The Valiant (Star Legend Book 1)

by J. J. Green

  “Medic,” Colbourn barked.

  “Er, doctor, actually,” corrected the duty doc, the same person who had told Wright about the patient waking up.

  “Cease sedation on this patient,” Colbourn continued, without acknowledging her mistake.

  “Gladly,” said the doctor. “I think it’s for the best,” she added, to Wright. “We can’t keep him under forever.” She leaned over the miraculous mummy-turned-living-human-being and closed the valve on the drip that was running into his hand. Next, she gently pulled out the cannula and puffed a spray on the insertion point, instantly drying up the blood leaking out. “He should be awake in an hour or so.”

  “That’s that,” Colbourn said with an air of finality. “I’ll be in my office,” she said, exiting the sick bay.

  Wright grimaced. That was not that, not by a long shot, if his previous experience of the wakened patient was anything to go by.

  “I guess I’d better leave the restraints on,” said the doc.

  The man was now dressed in a hospital gown and lying under a sheet. He continued to look remarkably healthy, and his hair and beard had been growing incredibly fast, now a couple of centimeters longer than when the major had seen him a few days ago.

  “Yes, leave them on,” he said, “and let me know as soon as he begins to come around.”

  With a sense of foreboding, he walked out of the bay and headed toward one of the Valiant’s gyms. Ellis was due to provide support for the first time at a training session, and he wanted to observe her. The corporal was another problem pressing on his mind. She was clearly troubled, and while he usually avoided getting too involved in the day to day lives of the marines, she was a special case. She was an exceptional combatant, and in the coming war against the joined EAC and AP forces, they would need every edge they had.

  He took the elevator outside the gym to the second level and walked out onto the gallery. Resting his elbows on the railing, he looked down. The session had already begun. The instructor was explaining a move that could be deployed when attacked from behind. The man asked Ellis to step forward and take part in a demonstration.

  She got up from her spot on the mat with the trainees, and as she walked over to the instructor, she happened to glance up. She registered Wright watching. She gave him a sullen look—what was the woman’s problem? After halting at the instructor’s side, she turned to face the watching men and women, her legs standing apart and her hands held loosely together behind her back.

  Another participant was called: a burly male marine who stood a head taller than Ellis, who was above average height herself, and about twice as wide. He swaggered toward her, grinning. She remained stony-faced, not even looking at him.

  Wright’s sense of foreboding over the waking patient transferred to the young corporal. She was excellent at combat, but the man the training sergeant had set her up against was a giant. If the marine didn’t hold back, Ellis was in danger of getting seriously hurt. What was the trainer doing? Was he trying to prove a point? Did he resent being told to use Ellis as support for his sessions? Wright recalled the first time he’d seen her, at the briefing session for the rescue mission. He’d sensed the other marines didn’t like her then. And there had been that fight in the cabin. The corporal had never stated she didn’t start it. Was Ellis universally disliked, except for that other marine, Abacha, who she’d requested be transferred with her to the Valiant?

  The instructor told her to stand with her back to the large marine. She swiveled around and let her arms hang loose at her sides. The instructor stepped backward, and then nodded at her would-be attacker.

  The marine immediately ran at her, but before he reached her, she dropped like a stone into a squat, causing him to overbalance as his hands swiped empty air. Reaching above and behind her, she grabbed his hips and tugged him the rest of the way over her, so he ended up sprawling on the mat. She was on him in a split second, driving her fist into his stomach.

  Wright heard the thud of impact and the explosive groan from the victim even away up in the gallery.

  Ellis was pulling back her arm for a second punch when the instructor reached her and grabbed it.

  She wrenched her arm from him and leapt up, furious. The marine she’d felled rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach.

  “That was not the move I’m teaching, corporal!” The instructor’s angry voice echoed around the gym.

  “It was the best move in the circumstances! I used his weight against him. That’s what you should—”

  “How the hell are you supposed to guess the weight of an attacker you can’t see?”

  “But I did see him!” She got up in the sergeant’s face and poked his chest.

  Anger and outrage drained the color from the man’s face, but that didn’t stop her. “If you want—”

  “Ellis, stand down!” Wright yelled from the gallery.

  Everyone’s gazes turned to him, many looking surprised as if they were noticing him for the first time.

  “Wait for me outside, corporal,” he ordered.

  In the privacy of the elevator as it descended to the first level of the gym, he cursed, all concern for Ellis’s well being gone. He had enough on his plate without dealing with undisciplined, hot-headed non-coms.

  She was leaning against the bulkhead in the passageway, her arms folded. As he approached, she stood to half-hearted attention.

  “My office,” he said and set off, not checking if she was following.

  He felt like he’d finally seen the real Ellis. This was why no one liked her. She was arrogant and refused to follow orders. Maybe it would have been better to allow her to resign. It didn’t matter how proficient she was, if she wouldn’t work with the others, she would be a burden and a risk, especially now things were hotting up.

  But when they’d nearly reached his room, a comm arrived from the sick bay duty doc.

  “Could you come over here, major?” she asked. “We have a bit of a situation.”

  “Don’t tell me. The mummy’s awake?”

  “Yes, the sedation wore off faster than I thought it would, and—” The comm cut off. “Shit, that was close,” the doc continued a second later. “Please come as fast as you can. Security can’t hold him.”

  “I’m on my way,” Wright replied. But what to do with Ellis? “Come with me,” he said.

  He ran in the direction of the sick bay, the corporal at his side.

  It sounded like the doc had removed the bed restraints for some reason. That seemed odd, considering she’d been a first-hand witness to the patient’s violence.

  The noise of the disturbance reverberated down the passageway. Crashing, clanging, shouting, and the roaring of the patient was coming from the sick bay. Wright pushed open the door on a scene of chaos. Medical equipment was scattered over the floor, beds were askew, and in the middle of it all was the wakened man.

  The doc hadn’t removed his restraints. He was still strapped to his bed.

  One restraint—the one holding an ankle—had broken and, somehow, the man had managed to get to his feet. His bed held firm to his back by the remaining restraints, he was swinging it around, smashing into anything and everything nearby. His face was contorted and red, and his eyes were wild.

  Two security officers and the doc stood in a corner, having given up on trying to approach him. One of the officers was holding his hand to a gash on his face.

  “Hey! Hey!” Wright yelled and clapped his hands to attract the man’s attention.

  He turned crazed eyes to the major and paused momentarily, but then continued to struggle and rage. Wright realized he wasn’t actually trying to hurt anyone this time, he was trying to free himself.

  “Should I sedate him again?” called the doctor from her corner.

  Colbourn would be furious if her orders were countermanded.

  “No, not yet.” But what else could they do? The man had already caused a huge amount of damage to the sick bay. If they didn’t get him under
control, the place and equipment would be wrecked, and the patient could hurt himself.

  Suddenly, the patient lunged at him, possibly aiming for the exit. Wright darted out of the way.

  He looked around for something he could use to force him away from the door. He doubted the man would get through it with a bed on his back, but he couldn’t take the risk of a crazed sick bay escapee roaming the passageways.

  “Get away from there!” shouted Wright.

  But if the man heard him, he took no notice. He ran at the door. The top of the bed caught on the frame, and he bounced back, staggering and yelling.

  Then, as if the situation wasn’t insane enough, Wright heard the sound of singing coming from his left.

  It was Ellis.

  The corporal was standing nearby, her chin tilted up, singing in a language Wright didn’t recognize. He stared, his mouth agape. What on Earth was she doing? As he watched, she briefly paused, filled her chest, and sang louder.

  He realized the commotion from the patient had stopped.

  Ellis was looking at the man as she sang, holding his gaze with her own.

  He seemed entranced. His expression softened, his breathing slowed, and the knotted muscles of his neck and arms relaxed.

  Ellis stopped singing. She walked to the calmer patient, who swayed slightly. Touching his cheek, she spoke softly, again using the foreign language.

  The man replied. It was the first time Wright had heard him utter something other than a roar of rage and confusion. Ellis shook her head, and then continued speaking to him.

  The doctor and security guards ventured from their corner. One of the guards marched toward the patient, holding a set of handcuffs, but Wright frowned at him and shook his head. He figured trying to lock the man up now would only send him into another episode of rage.

  The doctor began straightening the beds that had been knocked askew.

  Meanwhile, Ellis kept on talking to the patient, who watched her steadily. After a little while, she turned to Wright and said, “I think he’s calmed down now. We can take off the restraints.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Try as he might, Hans could remember nothing of his rescue from the bombing of the General Council meeting or the evacuation flight out of Barbados. He hadn’t been able to glean much information from vidnews channels either. The government was undoubtedly limiting media coverage of what had happened, hoping to avoid panic. All he knew was that the Alliance was fighting to hold onto the Outer Caribbean Islands, and if it failed, then he would have to be evacuated again, out of the Kingston Hospital in Jamaica to a safer BA-held territory. As time went on, such places were becoming fewer.

  He reached for the interface screen on its extendable arm and turned it off before pushing the device away from his bed. He pressed a button to request assistance.

  “When will I be discharged?” he asked the nurse who appeared a few moments later.

  “You’re doing well, Mr Jonte,” the man replied. “Your blood oxygen is almost back to normal.” He stepped to Hans’s bedside and peered at the display screen on the wall. “Still, it won’t hurt to have another puff of this.” He removed Hans’s nasal cannula and replaced it with a mask that covered his mouth and nose. The mask was attached to a nebulizer, and as the moist, medicated air filtered through, Hans’s breathing became easier and less painful.

  “I said,” he repeated, “when can I expect to be discharged?”

  The nurse pulled the mask away from his face. “What was that?”

  “How much longer am I to stay here? I have important work to do, especially now we have this crisis.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know. Not for a few days, I expect. Your wounds still require twice-daily dressing. If you’re discharged too early, they could become infected, and then we would have to admit you again.”

  He released the mask over Hans’s face, but Hans caught it and held it. “I can’t wait a few days. I have to...Never mind.” There was no point in arguing with the nurse. He would have to discharge himself, regardless of medical advice. He loathed lying impotently in a hospital bed while others turned the gears of the Britannic Alliance.

  “Whatever you say.” The nurse fiddled with the display over the bed head. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No.”

  The nurse waited another five minutes, fiddling with the bed and the display, before removing the nebulizer. “Dinner’s in half an hour,” he said, on his way out. “Someone will be in to dress your wounds this evening.”

  As he opened the door, he halted. “Oh, hello.”

  Someone on the other side spoke, but Hans couldn’t make out the words.

  “Yes, until seven-thirty,” replied the nurse. “Then visiting hours are over.”

  He held open the door.

  When Hans saw who entered, he sat bolt upright. “Josephine! I thought you were...I mean...I thought...”

  The woman smiled sadly and shook her head as she crossed the room to his bed. She waited until the nurse left before saying, “My name isn’t Josephine. Josie was my twin. I’m Mariya.”

  “I see.” He realized he sounded disappointed. He was disappointed. His deceased assistant’s resourcefulness had only been revealed just before she died. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he added, hoping to turn his tone of regret into sadness.

  “Thank you,” said Mariya, pulling over a chair and sitting down. She was dressed in the colorful clothes of the islands, including a banana-yellow wrap around her hair.

  Her resemblance to her sister was remarkable, even for a twin. Usually, adult twins could be told apart, but this woman was Josephine’s mirror image.

  Hans wondered why she’d come to see him. “Someone will have cleared out Josephine’s office. Her personal items should have been shipped to—”

  “I’m not here about Josie’s things,” said Mariya softly.

  “Ah.” He was at a loss. Much as he enjoyed manipulating other people, their emotions always made him uncomfortable.

  “No, I have another reason for visiting you, Mr Jonte.” She regarded him steadily. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. Josie was very happy in her job. She felt she was doing something worthwhile, something to be proud of. And...I would like to take her place.”

  “You want to be my assistant? I’m afraid—”

  “We attended the same university, took the same courses. I’m equally qualified.”

  “I’m sure your qualifications are excellent. However, there are many more examinations and assessments to pass in order to join SIS. And these all take time. I can refer you to our applications section. I understand things must be difficult for your family right now, but stepping directly into your sister’s shoes is out of the question.”

  “Mr Jonte, I know how bureaucracy works. Do you have anyone ready to take Josie’s place today, tomorrow? Or will you have to wait for a suitable person to be appointed? Do you really want to wait two or three weeks for someone to assist you in doing your job?”

  “I doubt I would have to wait two or three weeks.”

  But she did have a point. He was feeling the lack of a personal assistant already, and he’d heard nothing from his department about his new one.

  “All our lives,” Mariya said, “everyone who knew my sister and I commented on how alike we were, not only in appearance, but also in personality and capabilities. I’m sure you found Josie more than capable, didn’t you?”

  “I can’t deny it. In fact, I think I underestimated her.”

  “Most people did. Would it hurt to give me a chance? We could have a trial period of, say, a month. If, after that, you aren’t satisfied with my work, then I’ll leave. No hard feelings.”

  “May I ask why you’re so determined to step into your twin’s shoes?”

  Mariya looked down. “I miss her. I don’t know if you have any siblings you’re close to, but it was like she was part of me. I feel as though I’ve had an amputation. I think if I were to do her job, it would help
me feel closer to her, to ease the pain. Not only that, we’re at war, and though the vidnews doesn’t say it in so many words, we seem to be losing. I want to do what I can to help. I feel it’s my duty.”

  Her reasoning made perfect sense, and it was fortuitous that, just as he was ruing the loss of his assistant, another, seemingly nearly identical, person had stepped into the gap. He didn’t believe in airy fairy mumbo jumbo of the type the EAC loved, but he found the serendipity of Mariya’s unexpected arrival hard to resist.

  Though he’d had no idea his deceased assistant had a twin—he’d never inquired about her family—there was no denying Mariya was Josephine’s sister. He had the evidence of his eyes to attest to it. And the background and security checks could be carried out while she was in position. He only had to be careful not to allow her access to highly sensitive information.

  “Very well. You’ve persuaded me. We’ll do a month’s trial and then look toward a permanent position providing you pass the security checks.”

  “Thank you, Mr Jonte,” Mariya said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “You won’t regret it.”

  “There’s no need to thank me.” He had a burst of inspiration about what would be just the right thing to say: “It’ll be a nice way to honor Josephine’s memory. After the first month’s trial there will be a standard six month’s probation.”

  “I know. Josie told me about it. She loved her job, loved working for you. And I’m sure I will too.”

  “We’ll have to see about that. I may be harder to work for than you imagine.”

  “I don’t mind hard work, and I’ve always been interested in working in intelligence.”

  “Good. The first thing you can do for me is help me to get out of here. I’ll need some clothes, and—” His interface buzzed. He swung the screen around and opened the comm.

  A contact he had working within Parliament had sent it. When he scanned the message, he was outraged. Did the ministers think they could slip this past him just because he happened to be recovering from the bombing? Why hadn’t he been invited?

  “I need those clothes right away, Mariya,” he said, “and have an autocab waiting for me outside the hospital. The government’s calling an emergency meeting I cannot miss.”