by Jaleta Clegg
Chapter 1
It was the pain that finally woke me. Every breath sent it shooting like fire away from my middle. I smelled the odd mix of antiseptics and bad food that told me I was in a hospital. Voices talked outside my room, muffled and distorted. Dishes clattered outside my door.
Had I been in an accident? My mind was almost totally blank. Where was I? When was I? What was my last conscious memory?
Sunlight and clouds, birds soaring into multicolored rainbows breaking into silver light.
No, that couldn't be right. That had to have been induced by the drugs. I had the grandfather of all pain patch hangovers.
"You're finally awake, Admiral," a cheerful voice called from the door. "How are you feeling?" An incredibly happy medic loomed over me. He was big, all muscles and teeth.
"Admiral?" He was talking to me, calling me Admiral? When had that happened?
Trythia, rescuing Tayvis. Lowell hadn't given me a choice. I had to go back to rescue Tayvis, but Lowell insisted it was Patrol only. I'd enlisted as an admiral. I had to save Tayvis. Only he'd died. Lowell hadn't let me resign afterwards. He'd ordered me to Tivor.
The medic bustled around the room, checking monitors and wires. He loomed over me again as the bed rumbled into a more upright position.
"Thirsty?"
He didn't wait for my answer. He jammed a straw between my lips. I pulled in a mouthful of thick fluid before I could think not to. It was a protein replenishment drink. The Patrol concocted it as a supplement for injured personnel. The taste was sweet and tart and cloying all at once. I gagged down the single mouthful then spit the straw out.
The medic smiled his cardboard smile. "You'll feel better if you can get it down."
"No, I won't."
Opening my mouth was a mistake. He got the straw in before I could clamp it closed. It hurt too much to try to fight him. I gave in and swallowed the nasty stuff.
As I suspected, it was drugged. My whole body went limp. My mind drifted away into fuzzy places. I was vaguely aware of the medic pulling the sheet back and checking my side. The pain was there, bright and hot and stabbing, but I couldn't do anything about it.
I dozed for while.
The light was different when I woke again, the reddish glow of sunset painted a stripe across my wall. The sounds in the hall told me dinner hour was well underway.
The medic came back sometime after the window opaqued itself. He fussed around me for a while before forcing more of the sticky drink down my throat. I drifted away.
I dreamed of a great bird, with fire for wings, that flew in front of me through space. I reached to catch it, calling desperately for it to wait for me. But the bird never heard. It kept flying, faster and faster, until it became a blur in the distance, a burning light that became a blinking indicator light on the equipment next to my head.
I blinked, drowsy and muzzy and restless. It was the middle of the night. The halls were dark. I heard only quiet murmurs, blurred by distance and walls.
I needed to go to the bathroom. I wasn't sure if I dared. Machines beeped on both sides of the bed. I was a lot more awake this time, but try as I might, I couldn't remember how I'd ended up here. Or even where here was.
I shifted on the bed, wincing at the pain shooting from my side. I gingerly touched my belly. A thick layer of bandaging covered me from my ribs to my hipbone. It hurt just to brush across the bandage. I didn't try to peel it up to see why. I wasn't that stupid.
My door swung open. A medic, a woman this time, let herself in the room when she saw me awake. She shut the door behind herself.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, with none of the toothy smiles the other medic had used on me.
"Lousy."
She smiled, an honest expression of humor. "That's to be expected. According to your charts," she bent over me, checking the monitors on the equipment, "you had a bad reaction to the medgel they used. And to the regen unit you were plugged into." She made notes on a hand pad. It beeped and she tucked it into her pocket. "They kept switching you back and forth, in the medunit until you started reacting, then in a regen unit until you reacted there, then back into the medunit. You spent a day or so in a bed every few days, letting the drugs wear off. I've never seen anything quite like it. You had half the staff traipsing by for updates several times a day. Good teaching experience for the ones aiming to be xeno medics." She cocked her head, studying me. "Your profile showed human, but I'm beginning to wonder."
"So I'm a freakshow for the Patrol?" It was like waking up naked in the middle of a crowded room with people staring at you, not that I've ever done that.
Her smile faded around the edges. She messed with one of the machines next to me. "No, your situation was unique, at least as far as our records show. Sorry about invading your privacy, Admiral, but watching you may have saved lives in the future."
She reached for the bandage on my side. I flinched away.
"You want more pain meds?"
"No." If they pushed any more drugs into my system, I was going to have a headache for the next year.
"You're obviously in pain. There are no medals for being stupid."
"Which is why I don't want more drugs. Half the pain is overload from taking pain meds too long. They aren't going to help me much at this point."
She studied me, her eyebrows knit into a single line. She finally shrugged and started disconnecting wires.
"You don't need these any more." She removed several sticky patches from my arms. She turned machines off and wheeled them away from my bed.
"What time is it?"
"Just past four in the morning." It was completely true, but totally unhelpful.
"Where am I?"
"Room one seventeen, eighth floor."
"What planet?"
She stopped messing with the equipment. "Do you know your name?"
"I know my name."
"Well?"
"Dace. Happy?"
"Are you?"
"Are you some kind of psych tech here to see if I'm completely nuts?"
"Are you?"
I said words that should have blistered paint from the walls. Her eyebrows crept up her forehead.
She suddenly laughed. "I was warned you were a bit different. Nobody warned me just how different. I haven't heard that kind of language since we had the head engineer in here from the Endeavour. Some cadet left the engine drive unit hot while he was checking it. He spent a week in here regrowing skin over burns."
"Was his name Sandover?"
"You know him?" She started on the other bank of equipment. The tension in the room dropped dramatically.
"I was on that flight. I wasn't the cadet who left the drive unit on."
"That was only seven years back," she said, watching me as she unplugged equipment. "Were you his assistant?"
"Engineering Cadet."
"How did you make Admiral in less than seven years? The Patrol, unlike some branches of the government, does not sell commissions."
"It's a long story," I said, refusing to tell her. It was my life, not hers. And I still had no idea how much of it was classified. I wondered what she'd say if she knew I'd enlisted at that rank.
I shifted on the bed again while she rolled carts out of my room. I really had to go, despite the pain.
"You want to try walking around?" she asked when the room was clear.
"Just to the bathroom," I told her.
"Then let's go."
It took me half an hour to make it the eight feet to the bathroom and back to the bed. My legs wouldn't work right. My coordination was nonexistent. I was weak and trembling long before she helped me back into bed. I'd been a lot sicker than I thought.
"So what planet am I on?" I asked while she pulled the sheet back over me, straightening edges.
"Besht. I heard about the stasis unit they brought you in. Must have been some action."
"I was on Tivor." My eyes were already starting to close. If I lay perfectly still, the pain was
bearable. "I think someone shot me."
"Point blank. It's a wonder you're alive."
I didn't answer. Her last words echoed in my head as I slid into sleep.
Chapter 2
The clatter of dishes woke me. Sunlight streamed through the window. I tried to sit by myself. I didn't make it. Every muscle screamed in protest. I lay back on the bed, cursing my weakness and the pain.
The hulking medic of the day before came smiling into my room. "Breakfast," he announced, pushing a straw at my face.
I turned my head away. "Not if it's drugged."
He moved the straw back. "It's got a mild relaxant in it. To keep you from locking up. Most patients who don't take their pain meds have muscle spasms that get worse and worse."
"Until what? They tie themselves into knots? I've had enough. I have to get them out of my system or I'll just keep getting worse."
He stirred the straw in the cup. "It's just a mild relaxant, nothing more."
I gave in. He was big enough to force feed me if I resisted. It didn't look like I was going to get anything else for breakfast. I drank it.
I dozed for a while. I almost didn't hurt when I woke up.
The medic came back and made me get up and move. I cursed him the whole time. He kept after me, making me walk. I don't know if he was really doing his job or just making me suffer for the fun of it. I was glad when night came and he went off shift.
Three days of his bullying and the thick drinks went by. I gradually got better. I still hurt, horribly, but I could walk by myself, as long as it wasn't far. The night medic was a lot nicer, but she still made me get up whenever she caught me awake.
I was starting to wonder about my situation. I hadn't had any visitors. None. I expected Lowell. There was no sign of him, or of anyone else. I saw my two medics and no one else.
I didn't watch the other patients ambling past my door. It was too frustrating. Most of them went home within a day or two. I didn't know where my home was. I wanted my cabin on the Phoenix. I wanted out, of the hospital and the Patrol. I had to talk to Lowell to do that. My medics kept telling me to concentrate on getting well. I wanted to throw things, except I hurt too much to even try.
Movement out the door caught my eye. Someone had just walked past, someone in a silver uniform, not the blue the medics wore. Someone's visitor, not mine, I thought. I was deep in a pity party for myself. The someone stopped just past my door and came back. He stuck his head in the door and stared at me in surprise.
"Dace? What are you doing here?"
"Having the time of my life, Vance. What are you doing here?"
He grinned and came into my room, taking my question as an invitation. "Just some paperwork I had to finish up. Medical records are on the other side of this floor. This was a shortcut." His grin vanished, replaced by concern. "What happened to you?"
Vance Shiropi wasn't the person I wanted to see but I was hungry for a familiar face.
He pulled a chair next to the bed and straddled it. "You don't look so great."
"I hope I look better than I feel."
It was the most natural thing in the galaxy when he took my hand. His felt warm, strong, and comforting. He squeezed gently. "I got back from that mess on Trythia and spent a while in the hospital. When I tried to track you down, no one knew what had happened to you." His dark eyes were full of concern.
"Lowell sent me to Tivor. I don't know how I ended up in here. I think I was shot, but I can't remember."
His face pinched in outrage. "Lowell should have never made you enlist. Admiral or not, you should have gotten a discharge after Trythia. Most of us did."
"I wasn't thinking," I admitted. "I was past caring. Tayvis died in the last fight."
"I'm so sorry," he said and squeezed my hand again. "I know what he meant to you."
I looked out the window. I wasn't going to cry, not now. I'd cried enough tears over the last year to fill a tanker. It was a struggle not to, Vance was so sympathetic. His hand on mine warmed my whole body.
"So when is your discharge coming through?" he asked, pretending he didn't see the tear that managed to escape.
"What discharge?" I asked, surprised out of my pity.
"Medical discharge. You're obviously in bad shape. A medical discharge is almost automatic in cases like yours."
"I don't know anything about it."
"Don't tell me Lowell is trying to keep you in the Patrol." His protectiveness felt good.
"I haven't seen him since he sent me to Tivor."
"He hasn't left you messages or anything?"
"I couldn't tell you. I feel like a prisoner here. They won't tell me anything," I added in a quiet voice as my daytime hulk of a medic entered the room.
"This room is posted no visitors," the hulk informed Vance. "You'll have to leave."
"What if I don't want him to?" I said.
The medic ignored me. He folded his beefy arms and glared.
Vance stood, squeezing my hand. "Be ready," he whispered as he leaned close over me. He winked as he sauntered past the medic.
The medic turned to watch him all the way down the hall. His fierce glare hadn't changed when he turned back to me.
"Why is my room posted no visitors?" I asked. I was mystified by Vance's whisper. What was he planning?
"For your privacy," the medic said, his scowl relaxing into his usual toothy smile. "Time for you to get up again." He had a clean hospital robe over his arm.
"Lowell had something to do with it, didn't he." The medic ignored my flat statement.
I spent a whole second debating whether to argue with him before giving in. I made it out of bed with only a little help. I shuffled into the bathroom and the shower.
I was settled back in the bed again for only a few moments when Vance appeared in my doorway. My medic rumbled his way over to the door. Vance held his ground. He produced a paper from his pocket.
"Medical discharge," he informed the medic. "She's coming with me."
The medic folded his arms and glared at the paper. He finally shrugged. "I'll have to clear it."
"You do that," Vance told him. He watched the medic leave, leaning out the door. He pushed the door mostly shut then came over to the bed. He reminded me of a little kid with a secret. He grinned and held up a silver uniform. "We have to hurry."
"You didn't really get me a discharge," I said, disappointed.
"It takes weeks to get one of those finalized. Mine just came through this morning. That's why I was here, to pick up the papers. Put this on." He shoved the uniform at me and retreated to the door. He opened it far enough to look down the hall. "Hurry," he added.
I made my decision in a split second. Stay here, cut off from everyone, or go with Vance, wherever he was headed. It wasn't much of a decision. I'd face the music later, when Lowell caught up with me.
The pain was horrible. I struggled my way into the uniform, biting my lip to keep from groaning. I managed to get it fastened before I collapsed onto the bed. Vance heard my sigh of relief and turned around.
"He's coming back," he said. "We've got to go now. But you can't go barefoot."
He was by the bed, slipping a pair of boots over my feet, before I could blink.
"Ready?" he asked with a grin.
I was already having second thoughts. "Vance, I can't go far."
"Then I'll carry you if I have to, although it will look less suspicious if you can walk. It's only to the elevators. I've got a car waiting downstairs."
"To go where?"
His look made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. What would it matter where we went? It was out of the hospital. He slid his arm around me and helped me off the bed. It felt good to be standing on my own feet and wearing boots again. I glanced down.
He'd brought me an Admiral's dress uniform. I had no idea where he got it. It even fit. The boots were a little large, but close enough that I wasn't going to complain. The lack of underwear was a bit disconcerting.
He helped
me over to the door. "Ready?" he asked as he risked a peek out the door. "We're clear."
He waited until I nodded before he moved his arm. I couldn't lean on him too obviously or it would give our subterfuge away. I felt a bubble of excitement and nerves ripple through my gut along with a stab of pain. I pushed the pain away and concentrated on walking normally.
We stepped out into the empty hallway. A quiet murmur of voices came from other rooms.
"This way," Vance whispered. He led me down the hall, out of the patient rooms and into a busier section of the building. People in uniforms, silver and black and blue, hustled past us in all directions .
Vance and I walked to the elevators. I let him push the buttons. I concentrated on not showing how much pain I was in. It took most of my willpower not to keep looking behind us. I expected my medic to come roaring after me at any second.
We got an elevator to ourselves. My uniform and Vance's haughty stare scared the others into waiting. The door shut and I sagged. Vance caught me and held me while the elevator slid silently down to the lobby floor. I braced myself back up as the door opened.
There were uniforms everywhere. Big men in black carrying big guns stared at everyone. Vance led me right past a pair of them guarding the entrance. They didn't give us more than a glance.
We stepped out into sunshine. Vance went to a groundcar parked near the entrance and opened the door. He helped me in, making it look as if he were my aide. The windows were polarized. We could see out but no one could see in. He hurried around to the driver's side and got in. I sagged back in the seat as soon as he closed his door.
"How are you doing?" he asked as he started the car. We rolled smoothly into traffic. "Dace?" he asked when I didn't answer.
"I'll survive," I managed through gritted teeth. My side was on fire. I wondered if I'd ripped anything open. The pain was intense. I was beginning to think running away with Vance was a mistake. I could always blame it on the drugs. I wasn't thinking clearly.
"Just hang on. We'll be there soon and then you can rest all you want."
"We'll be where?"
I looked out the window. Ships rose not far away. We were headed for the landing field.
