by S. J. Higbee
“We’d put him on an artificial heart, of course. But there is always an increased chance of a good outcome with an organic heart.”
“So if Officer Dain’d had an organic heart immediately, he’d probably be fine now?”
“It’s always difficult to say. But it certainly helps. Especially given that our artificial heart isn’t a topline model.”
I clenched my hands to stop them shaking. “Are there models out there significantly better than the ones we’re supplying to our people? Could Officer Dain have survived if he’d had one of those?”
He shifted. “That’s never possible to say—ˮ
“If Officer Dain was a family member – a brother, or son, or cousin – would you be happy to have our artificial heart used instead of some of the others available? I’m asking as a member of Procurement, here.”
“I can’t… I’m not in a position to make that…ˮ He took a breath and locked looks with me. “You’re asking me if a family member needed an artificial heart – would I be happy to use the stock model provided here? And the answer is no. I’d be moving heaven and earth and then some to get a better version. But what I’m not saying is that using our stock model is what killed Dain. We could have put an organic heart in him right at the start and he still mightn’t have made it.”
“You reckon he’s dying, anyhow.”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“What happens if I agree to this?” I felt numb.
“We’d transplant the organic heart to Private Pitt and resume the initial treatment for Officer Dain, putting him back on the artificial heart until his condition continues deteriorating beyond reasonable sustainability levels as laid down by the Space Colonies Medical Standards Authority,” he recited, looking down at the parch he was clutching. “At which point, his artificial heart will be turned off in accordance with the Human Sustainable Survival Code, Paragraph 5.”
I took a breath. “Alright. Let’s do this. What d’you want from me?”
The medic immediately waved the parch in front of me, all ready for my signature. I read it through, the clunky legalese wrapping up the whole business in a layer of formality. I focused on the wording and signed in the indicated box, busy refusing to think about what this meant for Romeo.
Then staggered back to bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I hadn’t managed to get back to sleep, so got up again and trudged through the ever-present stack of work until it started getting light. Then had a shower when I finally woke up enough to ask the question I should have asked the previous night. Why the sudden influx of casualties? Procurement is normally warned when we’re about to go on a major offensive – and we haven’t had any heads-up about such missions. I recalled that most of the injuries were lazar burns – and a chilly bead of dread trickled up my spine.
No point in panicking, yet. I still don’t have sufficient Intel to know if my concern is solid, or if I’m just worrying a sunspot into a supernova. Meantime, it was too early to be visiting anyone and I was hungry enough to eat my own left foot, so opened the door, intending to head for the breakfast room and grab and early brekkie and see if I could sweet-talk cheffy into letting me have a selection of snacks and cakes to take to the medicentre.
“Morning, Chris. You must be going off-duty soon…”
“Morning, Miss.” But instead of standing to attention outside the door, he fell in alongside me.
I stopped. “Aren’t you s’posed to be guarding the room?”
“During the night, an individual made specific threats against your person and it was judged by a senior staff member you should have an escort detail accompanying you at all times,” announced Chris.
I’m betting it was Romeo’s girlie. She was sleeping on a chair by his bedside when I passed his room. Bet she was madder than a space-spooked cat when they told her they were taking the heart out’ve him. I opened my mouth to protest.
But Chris got in first. “Please don’t fight this, Miss. We’ll be tipping back into a black hole if anything was to happen to you.”
I was just too tired to argue, so gestured for him to walk alongside, conscious we were snagging more attention than I’d have liked. “So, who’s organised this security detail?”
“Sergeant Gently happened to be swinging by the medicentre and heard the ruckus. So was on it at warp speed. As he said – don’t want the General returning to find you been offed while he was away,” said Chris.
“An outcome I’d find truly upsetting,” I replied.
“Not half as much as the rest of us,” he returned.
I sniggered, deciding that it mightn’t be such a putrid drag having an escort, after all.
During brekkie, Chris’s relief turned up. A tough-looking woman who introduced herself as Constance and although I felt a tad embarrassed at marching down to the medicentre with her skin-welded to my side, it was also a comfort. Even though she’d refused to carry any of the treats I’d levered out’ve cheffy.
*
The visit to the medicentre had confirmed my worst fears, so Constance and I tramped back to Procurement in grim silence. There was no point in trying to disguise the pool of slurry we were wading through as she’d been alongside me and heard the angry comments of our lazar-grazed people as they recounted their various stories, with the same putrid theme running through it…
I immediately got onto my contact at Heston’s, who initially tried to give me the flickoff. But when I started quoting the numbers of our injured troops and the initial findings of our Casualty Enquiries, he transferred me to a suitable upper-stratos bod – Mrs Heston, herself – to discuss the situation. Though the conversation wasn’t encouraging.
When it was over, I resisted the temptation to bang my head against the sodding workdesk, realising I was vac’d without an airpack over this business and needed help. Looking across the scattered Procurement workstations at Diana’s set face, I decided tipping this into her lap wasn’t the way to go, so immediately gathered up Constance and headed out, again.
When I powered past his aide, insisting we were in the middle of an alpha-prime emergency, George looked as happy as a butterfly in a black hole to see me. “You’ve picked a poor day to crash in on me, Elizabeth. While I’m very sorry that Officer Dain’s operation failed, I’m not quite sure what you think I can do—ˮ
“Quite!” I snapped, my temper fraying. “I’m not wet-witted enough to bother you with such a tragic outcome. The time when you could have interceded to help Officer Dain live is now long past.” And don’t think I’ll forget your shoddy part in his demise… I took a breath. “But we’ve a mega-problem brewing. You know we’ve flushed Harold Gadenson’s sorry double-crossing soul along with his shields out’ve the airlock. Thing is, Heston Shielding Systems aren’t cutting it out in the field and we’re now getting a steady stream of lazar burn injuries due to suit failure.”
“How d’you pick up on that info-nugget!” George spluttered. “I’ve only just had the CE’s land on my desk.”
I sat down. “Procurement, remember? We track this stuff when we’re not coping with the aftereffects of murder and mayhem.”
Twirling a snow scene, George asked, “You’ve spoken to Heston’s?”
“Of course.”
“And what do they say?”
“They’re very nice people as it happens. And devastated at the weaknesses in their product. But they only relatively recently diversified into this area.” I shrugged, bone-tired. “They don’t yet have the resources to pinpoint the problem.”
“Do we still have some Mark VI Gadenson shields about the place?”
“Yes. Just not enough to equip every soldier in the field.”
George kept his eyes fixed on the snow globe. “I think we should invite a couple of Heston’s brill-brains here. And, maybe, they might stumble across a Mark VI shield that has been carelessly left lying around.”
That’s illegal. But so is creaming off profits from one of your major s
uppliers. Gadenson doesn’t deserve fair play, for sure. I regretfully shook my head. “I’m not sure Heston’s would co-operate. Mrs Heston is a principled lady.”
George’s grin was sharp enough to slice air. “Would you like me to speak to them? I’ve done this kind’ve deal one or three times, before.”
I sagged with relief. “Oh please! If we don’t get this fixed at warp-speed, we’ll lose the confidence of our troops.”
“No, no. it’s me should be thanking you. And, for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry at how events turned out regarding Officer Dain.” His sudden smile was like a sun sighting on a nav-screen, as George personally escorted me and Constance to the lifts. “Try not to work too hard, Elizabeth. And know that your efforts are much appreciated.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” A passing merc stopped. “I’m surely glad the high-ups are finally cutting our girlie some free air.” His expression was fervent as he gazed at me. “You’ve put it all out on the line for us. Just know we won’t forget.”
Several other people stopped, nodding in evident agreement.
What! “Thank you,” I stuttered, not sure what he was talking about and more than happy for Constance to hustle me into the lift.
*
“I s-still can’t believe he’s gone…” Mrs Dain dabbed her eyes. “He was always so full of life. Kept telling me all through his training that it was safe… That he’d come back with enough creds so that his dad and me could finally have the rejuv we’d always planned for.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered for the nth time, wishing this was over. But it was the least I could do for poor Romeo, who died the night after the heart was removed.
“Thing is…” Her face puckered in grief. “We were wondering… We’ve got some savings… How much would it cost to b-bring Arno home?”
Arno? It took longer than it should to realise that Arno was Romeo. Relief rolled through me. At last there was something I could do. “Of course, Mrs Dain. The Peace and Prosperity Corps will be more than willing to send, er, Arno back home. Just let me have the address and star system and I’ll make the arrangements.”
As her face broke into an incredulous grin, I caught a wrenching glimpse of Romeo’s heart-stopping smile. I bit my lip and busied myself with uploading the address on my eardrop. She was crying enough for both of us.
I managed to arrange transportation for Romeo for the following week. The fact I was paying the bill hurried the whole affair along. After consulting with David, I also decided there should be a leave-taking ceremony to give his cohort of lovestruck girlies and other friends a chance to say farewell. The P’s reverend was happy to attend and provide a couple of prayers. He also suggested that we get Sergeant Gently involved. In no time flat, he’d organised a full procession to escort Romeo’s casket to the shuttle station, complete with band and a trumpeter to play ‘The Last Post’.
My jaw grazed the ground when he dropped into Procurement. “Hallo, Sarge!”
His grip was firm as we shook hands. “Morning, Miss. Reverend Greenfield’s contacted me over Officer Dain’s send-off. Several of your former training comrades want you to sing for him.”
I shifted. “Thing is, Romeo’s girl reckons I murdered him by letting Pitt have his heart.”
“And which of his harem would that be? As I recall it, Dain collected women like other men collect bruises.” His shrug was dismissive. “She’s a vac-brained civi with no right to stick her nose into P’s biz. Which she’ll find out if she tries flapping her lip at Dain’s send-off.”
It was no use looking for wriggle-space over this – Gently’s expression told me that he wasn’t going to take ‘No’ for an answer.
“I’m honoured to be asked,” I mumbled, feeling like I’d just been pushed off a cliff.
I didn’t know his face could crack such a smile. “Good.” He’d almost reached the door, before turning, his parade-ground voice rang around the near-empty floor. “Just want to add a big ‘thank-you’ on behalf of all the boys and girls out there. You folks done a stimming job in hard conditions. Want you to know we appreciate it.”
Everyone looked up, bright-faced with pleasure.
I forced my face into a stiff grin. Another lament at another funeral. How am I going to get through it? And doubtless Irena will be there, wearing a face like a black hole…
*
In the event, my fears proved groundless. Any illusions about being Romeo’s ‘significant other’ the girlie had nurtured while spending all those long hours at his bedside must’ve been blasted off the face of the planet when she saw the throng of sobbing girls clustered around his coffin.
Whether it was that stark fact, or someone had a word with her, she just kept her head buried in her nosewipe, throughout. As for Irena, she was away on deployment and clearly didn’t reckon Romeo’s send-off merited requesting leave.
Reverend Greenfield conducted the brief ceremony with dignity and, flanked by Sergeant Gently and David, I managed to sing a lament for Romeo without disgracing myself. It wasn’t my best performance – my throat was too choked with regret. But it was sufficient. And any lack on my part was outweighed by the haunting sound of the Last Post echoing around the windy apron, as Romeo’s flag-draped casket was carried onto the shuttle transporting him to the carrier in orbit.
We all retreated before the shuttle roared skywards, taking Romeo’s body with it. I found myself leaning against David as we watched the flaming plume disappear through the atmosphere. Sergeant Gently had organised for food and drink to be laid on in the Officer’s Mess and when I’d mentioned that I’d pay, he’d waved away the notion, almost angrily. “Let the P’s pick this one up. Least they can do, in the circumstances.”
It was stimming to see how many of our old training squad had managed to make it back to Restormel for Romeo’s send-off. Although as the afternoon wore on, I became increasingly conscious of the barrier between these serving men and women out in the field and an adminite like me. They chattered together about campaigns, with stories of near misses and victories. As I’d approach, such talk dried up and they’d shuffle awkwardly, avoiding my eyes.
It hurt. Especially as they were now living my dream. A dream I’d had since a skinny kid, listening to Mum’s tales of serving with Norman. I retreated to the table where David and Raquel were nursing glasses of wine.
Wiping her eyes, Raquel raised her glass. “Here’s to one of the best bedpartners I’ve ever had. Romeo, keep your shield on and your weapon primed. And try to keep from flirting with the angels!” She took a large swallow, before adding, “And next time, listen when you’re warned off.”
I poured myself a hefty measure from the carafe on the table – getting warped alongside my companions suddenly seemed the way to go. “Who didn’t he listen to?” I wasn’t even particularly curious, just making conversation.
“Sarge, for one.” Raquel knocked back her drink in one swallow.
I sloshed more wine into her glass. “Who was he being warned off, then?” I let my gaze wander across the crowd of black-clad females, busy eye-slicing each other. “I’ve heard rumours some jealous husband arranged his ‘accident’.”
“Raquel…” Typical David. Still telling the rest of us what to do and when.
Raquel flicked a dirty look his way, before turning back to me. “You really don’t know?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“Raquel!” David gripped her arm. “This isn’t the time or place.”
I tensed, waiting for her to knock him into the neighbouring star system. Raquel had something of a temper.
She didn’t. But judging from the smoking glare she levelled at David, it was a close thing.
“No! She needs to know that it can’t happen again. It’s been putrid for morale. And if someone doesn’t set her straight, there’ll be another corpse shipped back home.”
I leaned across the table. “Hallo! I’m here. You got anything to say, you address me.”
“It was you. I can’t believe you’ve been so wet-witted not to realise it.” Her voice was shaking. “Romeo was taken on one side by some hard-handed regulars and told not to mess with ‘the Pees’ Princess’ was how they’d put it. Or else. He even laughed about it.” I was still spluttering, when she added, “Then the pair of you got together on the night of our Graduation dinner—”
“No! We didn’t.”
Her turn to splutter.
My voice cut through the conversation and laughter as I jumped up. “Is that what everyone here thinks? That me and Romeo were prod-partners?”
In the sudden silence, someone tittered. And stopped.
Hell in a black hole – they all think I caused Romeo’s death! Because? Because bilge-babble has it that we got it together after the Graduation Dinner. So someone decided that Romeo had disrespected the General’s daughter. And took him out… “I liked and trusted Romeo. He was a solid friend and team-mate. But…” I took a shaking breath, looking around at the wide-eyed crowd staring back at me. Among these people is probably Romeo’s killer. “He was like a brother to me.” And they’ve all gone, too. My throat closing up, I croaked, “Not a lover.” Not like Wynn, who's been dead for nearly two years. When does this get easier?
David muttered something, shaking his head.
I swung round to him. “What? You got something to say, let’s get this putrid nonsense out in the light of day where we can sort it. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of!”
His thin face flushed as he slowly stood, facing me. “The heart. Why’d you buy the heart if you weren’t guilt-racked over what went down?”
“That’s what you think of me? That getting Romeo a heart was some scuzzy conscience thing?” My voice cracked with outrage.
“A new-grown heart costs several fortunes.”
“And? Once I’d sold a bunch of dresses I didn’t need, I had the creds. Simple.” Pain knifing my own heart made it difficult to breathe. “He was my friend. A training-mate. I’d do the same for you.”
