odd part. He has lost one third of his body mass.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s gone. No scars, no internal bleeding, not even a scratch. Every organ is where it should be, nothing is missing, and everything seems to be in working order. However, bone density, muscle mass – his total weight is down by approximately one third of its original value.”

  “Could it be some kind of disease?”

  “Nothing I’ve heard of works like this. There is no viral attack, his white blood cell count is normal, and he doesn’t even have a fever. As far as every instrument here is concerned, he is in perfect health. He should be walking around as if nothing happened.”

  “Any theories?”

  “I’m stumped. I had the trial room swept three times. The top of the tower and even the first few steps leading down are caked in blood. All of it tested to be Cassandra’s. There was no evidence that Brent was injured in any way.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “How did . . . ah yes. Forgot you were a Weaver.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but this is important.”

  “I suppose I have to agree with you. Never thought I’d live to see the day I agreed with a Weaver. I don’t think Brent’s condition was a result of hostile action.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “What if, somehow, Brent sacrificed himself to save the girl?”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Not even remotely. But the facts are the facts. I’ve got the four eyewitnesses and your own opinion that Cassandra should be dead. However, as you can see I’ve got one perfectly healthy girl and one boy who has somehow lost one third of his total mass.”

  “I see. I trust you’ll keep this to yourself.”

  “Who would I tell? Anyone with even basic medical training would think I’d lost my mind. If I told anyone it would be the end of my career.”

  “Any change in his condition?” Davis asked.

  “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were a worried parent,” Doctor Benedict said distractedly. “Over the past two weeks you’ve been in here every day checking up on him.”

  “Eleven. It’s only been eleven days. You should know that not all Weavers are monsters.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “When I have to choose between your words and my experience, my experience wins hands down. I’ve had at least seventy troopers in here over the last three days complaining of being attacked by a Weaver.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “You didn’t ask. I’m not obligated to run you through every detail of my day.”

  “How bad were the attacks?”

  “Nothing serious. Most of the troopers were just scared. They were perfectly fine, after I calmed them down.”

  “Would you mind informing me if the attacks grow more serious?”

  “A Weaver asking politely? I’ll give you points for trying to win my approval, although you could be more subtle about it.”

  “Brent, how is he doing?”

  “Oh, I struck a nerve!” Doctor Benedict smiled in triumph. “I’ve been giving him additional nutrients, hoping he’d regain his lost tissue and whatnot. It’s actually working. Slowly, as you know, but there is progress. He is back to about seventy-nine percent of his original.”

  “A percent a day. Do you think he’ll awake when he gets back to one hundred percent?”

  “Like I told you yesterday, and the day before, no guarantees. There was no medical explanation for the coma in the first place. The fact we’re entertaining this insane theory in the first place is beyond belief.”

  “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me here.”

  “I don’t mind the company; it’s answering the same questions over and over that wears thin. At least the girl doesn’t interrogate me.”

  “How long has she been at his side?”

  “The better question is if she ever leaves it. If I didn’t order her to leave, she probably wouldn’t even leave to eat. Although I shouldn’t complain, she is the only company he is allowed.”

  As the doctor and the Weaver discussed Brent’s condition, Cassandra sat at his side, ignorant she was being watched. As she watched over his still body, her thoughts churned within. She couldn’t clearly remember what had happened. She had been hit and there was tremendous pain. She remembered Brent leaning over her. His voice sounded distant. Everything began to fade; she remembered losing sensation. It was like a numbing cold was crawling over her body. After that it got fuzzy. Someone calling her, a warm sensation, it was jumbled.

  The next thing she knew, she was resting on the tower top. She had felt her suit, finding a large hole in the chest. Her first thought had been one of embarrassment at the thought of being exposed. When she looked around, she realized everyone was unconscious. Brent was la
ying nearby, his pupils tightly constricted. She tried to wake him but he remained still.

  At that point the medics descended on them and rushed them off to Medical. Doctor Benedict had explained to her that he was in a coma; she wasn’t sure if he would ever wake up again. Cassandra knew it was her fault. She sat by him hour after hour. She would talk to him, hold his hand, anything she could think of that might bring him back. It never did, though. She tried to fight off desperation, but it gnawed at her. The guilt that she was responsible for his condition was hard to bear.

  “Why did you have to save me?” Cassandra asked.

  No response.

  “My life isn’t worth yours. I didn’t ask you to do this for me.”

  There was never a response.

  “How can I live when I know it cost you everything? I wish you hadn’t saved me.”

  “Don’t say that.” An impossibly weak voice spoke.

  Cassandra held her breath.

  “Ye of little faith. I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” Brent said weakly, as his head turned to face her.

  “Doctor!” Cassandra screamed.

  Almost instantly the doctor and the Weaver descended on the bed. The doctor checked the machines, studying the readouts closely. The Weaver stared at Brent in disbelief. Cassandra’s surprise quickly faded as relief took its place.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, strength returning to his voice. “You all look like somebody died.”

  “Almost. How are you feeling?” Weaver Davis asked.

  “A little stiff. How long was I out?”

  “Eleven days.”

  “That’s it? Felt like an eternity.” Brent stretched.

  “You seem to be taking this well,” Doctor Benedict said slowly.

  “Cassandra is safe and sound and I’m not dead. What more could I ask for?” He shrugged.

  “Do you remember what happened?” Weaver Davis asked hesitantly.

  Brent looked at Cassandra’s chest and sat up.

  “All of it. Although, sitting here, it’s more like a nightmare than a memory.” He moved to get out of bed.

  “Hold on there. I’d like to run a few more tests before you start running around again.” Doctor Benedict gestured for him to lie down.

  “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions about what happened on the tower top.” Davis took a seat on the edge of the bed.

  “I’ll tell you what I remember, although I think I blacked . . .” Brent paused.

  A surprised look flashed over his face, as if he just realized something. His head spun and locked on Cassandra. The speed of his movements startled her. He stretched out his hand and started slowly moving it from side to side half way between them. She watched the hand, perplexed. His eyes widened.

  “What’s wrong? What do you see?” Cassandra asked.

  “It’s not what I see, it’s what I don’t see.” Brent said.

  “You mean . . .”

  “It’s gone.”

  Anguish washed over Cassandra like the tide. She hadn’t taken his life from him, but she had taken something just as precious.

  “Doctor, could I have a moment with the boy – alone,” Davis commanded as much as asked.

  The doctor gave him a mildly hostile look before departing. Davis watched the doctor carefully, waiting until he was completely sure she couldn’t overhear.

  “I’m guessing you can’t sense the girl anymore,” Davis said, when the doctor was far enough away.

  “I can’t see the outline anymore,” Brent said casually.

  “It doesn’t seem to be bothering you,” Davis said, trying to hide his surprise.

  “Well, not as much as Cassandra. I don’t suppose it would help if I said it wasn’t your fault.”

  “What?” Cassandra was startled.

  “It’s not your fault.” Brent had a worried expression on his face. “If I lost my abilities, it isn’t your fault. Don’t hate yourself for something you didn’t do.”

  Davis stared at the girl at Brent’s side. She was filled with despair and anguish. However, she didn’t betray those emotions in any visible way. How had Brent known?

  “Brent. What do you think of the doctor?” Davis asked quickly.

  “She’s a caring person. Seems to like you. Although I doubt she’d ever openly admit it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It was written all over her face.”

  Davis turned his attention on the distant doctor. A growing look of surprise spread over his face.

  “Weaver Davis?” A tall woman in gray tapped Davis on the shoulder.

  Davis jumped off the bed. He was clearly startled as he faced the maintenance worker.

  “That’s me,” Davis said, regaining composure.

  “The Administer sent me to find you. He needs you right away.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “I’m afraid not. He was very insistent you come as soon as I found you.”

  “I’m afraid he’ll have to wait. I have a very . . .”

  “If you declined, he told me to tell you something. ‘It’s more important than Janet Hawkins.’ He said you’d understand.”

  Davis was already bolting out of Medical. The maintenance worker shrugged to the two troopers and returned to her duties. Doctor Benedict noticed his mad sprint and quickly headed back to Brent and Cassandra.

  “Where is he off to in such a hurry?” Doctor Benedict asked.

  “The Administer wanted him for something. Something important I think,” Cassandra answered.

  “I see. Well, you two are free to go, as far as I’m concerned. The tests came up clean; just take it easy.”

  “When did you . . .” Brent asked.

  “The Weaver said he wanted some privacy; he didn’t say I couldn’t run my tests. You didn’t think all this equipment was for looks did you?”

  “Wait. So we can just . . . leave?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed.

  “Of course. There isn’t a medical reason to keep Brent any longer. I’m sure Davis can track you down if he needs you. Although, he does like his secrets. Probably best if you two don’t say anything about the trial to anyone else. Besides that, I don’t see any harm in releasing you.” Doctor Benedict smiled blissfully and walked off.

  Cassandra shot a glance at Brent. He was deep in thought. Noticing her gaze, he shrugged and smiled. Helping him to his feet, she supported him as he stiffly walked along side her.

  “Well that was odd,” she said.

  “The Janet Hawkins thing?” he asked.

  “Okay, that was weird, but I meant the doctor. She’s been watching over you all this time, running tests constantly. You wake up without warning and she just lets you leave?”

  “At this point I’m dying to eat something. I’ll accept anything if it gets me closer to the mess hall.”

  As the pair made their way to the mess hall, Brent kept quiet. Something was wrong, but he didn’t want to alarm Cassandra. She had been right; his departure from Medical had been too easy. Davis clearly had more questions to ask when he was conveniently called away. A minute earlier, Dr. Benedict had wanted to keep him there for a plethora of tests. For her to have completed every test, all in the space of their interrupted conversation with Davis, was hard to believe. Then, to just let him go. Brent had the impression it wasn’t in Dr. Benedict’s authority to release him.

  However, whatever the deeper reason was, it would just have to wait. He was famished. A powerful, almost desperate, hunger worked away at him. He felt as if it had been years since his last meal. Finding a free table wasn’t hard. The mess hall had an average number of troopers scattered in it. After gently helping him take his seat, Cassandra ran off to grab the meals. Brent’s muscles were stiff and his joints inflexible, probably the side effects of resting in a bed for so long. When she returned, he ravaged his meal. She watched quietly. As he finished the last bite he felt worlds better. Almost impossibly so, as if his hunger had been a figment of his imagina
tion in the first place. His arms moved more fluidly. He realized she had just been watching him the whole time; she hadn’t even touched her meal.

  “Something wrong?” Brent asked.

  “How can you ask that so calmly? I thought you were a vegetable.”

  “Wonder if that makes me a cannibal.”

  “What?”

  “I just ate a half dozen carrots.” He grinned.

  “How can you make jokes? Don’t you know what happened?”

  “You where shot. Was a horrible wound; so much blood. I didn’t think you would make it. I tried but there was nothing I could do.”

  “Brent . . .”

  “However, just when I thought I’d lost you, something happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I saw some sort of green light.”

  “Was it an aura? You know, the kind your Weaver abilities let you see?”

  “I’m not sure. It was quite painful and blinded me, but I think it saved you.”

  Cassandra grew silent. She was deep in thought. Brent suddenly noticed that she wasn’t the only quiet one; the entire mess hall was almost silent. All the normal commotion of eating and gossiping had gradually faded out. Cassandra’s eyes widened.

  “Long time no see,” a sickeningly familiar voice called out from behind him. “Looks like your friend hasn’t tired of you yet.”

  “James,” Brent said without turning. “It’s been a while. You’ve no doubt brought Philip with you.”

  “Of course, but that’s not all.”

  He felt a pit of dread grow in his stomach. He got up from his seat and turned to face the voice. Standing with James was a large group of troopers, all of them in the shiny black uniform of the Weaver. They were gathered too closely to count accurately, but they looked to number more than a division.

  “While you’ve been playing nice with the troopers, I’ve been making some friends of my own.” James eyed Brent with seething hatred. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the last time we met here.”