The two became locked in a stare down that finally ended with the Historian saying, quietly and meekly, “Well, I should probably look into this, then.”
He sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head once more and resumed staring out into space. “You don’t know if the rumors mentioned any holographic evidence, do you,” he asked.
“Colonel,” Emily replied with the stern look still on her face. “You have certainly restored my faith in the human male. I wonder what Grandma would say?”
The Historian sat up straight again. “I’m sure the Admiral would be happy to inform you I’m not a prime specimen of the human male,” he retorted. “She doesn’t seem to have found me aggressive enough in that respect.”
“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I didn’t mean it that way,” Emily replied. “She still asks Dad and me how you are every time we speak with her. Perhaps it’s time you called her. What could it hurt?”
The Historian shot Emily a look that told her on no uncertain terms she should drop the subject.
She fell quiet and turned red from embarrassment. The both of them leaned back in their chairs and finished their coffee in silence as they stared at the snow falling outside.
After a few moments, upon deciding he would need to get up to pour another cup of coffee, Zheng turned to his granddaughter and said, “Emily?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” she replied, meekly.
“I’m glad we had this little talk,” he said. After another ten or fifteen seconds he added as he rose to grab the coffee pot, “Perky Pedersen the Pedagogue Pouncer, eh? That’s quite amusing. I still think, though, if you tried you could develop some of Gabi’s charm…”
Emily took a quick glance down at her chest. “I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that,” she told her grandfather. “I’d have had to start consuming massive amounts of yellow maize years ago to develop that much charm.”
After pouring them both another cup of coffee, the Historian sat back down.
Emily looked longingly at the parcel and glanced back at him.
He acknowledged the prompt and picked the package up. It was addressed directly to Emily, but she hadn’t opened it. They both knew what was in the package already and it was actually for the Historian, not her.
“Zora hyper-mailed me last month to tell me it was coming,” Emily told him. “She said Captain Mahzarhi personally gave it to her to pass along to you, through me.” She then looked at him with some concern.
“Could not removing items from locations of ‘special’ historical interest to both the military and the civilian Central Government get us into serious hot water, Colonel, Sir,” Emily asked.
“I’m sure it could. If I ever go to one of those places and pocket anything, I’ll let you know how it turns out,” the Historian answered. He winked at her.
Emily gave him a glance that let him know she wasn’t reassured by his answer or his attitude. It was her name and address on the box, after all.
“Any idea why it wasn’t inventoried,” she asked.
The Historian looked up at her from the parcel. “Who says it wasn’t,” he asked.
“Um… Let’s see. Ah, yes. Zora. Oh, and her captain,” Emily answered. “You can’t be serious.”
“I think,” he finally said after staring at the box for a while longer. “We should probably open this before the antiquities police break in and take it back. I’d hate to lose it before we even know if it is worth all this intrigue.”
He opened the box and took out one portion of the contents. It was a small personal digital tablet. The historian examined it for card slots and found it would accept all types of memory cards commonly in use on Earth around the time the first faster-than-light battle groups from there started to patrol the local galactic neighborhood.
Emily looked at the tablet and whistled. “Damn, Colonel,” she said enthusiastically. “If Zora is correct about the strength of the battery and there isn’t too much corrosion on the contacts in the slots we might be in business.”
Over the years, the Historian had been sent hundreds of permanent holographic memory cards from various military restoration projects and he had a collection of tablets to read most of them. But, the older cards manufactured on Earth fell from use around the time of the signing of the League Charter.
By that time they were being replaced by the Ekkidan-engineered cards employed on the rest of the aligned planets. Tablets that read the older cards also fell from use. To find one outside of the tight control of the Bureau of Historical Sciences complete with a functional battery, undamaged logic circuits and a touch screen that worked was rare, indeed.
The Historian reached back into the box and found there was a small envelop. He opened it and found it contained over a dozen memory cards along with a note. He looked at the note for a few seconds and handed it to Emily.
“Please read this and then destroy it,” he told her.
She looked at the note and whistled again.
Part II - Friendships and Alliances
Chapter 7
20-November-2209
Russo picked her beeping personal locater up from the nightstand. Her chronometer read 0315 hours and the page startled her because she had no patients on the critical watch list. She pressed her thumb against the touchpad to turn off the alert and open the voice channel.
“Russo here,” she said groggily.
“This is Lowell,” came the reply from the locator. “Corporal Morning Grass is awake and asking for you. She says it’s urgent and can’t wait until morning.”
Even though the locator was less than half the size of a deck of playing cards, the audio quality made Lowell sound as if he was standing right there in Russo’s quarters. When the not quite awake Russo heard his voice she instinctively pulled her bed sheet up around her. She was about to ask him how he got into her cabin until she looked for him and realized he wasn’t actually there.
“Did you hear me, Major Russo,” Lowell asked. “Corporal Morning Grass is requesting to speak with you.”
Russo’s mind started to race when she heard the name Morning Grass and she fought to collect her thoughts.
“Major,” Lowell asked again.
“Sorry, Lowell,” Russo replied. “I heard you.”
She scratched her head and reached for her tablet.
“Did the corporal say what it was about,” she asked as she tapped the screen to activate it.
The screen lit up almost immediately and created only a small glow, but her eyes hurt to look directly at it so she squinted and looked away until they were more accustomed to the light.
“She says she will only speak to you in person, Major,” Lowell said. “I tried to get more out of her, but she became belligerent and abusive. I had to promise her I’d call you right away to get her to calm down. She was disturbing the other patients.”
Russo was wide awake now and hoping Morning Grass’ insistence on seeing her was a positive sign. After only talking with Morning Grass once, for less than twenty minutes, she had come to the conclusion the feline acted out due to fear and the feeling of not being in control of the situation.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can shower and get dressed,” Russo finally said.
“Thank you. Major,” Lowell responded. “I’ll tell her.”
Twenty minutes later, Russo walked into the sickbay and poured a cup of coffee, or what the military was trying to pass off as coffee, and took a long sip. She then pulled her tablet out of her smock and walked to the ward where Morning Grass’ isolation chamber was located.
Morning Grass was awake and seemed on edge, but quickly calmed down when she caught sight of Russo.
“So tell me, Major,” Morning Grass implored. “What do others tell you of their experiences with this regeneration process? Just how horrible is it to be in a tank for ten weeks?” She was on the verge of tears, but refused to start sobbing.
“You shouldn’t notice any passage of time, although some patients report dream
ing,” Russo stated, trying to be as reassuring as possible. “You will be sedated for your immersion into the oxygenated liquid. The fluid is fully breathable, but being a first-timer you will experience a bit of panic and the sensation of smothering until you take in the first lungful. That should be the only real distress you feel and the sedatives will greatly reduce it.”
“Once you actually start breathing, the fluid will feel cool and refreshing in your lungs and the rush from the sudden burst of extra oxygen may make you feel euphoric until you become completely unconscious. The next thing you should be aware of is being removed from the incubator at the end of the ten weeks.”
“What do your patients tell you they dream about,” Morning Grass asked.
“Either flying or floating,” Russo answered. She was amused by the question. She had expected the first question to be about how badly patients panicked while being essentially drowned in what amounted to a vat of highly oxygenized artificial amniotic fluid.
“They are rare, but any dreams reported are usually quite pleasant,” she continued, trying hard not to smile so much that Morning Grass might think she thought the question was silly. “For most of the process, you will be moved back and forth between Stage Two and Stage Four of sleep as necessary to lessen involuntary body movements. While in Stage Four, you may slip in and out of REM sleep periodically and that is when you will dream; if at all.”
Morning Grass now seemed to be calmer and Russo was thankful she was able to reassure the feline.
“While you are in the incubator,” Russo continued. “You will not be completely out of communication.”
Morning Grass shot a look of interest at Russo and the doctor took it as an invitation to expound.
“You will be fed daily briefings via audio,” Russo explained. “You won’t realize you are receiving the information until you are awake at the end of the procedure and we give you post-hypnotic suggestions to remember. But, you will have almost a one-hundred-percent recall of any information you were fed in the incubator.”
“Why not just brief me fully at the end of the regeneration,” Morning Grass asked.
“We’ve found it’s better this way,” Russo answered. “Trust me. A full briefing of the events of the ten previous weeks will be the last thing you want to deal with when you come out of the tank.”
Morning Grass nodded as if she understood.
“We have actually had patients request to be fed higher education courses while regenerating,” Russo said with a smile. She then asked Morning Grass with a bit of a chuckle, “Would you like to learn a new trade, or a second language? As long as the information can be passed along via audio, we can fix you up.”
Morning Grass laughed and when she did, it lifted Russo’s spirits immensely. She laughed out loud herself. They smiled at each other until it became just a bit uncomfortable. Russo then noticed the tears in Morning Grass’ eyes.
“When must we start the procedure,” Morning Grass asked.
“You’ve been here for almost fourteen days,” Russo answered. “The safe window of opportunity is approximately that. We should start no later than this morning. It’s conceivable we could delay another forty-eight hours, but it’s risky. Once your body develops a tolerance to the anti-scarring drugs we saturate the amputation sites with, we have only a few hours to start regeneration.”
“The problem isn’t actually the scarring; it’s what the scarring process does to the nerve pathways from the site of the injury back to your central nervous system. The body will start to shut those down and we need them to stay active. We can regenerate new nerves in the new limbs, but once the body tells existing nerve pathways leading to the site of the amputation to shut down, we can’t make it restart them again. Effectively that would mean the new nerves would have no pathways back to your central nervous system.”
“What exactly does that mean,” Morning Grass asked.
“We have found once the body starts to create a scar at the site of a trauma,” Russo explained. “It’s only a matter of a few hours before the nerve endings will have died off sufficiently to make regeneration more of a cosmetic procedure than a restoration of function. Most patients in that situation regain some feeling in the limb after a year or two, but they never regain full use.”
“I feel no pain right now,” Morning Grass observed. “Has this scarring process started? Are you sure it is not already too late?”
“No pain is a good sign at this point. It means you haven’t built up any tolerance to the drugs,” Russo assured Morning Grass. “You must tell me if you start to feel pain, immediately. That means we must get you in the tank without delay.”
“The drugs we give you to prevent the scarring interrupt the pain coming from the severed nerves. That is what keeps the pathways open. But as a consequence the healing process is slowed to almost a standstill. The coverings on your wounds have a combination of the anti-scarring drugs, immune boosters, Vitamin A, our strongest topical anesthetics, antiseptics and special emollients to slow down damage and oxidation of the exposed tissues.”
“The open wounds are why we must keep you in isolation until the regeneration tank is prepared and we can put you right in. You don’t bleed because special adhesives that will eventually dissolve were used to close the arteries and veins. Once the process starts, they will open back up as new ones start to grow in your regenerating limbs.”
Morning Grass looked at Russo as if she were unsure about asking her next question. Russo picked up on Morning Grass’ reluctance and asked what was on her mind. Morning Grass turned away slightly. Her face turned dark and her eyes became wet. She looked as if her worst fears had been confirmed.
“Please, Corporal Morning Grass. I am here to help you,” Russo told her. “What is it you are worried about?”
Morning Grass wept openly now. Russo wanted to say something to comfort her but was confused as to the reason for the tears.
“I know for a fact you aren’t scarring, yet,” she told the feline. “Your latest tests show no tolerance to the drugs…”
“No,” Morning Grass replied between sobs. “That isn’t it.”
“What, then,” Russo begged. “Please tell me so I can help.”
“Is there any way I could leave isolation before the regeneration is started,” Morning Grass asked, now shaking.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible, due to the certainty of infection,” Russo said. “Your isolation chamber will be wheeled into the incubator room and you will be placed in the tank within seconds of being removed from it. But, I still don’t understand, Corporal. Is it claustrophobia? Are you uncomfortable in the chamber? We can give you…”
“No,” Morning Grass shouted. She then did her best to pull herself together and calm down enough to talk to Russo about her concern without seeming desperate.
“I was hoping; maybe beyond hope; Teacher and I could be together with a surrogate one last time before the regeneration was started,” she finally admitted. “But, my fertile cycle is still almost a week away.”
Once the words left her mouth, Morning Grass took three deep breaths trying to calm down enough to finish her train of thought.
“And now you tell me,” she continued. “Even if I could wait till then, I can’t leave isolation until I have to be put in the incubator.”
“I’m sorry, Corporal Morning Grass,” Russo said. She wanted to cry herself, but didn’t know if she dared. “I can’t give you any false hope. There is no way we can help you with that. I would offer to harvest some of your eggs for later in vitro fertilization, but I can’t break the isolation, even for that. There is nothing I can do for you.”
Russo stood silent for as long as she could. She had dealt with difficult cases, but she shared an affinity with Morning Grass’ situation. Recent circumstances in Russo’s personal life exacerbated the frustration she felt at not being able to offer any hope and deepened her sadness for Morning Grass’ plight. Russo wanted desperately to wrap her ar
ms around the feline and reassure her.
“Major Russo,” Morning Grass finally said. “I appreciate your honesty and your patience. I know I have been difficult to care for.” She smiled weakly at the doctor and added, “I also appreciate you for coming to see me in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t have bothered you but I needed to have this information and I just could not wait. Thank you. You may go, now. I have all I need. I mustn’t keep you here any longer. You need your sleep.”
Russo reached out and put her hand on the glass of the isolation chamber. Morning Grass reached up and placed her hand on the glass right under Russo’s acknowledging the doctor’s offer of comfort.
“Thank you, again,” Morning Grass said. She was emotionally exhausted, but far from being able to sleep.
“If it’s all the same to you, Corporal,” Russo told her. “I’m going to stick around.” She took a quick look at the readouts on the isolation chamber and started tapping on her tablet. She placed the tablet back in the pocket of her smock and asked Morning Grass if she would like something to help her sleep.
“I think I may have slept too much, lately. Thank you anyway, Major,” Morning Grass said.
“In that case, I wonder if you might like some company, Corporal,” Russo asked. “I don’t think there is much that needs tending in the rest of this ward. At least not at the moment…”
Morning Grass smiled as Russo pulled a chair to the top of the isolation chamber and sat down.
Chapter 8
16-April-2210
Azir Buzami picked up the tankard of ale from his desk and swallowed what was left. He then turned it upside down as if he needed to prove to himself it was empty, frowned and put it back down. He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily.
Up to this point, he had been able to hide his ennui quite well, but it was hours past time for him to leave for the day and he really was not keen on spending one more minute going back over the fourteen hundred and sixty some odd pages of the treaty.
Chamberlain's Folly (The Terra Nova Chronicles) Page 6
