5
Even at max velocity, it was another hour’s flight back to the Med Corps campus. The injured Mintakan was secured to the gurney and we’d dialed in our full suite of condition monitors, filling the sidewall with holoprojections. The massage wands were doing their job, but the fact that they were still having to pump for him was not a good sign. If Raxx’s heart couldn’t function on its own, he’d have a long recovery ahead. That was for the docs to decide, but I had a good idea of what was in store for him. He’d need a pacemaker, which with Union technology was not a big deal. It wasn’t much more than a simple chip implant, small enough to be injected through one of the rods we’d inserted. If the docs determined he needed a new heart, they could grow a synthetic one in a few days. The tissue incubators worked a lot like our food synthesizers, just with much higher fidelity, knitting protein chains together into a faithful reproduction of the patient’s own organ, down to his unique DNA. If this had been a human on Earth, he’d have been placed on a donor list that might or might not have paid off in time to save him.
I’d been here long enough to become inured to the near-magical technology of daily life in the Med Corps. Devices and techniques that would’ve been unimaginable back home were just part of the scenery, tools to be used and nothing more. It had taken time to get comfortable with it all, only because I’d never entirely trusted tech to not break once in a while, and usually when it was most needed.
I thought about that as we watched over our patient. He’d wound up here precisely because something important had failed at the worst possible time, and that was bothering me more than usual. I glanced up at my partner, who was rubbing his chin in a humanlike manner as he stared at the pulsating lines of telemetry. Not concentrating on the feed, thinking about something else.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“Excuse me? I do not grasp your meaning.”
“It’s an old icebreaker. A conversation starter.”
“Ah. I understand now.” He turned to take the seat opposite mine. “I am most curious as to how this Mintakan fell upon such misfortune. It does not make sense, as you might say.”
“Been wondering about that myself.” Though I hadn’t had much time to pursue it, much less the technical niceties. “Aren’t antimatter reactors contained inside of magnetic bottles? Why would the reaction be visible in the first place?”
“Precisely. The reactor plant is constructed from opaque alloys. There would be nothing for him to see. If the chamber had been disassembled for maintenance, the antiprotons would have remained confined to their containment tanks.”
“Otherwise he wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Again, precisely. Any stray antiprotons would have reacted energetically.”
Meaning they’d have blown up, and not in a small way. “Could that have happened? Could they have torn down the reactor for maintenance, and a few stray particles made it into the open?”
He shook his head. “Possible, but unlikely. The vessel was still under power.” He turned to study our patient. “This Mintakan also shows no signs of ionizing radiation. Their outer membranes are exceptionally sensitive to x-ray and gamma radiation. Even a stray antimatter reaction of a few atoms would have released significant quantities of both.”
I followed his gaze. The Mintakan lay still on the gurney, nearly half of his gelatinous body covered with cooling wraps. “Brief exposure, but extensive burns. What could do that so quickly?”
“I have my suspicions. Whatever the reaction was, it would have been quite intense.”
We were straying into territory that was above our pay grade. Then again, context matters. If we knew what caused the injuries, it could help the docs create a better course of treatment. “I don’t want to try talking to him now that he’s stable. The vibrations could throw him back into shock.”
“Quite. Fortunately, I am not so limited.” He took a seat facing our patient and narrowed his eyes in concentration. I could hear his thoughts.
Are you able to understand me?
No reaction from the patient, but Karrak must have heard something.
We are pleased that you are feeling better. Try to stay relaxed. Can you tell me more about your accident?
That got a reaction. The Mintakan’s skin tensed up.
“Careful, Karrak. Looks like you hit a nerve.”
That confused him. “I have not inserted any . . . ah. I understand now. Yes, he does seem anxious.” Karrak turned back to our patient. Would you like more sedatives? We can increase the dosage a bit.
He must have agreed. Karrak swiped a finger at the infusion pump, which dispensed a few more milliliters of happy juice. The Mintakan’s tension released, his skin returning to its natural, pliable state.
I understand your hesitance, but if we can have a better understanding of what caused your injuries, then the physicians will be able to provide an optimal course of treatment. As my partner might say, it is for your own good.
Nice one, Karrak. He was silent for several moments, occasionally nodding his head. Finally, he stepped away from the Mintakan and motioned for me to join him in the back of the squad.
“He is quite reluctant to divulge the root cause of his accident, even under increased sedation.”
We were dancing all over an ethical line here, taking advantage of a patient’s drugged condition to get information. “First things first. How is he feeling?”
“Much better, though I suspect the additional sedative contributed to that.”
No kidding. “What did he tell you about the accident?”
“Not as much as we might prefer. He was overseeing modifications to their reactor plant, which experienced an unexpected surge in output. That surge overwhelmed the photon shield.”
“So it really was that simple. A flash burn.”
“Perhaps not. The Mintakans have been investigating alternative drive systems to compensate for the Element 115 shortage. I strongly suspect this is related to that work.”
This was getting way outside of my area of expertise. I couldn’t imagine what kinds of alternatives to directly manipulating gravity might exist. “They can perceive different dimensions. What do you think that’s like for them?”
“It is as difficult for my kind to comprehend as it is for you. It is one thing to know something else is there; interacting with it is an entirely different proposition. I would compare it to being able to see the view through your window, yet you cannot step outside.”
“They can see what else is out there, but that’s all? Take observations, but not interact.”
“Precisely so. They believe if that barrier can be crossed, it will open up possibilities which are presently out of reach.”
Interesting, but ultimately not relevant right now. I placed my hands on my hips and sighed. We’d learned what we could, and had to be satisfied with the knowledge that whatever had happened, our patient hadn’t uncorked some kind of radioactive nightmare.
Orderlies were waiting for us in the hangar and jumped into action as soon as the pressurization field opened. It was a quartet of Gliesans, the little insectoid guys. Okay, not really “little” at all in insect terms, but they were still small compared to everyone else.
They’d brought a hyperbaric oxygen pod and immediately moved to get our patient off the gurney and onto its platform. They took opposite corners, using their mandibles to lift the Mintakan and settle him into the pod. It sounds rough, but Gliesans could be surprisingly gentle when necessary. They activated the tent’s containment field and began bathing our patient in high-pressure oxygen.
While they were at work, we briefed the attending physician on the patient’s condition. Estimated age (because Mintakans didn’t track that stuff), cause and extent of injuries, vital signs, meds we’d administered, the usual. The Reticulan doctor showed no emotion, silently transferring our notes to his data crystal to build a patient record.
I could see by their body language that he was having a side conversation with Karrak, all telepathic. On the one hand it was undeniably efficient, on the other it was a little insulting to be cut out of the loop. It wasn’t personal, but it wasn’t the first time either.
When our shift ended, I changed into a pair of jeans and a light blouse and made my way to the biodome. It was the closest thing here to the environment on Earth, and the Emissaries had a cozy little diner tucked away in a clearing. Their food was pretty good on its own, but the chefs had made a hobby of experimenting with human cuisine for my benefit. They always had something new for me to try, and over time they’d turned me into something of a foodie.
Not to say there hadn’t been some bumps in the road as they figured out flavors, textures and such. Thai noodles don’t pair well spaghetti sauce, for instance. Medium rare is delicious if it’s a filet mignon, but not so much for fried chicken.
I was once again feeling the need for some old-fashioned comfort food, so today’s “Mel Special” was a BLT with a bowl of potato soup. I’d taught them how to make it from my grandma’s recipe, which they tarted up with some Chalawani spices to make it pop.
I took a seat at a table outside, beneath an Eridani willow tree. I couldn’t tell you what the Eridanis called it, but that’s what it looked like and I enjoyed the faint honey fragrance of its periwinkle blue blooms. Emissaries strolled in and out of the diner, usually pairing up for walks through the dome’s meticulously cultivated orchards. The whole sector had the feel of a Japanese meditation garden. It was exquisitely landscaped, a masterpiece of planning and prudent forestry.
And I was enjoying it by myself.
There’s a difference between solitude and being alone. I didn’t always mind the former, but today the latter was getting to me. It wasn’t like I was lacking for friends, it’s just that they were all different. Or rather, I was different. Like a favored pet.
No. Pets didn’t work alongside their humans. Okay, there were police dogs, but . . .
Damn it. I shook my head as if it might toss out the intruding thoughts that were seriously screwing with my karma.
A muffled chime caught my attention. I reached into my back pocket for my crystal, somewhat annoyed. Hadn’t she been dormant?
Apparently not. The crystal pulsed with a dim yellow light. “What’s up, Clara?”
“Sorry Mel, but there’s a message waiting for you. The sender wouldn’t wait.”
I rolled my eyes and tapped the pulsing light to open the message: YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED AT LEVEL 1 LANDING BAY, RHO SECTOR.
Rho sector was the official name for the section of the Capital ring I lived in. The landing bay was almost directly below where I was sitting.
I looked over my shoulder reflexively, wary of a prank. Of course, that never happened here. Not like back at the firehouse, where pranking was a part of daily life. That’s what happens when you stick a bunch of type-A personalities in one place and expect them to wait around for something to happen. I’d tried it exactly once in the Med Corps, and it hadn’t gone over well at all. It wasn’t even that much of a prank, I just swapped out Karrak’s coveralls for a larger size. Reticulans like things to be skin-tight and he’d failed to see the humor.
I returned to the pulsating crystal. “Who is this?”
No reply, other than to repeat the message: YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED. PLEASE ARRIVE WITHIN TWENTY GU-STANDARD MINUTES.
“How do I know who I’m looking for?”
YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED. PLEASE—
“I got it. Twenty standard minutes.”
I briefly wondered if this was a setup, with some alien perv in a white van waiting to take me to his extraterrestrial sex dungeon. I quickly shook that off as Union cities tended to be pretty safe. Crime was unheard of, and in that sense it really was something of the alien utopia you might find in a movie. The GU’s problems were mainly of the bureaucratic snafu variety. Things worked so well here that everyone tended to go through life with blinders on. When everything ran perfectly, minor imperfections had outsized effects. Maybe that’s why I liked the Thubans so much. They were soldiers, which meant they knew what’s what.
Still, I wasn’t going along just because some faceless entity said so. “I’ll ask this one more time: Who is this?”
The pulsing message light froze, as if someone on the other end was thinking about it. Finally there was an answer, but it wasn’t through the crystal.
I am Deela.
Reticulan, then. That relieved my suspicions. It says a lot about my acclimation to this place that I was fundamentally okay with going to meet a telepathic gray alien with an oversized head and inky black eyes.
It was a quick walk to a lift which went straight down to the landing bay. I’d been here maybe twice during my entire stay in the Union; most of my trips outside of the Ring had been on ambulance runs. The Level One bay was for “priority transports,” the big shots. Even the most egalitarian societies had their movers, shakers, and influence peddlers. It was something of a universal constant.
Even if my visits here had been few and far between, but it was obvious that something was off. The Level One bay was empty, save for a silvery saucer in the middle of the hangar. The expansive bay made the little ship appear even smaller than it was. Beside it stood a lone Reticulan who held up her hand in greeting.
Hello, Melanie Mooney. I am Deela.
“It’s just Mel.”
She cocked her head and blinked. Reticulan eyelids moved horizontally, not vertically like ours. It can be an attention-grabber the first time you see it.
Unusual. Human female forenames often end in a vowel sound, similar to ours.
“It’s a nickname. You can call me Melanie if that’s easier.”
Thank you, Melanie.
I looked past her for any clues as to why she’d brought me here. “You’re alone?”
I am.
I crossed my arms and eyed her skeptically. “You don’t look like you need medical attention.”
That is correct. I represent someone who has requested you for that purpose. I am to be your pilot and escort today.
That made me do a double take. “Excuse me? Where are we going?”
I’m afraid our destination cannot be divulged.
I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “I don’t have any gear. I’ll need to check out a trauma bag from the Med Corps first.”
That will not be necessary.
“Not much I can do without the right gear.”
Everything you might need will be supplied. A portal winked open on the side of the saucer, and she gestured for me to step aboard. If you please, we must be on our way. I have arranged for suitable human accommodations.
I poked my head inside. The juxtaposition of alien and human furnishings was striking. There was a standard semicircular couch made of acceleration gel, plus another one that could’ve passed for a first-class seat on an airliner.
“Seriously? I haven’t seen one of these in ages.” Not that I’d had many opportunities to fly first class.
Our patron finds this style to be more agreeable.
“Your patron?” I was getting suspicious again. “Who are we going to see?”
Gideon requests the honor of your presence. His yacht is currently transiting this sector. Please take a seat, we must rendezvous soon.
Before I could protest, the portal winked shut behind us and I could feel the gravity drive begin to spin up.