2092-07-06 Local Time 0911
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 005
"The surrounding muscle tissue is all right as far as I can see." Miyar, the sworn-in physician, together with Negata, was looking at the false-color image on the monitor of the scanner that QBall guided over Gooseman's chest. The physician pointed at yellow threads between the ribs. "The tendon structures are preserved, too. Let's go deeper inside. Show us the actual lung tissue." The image changed from mainly green and yellow colors to red, violet, and white. The physician hissed through his teeth. "That doesn't look as good." He frowned. "Maybe 50 percent."
=Less,= the brain unit next to him said. =Some of the smaller bronchii are closed. Even if the tissue is intact, it doesn't have contact with oxygen-bearing air. I assume 40 to 45 percent breathing capacity at most. An increase during the next days is possible, if the inflammation in the lung tips decreases.=
"Professor, if we keep up the forced respiration, we risk a degeneration of his own breathing muscles."
=After one week?=
"Breathing muscles are designed for permanent use. They go downhill fast. I strictly advise against further forced respiration."
The brain unit hesitated a moment. =We'll take the risk. From now on, he's yours, Doctor.=
"We're going to stop the artificial respiration now." The doctor's voice came from outside his visual field. "Stay calm and collected. Your lungs are still severely injured. Breathing for yourself will be accordingly difficult, so I'll apply an oxygen tube to your nose after I've taken off the respiration. Breathe consciously and as regularly as possible. I'll start – now."
The clacks of the respirator's ventiles stopped, leaving a vibrating silence behind. The tube in his throat now blocked his breathing; he felt hands removing the plaster strips on his cheeks that kept the tube fixed still. The doctor's hands were great shadows before his eyes that mingled with the fast-approaching green-black spots. Something slipped strangling out of his throat, and cool gas flooded against his nose with a soft whisper. The terror increased, hammered against his will. Stay calm! Rage gave him control over his tortured body. Trembling muscles obeyed the command to breathe, pulled apart the ribs, stretching the maltreated tissue behind them, and created the reduced pressure that pulled the cool gas through his nose, down his windpipe into the bronchii filled with mucus and blocked by countless scars left by inflammations, that blocked so many respiratory ways, till the air reached the alveoli in which the oxygen it carried was exchanged with the carbon dioxide within his blood before different muscles pressed the chest in again to expel the old air that now congested the mucus-filled bronchii and blocked the new inhalation...
"Slowly, exhale deeply. Don't stop. Go on." The physician observed the breathing process on the scanner. "I'll tell you when you've exhaled completely."
...the ribs closed excruciatingly slowly against the strongly increased resistence. His brain screamed in terror for the next breath, a breath his will still refused to take. "Now!" Again air was drawn in, pushing back the panic. Again the exhalation endured longer than reflex wanted to allow. "Now!" Relief. Again. Again and again... He gained a feeling for how it felt shortly before the releasing "Now" came, how close the ribs had to be pressed together, how tense which muscles were. His body's protest ebbed away, leaving behind only the pain in his wounded lungs and his throat, irritated by the tube. He opened his eyes, saw the physician next to the bed at the monitor and Walsh standing with tightly folded arms at the door. He wanted...
"Not a word!" The physician again. "Your throat is still sore. Your lungs have enough to do just to keep you alive. So don't be difficult."
He tried to nod and noticed, frightened, that his body didn't obey him. Breathing. Everything else could wait. He concentrated again on the sensation in his lungs when the cool, oxygen-filled air streamed in without violence, driven by his own muscles, flooded his body; and was driven out to be replaced...
2092-07-06 Local Time 1500
BetaMountain – MPQ 219
Day 005
"I swear I'll kill both of them!" Enraged, Niko shot out of her finally opened door. "And this AI shouldn't feel too safe, either!"
Doc jumped out of her way. "Hold on a minute, Niko. They could practically have strapped you onto the next bio bed, the way you were looking."
"To lock me up!" she snorted, furiously shook back her hair and was halfway to the MedoStation. "If something happened to Shane–"
"I visited him yesterday evening, Niko. Everything was okay. He had slept." As she wasn't paying attention to him: "Zach called this morning. They've stopped the artificial resp–"
"What did you say?!!"
"He's gotten through it. They didn't want you to be there."
"This is getting better and better!"
"Please understand me. Anything that could have distracted him from the process of breathing would have been dangerous..." He grabbed her arm, stopped her for a moment. "And in Goose's place, I wouldn't have wanted the woman I love to be there for that procedure." She stared icily at him for a moment, then tore herself free and marched on. If the floor were only a little bit softer, her heels would slam through to the next level. I wouldn't want to be in the commander's shoes, if he should meet her today... After a short shrug as he looked after her: Or in Zach's, either.
2092-07-06 Local Time 1543
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 005
Warmth. His right fingertips were warm. New needles? He searched for any additional pain, found only the old friends in his chest. No, somebody was touching him. He collected strength for a few breaths and turned his head to the side – Niko. How long has she been here? Yesterday, she was here, too. Or was that the day before? The time blurred yet again. The fatigue came for him once again. Not now!! Fury defeated pain, let him take deeper breaths that increased the oxygen turnover and dissipated the fog around him. It could never be so difficult to press her fingers...
She felt the fingers in her hand twitch, looked up and met glowing green eyes. "Shane..." The twitch repeated, became a brief grasping before the hand fell weakly back. "Don't say anything. Your throat is still irritated." Instinctively she stretched her hand towards his lips and saw the flash of panic appear in his face. Every breath is a battle for shaky ground. Every cubic centimeter of air is a precious victory. Everything in the view field is felt as a rival for air... She dropped her hand and bit her lip, shocked, as she began to understand the physician's martial description.
"Who..." The word was no more than a croak. He never had been obedient. His eyes fixed on the medical devices in the room, on the needles in his arm.
"We don't know who's responsible for the gas. There weren't any traces."
He closed his eyes. The wheezing in his breaths got louder. Again a word: "Physician..."
"Dr. Miyar is treating you."
"Not... only..."
"Zach informed Commander Walsh, since nobody knew how they ought to help you..."
His gaze hold her. "Who...?" The rattling in his lungs nearly drowned the word.
"Walsh was here the whole time, QBall, Negata."
His eyes glared up at the last name, showed a cascade of emotions: rage, pride, fright, caution, fear and fury, over and over again fury, which slowly yielded to exhaustion. She watched him. His lips formed further words, but he didn't have enough breath to pronounce them. She lay her hands upon his, pushed aside the curtain of pain and rage and read the sentence in his mind: ...Wolf Den. This is all connected with the STP...
"I guessed that, too. This gas..."
...a weapon against STs. Only possibility...
"You mean, Negata?"
The negation out of his soul was of unexpected intensity. ...no – different enemy. Need to... prove...
"You need to get well first, Shane." She smiled sadly, when she felt how the exhaustion embraced him closer and closer. "You look terrible."
...what happened to me...
"The gas ate into your lungs. They deradiated it inside your chest with a medical laser, but the decomposed compounds are mostly poisonous and causing inflammation. They say you're not allowed to use your bio defenses at all before everything is fully healed, or else your sytem will collapse. They didn't explain that very well." He looked questioningly at her. "I've blocked the reflex, Shane." When she saw the fury flashing up in his eyes she added faintly: "I can remove the block when you are well again. But until then it's the safest solution for you." The tiredness drowned him, a last impression flooded over to her: relief and a sentence fragment: ...not at you... gives strength...
"You're right, Doctor." Niko silently wished the faint red on her cheeks to hell and forced herself to answer as coolly as possible. The physician led her to his office and offered her a seat. "I'm what come closest to a family for him."
"I thought as much." Miyar laid his fingertips together. "I saw what they had to do to get you away from here." He smiled briefly. "I was beginning to think they would request a sniper with a tranquilizer gun for you."
"But I'm no relative," she interrupted him.
"So what?" He made a dismissive gesture. "Nothing is normal with this patient. I've got two people whirling around me constantly and giving me hell because of him. One of them is the Commander, Aesculapius only knows why, and the other one is you – and I believe you are more useful."
"What do you mean?"
"Look, miss. This battle isn't over for Gooseman. On the contrary, it's just beginning. At the moment we're treating the inflammation with strong drugs, but we can't go on with that or we would do irreparable damage to his immune system. If we break off the therapy, the dance with secondary infections begins – and I mean everything, from a simple sore throat or a slight cold over the already present bronchitis down to pneumonia. And every little trifle like a slight sniffle can throw him back weeks, and even worse, can cause attacks that scar over more lung tissue."
"He's never been ill before, Doctor."
"That'll change. And that's why I'm worried about whether he's going to make it. We're talking about months, likely years."
Her lips twitched cynically. "He's a born combatant." Literally, she added in her thoughts.
"Maybe he has a chance, then. The emerging syndrome is severe bronchial asthma. But I can't treat him with the drugs for it because of the toxins in his lungs. We have to treat him the way they did 120 years ago."
"What does that mean?"
"In the end? That his body has to make it on its own. We can make it easier, help him survive the crises, but he has to win on his own. Nobody can help him. If I use the historical data as a base for the recovery prognosis..." He looked uncomfortably at her.
"Say it!" Her voice was freezing cold.
"One out of a hundred made it with this syndrome. The others – gave up at some point."
You mean, they...?"
"Died, or never left the hospital again in their lifetime."
"Goose will be that one, Doctor! Challenge him and he'll make it."
2092-07-06 Local Time 1917
BetaMountain – GRS5 Office
Day 005
"That's how it looks, Zach." Niko sat on the smooth-worn couch with her legs drawn close, settled her chin on her knees, and looked horribly lost. Fox had made her a hot chocolate, which stood untouched on the upended package box next to her on the floor.
"Gooseman is strong, Niko. If anybody has a chance, it's him."
"You weren't there today, Zach," she whispered. "I was."
"He was always too stubborn to give up, don't forget that. And that's still how he's going to be." I'm going to lose two friends otherwise... "Let me guess: he's already thinking about how to get out of there."
A smile whizzed like a painful memory over her face. "Not directly. He's dealing with who and what did this to him."
"Typical Goose." Zachary labored to sound optimistic. "When we return from our next job at the latest, he should have a detailed plan about exactly what he's going to do and in what order to the person who's responsible."
"What job?!"
"You weren't informed? We're to escort Zozo and Waldo on their yearly diplomatic tour."
"Can you give me time off?"
"I've tried." He shook his head. "The Board of World Leaders insisted on your presence. They said something about more elegant representation. You have half an hour tomorrow morning to say good-bye. That's the best I could do." He couldn't understand her muttered reply from where he stood. And he got the impression that it was better that way...
2092-07-12 Local Time 2138
BetaMountain – Cmdr. Walsh's office
Day 011
"I don't understand this. How can he of all the people in the world have gone into anaphylactic shock? He's never had an allergic reaction to anything." Frustrated, he threw the transparency down on the desk in front of him.
=I'm not sure, Joseph. But you said he's literally your son.= The brain unit buzzed closer. =STJ is highly adaptable. The code is capable of correcting almost all conceivable deficits within the carrier-DNA.=
"And the STJ components are destroyed."
=At least reduced.=
"There's still the question of what caused this shock."
Negata scanned through the physician's report. =Here it is. They started him on solid food yesterday because his body began to resist the infusion needles. He had some vanilla ice cream this afternoon to minimize difficulties in swallowing. His pain level is still on the upper limit.= He focused his sensors on Walsh. =You have this lactase anomaly, haven't you?=
"Yes. But that's no allergy. I just can't digest milk properly, that's all."
=But his body system is heavily weakened. And he isn't fully used to solid food again,= Negata pointed out. =If the fetus got the gene responsible for lactase formation from you, then it's quite possible that in its destabilized state, his system reacted to lactose as a poison.=
"My god. To think of it – nearly to die because of a sundae."
=It was a close shave. If the resuscitation team hadn't figured it out immediately... Even now they'll have to keep him in an artificial coma for some days.= Negata turned again to the data screen, brooded. =Miyar probably shouldn't use Gooseman's file, but more likely yours.=
"Then we can bury the both of us."
=It would be enough to complete his medical data.=
"There shouldn't be any questions when we use today's events as an explanation."
=Except why we kept vital data secret.=
"He's part of the STP – the security level is still Ultraviolet Plus. Strictly speaking we aren't allowed even to concede that he exists." Walsh shrugged. "And Wolf Den has always gotten bad press after the riots."
2092-07-17 Local Time 1007
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 016
"Do you hear me?" A hand smacked against his cheek. "Come on, I know you hear me, Gooseman! The sedatives are all out of your system. Will you wake up now." The voice droned in his head, rushed battling with his pulse. Still dazed, Goose pried open his eyelids, looked at the physician, who grinned at him in relief.
"Thank Aesculapius. I was starting to think I was never going to get you awake." When Miyar noticed the confusion in his patient's face: "You went into anaphylactic shock – sorry, I meant to say, you didn't take well to the ice cream." The strapped-down man gave him an incredulous look. "And now if you don't mind, wake up for real. There's no excuse for sleeping for six days because of a sundae, clear?!" The physician grimaced. "My colleagues don't even allow little girls to do that!" Miyar saw the green eyes flash, the chin harden in fury; the breaths came more strongly in spite of the renewed inflammation in the chest. The rattling breath nearly drowned out the sentence but Miyar understood it anyway:
"Watch... your... fin... gers...."
Seems like his girlfriend is right: this man is a combatant. Maybe he really does have a chance...
"Your protege is awake, Commander." The nurse greeted Walsh at the intensive care unit's entrance. "Dr. Miyar is optimistic that he can move him into a normal room within the next 48 hours." She pushed the glass door open for him. "And don't excite him for any reason."
The commander walked in, studied the the nearly seated figure on the bed, belted at the shoulders and positioned against an upholstered wedge. A pain indicator hung above the bed's head; Walsh knew the thing from Wolf Den. The light-emitting bar still stood more than three-quarters up the scale, was still dark yellow. He shuddered imperceptibly: sixteen days with a level of pain at which most people would be nearly insane. And no promise yet for a speedy recovery. "Gooseman?"
"Comm... ander..."
"I was here a couple of times, but you weren't in any condition for visitors." The ST only looked at him and waited. Goose's skin was still nearly transparent, was taut over the bones. The pain indicator display behind his head varied slightly with the rhythm of his breathing. "Now that your unit is on duty–"
"Do... they... know... of...?"
"No. I haven't informed the S5s about your relapse."
"Than...s..."
"You're still one of my people. I have to keep track of how you're doing."
The ST's lips twitched. "I'm... a...live... sir..."
"You will likely be released from the intensive care unit the day after tomorrow. It'll still be about three weeks before your companions return. The diplomatic mission has been extended. So if you should need something..."
"Some...thing... to.... read..." That surprised him. Gooseman had never been a bookworm. "Take....s... the.... mind... off..." He stifled a cough. The pain indicator glowed brighter. Walsh grabbed for the emergency bell at the sight of the narrow bloodstain that appeared on the dry lips. "Not... nec...es...sary... it's... in... mouth..." The sound of his breathing got louder. Goose laid back his head, closed his eyes and concentrated on the breathing process. Deep regular breaths that caused the pain indicator to swing...
Walsh stood up. "I'll have something to read sent to you. I'll return if my schedule allows it."
"What....a...bout...."
"Recover, Gooseman. Everything else can wait."
A hand closed around his wrist, held him with more strength than he'd thought the half-dead man on the bed capable of. Furious flashing eyes caught his. "Somebody tried to kill me." The bloodstain on Shane's lips grew. The breaths that followed the sentence were irregular and rattled, but the rage in this man in front of him demanded an answer.
"Yes. But there aren't any hints who it is."
"In...form..."
"I'll personally keep you informed, Gooseman."
Shane was asleep before he could answer.
2092-07-27 Local Time 1437
Ranger-1
Day 026
"Niko, you're so earnest all the time." Zozo, Kirwin's special envoy for agrarian matters, hopped up onto the copilot's seat next to her. "At first I thought it was just this boring job that was getting to all of you, and to you specially because Goose isn't with us, but it's more, isn't it?"
"Zozo, please!" She concentrated on the hyper shunt controls, though the automated pilot had control over the vessel.
"Have you had a quarrel with Goose?" She started. Zozo persisted. "You've known that I know since Granna–" She cringed down and sobbed faintly.
"Goose is seriously ill, Zozo. Someone tried to kill him – with gas."
"But he's going to be okay, isn't he?"
"When we had to leave they didn't know yet if he's ever going to leave MedoStation again."
"By our Mothmoose! Do you know how he is now?"
"No. They won't allow me an interstellar com contact – I don't know why."
"And they've commanded you to do this stupid mission with us?"
"Yes." She bit her lip, put on the cold, emotionless face which had so irritated him and Waldo during the last three weeks. "My request for emergency leave or to use my vacation time was rejected because the BWL insisted on my participation."
Zozo swore faintly, something about salty soils. "I'm going to talk with Waldo. Maybe we can shorten it a little." He twinkled at her, patted her knee with his paw. "And then I'm going to write a biting letter of protest to the BWL – for barbaric treatment of employees. I'll use extra-hot Kirwin pepper for this spicy note!" His hopes of getting a smile from her were disappointed. "Chin up. Goose will make it. Don't forget he's dedicated to win."
"Yes, Zozo," she said softly. "But in another kind of war."
"Now you know what's going on, Waldo."
"Yes, Zozo. And you're right, we'll shorten this mission. Suddenly I don't feel well at all." The Andorian touched his grey temples with dignified hands.
"Somehow I feel sick, too. Must be the horrible food at these receptions." Zozo twinkled cockily. "I reckon we'll have to have a full medical check at BetaMountain's MedoStat."
"Immediately."
"Otherwise something veeeeeery awkward could happen at the next reception." He laid his pawlike hands at his throat and intimated vomiting.
"Zozo, that would be diplomatically inexcusable!" said the Andorian dryly.
"Then we should prevent it," grinned the Kiwi. "I'll tell the captain."
2092-07-29 Local Time 1253
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 028
Goose sat upright in bed, his back propped against mountains of pillows and a readpad on a swivel arm pulled in front of him. Half a dozen datapads, notepads, and slips of paper were piled up around him on the quilt. Even leaflets and an opened notebook were scattered around. He seemed to read intensively, made notes in one of the datapads, and then started to rummage frantically in a heap of note transparencies until he found one that was covered over and over with scribbled structural formulas. He pulled it out.
"Shane?" His head flew around. "You're doing bett–" She tried to embrace him, and the just-found transparency got crumpled when he shrank back. "What..." Then she heard the faint razzling in his breath and noticed the pain indicator over the bed's head: yellow-green, about a third of the way up the scale. She gave him some room, took a seat on the edge of the bed and folded his fingers in hers. "I'm sorry." He didn't answer, just kept holding her hand. She felt the bones work as he rhythmically intensified the pressure. "I was frightened that–"
"Not." A slightly trembling finger lay down on her lips. "I–"
The door behind her was flung open. The others streamed in. The room became filled with people and laughter. Zozo jumped unconcerned onto the bed behind Niko, pushed two of the datapads aside, and started rattling wildly. Patients were bored, they had to be kept busy. "Goose, you should have seen the senator when Waldo and I told him that we were cutting the mission short because we felt soooo bad." He laughed exuberantly and then gave an exaggerated shudder. "That examination here was really disgusting."
"Yes, Gooseman." Zachary spoke up. "According to our schedule we would have been gone for eight more days. But our diplomats were of another opinion. Zozo had his stomach examined to make it plausible."
Doc grinned. "Admit it, Gooseman. You're just pretending to be sick because of all the beautiful nurses and the perfect room service. And then we turned around especially for you bec–"
"Just a moment, please. Let there be no doubt about that. We came back because our charges showed symptoms of nausea." Fox in his function as captain of the unit straightened up. "That that's exactly what we wanted to do all the time anyway has nothing to do with–"
"Gentlemen, I beg your pardon! This discussion is really improper for members of the League Force." Waldo snorted indignantly.
"Oh, don't make such a fuss, Waldo." Zozo hopped around in relief on the bed's end. "That's only our delight that he isn't in as bad a condition as we thought. And–"
"Well, my Goose man. How's it feel to be a maling–"
The clear shrill of the alarm bell interrupted them. Niko, startled, felt the grip around her hand slacken. The fingers next to hers trembled, were suddenly covered with cold sweat. Gooseman sat very erect, the head slightly laid back with closed eyes, fully concentrated on his breathing.
The pain indicator glowed orange when Dr. Miyar burst into the room. "Out!!! All of you!" Two nurses with emergency floaters forced their way past the others. "You, too, miss! – Wait outside." He read the indicators next to the bio bed. "Dammit to hell! Not again." He looked at Gooseman while he prepared the injector. "Gooseman, I already told you to give that up, didn't I?" The ST didn't answer, remained in the breathing mantra – in and out and out, in and out and out... The bronchospasmolyticum rushed into his bloodstream.
They waited for nearly twenty minutes outside in the corridor. Nobody had a thing to say. Doc was pale around his nose when the physician finally came out. "What's the matter with him?"
"He made it. But the attack has weakened him badly." Miyar turned to Niko. "Go and see him, Miss. He wants to see you. And..." He held her up briefly before she could open the door. "Distract him, ask about his research, his reading, but don't excite him. This has been the second attack today. The medicine's maximum dose for a day is limited. If he should have another one..." He shook his head, opened the door for her, and let it slide close afterwards. "And now to you. Hasn't anybody told you how to behave in a sick bay?"
"He looked pretty healthy..." Doc said uncomfortably.
"Dammit to hell! The personnel don't give the instructions for visitors to get a kick out of them," Miyar hissed. "If you haven't realized it yet: you almost killed him! These attacks are life-threatening."
"What causes the attacks, Doctor?"
The physician took a short look at Zachary's insignia. "Mainly stress, Captain. Strong emotions, too – and it doesn't make any difference whether the cause is good or bad. A Christmas present can be as dangerous as an arrest warrant – physical strain, allergenes... the list of possible reasons is pretty long."
"You mean the surprise that we returned early could have been enough?"
"Possible." The physician knotted his brows, "But the attack occured quite a while after the young lady's arrival – she was even faster than all of you. So I'm betting on breathing air rivalry."
"Pardon?" Doc pushed forward. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Unfortunately, yes. Look, for someone in Gooseman's condition, every breath is a strain, every single oxygen molecule in the air he inhales is desperately needed. But everyone present also needs oxygen. We don't notice that at all, but it looks very different for someone who has to live with the fear of suffocating for weeks on end."
"You mean he thought we would take up his air?" Zozo tugged at the doctor's coat.
"Not consciously. But his body is permanently struggling for oxygen. Something inside him feels that he would lose such a contest if it occurred, and that's enough stress to bring it up."
"My god." Fox stared at him, shocked. "How can anyone stand this?"
The physician smiled bitterly. "He's the most insufferable patient I know. And that's exactly the reason why he has a chance."
"Insufferable?"
"He's rebellious and stubborn, arrogant, egoistic all the way to egocentrism. If we say to him that something will need two weeks to heal, he gives us two days – at the most. And he clings to life with as much savagery as if he'd kick the devil himself back into hell. There're days when my personnel are frightened to go into his room. You should have witnessed what went on when my head nurse wanted to take away his writing things to have him rest after one of the most serious attacks. And the only patient ever to defeat her before that was Commander Walsh!" He shook his head and lowered his voice to speak only to Fox: "When I was told that he's a combatant I didn't believe it was possible that he'd make it. Most soldiers give up eventually if every success is punished. But he... I've never before seen anyone with such a will to live."
"A readpad. Which book is loaded, then?" She sat on the edge of the bed again and massaged his cold hands. He kept his eyes closed and leaned back. Finally he smiled desperately.
"All..." He swallowed dryly. She gave him water; she had to hold the mug because his hands were still trembling too much. "Interlink... to the... lib....rary..."
"Wow." She smiled. "Who gave it to you?"
"Walsh..." His sentences were shortened, longer words still broken by breaths. "I... beg... for... it... At... the... begin...ning... only... to... take... mind... off... my–" She cut him off by pulling his hands closer to her.
"Don't. – What're you reading right now? It looks like you've pretty well covered yourself with work." The movement of her head encompassed all the notes, printouts, and transparencies that lay around. "And don't tell me any such nonsense as finishing your overdue reports."
His eyes flashed briefly even though his smile was broken by coughing. "I'm... sear...ching... for... answers..."
"On what?"
"Who... and... what... is res...pon...sible... for... all... this..." A harsh expression showed on his face, suddenly reminded her what he was. "It's... al...most... a... month... now... and... they... still... have... no... ans...wers..."
"You must look after yourself. Walsh and QBall are surely already after the assassins."
His furious movement gave an impression of shaking his head. "I was... the... tar...get... and I'm... used... to hunt... ing... my... prey... not... be... ing... hun...ted." His breaths deepened for a moment as rage raised the level of adrenaline and endorphines in his blood. "There're... many ways... to cor...ner the prey... I'm... a very... good... bloodhound... if I... have to..."
"Does Walsh know what you're doing?"
"Not so... far..."
"I don't think he'll be amused when he finds out."
"He should... know... Wolf Den... made... me for... it..."
"But you're more than that," she whispered faintly.
His hands were still trembling when his fingertips ran over the back of her hand. "I'm... working... on... it..."
2092-08-12 Local Time 2309
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 042
Damn! Room 53 is empty again. Clarisse McCall, night nurse on duty, ran out into the corridor, started to search the ward, then walked out into the publicly accessible areas. In the unlighted common room she almost missed the slim silhouette standing motionless in the darkness, leaning with one arm against the big window.
"I've had enough of this, Gooseman! That Dr. Miyar allowed you to move a little doesn't mean that you're allowed to flit around here in the middle of the night!" She grabbed his arm forcefully and tried to maneuver him back into his room. "What do you want out here anyway?"
"I like... the empty... corridors... They're... comforting...ly cool." He didn't budge.
"And you should stay in temperature-controlled rooms to get your lungs healed up better. Don't be so foolish."
"I'm sick... and tired... of being... cooked... inter...nally," he snorted and pressed his feet to the ground, threw a last look out of the wide panorama glass window. "I've... had enough... of being... captured..." Darkness. Clouds. No stars. Only the lights of Phoenix down on the plains – still trapped. "Let me... go."
"I'm responsible for you during my shift, Gooseman. I have to get you safely–"
"Take your hands off me!" The flashing eyes and the growl in his wheezing breath were a serious warning.
She remembered her colleagues' remarks referring to this patient's temperament – Be careful, Clarisse, this man's desperate! – and let his arm go. "Please, don't fall down."
He didn't deign to reply, walked back with every step exactly controlled and his back very straight. From time to time he stabilized himself with one hand on the wall. She didn't understand the word with which he slid his door closed, but it definitely wasn't nice.
2092-10-07 Local Time 1024
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 098
"You have about 60 percent of your normal breathing volume now, Gooseman." Dr. Miyar's face twitched slightly. "Better than expected. Your last attack was more than a week ago. Not bad, either. I don't like your night counts yet." He quickly looked through the diagrams on his desk again. "Your condition is too dependent on your circulation. I wish we could reduce the risks in this matter, but you don't respond to any of the circulation-stabilizing drugs." The man opposite him grimaced.
"I won't try another one. The side effects of the last one were enough for me."
"I couldn't know that your body would react the way–"
"Do you know how vomiting feels if you can't get enough air?"
Miyar decided to ignore the soft growl in his patient's voice. "Be that as it may..." Miyar shut down the monitor in front of him. "I give you permission to walk around freely between 1100 and 1500 hours. You may leave MedoStation, provided that you carry an emergency com and avoid crowded or poorly ventilated areas." The physician gave Goose a severe look. "This is an experiment. If it goes wrong, we'll have to start over from scratch. So be level-headed; then we can go over to outpatient treatment in one or two weeks."
"That means?"
"You can go home and only have to come here every 48 hours for check-ups. And Gooseman – pay attention to the times. I've chosen the time when your bio counts are best. No going over the time limit, no being late. If you're underway keep in mind that you can't go any faster, that you can't hurry. If I catch you even hopping down a step, this freedom is dead. The same goes for places like landing areas, the lower halls, the cafe, and so on. Don't cause problems." Miyar watched the blonde man with the hollow cheeks in concern. "And start slowly. Fifteen minutes the first day, no more."
"I understand, Doctor."
Miyar watched the expression on his patient's face. The icy determination in his voice was almost more threatening than the burning rage that put the fear of God into his nurses, though the patient never lost control of it. He remembered the few reports about the Wolf Den project that had been published in the medical journals in the times of the riot, especially a short article about genetically enhanced soldiers as perfect combatants born for war. And now I've got an ST here who's confronted with a kind of war he isn't trained for. The STs are feared for their physical abilities and strength – maybe we should be more afraid of their psychic strength. I don't want to be the enemy who has to take on this opponent when he's gotten over this.
2092-10-13 Local Time 1239
BetaMountain – Upper Promenade
Day 104
"This new simulation they presented is very close to reality, Goose." Zachary had already visited the exhibition that morning with his children. "They used the data from the memory crystals that we recovered from your ship after your crash landing on Ozark. The commander is thinking about adding the entropy fall as an emergency test to the training schedules of the oldest cadets."
At his side, Niko snickered. "As a kind of 'This is what happens if you don't fly exactly where you should' exercise."
"They're still discussing whether or not it's a good idea."
"Must depend on the size of the airsickness bags they hand out."
"If they insert the effects on bio defenses, it ought to be sacks at least," Doc grinned. "Man, the shape you were in, Goose."
"I'm going to skip this sim."
"If they let you, Shane." She laughed exuberantly at that image. "Maybe all age groups will have to do it sometime."
"Then I'm going to wait for Doc."
"Don't you dare!" The hacker ran some steps forward. "I won't do you that fav– Oops, little girl. Look out." He nearly stumbled over a little girl with a sundae, who sneezed and sprinkled all of them with melted ice cream.
"Sorry." The mother ran over to them and took her child by the hand. "She's been inattentive all day today. Maybe she's catching a cold. I hope the spots come out."
"Of course, Ma'am. Don't worry. These uniforms can endure a lot." Zachary smiled briefly. "I have children myself."
Doc walked on, quickened his pace. "We have to hurry or we'll miss the sim."
"I can't go any faster."
"Hey, come on, Goose. These few steps. You're so on the ball today."
"Slower!" Shane snapped.
"Doc, you forget what he risks if it goes wrong."
"Hey, we're talking about Gooseman, about Mr. 'Risk is my middle name' Gooseman."
The ST had stopped. "Go without me."
"That's out of the question. You're a teammate! We won't leave you out."
"Captain, I can't go any further. I'm getting cold, so my circulation is decreasing. – But you and Doc could do me a final favor." Only Niko seemed to notice the malicious sparkle in his eyes.
"Of course we will. What...?"
"Doc has to go along with it."
"I'd do anything for my Goose man!"
"Thanks." His eyes already glowed emerald green. "You see, one of the things the doctor won't let me do is sports and gymnastic exercises, and that's why I can't do this myself..."
"What are we talking about?" Zachary smelled a rat but joined the game. Niko, who knew Goose much better, had to fight against laughter.
"Doc, please bend over."
"Like this? What for, Goose?" Doc asked, peering back through the space under his arm.
"Give him a kick in the backside, Zach."
Doc shot up from his bowed position. "Don't you dare, chief!"
"I promised, Doc. Please keep still..." Zach winked at Goose.
Niko laughed out loud when Doc fled some steps away, but then grew serious again. "I'll stay with Goose, Zach."
The captain accepted it with a nod. "Okay, I'll bring you back a copy crystal."
"Thank you."
They leaned against the railing and looked down to the basement five levels below, livened up in appearance with lots of trees and fountains.
"I'm sorry about the sim, Niko."
"No need to be. I felt the entropy fall before, when we were searching for you. I have no need to repeat the experience." She giggled at the memory of the scene earlier. "Doc should learn that you're never harmless, Shane."
"Right." He sounded pretty complacent.
"Don't be so arrogant."
"Arrogance keeps me alive." The comment was harsher than intended. He listened for his breaths and swore silently. "It's going to be tight. We have to go back."
She looked at his hands clamped around the railing, at the knuckles that showed white, and said nothing. Pity only hurt.
2092-10-19 Local Time 1647
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 110
"Sorry, the patient has a high temperature. Without the attending doctor's permission I can't let you in there. It's impossible." The nurse resolutely refused her access to Goose's room.
"What happened?"
"Talk to the doctor if you want to know any more details. The nursing staff isn't allowed to give more information."
"Where can I find Dr. Miyar?"
"He had a temperature of over forty degrees last night. It didn't drop until midday."
"What's happened?"
"He's caught a cold, that's what's happened." Miyar paced back and forth behind his desk. "I warned you about secondary infections."
"You don't have a fever of forty degrees just from having the sniffles! Even I know that."
"Somebody with a damaged immune system like him certainly does, Miss. And if the infection spread to his lungs..." He consciously dropped the rest of the sentence.
"May I go and see him? Please."
The physician considered for a moment. "You've never excited him, and he seems to like your presence. – Yes. But be quiet. He has a terrible headache and if he has to vomit with that infected throat I can't guarantee anything."
"Can't you give him something for it?"
"No. For the same reason we couldn't medically decrease his pain level at the beginning." He looked tiredly at Niko. "Look, the human body isn't constructed very well in this regard. The receptors that control the breathing impulse within the bronchii are of exactly the same construction as those which are transmitting the pain to the brain. We couldn't block the second without interfering the first. That's no problem for a healthy person, but..."
"...for someone as ill as Goose it is," she finished the sentence bitterly.
"Beta blockers can cause bronchial spasms."
"What?"
"Asthma attacks."
The datapads lay piled up next to a big jug of fruit juice on the little cupboard near the bed. A wastebasket filled with used tissues stood in front of it. The accompanying box lay within reach on Goose's quilt. The room was darkened, making the controls at the bed's head seem to glow brighter. She took a seat on the chair, which was almost starting to fit the contours of her body, and listened for the sound of breathing from the bed. Regular. The exhalation, a bit longer than the inhalation, was accompanied by a rattling sound. She closed her trembling hands around her elbows. The wheezing had been almost gone. And now...
...death surrounded him once again, closer this time, barely a breath away. Death waited, disdainfully laughing at the edge of perception, on the inside of orange-red and yellow-green burning eyelids. Death's laughter smouldered out the oxygen on its way into the alveoli, heated up his body, seemed to burn him... Death waved and tempted, whispered promises of peace and rest without pain in the midst of the cooling breath... No! No, I won't listen! The self threw himself against the old companion, drove silver claws of rage and pride into the melting face. No! You'll never win! Never! NEVER!!!... The laughter surrounded him, came from all around when his lungs burst into flames, when pain and fever met each other. Pain – he hugged it, drank it, welcomed it and what it meant – to be still alive, to be able to return the scorn, to survive... survive... survive... to give the old antagonist a kick once more... another voice joined the whispering at his self's borders, whispered of help and relief. He tore claws of ice through the second face, let the second figure freeze to death in the coldness of his rage...
The blood of mental wounds poured through her mind as Niko struggled to her feet and bent down, freezing. Instinctively she touched her face, searched for the deep ruptures that would correspond to the psionic injuries, until her maltreated self remembered that it was mental claws that had driven into her. She curled up in the contour seat, hid her face – physical and psychic – before the motionless figure on the bed, and thought of the wall of ice in the middle of the fire, of claws driven by icy fury... She had intended only to help and had instead become a victim in a war which she already would have lost. Tears burned in her eyes. He considered her an additional enemy... and something inside her felt that she had been that enemy. In her memory, the claws struck again...
2092-10-20 Local Time 0612
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 111
Cold fingertips touched her cheek, rested, trembling, on the dried tears. "Please... don't cry." The voice was harsh, scratchy, penetrated into her cocoon of fear. Niko looked up. Something inside her expected the rapacious beast, but she met only clear green eyes in a terribly exhausted face. He sat upright, held himself up with his other hand on the bedstead while touching her face with his outstretched arm. The mental scars lay exactly under his hand. She couldn't suppress a shiver. He lowered his hand and only looked at her. "What happened?"
I can't tell him. "Shane, please, let me..."
"Niko, don't be evasive."
"I'm not, but–"
"I hurt you, didn't I?"
"I don't want to talk ab–"
"Have I hurt you?"
She couldn't stand his eyes. "Last night I tried to help you," she whispered finally.
The swearword was short and concise. "Don't you understood that you can't help with that?"
"I couldn't watch you dying any longer, Shane."
His eyes narrowed. Ice glowed inside them. "I won't die, Niko." His voice was dangerously cold despite the scratchiness. "But I can only fight one war at a time. This one – or yours. So don't get involved!"
She started, felt some of last night's fury return, but this time he was awake – shattered, trembling in exhaustion, but awake. This time no feverish dreams left an excuse for conflict between him and her. "I should go."
"Yes."
The apology she expected didn't take place. She was nearly in the corridor when she remembered: ...not at you... give strength... Deeply shocked, she leaned against the wall outside. Xanadu's Star, the fury is his weapon. The source of strength he uses when his body is already exhausted. I tried to calm him... that means to disarm him. She thought of the way Goose had of growling when anyone touched his blasters – and his life didn't depend on those. She looked back at his door. I'm lucky to still be alive... She corrected herself: ...We're lucky... and went back.
He still sat upright with the readpad pulled into position, reading, using the information as a shield against his thoughts about what had just happened.
"Shane." He looked up: cool eyes, no emotions, waiting. "I'm sorry." His breath grew uneven. When had she started to listen to it? She made a step towards him, then another, let the door slide closed behind her. "I won't do it again..." She stretched her hand out, touched his upper arm. He still didn't move. It seemed an eternity until he finally laid his hand over hers. Slowly his emotions returned. She felt the tension in his grip. His eyes rested on the readpad. He has to get back on solid ground. "What are you searching for exactly?"
"What kind of gas it was. Where it was produced and where it's being kept now."
"That would give us a hint about what the enemy had to do to get it. That would reduce the target group," she thought aloud.
"More than that, if I'm right." He waited a moment until he continued. "If this stuff – as I assume – was developed specifically to be used against STs, only people in and around Wolf Den should know about it. And not many of them are still alive." He stiffled a coughing fit. "They should be few enough to check them out one by one."
"Is... is there anything I can help with?"
After a short hesistation he dug a note out from under his pillow. "Try to get the files in these groups."
She took the list from him and looked over the titles. "Do you understand this?"
"After all this reading, yes."
"I'll do the best I can. Maybe I'll ask Doc for help."
"There'll be an ID-number request for some of them. Use the one at the bottom."
"Is it yours?"
"No. Walsh's." She knew that devilish half-smile all too well. "As commander of Wolf Den."
"You couldn't remember it. That's impossible."
"We were trained to be perfect weapons, Niko. Information is good ammunition. I never understood why they thought we would only exercise at the training ground."
"But..."
"He was a little bit careless sometimes." With a malicious smile: "Maybe he just underestimated me."
"Are you sure it's still valid?"
"It's already come in handy at times. And Niko – don't use your own terminal. Some of these files may be protected with tracers – that's why I can't get them from here." He patted the readpad in the fixture in front of him.
She laughed out loud. "The commander can't be aware what kind of demon he raised with this readpad."
"He'll recognize it soon enough."
She prepared to leave. "What am I going to break into, by the way?"
"Into something that doesn't exist – if I'm right." The coughing shook him. He laid back his head and pressed his palms against the temples. His voice grew slurred. "Make hard copies of the files. Electronic documents are too easily found." She looked at him, worried, but didn't try to touch him again. "And a whole pack of idiots will be on your heels if they catch you doing this. Please, be careful."
"Get some rest. You've been through a hard night." She forced a smile. "And I'm going to need someone to explain these files to me."
"Deal." He smiled bitterly. "I survive, and you get the data."
She didn't manage an answer.
2092-11-02 Local Time 1357
BetaMountain – MedoStat
Day 124
"Shane. Whatever I was searching for for you must be hotter than Granna's suns." She pulled a chair closer to the bed to avoid speaking too loudly. "Doc said afterwards, one more security program and the console would have melted."
He coughed convulsively, reached for the mug of juice on the nightstand and gathered it up. His voice sounded horrible: harsh, scratchy, and difficult to understand. "Do you have printouts?"
"We had to get around the print block. But it went well." She snickered at the memory. "There should be some technicians down at maintenance now asking themselves why their mainframe considered 'access denied' to be the same as 'print.'" She sobered. "Doc said if you hadn't mentioned the tracers, they would have caught us. Whoever protected these files would have preferred to delete them."
"He didn't have... the option." Again he was interrupted by the dry coughing. "The hard copies..."
"It's strange, Goose. These files are underlaid with a kind of code that burned a tiny structure like a watermark into the transparencies during the printing. Doc hasn't seen anything like that before, nor I – but the pattern somehow reminded me of the bar codes that used to be used for registries."
He started, grabbed for her wrist. "Did you walk through a scanner with them? Think hard, it's important."
"No. I found it frightening somehow, so we returned through the maintenance tunnel and walked directly to my quarters."
"You mustn't allow the transparencies to be scanned."
"Don't worry. I folded them into a Xeryon artifact. Even QBall with his submolecular sensor couldn't scan it successfully." She noticed the relief in his face. "Do you know what it is?"
"I have a... suspicion." He took another sip of juice. "The clothing at... Wolf Den... was made out of a special polymer... – a kind of man-made fiber –" he coughed again and almost dropped the mug, "that set off the alarms when... it was scanned elec...tronically... It was a part of the sec...urity systems, but it was also used... at battle training... for steering the... automatic firing devices." The coughing increased. "These scanners... worked... with the... reflections,... some of the struc...ture reflects... strongly, the... other part almost... not at all. Theore...tically you can... input any kind... of code in...to them... This... imprint is most... likely an all...round... alarm trigger." Gooseman pressed his hands against his aching sides. "If you'd... simply... come... into a stray...scanner field... they'd... have caught... you and... melted... down the... key to... your... cells..."
"Shane. It's okay. Please..." She touched his cramped shoulders anxiously. "Nothing happened. Get rested first."
He looked coldly at her. "Somebody... must... be hi...ding... more... than I... thought... Too much... effort... Even... for Wolf Den..."
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