Dana Cartwright Mission 1: Stiletto (7 page)

Kieran wailed. “No! Get me out of here!” He had neither the strength nor the clout to make the Chief Surgeon obey. The drug soon numbed his body and instead of not being able to feel his legs, he couldn’t move at all.

His mind raced. “Dana! Please!” He felt a telepathic connection as he visualized her face and her beautiful eyes. He sensed her sadness — overwhelming sadness. “Dana? Help me, please?”

“How?” She wondered.

“Contact Ambassador Cray. Please, please, please…”

Dana left half of the second drink. She waved to the bartender then touched the voice-badge on her collar. “Get me Ambassador Cray?”

She felt foolish, doing this based on a telepathic plea from a man she knew for all of fourteen hours or less. Yet, she put her whole career on the line.

A male voice responded to her request. “This is Ambassador Cray’s aide. How may I help you?”

The voice sounded mechanical. She wondered if it was an android. “Doctor Cartwright here. There’s a problem with SSID transferring Colonel Kieran Jai out of my jurisdiction. I am very concerned he is in danger.”

At the word ‘danger’ the aide reacted. “Oh, indeed.” Then the man counseled, “Please stand by for MAT transfer.”

Dana stepped away from the bar table, surprised by the nearly immediate transport.

She faced a little humanoid droid, just slightly smaller than Dana in size.
 

He offered a stilted bow. “This way, Doctor.” She followed from the public MAT station at Spaceport Bravo, the orbital space resort used by non-military traffic as an off-world hotel, to a private guest room antechamber.

“Wait here,” the aide advised. It left hurriedly and the door closed behind.

Though sparsely furnished, with a sofa, occasional chair, plus a few artificial plants, the antechamber seemed comfortable enough. It had no viewports and no view screens. Not even any artwork on the walls.
 

Dana wondered if all Ambassadors had such skimpy accommodations. She heard the door to the adjoining room whoosh open.

Cray stepped through. He looked like Kieran. Well, Kieran, with a white longhair wig and a beard. He was no stranger. “Doctor Cartwright.” He offered both hands and took both of hers, the gesture, and patter reminding her of the usual ‘receiving line’ after one of his lectures, rather impersonal, stilted, and formal. “Hello and nice to see you again.”

She wasted no time getting to the point, speaking in Alphan for his convenience. He seemed honored.
 

“Sir, Kieran Jai was seriously injured during the crash of your shuttle. SSID took him from my care to the
SS Navitor
. I…”

“That’s strange,” Cray commented. “No one told me.”

“I fear for his…”

“Do you realize,” Cray mumbled, “this is the fifth assassination attempt on an Alphan Ambassador since the new treaty with the Imperium?”

Dana stared, “Fifth?”

“Not all on Earth, of course,” Cray added.

Dana felt his train of thought a distraction. “Back to Colonel Jai, Ambassador. I’m worried about my patient.”

Cray nodded understandingly. “I am, too. Let’s pay
Navitor
a visit. Shall we?”

Dana readily agreed.

The aide reappeared and without a word, the threesome dematerialized, arriving aboard ship on a MAT station.

“Welcome aboard
Navitor
,” a female Ensign invited, “This way, please.”

The trim young woman, not much older than Dana, indicated the door and led down several corridors to sickbay, where she abandoned them just inside the entry.

Doctor Garcia looked up from his work desk, stood, and then rushed around to give the Ambassador the traditional greeting, just as Dana had.

“Welcome back, Mister Ambassador.” Garcia then stared at her. “You must be Doctor Cartwright. Looking for your missing patient?”

Dana nodded.

“He’s resting in the coffin. I just ran a neuro scan. It’s not very good, I’m afraid,” Garcia indicated his desktop viewer.

Ambassador Cray interrupted, “I’d like to see my bodyguard. You can talk shop, so to speak, later.”

“Certainly, come this way.” Garcia led around a corner to a large ward with a dozen diagnostic beds. Off in the corner was the C-FIIN unit with the sides and top up.

Dana immediately moved to check the data screen. “He’s very claustrophobic, Doctor,” she cautioned. “Did he not tell you?”

“Oh?” Garcia seemed surprised. “You know Colonel Jai?”

“I was the first responder to the crash,” she admitted. “We chatted while he was pinned in the rubble for many hours.”

Cray took a quick peek into the coffin, but sheepishly bowed his head a moment, as if telepathically in contact with Kieran. Then he turned away, uncomfortable seeing his bodyguard was, essentially, naked. “Pardon me, doctors. I’ll leave you to your discussion and give Colonel Jai his privacy.”

Cray and his aide quickly ducked out. Garcia scowled. “Did I say something to offend?”

“Alphan males rarely bare their bodies to dignitaries or elders. It’s a sign of disrespect,” Dana answered.

“Oh…” Garcia stared down at her. “You appear to know a great deal more about Alphan customs than I do.”

Exactly what Dana feared. “Please be honest with me, Doctor Garcia. Are you certified for neurosurgery on an Alphan?”

“Not exactly.” Garcia led out to his desk and swiveled the viewer. “The damage is far beyond repair. Even with surgery, I dare say the Colonel will never walk again. We might restore some sensation and, perhaps, some control of bodily functions; but I doubt full locomotion.”

Dana heard but disagreed. “I believe your estimate is too low.”

“So your specialty is neuro?” Garcia jabbed.

“My specialty is neuro-ophthalmology and transplantation,” she returned.

“Oh…eyes.” He stared into hers. “Yours are quite fascinating. Complete heterochromia iridia. Haven’t seen another mismatch like it for many years.”

Dana’s dislike for the surgeon increased from mild to acute, but she remained polite as she asked, “Will you do the left hand surgery first?”

“I’ve asked the Star Service for a hand specialist.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Let me guess, they recommended Doctor David Cartwright of MCE?”

“Yes. Are you related?”

“He raised me,” Dana answered.

Garcia let out another, “Oh,” then swiveled the viewer back to front. “Perhaps you’d like to assist. Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow is the schedule.”

“DOC doesn’t like MATs. I assume you’re sending a shuttle to fetch him at MCE.”

Garcia nodded.

“They should have left Kieran at MCE, with me,” Dana grumbled.

“Yes, well…” Doctor Garcia offered a non-committal smile. “The Colonel is here now. Safe.”

“I’d like to visit with him awhile longer and check some readings on the coffin,” Dana said. She wasn’t asking for permission.

Garcia’s eyebrows shot upward. “Are you… intimates?”

She frowned, “Hardly, Doctor.”

“Friends then?”

The question seemed a bit too intrusive, but she understood where he was going with that line of questioning. “I am still officially his attending physician, under MCE rules. We also share some memories in common.” She turned the corner and stood beside the coffin, as though she was reviewing the data again. Her left hand rested on the clear top, just above Kieran’s heart.
 

When she closed her eyes, he whispered telepathically.
 

Doctor Dana? Please, please help me!

I’m here…

Please… Do the spine surgery. Please…

I’m not certified for a spinal weave, but I can ask to assist…

I can link with you. I can guide you…

Link?

Like a Galaxean mind link.

You’re not a surgeon, Kieran. How can you guide me?

I can… Trust me. I trust you — only you.

You hardly know me, Kieran.

You saved my life. There are no accidents, Dana. You were on that landing platform and I was aboard that shuttle for a reason.

Synchronicity?

Read Carl Jung’s writings.

I have… Inconclusive.

She could quote Jung verbatim. Kieran beat her to it.

When coincidences pile up in this way, one cannot help being impressed by them — for the greater the number of terms in such a series, or the more unusual its character, the more improbable it becomes.

“Yes, well,” Dana scoffed.

Doctor Garcia called to her, “Sorry, were you talking to me?”

“Was reviewing the idea of synchronicity,” Dana said.

“Oh, yes. I was just re-reading some old twentieth century texts on that topic,” Garcia answered, drifting closer. “Why did it come to mind?”

“I speak Alphan fluently; and I happen to be the first responder.” Dana shivered, “Seems more than a coincidence don’t you think?”

Garcia grinned. “That’s just the sort of atypical — a-causal — parallelism which Jung cited.”

Still, Dana scoffed. “I have been, up until yesterday, an avowed skeptic.”

“Yes, well… Here’s an interesting bit of synchronicity for you,” Garcia said. “My adopted brother had heterochromia iridia also, with mismatched eyes just like yours; blue on the left, brown on the right.”

“Adopted?” Dana wondered.

“March is about your age, too,” Garcia chuckled.
 

“March?”

“That’s his given name. March Baker.”

“How strange… my middle name is January.”

Garcia seemed truly intrigued. “And guess his medical specialty?”

“Ophthalmology?”
 

“Exactly.”

Dana couldn’t believe it was mere coincidence. “What are the odds?”

Garcia didn’t venture a guess.

DOC held his comments until he and Dana were aboard the standard shuttlecraft, in the VIP compartment separated from the
Navitor
crewmen. He inhaled deeply and sighed heavily. “Do you realize what you’re doing? Throwing away an amazing career and…”

Dana frowned, interrupting, “Taking one week off does not constitute throwing away an amazing career.”

“Chasing after some young man does!” David Cartwright chastised.

“Chasing? DOC, you’re dreaming,” Dana protested. She was in uniform and began braiding her hair in preparation for their arrival, enjoying the smell of fresh, extra virgin, coconut oil, which made it soft and shinny.
 

DOC was in his traditional three-piece suit, looking far older than seventy-five.

They sat opposite each other. He declined the safety bar. Dana had hers fastened tightly.

“Colonel Jai is my patient; he is young, facing terrible odds, and is very seriously injured. He needs an advocate.”

DOC scowled and that twitter of his facial hair started.

“Would you not do the same?” She charged.

“Humph! He’s Alphan. They should intervene on his behalf.”

“The Star Service did; but not necessarily in his best interests.”

“In your opinion, Dear.”

She scoffed, but sensed something much deeper. “You’re not fond of Alphans, are you?”

She immediately regretted the question, as DOC launched into a tedious lecture on the Republic being overwhelmed with overly liberal member nations who just happened to enjoy the economic benefits of a free society without contributing to the security and safety of the whole. DOC droned on and on, even as the shuttle docked with
Navitor
and while they were being escorted to sickbay.

“Sorry I asked,” Dana moaned, only to receive an additional tongue lashing for being disrespectful. Of course, his rant against Alphans wasn’t.

Doctor Garcia cut the verbal harangue short, urging them to scrub and change. The coffin would serve as the OR table. Kieran was barely aware as Dana, who would manage the anesthesia, kept him unable to move.

Both she and Garcia watched and assisted as DOC Cartwright carefully reconstructed bones and joints, with great patience and thoroughness. Garcia did the right hand, a much simpler procedure.

After two long hours, it was over. Kieran had a few scars but overall the prognosis was good. Dana let him come slowly back to consciousness.

DOC ordered him to test his hands, passing to him a variety of objects from very small to those requiring both hands to grasp.

Garcia pronounced the operation a success.

“What about my spine?” Kieran quickly demanded.

“I don’t do spines,” DOC declared, going to scrub and change back to his street clothes.

Garcia didn’t want to, but offered, “I’ll be doing it in the morning.”

“One more night in this blasted coffin?” Kieran pleaded, “Please…no.” He turned to Dana. “You’re here. Why not now?”

“It’s not a simple procedure,” Garcia protested. “And once we start there is no stopping.”

Dana looked to her guardian. He did not have the stamina for such an operation. “I’ll stay.”

DOC Cartwright scowled his most frequent disapproving face, but said not a word.

“The decision is yours, Colonel,” Garcia said.

Kieran readily announced, “Now.”

While Dana moved the coffin to the side of another diagnostic bed, Garcia readied instruments. She explained to Kieran the levitation and anesthesia process, sounding as if she were quoting word-for-word from a textbook.

“I trust you,” Kieran told her. “Do what must be done.”

Garcia offered Dana a rest break, but she declined. He took a quick one to bid DOC Cartwright a farewell.

To Dana’s dismay, DOC accused them both of being reckless and foolhardy, loudly enough for the patient to hear — and half the galaxy. When Garcia returned, he looked far less confident, but she just shrugged. “He’s grumpy today.”

“You’re used to it, I assume.”

Kieran’s suggestion of forming a mind link proved impossible, with the level of anesthesia needed.
 

She and Garcia proceeded.

Weaving with ultrasound took time. After twelve hours of non-stop surgery, they locked stares. “Complete?” Garcia asked.

“Complete,” Dana Cartwright agreed.

They used the levitation system on the C-FIIN to move Kieran to a facedown position on the second diagnostic bed, ordered a full neuro-scan and gradually Dana brought him up from the deep levels to a very mellow, conscious one.