by A. C. Katt
Flagen looked at his brother. Though not identical, the twins could be mistaken as such. Bane had the same honey blond hair, the same brown eyes. He was perhaps a half-inch shorter than Flagen’s own six-five. Both he and his brother were lean and muscular. Both had gone into medicine. They were separated in their eleventh cycle and had roomed separately at the academy. The BondMates in their Triad had thought it would be a good thing to separate the twins. They told the brothers that it was to prepare them for lives that could only be lived independent of each other. They needed to draw apart to enable a PairBond and eventually find a fem to form a Triad. Up until that time, Flagen recalled, he and his brother had been inseparable. After, Flagen, bitter and wary at both the separation and the result, had stayed away from Bane until the Zyptz attack changed everything.
“Flagen, where are you, brother?” asked Bane. The inscrutable look left Flagen’s face and he smiled back at Bane.
“I’m afraid it’s a small bit of unfinished personal business. It has nothing to do with you, Bane. I knew it would probably be like this when I was accepted the mission. I was positive that they would have weeded me out before liftoff if Admiral Jonal had his way. I probably got the posting because I was not Bonded, a plus for this mission and the Admiral knew I was likely to remain so.”
Bane shook his head. “So many of us are heart sore, Flagen. I was on Brightstar when we came out of FTL planet side. We could not draw weapons. Had we known, we would have engaged before the jump. We thought to come home to celebrate victory.” Bane chest expanded as he drew air deeply. “You know how I feel about this mission. I don’t think a Bond is possible with an alien culture. Without the fem, well, even if you love your BondMate, it’s still just fucking. “
“Without your true BondMate, it’s not even that,” Flagen replied. He hardened his expression and straightened his back.
* * * *
Bane remembered the first time he had a real conversation with Flagen since the early academy risings. It was morning, just after rising…
He had jolted up into a sitting position when he heard the pounding. He shook his head and tried to toss the sleep from his fogged brain.
“Bane, open up!” Flagen shouted his name into the com, banging loudly on the door of his rooms. “Open up,” said Flagen.
“All right, all right.” Bane leaned over to grab his trews and padded across his small room. “Admit,” Bane spoke to the control console. “Admit Flagen. Laptard piss, Flagen. Come in and stop waking the dead.”
“I was just trying to roust you, twin of mine. Is it my fault that both tasks require the same amount of noise? I got the job, Bane.”
“What job?” asked Bane.
Flagen responded, “Co-medical officer on the Brightstar.”
“Oh,” Bane answered flatly. “You didn’t tell me you applied. I thought you disapproved of this whole Earthen fem business.
“Doesn’t matter if I approve, it’s going to happen anyway,” said Flagen. “This is a plum assignment. It will lead to better things. This kind of assignment is not usually handed out to Non Bonded personnel, but I’m not alone. Check your communicator,” said Flagen.
Bane touched his communication device. He usually turned it off while he slept, although the base main could override the off-duty mode of any officer, if necessary.
Bane laughed as he read the message. “I’m guess you know I’m going with you. Looks like I get to spend time with my baby bro. Maybe you will find a Bond on this trip and a fem to boot.”
“Bane,” Flagen interrupted, “I told you already. I will not pair. I will not Bond. I will not mate with an Earthen fem. I have no BondMate. There is no one out there for me. I’ve already accepted that. It has nothing to do with taking the opportunity to be co-medical officer on the Brightstar and having the chance to serve with my twin. I don’t have to like the mission. I just follow orders and keep the natives healthy. And cut out the baby bro bit, you’re only five mots older than I am.”
“Well, baby brother, I guess you’ll be serving under me,'' quipped Bane.
“Beside you,” amended Flagen, “co-medical officer.”
Something strange flashed over Bane’s face, “Yes, bro, right beside me. It will give us some time together. We used to be close. I haven’t seen you much in the last two cycles.” And not much the at all since the Academy, he added silently.
“Been busy doing research, like everyone else on the planet. We saved a few of the younger ones, at least. There will be some pure Sarrans left after this debacle. Maybe we should have taken up the Alliance’s offer of clones. Goddess knows, having no center for a Triad, or a center that can’t cement the Bond, would be the same as fucking a corpse.”
“Sarrans don’t clone people,” Bane said.
“Yes, I know. Sarrans don’t clone people. Sarrans mate for life. Sarrans have only one Bond brother. Sarrans protect. Sarrans preserve. Laptard’s piss, Bane, you know how sick I am of that litany. How moral is the alternative?”
“What do you mean?”
“What we are actually doing? We plan to kidnap a group of primitive fems from a world on the outer edges of the galaxy. Taking them away from everything familiar, and let’s not forget, using them like breeding cattle. This is morality? Can we claim the moral high ground here?” Flagen asked.
“Sarran would only need to produce one generation of clones from existing DNA to replace our fems and grow them in the vats offered by the Galactic Alliance. Or, if that offends, use the Earthen women as incubators, pay them well, and send them on their way. After each of them has been pregnant a few times, our supply of women would be restored. We would have to wait a while for Triad, but we are a long-lived race and our males are fertile until death. One generation, and with enough clones, everything goes back to normal.”
“Flagen, that’s disgusting,” said Bane. “Sarran Warriors don’t treat fems that way, even Earthen fems. They are our hearts.”
“If we don’t clone our women, we might never have a heart again. Will those primitive aliens have the strength to make a Bond? Will they be faithful to the Bond? I’ll bet none of them are virgin either.” Flagen spat the word out.
“Are we virgin?” said Bane. “Most of the Warriors in the Fleet were sexually experienced with women and the occasional male before being BondStruck. Our fems explore their sexuality before Triad. Why would it matter if the Earthen fem are not virgin?”
“Because, Bane,” Flagen said slowly, “I want a strong Warrior to bond into a Triad with a virgin mate. Maybe I was a young fool. I dreamed of my mates. They were going to be everything to me, as I was to them. Did you ever feel a BondStir, Bane?”
“No,” answered Bane. “I haven’t.”
“I felt it once, the beginnings of it. I waited too long to make a claim. Someone else got to him first. He would have been a heroic mate. He was about three cycles my senior. I knew my call was stronger. Yet, I hesitated. I lost.”
“You could have challenged for him, contested the Bond before it fully formed. I’d have stood beside you,” Bane said quietly. “Who was it, Flagen? Maybe you still have a chance?”
Flagen shook his head. “It wasn’t to be. And I’m not the type to settle. It will be alright, eventually. I’m happy to be serving with you, bro. I’m excited. This is going to be our first trip together since we were kids,” Flagen said as he slowly smiled. “And the other thing, the Bond, I can’t miss what I never had.” Flagen crossed over to the door.
“Yeah,” said Bane, also grinning. “We’ll get to serve on the command ship Brightstar with the two best Admirals in the fleet. That is going to put our resume in the top of the top, Warriors and medical officers. Wow.”
“Sure, best Admirals in the fleet. We do have that left, don’t we?” said Flagen as he waited for the door to open, the panels slid apart, then he left.
Bane shook his head and came back to the present. And now, we begin. He watched Flagen’s posture as the Admirals came towards them
. There was something else there. It wasn’t just that Flagen disapproved of the mission. Bane didn’t fully approve of this approach either. A different expression, helplessness, had flickered across his twin’s face and vanished. The Admirals passed. The sector two team gathered on the pads. Transport beams flashed blue, one, and then another. Bane and Flagen stepped up onto the pads from the cargo bay gridded floor. The mission was underway.
Chapter 3
“The character of every act depends upon the
circumstances in which it is done.”
—Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
Sarran Calendar: 9435 Barren Trion, Rising 104-105
Earth July 14–15th
For a Friday night Manhattan General’s ER bays were quiet. Wednesday and Thursday saw emergency service vehicles ferrying the most critical Plague patients in the tri-state region to this hospital. All other patients had been assigned to different facilities. Hospital personnel were instructed by the government to keep this group of Plague patients alive at all costs.
Antidotes and vaccinations were overseen by a pair of representatives from CDC: Drs. Bane and Flagen who had arrived from Washington twelve tines ago. Dr. Mark Stern, Manhattan General’s Chief of staff, grudgingly admitted that Bane and Flagen knew their stuff, despite that fact they were both were supercilious, egotistical sons of bitches. At thirty-six, Stern was the youngest Chief of Staff in the medical center’s history. His specialty was infectious disease until he came in from the field to take the job at Manhattan General. He wore gold wire-framed glasses and had a pocket protector with several pens in his lab coat. Blond streaked hair, slicked back, body long and lean, he resembled a California surfer gone geek. His smile was an odd sort of a half smirk. His voice barked authority. The bark combined with his sarcastic bent made the med students scatter and the residents shudder. No one on staff wanted to be the subject of Mark’s rapier wit. If a patient went south because of staff neglect, the innocent were known to draw straws to decide who faced him, the guilty just quietly submitted their letters of resignation. Errors were barely tolerated, but were considered correctable “learning experiences.” Neglect invoked the Wrath of God and every staffer at MGMC knew exactly who God was. The CDC Doctors were exempt only because their arrival coincided with the worst crisis the hospital had ever faced. Mark watched Bane for about two hours before he grudgingly conceded that he might know what he was doing. After that, there were patients to tend.
Drs. Bane and Flagen came armed with two hundred and sixty-two vials of vaccine and antidote, which they immediately administered to patients. Bane told Stern that this group and ten others were part of a small clinical trial, administering only to the worst cases, those who had no other hope of recovery. Mark Stern did not believe in using human beings as guinea pigs, but these circumstances were different enough from the clinical norm that experimentation or prayer were the only two options. Mark had no faith in prayer. These patients had no chance but the test drugs. He had reluctantly agreed to the trial. Not that his acquiescence meant shit. Bane and Flagen had the authority from Washington to do what they damn well pleased.
He detested bureaucrats. It did not please Mark that he was once again answering to Homeland Security. What he found even more unnerving was his reaction to Bane. It started after they had shared a few cups of coffee. If it had been whiskey, he would have sworn Bane slipped him rohypnol and had his way with him. If he had, it wasn’t rape, Mark’s cock twitched every time he looked the CDC goon in the face. And if that didn’t please Mark Stern the doctor, it pleased Mark Stern the alpha male even less. He knew he was bisexual. The gender of his lovers was completely immaterial to Mark. But Mark was commitment phobic and, from experience, had learned to be one suspicious son of a bitch. As a result, Mark was having some difficulty accepting that Bane had gotten his hooks in deep and quick. It felt both right and wrong at the same time and it was driving him nuts. Flagen, he simply disliked. But both were excellent physicians, he had to give them that.
Twelve hours had passed since the trial meds had been administered. All of the patients had experienced some slight improvement. Kidney and liver functions had returned, and those patients who were hooked to respirators now only needed oxygen assistance Vitals were at least in reach of normal ranges and the rash began to retreat. Bane and Flagen ordered all patients to be readied for transport to a larger quarantine facility. Mark didn’t think they were ready. Not that either man asked his opinion. After all, he was only the Chief of Staff. It really pissed him off. He had thought at least one of them would make a pretense of consultation.
Governmental assholes, why had he expected any fucking better from Bane than from any foreign or domestic paper-pushing public health hack? Mark fumed to himself. He hadn’t felt so powerless since med school. The current situation was, in Mark’s mind, weird and out of control. It wasn’t the first time since the epidemic began that he felt that way. This was his specialty. His mind should be making connections. He was missing some vital link, information that would put this riddle to rest. Maybe when his body and mind didn’t thrum with exhaustion, it would come to him. It was imperative that the origin of the virus be pinpointed and dissected. If it wasn’t, it would haunt them again, because it would become resistant to the vaccine and morph into something else. No one was asking questions, at least no one but him. Worse still, no one even tried lying. When the government yokels stopped bullshitting and lying at the same time, the U.S. of A. was in deep waters, playing Titanic. His attention came back to business as one of the first year medical students walked up.
“Dr. Stern, the remaining critical patients are stable.”
Finally, Mark thought. Aloud he said, “I need twenty-five members of staff ready in five to be briefed by CDC on procedure. Take doctors, then physician assistants, degreed nurses, EMTs and first year medical students in that order to make up the number. The remaining staff will attend the cafeteria briefing at 22:00 hours. STAT.” The resident took flight. Mark grinned. He still liked that he could make them do that.
At exactly 22:00 hours, every hospital employee was called to the employee cafeteria for instructions. They all came, secretaries, lab techs, aides, janitors, maids, doctors, and nurses. By 22:15, all of them stood waiting except for Dr. Mark Stern and twenty-five others who had attended the initial briefing. At exactly 22:30, Bane and Flagen took the makeshift podium. The staff stood in awe of the giants from CDC. Drs. Bane and Flagen, flaxen haired with hazel eyes, were as tall as NBA stars but built like linebackers. Every woman left standing, and every gay guy in the house drooled. Bane did most of the talking, and Flagen stood beside him with an air of quiet authority. Despite the crises, the hospital grapevine buzzed and the hot topic was, “Who are these two hunks and why are they at CDC?” Stern’s disdain for doctors who pushed paper rather than treat patients had spilled over to the staff. Stern’s views were on record in a book he wrote about his time with the United Nations. The fact that he offered these two even grudging respect was extraordinary. Yet, no one remembered either Bane or Flagen from medical conferences, where hacks were known to congregate for free meals and golf. Most of the staff shrugged them off as foreigners because of a slight accent to their English; foreign medical personnel came to the United States in droves nowadays. Foreigners at the CDC made sense, so the gossips just left it at that.
Trucks would arrive at 24:00, midnight to the civilians. These trucks would take the critically ill to a central quarantine facility. Trained medical personnel would stay with the patients until they were met by people from CDC. The janitors, maids and other non-medical personnel would help with transport to the ER staging area and sterilize all the newly vacated rooms, putting personal belongings in the plastic bags provided with the patient’s name, social, date of birth, current known address and occupation prior to illness. Dr. Bane had been clear about consequences should a staff member misappropriate any patient’s personal belongings. All of those present would make sure nothing wen
t missing. The threat didn’t need to be overt. Bane’s voice combined with the look on Flagen’s face conveyed menace.
* * * *
At 23:40, the ER was empty. What staff they had was up on the floors or in the cafeteria awaiting instructions. Mark was behind the triage desk awaiting the rest of the team. At 23:45, the elevator doors opened opposite the triage desk, Drs. Bane and Flagen stepped off with as many residents and staff as could fit in the small space. Bink. The second elevator in the bank opened, discharging staff, then the third. At 23:50, the low headlamps of what looked to be a long line of transport trucks in full camouflage pulled up to the ambulance entrance on the east side of the four-block, brick and cement hospital complex. Heavy booted Army Rangers in full battle dress accompanied by huge men in maroon, form-fitting uniforms with knee-high shiny black boots jumped from each truck and lined up to the right of the ambulance doors as if they were awaiting a signal. At precisely 24:00 the ER ambulance doors opened wide.
“Stern,” said Bane, “Come with me.” Flagen followed.
Annoyed, Mark walked alongside the CDC goons.
“Who’s in charge here?” asked a guy with a chest full of fruit salad, a helmet and an attitude.
Mark peered down at the shorter man. Yep, Mark thought, Short, attitude, flunkies on either side...Morgan, he read the name from the bar over his jacket pocket. Four stars and impressed with himself. He stepped forward. Stern had dealt with this particular type of asshole throughout his United Nations career.
“I am…''
“General Morgan,” answered Mark, “I'm Dr. Stern and my colleagues from Homeland Security, Drs. Bane and Flagen.”
“You are aware that we are now under martial law.”
“Yes, it’s all over the net and the airways,” Mark replied with sarcasm. “Emergency services have moved all of the most serious cases in the city to our facility as directed. They are on the floors above awaiting transport. There are two hundred and sixty two here. They all have received both antidote and vaccine. I don’t like to argue with the government, but in my opinion, they need additional recuperative time before being jostled by transport.
