Doctor's Orders, Part One
27 Sep 2021Sally Forth
Archambault Terminal turns slowly before me. It feels so strange to be back here. I wasn't even sure if I could come back. But here I am, staring at the Coriolis station down the long hull of a Faulcon deLacy Anaconda. I made a lot of money exploring, had to spend it on something! And maybe it's daft, or sentimental, but I didn't want to risk Felis Astralis any more. She carried me to Sag A* and back, via the Great Annihilator. Deserves a rest. So she's in storage now, alongside Purr, my dear little Cobra Mk3. Loving the Anaconda, though. What a ship! She's called Felicette; in honour of the first cat in space. Who survived the trip...then they euthanised her to study the effects of space travel on her physiology. Poor little thing. So there's a picture of her hanging on the back wall of the bridge. Amazed I was able to find an image, a thousand-plus years later.
After a lot of umming and ahhing, I finally request landing permission, and let the docking computer take the sleek dagger of the ship into the station. Why am I so nervous? Well, wouldn't you be? Returning to a place you once called home, a place that saw so much suffering and horror. Yeah, if I really concentrate, I can still see my family lying dead on that crude altar, their blood congealing in sticky pools on the floor.
I try not to concentrate that much.
But this is also home to a friend. Whom I haven't seen for so very long, and about whom I have been worrying of late. Dr. Angelo Rossini. And when I call his practise, I am told he has been suspended. Worry levels now through the roof. But they told me he's at home...
Even in this day and age, with all our technology, old habits die hard, like the simple act of knocking on a door. There is a long pause, then it opens a little way. A muffled gasp and then the door is pushed open and a stunned silence as we stare at each other. The cats, nosey buggers that they are, wander in unseen.
One thing about Angelo, whether at work or at play, he was always immaculately turned out. Not a hair out of place, as they say.
Now his dark hair is all over the place. Several days worth of stubble on his face. And of course, he's never seen me with these dreadlocks.
"Sally!" His voice is a hoarse whisper. He urgently gestures me inside, hastily shuts the door again and locks it. Only a second passes and then we are locked in an intense hug. He smells...of soap, thankfully. He hasn't let himself go too badly. We slowly disengage from each other, and he invites me to have a seat. Despite his own disarray, the apartment is as tidy as I remember it.
“Drink?” Angelo asks, “Tea, coffee?”
“Something stronger?” I suggest. He glances at the clock – early afternoon – and raises his eyebrows. “Bit early, isn’t it?”
“No,” I reply firmly, “not any more.”
He smiles. “Understood. What’ll it be?”
“Well...I always recall that along with all his other talents, Doctor Rossini always mixes a mean martini.”
“Ha...it’s been a while. Remind me how you like it?”
“Montgomery, please.”
“Wooo!”
Despite his words, he whips up the drinks in short order, the Monty for me and a dirty for him. We clink glasses. After a few mouthfuls, we look at each other.
“Suspended, Angelo? That doesn’t seem like you.”
His face darkens. “It isn’t. Despite the fact that I prescribed that synthomorhpine for you ages ago, and quite legitimately, it suddenly came up and got me accused of malpractise.”
“Why?”
“Shortly after I started trying to find out what had happened to you.”
“Any idea who might have shafted you?”
“I have my suspicions. Mainly Chandra, the psychiatrist. There were rumours there was a financial incentive, in whatever happened to you, for her; so she decided to strike first before anyone could investigate her.”
“Did you find out anything? About me?”
Angelo sits back, lets out a big sigh and looks at the ceiling. “The military are involved. I was able to track down the man in charge of the project, and, remarkably, got to speak to him…”
“...Doctor Rossini, isn’t it?” The man behind the desk had risen as Angelo entered. He was a tall, noble-looking man with thinning grey hair and mournful eyes.
“That’s correct, sir,” Angelo replied, studying Vice-Admiral Josef Dixon carefully as they shook hands.
“What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“I am given to understand that you headed a project, into which a patient of mine was taken...without her direct consent.”
Dixon nodded. “Have a seat, Doctor. Please be aware that what I am about to tell you is in strict confidence. Some people might get bolshy if these facts became general knowledge.”
“As it concerns a patient of mine, it comes under the category of patient confidentiality. So no worries on that score.”
He steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Humanity is, as has ever been, at war. With the Thargoids, with each other. Sometimes, even the military of the Federation is hard-pressed to come up with the manpower for each new battle. Training someone up takes time, valuable time, especially when it comes to starship pilots. The Advanced Pilot Preparation scheme was designed to allow anyone to be a competent pilot almost instantly.”
“How?”
“Pre-programmed neural implants.”
“I see. So...why were people like Sally being used?”
Dixon eyed the doctor. “It sounds to me like your concern is a bit more than of that for a patient.”
Angelo shrugged. “She was a good friend too. Known her and her family for years. Until husband and children were murdered on Archambault Terminal!”
Vice-Admiral Dixon leant forward, ran a hand down his face. “It was the opinion of your colleague, Doctor Chandra, that your friend was incurably insane, and would likely never be able to live a normal life again.”
“Chandra…? She was part of this?”
“A number of mental health professionals were recruited to look out for potential subjects, Doctor. It wasn’t about using them just because they were damaged. It was to give them the possibility of a new life, a useful life.”
Angelo felt his anger rising, but controlled it. “Useful as soldiers, pilots. Useful to be killed.”
“If the technology proved successful, it could have been used to train such people for any number of roles or jobs.”
“Could have been?”
Dixon slowly rose, and began to pace back and forth, hands behind his back. “Doctor Rossini, let me make it clear that I was not the instigator of the program; I was merely under orders to administrate it. But when your friend...vanished, I ordered the whole project shelved.”
Angelo was on his feet without realising it. “Vanished? Dead?” Dixon stopped and met his glare.
“To be more precise, we lost track of her. She had been doing moderately well as an independent pilot; in that regard, the project seemed to be successful. But it was at the point when we really should have brought her back in for a full assessment that she disappeared.”
Angelo got his breathing under control. “So now you know my concern, Vice-Admiral. Do you understand how it feels to lose someone like that? Someone you care about?”
Dixon suddenly took a step towards him. Not threateningly, but his voice was full of emotion.
“Yes,” he said, “I do. I do indeed. My son. We wanted him to follow the military career, because it was a good path and he was very capable. But he rebelled, as adolescents so often do. And it all went wrong, and he ended up in prison. It was only a few years back that we discovered he had been released under circumstances which were far from clear, and about which even I, a vice-admiral in the Federal Navy, have been unable to find details of. After his release, he too...vanished.”
Angelo closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry.”
Dixon regained his composure. “Like your friend, I do not believe he is dead. They are both out there somewhere…”
I look at Angelo, gobsmacked. He nods. “So there you have it.” My hands involuntarily lift to the back of my head. Angelo slowly moves and sits besides me.
“May I?” he asks carefully. His gentle fingers probe and find the scars. “Hmm...that would be the right place for implants…”
Before he can take his hands away, I lightly grasp his wrists. “Don’t,” I say, heart thumping suddenly, “it feel nice.” His eyes widen and I slowly draw him towards me. Then he very carefully removes my hands and stares into my eyes.
“Sally,” he said shakily, “have you...ever been able to grieve? For Davis and Natasha and Kiera?”
I sit up straight, letting out a startled gasp. “Angelo….”
“Please, Sal. Answer me.”
I deflate and lean back into the soft cushions. “No. As much as I have wanted to.”
There are tears in his eyes. “Then...it wouldn’t be right, Sally. As much as I would like it, as much as you would.”
A tightness grips my chest as I absorb his words. He’s correct, absolutely and painfully correct. His expression gives away how much saying that has cost him.
“Oh, Angelo…”
He smiles sadly and reaches for his drink – then freezes suddenly. “What the hell was that?!”
I look down. Gabby has just brushed past his leg.
“Uh..yeah...that’s something else…” I mumble nervously, reaching down and scooping her up. I lower her onto Angelo’s lap and guide his hands onto her.
“That’s Gabby. I think she likes you.” Must do, the amount she’s purring. Angelo moves his hands carefully, eyes very wide.
“Sally, what the fuck?” He must be shocked, because I don’t think I've ever heard him swear before.
So I explain about the encounter with the Guardian Beacon and everything else.
“They were...just hallucinations…” he whispers, “but they’ve become real?”
“Well, not entirely. Still only me who can see them.”
He begins to get over his astonishment, softly stroking a tabby cat that is invisible to him.
“Hell’s bells, Sal...this is incredible. Who else knows?”
“You, me and them!”