27
Graduation was a low-key affair. Our class gathered in a small auditorium in one corner of the training center, dressed in fresh Med Corps uniforms. A few Reticulans showed up for the two graduating from our class. The largest—and rowdiest—crowd was Chonk’s. The group I’d met before was there, plus a bunch more. It looked like the Wayside bar had been emptied out, and they beat their chests in salute when Chonk’s name was called. I caught his eye and gave him a wink as he proudly took the Med Corps EMS crest: a neon green, eight-pointed star against a white background. He fixed it to his tunic to a chorus of stomping Thuban feet and celebratory hissing.
I didn’t expect the same when my name was called. When I hobbled up to the podium, favoring my bad ankle, Chonk and his warrior buddies stomped in unison, as if I was one of them. I flushed in embarrassment. Xeelix stared at me intently, sharing his private thoughts. Your father would be proud, Melanie. I believe you have found the ideal avenue for your skills. It is my hope this will become a long and fruitful relationship.
“Thank you,” I whispered back, self-consciously wiping at a tear. I proudly affixed the Med Corps crest to my uniform and stood to face my peers. The room erupted with the stomping feet and beating chests of my unlikely friends.
The throwdown that evening at Wayside was epic. It was a sight to see Thubans, Reticulans, and Emissaries happily mingling together, though the crowd dispersed a bit when Chonk and his crew started one of their knife-throwing contests. Xeelix observed from a corner, probably wondering when he’d have to step in and reattach somebody’s severed limb. I watched from a table by myself, with my bum leg propped on a chair.
The ka’vaa’ma’loi flowed freely, though this time I was smart enough to alternate it with plain old water. I was digging into a stone bug burrito bowl when Bjorn took a seat beside me.
He studied me with a lopsided grin. “You appear to have assimilated rather well.”
I wiped spicy red sauce from my mouth. “We call it ‘going native.’ And yeah, I think you’re right.” At the back of the room, Chonk hooted in triumph when his opponent’s knife landed squarely in his chest. They of course grasped claws and toasted his victory.
“I must admit, your affinity for the Thubans was most surprising.” He watched another knife go sailing through the air from the corner of his eye. “They are a rough crowd.”
“You haven’t met any soldiers on Earth,” I said around a mouthful of peppers. “Or firefighters. They can get rowdy.”
“I have not. We purposely avoid military encounters for obvious reasons.” He watched the ongoing contest with bemusement. “They perform a demanding and dangerous job. Seeking out more danger for fun seems like the last thing they would want.”
I pushed my bowl away. Once again, Thuban portions were way too much for me. “They’re just blowing off steam. I think it helps them keep their edge when they’re off duty.”
“Perhaps. Though I doubt that human soldiers shoot at each other for sport.” He pointed at my leg, changing the subject. “This is something of a setback for you.”
I waved away his concern. “It’ll heal. But it will keep me off rotation for a while.”
“What will they have you do in the meantime?”
“I’ve been assigned to the dispatch center.”
He must have read the disappointment in my voice. “You may actually find that to be invigorating. Have you not been there before?”
“The orientation we had in class, that’s all. Honestly I didn’t pay close enough attention. I was eager to get down to the ambulance bays.”
“It won’t be long,” Bjorn reassured me. “Until then, I’m sure you’ll make good use of your time. I can’t think of a better way to get a sense of the extent of the Union.”
“The scale has been intimidating,” I admitted. “There’s a lot of nothing out there, until there’s a lot of something.”
He considered that. “I believe I see what you mean. Galactic-scale distances can be intimidating.”
“And the Union doesn’t even cover the whole galaxy. How far have you guys gone, anyway?”
“There have been scouting expeditions, but we found habitable planets to be sparsely distributed. Most are concentrated nearby, in this sector.”
“Nearby” was relative, of course. It was another indication of the immense distances involved, and how precious life was in the universe. If people this advanced still hadn’t managed to cover the whole galaxy, or decided it wasn’t worth settling, then no wonder they’d decided to band together. It was too much for my puny brain to absorb, so I dulled it with another order of Thuban tequila. “This round’s on me. Here’s to our little corner of the galaxy. Cheers!”
Still harboring some disappointment over starting my EMS career as a desk jockey, I made myself remember what Bjorn had said. Everything is a learning experience, and I was determined to take what I could from this.
There was a lot to take in. The Med Corps dispatch center was enormous, a bowl-shaped room easily the size of a football field. Its black curved walls merged into one massive holographic screen that displayed the entire extent of the Union, like being dropped into the middle of space. Multicolored icons highlighted its member planets, colonies, and outpost stations. Swooping arcs in varying shades of yellow and white displayed ships in transit. Eight-pointed stars representing the EMS shield flashed amber to designate ambulances in transit. Others shone a steady green, pinpointing the location of each Med Corps facility across the Union.
At the base of this bowl were the rows of dispatch consoles, arranged in concentric circles. At the center was a cluster of different consoles, all staffed by Reticulans who looked busy. This was route clearance. Every EMS ship on a run anywhere beyond their local planetary space had to go through these guys first. It had to be a big job, making sure all those short-notice departures didn’t inadvertently fly through a gamma ray burst or carelessly alter some unsuspecting planet’s orbit by zipping by too closely.
Each dispatch console handled a different sector of Union space. Mine covered a quarter of the ring city, which I suspected was their way of easing me into it. No route clearances, no time shifts to calculate, just send the nearest available team. It featured a big semicircular holoscreen which gave me status of each crew and an ever-changing roster of incoming requests. The desktop was suspiciously bare, but when I placed my hands on it a virtual keyboard appeared beneath my fingers. They’d already calibrated the desk for human input.
Glancing at the stations nearby, I saw at least one representative from every race in the Union, each handling calls from their own kind. Each was tapping away at their desktops with hands, claws, cuticles and tentacles. A few glanced in my direction, either intrigued or suspicious of the weird-looking new girl. Their screens looked a lot more interesting, with 3D projections of each region of space they covered that mirrored the massive holographic map that encircled the room.
The odd thing was there was almost no conversation. I’d expected a cacophony of competing voices from dispatchers taking calls, talking to responders, or shooting the shit in between bursts of activity. That’s how it had been back home, but that’s not how they did things here. Most everything was transmitted through the data crystals, though I got the feeling the Reticulans were doing it telepathically. The Gliesans were of course a step beyond that—each individual knew what was happening to everyone else in their clan. A couple of times I could tell the Gliesan dispatcher was alerted to something before the call even came, proactively contacting the clan to find out what was wrong.
Those of us on the capital consoles were more jacks-of-all-trades. We took calls from everyone regardless of species. If it happened in your sector, you dealt with it. I was working with a Reticulan, another Thuban, and one I hadn’t encountered before. We’d studied Orionids in anatomy and physiology, but seeing one in person was, well, gross.
It was a translucent blob, about four feet across. When the light hit it right, I could make out its internal organs and circulatory system. A dull gray, amorphous patch of light receptors approximated eyes. White tendrils extended from its underside, dancing across the desktop like a bundle of animated spaghetti noodles. They ate by directly absorbing food through their outer membrane, which to be honest is like straight out of a horror movie.
Orionids were also considered to be the most sharply intelligent beings in the Union, and of course they were. They looked like giant disembodied brains, after all. They were supposed to be extremely sensitive to light and touch, being in essence a bundle of exposed nerves. They also didn’t hear in the way we did, instead picking up vibrations through their outer membrane.
This acute sensitivity limited where they could go and what they could do. The quiet darkness of the dispatch center apparently made for a good fit. I stood up for another look at the route clearance group, and this time noticed another Orionid at the center of the action. If they were smart enough to boss a bunch of Grays around, then that was all I needed to know.
Once the floor manager, a particularly uptight Gray named Jarra, was satisfied that I knew my way around my console, it was time to log in. I plugged in an earpiece, swiped my access ring over the desktop as instructed, and that was that. I was on duty, not quite flying solo. Jarra kept a respectful distance but I could sense her watching over my shoulder.
It wasn’t long before the call screen began to light up, most of it mundane stuff. A lot of calls for children, either getting into things they shouldn’t have or waiting until bedtime to become explosively ill. Parents, know that your travails are not isolated to humans: It’s a galactic-scale problem. If the house is unusually quiet, somebody’s about to get hurt in an inventive way. If you’ve had a long day, Junior will start puking his guts out as you’re getting around for bed. If you’re having a special night out with hubby, that’s about the time your little punkin is going to take a header off the neighbor’s porch.
As you can probably imagine, it can be incredibly frustrating to go from being a first responder to calling plays from the sidelines. Every run I sent someone else on felt like it should’ve been mine. I started tapping my heels impatiently, and the bolt of pain that shot up my leg was a reminder that they’d put me here for a good reason. The accelerants Xeelix had given would speed up the healing process, but only by so much. Muscles and tendons ultimately had to take their natural course, because monkeying around too much with tissue growth could lead to some unpleasant side effects. Like cancer.
Resigned to my circumstances, I sighed and propped my bad leg on a nearby stool. Bjorn had encouraged me to use this time to get a broader perspective, but being stuck with one section of the ring city was like having blinders on. I could sense Jarra watching from behind, and kept at it. Do a good job here, and maybe she’d move me to a more interesting desk.
My first chance came with an actual call. My console chirped, followed by a raspy hiss in my earpiece. My translator recognized it as female Thuban vocalizations right away.
“Med Corps EMS, what is your emergency?”
“Already said emergency. You not hear? Youngling has lo’to’oh. Very bad. Is bleeding.”
I remembered Chonk telling me about the skin rash their children could get if they molted too soon. He’d made it sound like a minor problem, but the bleeding got my attention. “You said he was bleeding. Can you estimate how much?”
“All over. Bled through tunic.”
That didn’t sound good, and when the video came up it didn’t look any better. The poor kid was miserable, with spongy eruptions between his new scales.
Their location came up on my screen at the same time. They were at the far western end of the Thuban sector, which was sparsely populated. According to this, Papa Thuban was away from home on border patrol. Mom was home alone, maybe isolated, with a sick kid. The nearest response team was already heading out on a different call, and the next closest team was in an entirely different sector. We could only pull from adjacent sectors for high-priority calls, so Mom was going to be on her own for a bit. “Okay, ma’am. I’m sending help but they can’t get to you right away.” I pulled up my files on Thuban physiology. What could I do to help her in the meantime? I thought back to the pet lizard I’d had back in middle school, and remembered the big succulents that grew in the arid Thuban sector. I pulled up a file on Thuban vegetation as I tried to remember something Chonk had told me. “Do you have any te’mau plants growing nearby?” It was close enough to aloe that it might alleviate the irritation.
She sounded confused for a moment. “Te’mau—ah. Understand. Very old remedy.”
“Good. Do you have access to cold water?”
“Cold . . .” She trailed off.
I cursed under my breath, momentarily forgetting how they regulated body temperature. Cold could be bad, but it would also slow down any blood loss. “Yes, cold. For the time being, you can use cold compresses to control the worst bleeding. Then cut some te’mau leaves close to the stem, and apply their juice directly to the irritated areas. That will give him some relief until our medics arrive.”
Her head tilted quizzically as the translator did its work. I could imagine how it would feel if our roles were reversed—you have a sick kid, call 911, and a talking lizard picks up the line. “Will try,” she finally said, as if I’d told her something she already knew. Probably did, if it was an old remedy. Stress can make anyone forget. “How much time now?”
I checked the roster. The closest team reported they were wrapping up, so I promptly sent the alert to them. “Should be another . . . ten minutes.” Not bad. “Would you like me to stay on the line until they arrive?”
“Not necessary. Must go now.”
When the call ended, Jarra appeared at my side. “That was inventive.”
“Something I learned from a friend,” I said with a shrug. “We have similar plants on Earth. They used to be popular home remedies for burns and skin irritation. Many of our kind forgot about them as medicine improved.” Same as the Thubans.
“I meant lowering his body temperature. Are you not concerned about that?”
“Not as concerned as I am about blood loss. Besides, ‘cold’ to a Thuban is lukewarm to us.”
Jarra nodded. “That is a salient point.” She made a note on her crystal, no doubt grading my performance. “Carry on.”