After a few seconds of consideration he said, “While I was growing up, my mother was overly fond of a particular saying. It is strange to me because, while I never did see the value in this phrase, I find myself pondering those words with increasing regularity in recent days.”
“Please,” the doctor interrupted, “this is a delicate scan; you should remain quiet while it is conducted.”
Fei Long knew as well as the doctor did that the motion of his jaw would have zero impact on the outcome of the test, but he abided by her stated wishes even though he truly thought he might be able to help ease her stress. The minutes passed and the scan came to its eventual conclusion, after which time the machine slid his body out and he regained his feet.
“Are you having any headaches?” Doctor Middleton asked in a businesslike tone.
“I am not,” he replied with a calm shake of his head.
“And the insomnia?” she continued as she made notes on a data slate.
He chuckled softly. “As I explained previously,” he said with the barest hint of reprimand in his tone, as he disliked broaching this particular subject with the ship’s doctor, “I have been experiencing an altogether normal sleep cycle since the…event in the airlock those months ago.”
The doctor looked at him over the rims of her glasses and Fei Long knew that she harbored some measure of resentment, or possibly simple disapproval, regarding the relationship which had blossomed between himself and Lu Bu. But he would not be cowed, nor would he allow himself to feel as though he had committed any wrongful act since that time. If anything, it was Lu Bu who should receive a stern ‘talking to’ regarding her conduct within the confines of their private relationship.
The doctor seemed strangely hesitant as she continued, “How are things between the two of you?”
The young man cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “I had assumed that the two of you engaged in what people in your culture refer to as ‘girl talk’ on a regular basis?”
Doctor Middleton set her jaw, and Fei Long knew he had only a brief window through which to navigate her uncharacteristically negative mood, so he decided to take the path which would supposedly set a person free: the truth.
“I confess,” he said with a sigh of genuine relief, “while we have our share of…friction, she has become the second-most stabilizing force in my life. I know that I would function without her, since I have done so in the past, but hearing of her experiences has shed light on matters previously bathed in symbolic shadow for me. My relationship with her has been, for lack of a better term, an enlightening experience.”
The doctor seemed satisfied with the answer—the providing of which seemed to cause actual, physical pain to Fei Long deep in his being—and visibly relaxed before apparently realizing something which he had said. “You said your relationship is the ‘second-most stabilizing force.’ What would you say is the first?”
Fei Long tapped his temple lightly. “Captain Middleton calls it a ‘kill pill.’ But I have come to think of it as something of a partner, or at least a moral guidepost.”
Doctor Middleton looked genuinely offended by the notion, but she was also clearly intrigued—and for reasons unknown to Fei Long, disturbed—by his confession. “I don’t understand,” she said after a short pause. “How can you think of it as anything but an affront to your most basic human rights? It was placed there against your will in order to control your actions with literally lethal consequences; that’s the opposite of moral!” she finished, clearly having considered the matter at some length.
But Fei Long, having lived with the harsh realities of the device for two years, had considered the matter much more deeply than she—or anyone other than him—could possibly understand. “You must understand,” he said with a soft sigh as he delved into a topic which was very personal to him, “for me there has never been any true imperative to which I was required to adhere. My mind is too strong,” he explained without as much as a microgram of pride or condescension, and he shook his head at the thought of long-buried memories as he did so. “As such I have always been able to, as some might say, ‘out-think’ those who thought it their obligation to guide, instruct, or otherwise control me.”
“I don’t see the relevance of that,” she countered sharply, putting the slate in her pocket and folding her arms—a certain sign of body language indicating opposition. “People often have horrible things done to them,” she continued, her voice taking on a slightly patronizing tone that very nearly made Fei Long’s jaw clench tightly shut as he correctly anticipated her next words, “and many times they attempt to rationalize the necessity of those horrors in one way or another.”
Fei Long nodded calmly, keeping his voice level as he asked, “You believe I suffer from a form of psychological self-delusion, the purpose of which is to ratify the harsh reality of my circumstances?”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re still human,” she said in a similarly level tone, “and that means you can fall victim to the same psychological processes as the rest of us.”
“That is, as they say, ‘true enough’,” he allowed as his mind worked through the possible reasons for her having broached the subject. “But I have given the matter a rather significant amount of thought…”
She shook her head as though in empathy, but he recognized the affectation for what it truly was: pity. “Your culture isn’t exactly receptive to outward displays of individuality,” she said in a now-infuriatingly patronizing tone, but Fei Long continued fighting to keep his emotions under control. Doing so had been relatively easy for him prior to his relationship with Lu Bu, but it had become increasingly difficult in recent weeks for reasons he still could not understand. “I believe that you think this…atrocity,” her voice became tremulous as she forced out the word, “is some sort of gift in disguise, but in my opinion you probably aren’t in a position to make that determination.”
Fei Long took a breath and briefly closed his eyes as he searched for the right words. “You were married, yes?” he asked after the train of thought had crystalized in his mind.
Doctor Middleton bristled visibly. “I don’t see how that—“
“In marriage,” he cut in as smoothly as he could manage, “one subjugates aspects of his or her freedom—even going so far as to place his or herself in direct, physical, danger—to support the marriage or family.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly but Fei Long saw a light of comprehension begin to flicker behind her eyes. “That’s different,” she objected all-too-predictably.
“How?” he asked patiently, his anger abating somewhat as the doctor seemed at least somewhat interested in a meaningful exchange on the subject—rather than some short-sighted lecture based on values Fei Long already understood perfectly well.
“Because you have a choice to get married,” she said in a once again tremulous voice. “And you have the freedom to undo that choice at some future point.”
He nodded patiently. “And since I was not given a choice of whether or not to accept this,” he gestured to his temple, “condition, you would say that it should be removed since it is the result of an immoral, illegal, or unethical action. Moreover, you seem to believe that any emotional or intellectual interaction I have had with my condition is necessarily tainted by the coercive nature of said condition, and that I am therefore unable to make a rational…no,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “that I am unable to make a correct determination. Is that so?”
She shook her head defiantly, but he could see that she understood his meaning well enough by the look in her eyes. “You were a victim—“
“No!” he interrupted in a raised voice, briefly losing control of his emotions. He closed his eyes again and took a deep, cleansing breath. “No, Doctor Middleton,” he said in a more measured voice after meeting her gaze and holding it for several seconds, “I am not, nor have I ever been, a victim.”
“You might not be able to legally make that determination—“
she began stiffly, but again he interrupted—this time more politely.
“Doctor, I am a dangerous person,” he said, cutting through several layers of social niceties so as to address the very heart of the matter in no uncertain terms. “If I set my mind to it, I could topple entire economies with little more than time and a decent network connection. I could break into secure databases and divulge secrets which would incite entire societies to riot,” he continued, knowing that he had come quite close to doing just that prior to his incarceration. “In fact, had I not been apprehended I very likely would have done precisely that,” he continued, his own voice beginning to tremble as a flood of emotion threatened to overcome him. “Some people look to gods in order to find the proverbial ‘line’ over which they should not step, but gods have never held more than a passing interest for me, as I believe them to merely represent facets of ourselves. Others seek guidance in the wisdom of their ancestors, and I admit that this does provide me with some measure of stability,” he said, realizing for the first time just how true that was, “but ultimately none of it could have stopped me from taking actions which would have brought untold suffering and turmoil. It was only when I was given this gift,” he tapped his head yet again as he finally regained a reasonable degree of composure, “that I found my true path.”
Doctor Middleton had the look of a person who desperately wanted to say something but, for reasons unknown to Fei Long, she resisted. When she spoke, her voice was much more calm and clinical than during any other point in the conversation. “And if that ‘gift’ is deemed hazardous to your health by the medical officer charged with your physical well-being?” she asked pointedly.
Fei Long’s eyes narrowed as his mind spun through the possible reasons for this particular turn in the conversation. He then relaxed, releasing a pent-up sigh as he nodded in what he was certain to be at least partial understanding. “Then I would only ask that she—being a fine doctor and an even finer human being—attempt to treat not only her patients’ bodies but also their minds and, to some lesser degree…their souls. However, should she deem it possible, and necessary, to remove the device…I will submit myself to her expert opinion in the matter, for I have no wish to die unnecessarily.”
Several seconds passed in silence, with only the faint, rhythmic beeps of the medical bay’s various devices to greet his ears. He had suspicions as to why she had broached this subject in such obvious anger, but those suspicions led only to dark places in his mind—places which Fei Long desperately wished to avoid.
“Very well,” she said, removing the data slate from her pocket and making a series of notes. “We’re finished here.”
Fei Long nodded and took a few steps toward the door. But the gnawing sensation he felt in his stomach grew with each step, so he turned abruptly and asked, “Is there anything I should know, Doctor?”
Doctor Middleton met his gaze for several moments before shaking her head. Her visage was unreadable in that moment, and she said, “No…not right now.”
Fei Long hesitated briefly, but during that fraction of a second he made a decision. He knew there was something unsaid between them, but he had made his desires as clear as he possibly could. He decided to do something he was unwilling—or perhaps unable—to do except during extreme circumstances.
Fei Long decided to trust her judgment, and like so many things, he dismissed it from his mind entirely before he had even returned to his quarters.
After leaving sickbay, Fei Long entered the mess hall and grabbed a platter as he assumed his place in line. There were several people in front of him including Hephaestion, who manned the Sensors during First Shift. The decidedly un-Tracto-an looking man with his slender physique and smooth, unmarked, skin was only two spots ahead in the line from Fei Long’s position.
“You learn quickly, Hephaestion,” Fei Long said in a slightly raised voice, prompting the other man to turn around. “Sensor theory is not simple,” he continued, “but your dedication does you credit.”
“Thank you,” Hephaestion replied, and the young Tracto-an gestured for the crewman who stood between them to take his place as he slid back to stand beside Fei Long. “But the…theory, as you say, is difficult.”
“Perhaps I could assist you?” Fei Long offered. “Particle and emissions theory are hobbies of mine, after all.” He knew only too well the pain of isolation and the joys of friendship; if he could become the young man’s friend then it would likely serve their mutual interests. Fei Long was also understandably fascinated with Tracto-an culture, but there were few Tracto-ans aboard the Pride who seemed interested in answering his questions.
Hephaestion looked surprised but he quickly smiled and nodded, “This—that,” he corrected sheepishly, “would be much appreciated.”
“Your people pick up new languages incredibly quickly,” Fei Long observed as they moved up in line and began to fill their trays.
“Doctor Middleton,” Hephaestion said as he placed a spoonful of something which roughly approximated mashed potatoes on his plate, “says our…lan-guage cen-ters are significantly larger than those of the Starborn. What would take a Starborn years takes us only months—or sometimes weeks.”
“That is extraordinary,” Fei Long said, having never suspected that the Tracto-an brain had also been engineered. He had naively assumed their bodies had been the only aspects which had been heavily modified. “How many languages can you learn? I, myself, am fluent in only three,” he explained self-consciously.
“Some of the holds have their own dialects,” Hephaestion shrugged, “but grammar and composition is very similar across all cultures. If you would like, I—“
“Stand aside, boy,” a deep voice growled, and before Fei Long could react he saw Atticus and three of his Tracto-an Lancers, each wearing sweat-drenched exercise clothing, push Hephaestion from his spot in line while consequently shoving Fei Long to the side as well. The Lancers began to fill their plates as though nothing had happened, and Fei Long saw Hephaestion lower his eyes in deference to his much larger countrymen.
“There is a line,” Fei Long said in a loud voice, but the Lancers ignored him. He dearly wished he had come to the mess hall prepared for a conflict but he had left his self-defense gear in his quarters. “Atticus!” Fei Long snapped, causing several heads—many of them Tracto-an—to look up from their plates from around the mess hall.
Among those heads was the self-declared War Leader’s, as he turned slowly to face Fei Long and said, “You will address me by my title, runt, or you will receive a lesson as to how I earned it.”
“There is a line,” Fei Long repeated, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward six other crewmembers who had formed an orderly file behind Fei Long. “Take your place in it.”
“This is my place in it, weakling,” Atticus quipped, causing several of the Lancers—both those who had arrived with him, and some seated throughout the mess hall—to snicker. “It seems to me that you are the one standing where he does not belong.”
Fei Long set his platter down and stepped toward the herculean Tracto-an, whose physique and musculature Fei Long had only ever seen in e-zines and holo-vids until serving with the genetically engineered Tracto-ans.
“There are rules, Atticus,” Fei Long said as he held the other man’s contemptuous gaze. “We all must follow them.”
“We have a rule, as well,” Atticus sneered as he lashed out with a hand and pushed Fei Long to the floor with as much effort as it would take to do so to a toddler. “It is called ‘survival of the fittest.’ You should learn of it.”
“You are a coward, Atticus,” Fei Long heard an even deeper, grinding voice say as he picked himself up off the floor. The young man’s murderous outrage was briefly forgotten when the entire mess hall fell silent, and Atticus turned to face the speaker.
“The runt does not know better,” Atticus seethed, “but you, old man, have no excuse not to address me by my rank of War Leader.”
The man laughed harshl
y, and Fei Long saw that it was the one-eyed Tracto-an named Kratos. He was even larger than Atticus—who had been, until Kratos’ arrival, the largest Tracto-an to serve aboard the Pride of Prometheus—and he moved so close to Atticus that Fei Long was certain they felt each other’s breaths.
Kratos actually managed to look down at the massive Atticus, standing half a head taller and seemingly half again as thick in the chest. “What wars have you led, coward?” the one-eyed man challenged, quirking his good eyebrow incredulously.
“You will show respect—“ Atticus began, dropping his platter to the floor and pushing his chest very nearly into the other man’s.
“Respect is earned, whelp,” Kratos interrupted as he pointed at Fei Long, “but not by attacking those weaker than you. Cowards do that.”
The tension in the mess hall was so thick that Fei Long actually had to force his breaths to continue, and it seemed like an eternity as the two men remained locked in a silent test of wills until a voice called out from the entrance, “What’s going on here?”
Fei Long, and most of the mess hall’s occupants, turned to see Sergeant Gnuko standing at the entry.
“This is who we must fight beside?” Atticus asked in a raised voice as he took a step sideways—and slightly backward, in Fei Long’s estimation—and addressed the Tracto-ans who had arrived with him. “Heretics,” he veritably spat the word as he looked briefly at Kratos, “cripples,” he added, looking at a table full of Tracto-ans, many of whom had cybernetic prosthetics attached at their elbows, or knees, or even shoulders, “and sword swallowers?” he sniffed contemptuously as he looked down on Hephaestion, who stood a full head shorter than he and certainly weighed less than half as much as the self-styled War Leader. “To say nothing of demons and the defeated,” Atticus said in a raised voice as his eyes briefly locked onto a pair of Tracto-ans taking their meals on the opposite side of the room.
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 22
