Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) (3 page)

“I can confirm your injuries were caused by an energy impact. Fortunately, our tests so far don’t indicate any permanent brain damage. Memory loss? Yes, and all indications indicate it will be temporary. In simple terms you need some recovery time. My suggestion is for you not to stress, keep a relaxed attitude, and your mind should, at some stage, open the floodgates, so to speak. Timing is unpredictable, unfortunately. I can arrange some therapy for you, which may help. Now, you had questions for me?”

“Yes, Dr. Yi. My first question’s simple: where is
xTaur
headed?”

“We’ll first pass through the Aluta system—I think there are prisoners on board who are to be transferred off
xTaur
to one of the prison planets. Then we’ll continue on to the Freedom system, where we’ll discharge our remaining patients. Freedom’s our home base. Everyone’s anticipating leave, possibly a month or so. It’s been a long tour.”

“I think my next question’s as simple: what year is this?”

The surgeon smiled sympathetically. “This is 1650 Post Diatonic.” The Diatonic Era represented the period dating from when the new Empire fought with aliens, the Triads, who initially had come close to defeating the Empire’s military forces.

Steg frowned.

“Why, is that a problem?” Dr. Yi asked.

“I—I thought it’d be closer to 1800.”

“Interesting. I’ve heard of memory losses creating this type of contradiction, where the amnesia victim is somehow out of phase with his current time and place. I need to do some research.” She tapped another entry into her compad. “Indeed, our head of therapy will also be interested in this.” She smiled again. “Now tell me about your sword. It appears to be old, perhaps an antique?”

Steg looked startled. “My sword? Ebony—it’s called Ebony. It’s here?”

“Why yes. One of my nurses stowed it in your locker when we moved you into this ward.” Dr. Yi indicated the metal storage unit against the wall opposite the end of Steg’s bed. “It’s at the back, out of the way.”

“Please convey my thanks. I wouldn’t wish to lose Ebony. It’s centuries old and very valuable, at least to me. A family heirloom.”

“Well, it’s now scarred, damaged, on the hilt. Before I leave, do you have any more questions for me?”

“No, thank you. Are you sure—”

“The year is 1650? Absolutely. Remember, it’s important for you to relax as much as you can. Keep in mind what I said: you can’t force the return of your memories. One of my nurses will check on you later this afternoon, and I’ll visit again tomorrow morning. Oh, and your therapy treatment commences tomorrow.”

After the surgeon left the small ward, Steg climbed out of his bed, holding the end of the metal-framed bed for support. He was unsteady on his feet, far more so than he expected, and he fought against waves of dizziness. The tank-based processes, he realized, had not included maintenance of his physical fitness. He was shaken by the doctor’s answer about the year. His memories were of a different time. Something was wrong, yet he was unable to identify what it was. It took him almost two minutes, resting between each step, to reach the locker, even though it was only yards away. He opened the steel door and felt around, working his hand back as far back as he could without falling. The locker was deep. His uniform was hanging there, patched, cleaned, and pressed. Behind it, he found and grasped the hilt of Ebony. He lifted the sword out of the storage unit.

For some reason, he was disappointed. The weapon seemed dead, lifeless, and while he knew it was an inanimate object, for some inexplicable reason he had expected to feel its life force. Steg held the sword and examined the blade and then the hilt. The blade showed heat scaring, more cosmetic than physical. The pommel and grip were both badly damaged, he surmised, as a result of the blaster impact. He recalled carrying the sword high, across his shoulder, and suspected the hilt and pommel had saved his life, absorbing most of the blaster’s energy force, which otherwise would have impacted his head. He held the sword in both hands, horizontal, one hand on the blade, the other on the hilt, trying to remember. Nothing. He shuddered and returned Ebony to the cabinet.

Steg barely made the trip back to his bed without collapsing. He staggered and fell, face down, onto the bed; he relaxed, half-asleep, half-unconscious. He was not aware that his handling of Ebony had awoken the bio-nanite and micronic technology hidden in the hilt, and now, its recovery triggered, the sword began its own process of self-healing. Soon Ebony would reach out, seeking its rightful owner, in order to continue its protective responsibilities.

“I have good news for you.” Dr. Yi said. The touch of sadness in her voice conflicted with her smile. “Your current medical condition and your progress with physical therapy are both very good. I suspect your physical condition is back to what you would consider as your normal status. The head of therapy is hopeful that whatever caused your memory loss will resolve itself over time. He has one caution: the process is unpredictable. This all means I can discharge you from my care. There’s one problem—”

She had asked Steg to attend her surgery office and he was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. When the doctor paused, he raised his head, alerted by the tone of her voice.

“I’ve deferred your medical discharge and can do so for another five days. Once I discharge you, ImpSec will step in. They claim you’re some kind of spy, and your membership in the Imperial Intelligence Agency is impossible, because the agency doesn’t exist. They want to arrest and try you before we reach Aluta, which is some weeks away. I’ve held them off; they realize this surgeon has extremely sharp teeth. If they follow their standard routine, they’ll arrest you, charge you, arrange a court hearing within twenty-four hours, find you guilty, and ship you to one of their private prisons on Centyr—it’s in the Alutan system. They’re Imperial prisons, all managed by the House of Aluta. Unfortunately, I upset ImpSec early in your recovery process, as you may remember.”

The doctor’s news settled on Steg’s shoulders like a dark, depressive cloak. He had focused on his recovery, physical and mental, and had not thought about proving either his identity or the existence of the Agency. He now had only days, it seemed, to find proof to convince judges in an ImpSec court hearing that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. Imprisonment in a jail run by a corporate house was not something he wanted to experience. He had heard about the conflict between Dr. Yi and the ImpSec lieutenant, a junior member of House of Aluta, and the severity of the young officer’s punishment would not endear Steg to that House. He—the lieutenant—in all likelihood deserved his sentence: dishonorable discharge from ImpSec and ten years in jail.

Steg didn’t expect his loss of memory would deter ImpSec from taking some form of revenge. He was at risk, and, he suspected, so was Dr. Yi.

“Will I be able to carry out research to find the details I need, in support of my defense? Or can you arrange for someone to help me, if I can’t use Imperial systems?” he asked.

“I’m unable to grant you access to a workstation. It’s beyond the authority of even a surgeon colonel, given the current circumstances. I can organize additional therapy under the guidance of one of my nurses. She’ll be able to run search commands for you. It’s the best I can do.”

“More than I could expect, Dr. Yi. Thank you for your help. I hope I can find something—” He rose to leave the doctor’s office.

He heard her comment as he closed the door behind him. “So do I, young man, so do I.”

Steg was both successful and unsuccessful with his searches over the next five days. He validated the date, which seemed an impossibility, given the current state of his recollections of history and personal events. Admittedly, he had large gaps in his memory, gaps he had been unable to bridge, no matter how much effort he applied to the task. He continued searching system records via his nurse amanuensis, hoping at least something would surface to help him convince ImpSec he was genuine, and his claim to service in the Imperial Intelligence Agency was valid. To his dismay, his searches continued to be unsuccessful.

On the final day of his extended therapy, he met with Dr. Yi in the small recovery ward. He sat on one of the casual chairs while the doctor performed her final examination before clearing him for release.

“There may be occasions when you experience severe discomfort,” the doctor explained. “Loss of consciousness is possible, although unlikely, unless you are under extreme stress. If it occurs, you should consult a doctor as soon as possible.” She examined his scar. It was rectangular in shape with a deep disfiguring edge reaching from temple to jaw. “A good cosmetic surgeon can fix this for you.” She paused. “I gather your searches didn’t discover anything useful?”

“Not a thing. I seem to be in a different time era. There are events I found, which seem to belong in my past, and there are some which I think occurred and aren’t recorded. I’m confused.” He shook his head.

“We—well, the head of therapy and myself, are also perplexed. We can’t suggest any explanation unless somehow you have invented time travel.”

The doctor’s comment stabbed at Steg. He knew time travel was supposed to be impossible, yet something deep in the back of his memories stirred, attracted by the suggestion.

“Well, at least I tried,” reasoned Steg. “I can’t think of anything else to do, to protect myself against what’s coming.” ImpSec had placed a guard on his door some three days before, and he was now considered to be, informally at least, under arrest.

Dr. Yi patted his shoulder. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Steg considered the doctor’s question. “Ebony—my sword. I doubt ImpSec will let me take it with me. They’ll dump it somewhere. Can you keep it for me, until all this is over, and if I’m jailed, hold it until I’m free again?”

“Certainly. I can’t guarantee where I’ll be—”

“Don’t worry. As long as I know Ebony’s in safe hands. Somehow, I believe it’s important, very important, for me.”

He stood and walked over to his locker where he reached in for his sword. He lifted it out, removed it from its sheath, and held it in both hands. To his surprise, the hilt, both the pommel and grip, was restored, as was the blade. The weapon now showed no signs of damage at all. Perplexed, he wrapped his right hand around the grip and raised the sword, as though weighing it. Something stirred deep within his mind, a reaction, he thought, to his handling of the now restored weapon. A memory flashed its alert: there was hilt-hidden bio-nanite and other protective technology that not only generated the re-build of the sword but also was keyed to him, to his DNA.

Steg placed the sheathed blade against a chair beside the doctor. Ebony was longer than the doctor was tall. He was reluctant to part with the sword; he knew it was an important link to his identity.

“Well, I suppose tomorrow is inevitable.” ImpSec had scheduled his hearing for first thing the following morning. “I feel like a condemned man, yet I know I’m innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“I spoke with your defending officer yesterday. He’s a professional lawyer. I’ve heard good things about him,” assured Dr. Yi.

Steg had spent time with his counsel earlier in the day and did not contradict the doctor. Captain Farmer appeared to be well skilled in his chosen profession, but he had been almost brutal with his frank assessment. Steg, despite various ImpSec searches, remained unidentified; there were no records of either his DNA or his fingerprints, and the Empire did not have an organization called the Imperial Intelligence Agency. As far as ImpSec was concerned, the agency did not exist. While Captain Farmer had agreed Steg’s condition was irreconcilable with ImpSec’s claim he was a spy, his presence on
xTaur
was unauthorized. Steg brought his attention back to the doctor.

He said, “Yes, we had a good discussion, too. He thinks, if I plead guilty to at least some of the charges, the court will agree to a short sentence.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I should do.”

“Some of the medical staff are to give evidence, covering matters such as the suddenness of your appearance, the treatment we gave, and so forth. I’ll be giving evidence. My nurses are wishing the best for you.”

“Thank you, and please thank your nurses,” acknowledged Steg. “I’m also hoping for the best.”

“Yes, we all are.”

Steg understood the courtroom to be the same facility where ImpSec had conducted their initial enquiry with Dr. Yi. A guard had escorted him to the large room where he now sat at a small table in front of the judges’ bench. He was waiting for his counsel. No one else was yet in attendance. The rows of seats were empty, as were the three larger, more elaborate, seats behind the longer, highly polished judicial bench. After almost thirty minutes, a young lieutenant rushed into the courtroom, almost breathless. He was carrying a small file.

“Captain—I mean de Coeur. I’m Lieutenant Emerson, your counsel. I’ve some bad news for you—well, it’s more that it’s bad for Captain Farmer, I suppose. He’s had an accident; he’s suffered concussion and a broken leg. This is all so worrying. Unfortunately, I was next on the duty roster.”

Steg’s heart sank. “How did it happen?” he asked.

“No one knows. The captain’s still unconscious, and they won’t know until he’s awake. Now, tell me, what are the charges?”

Steg’s heart sank even further. “I thought Captain Farmer was going to confirm those details this morning.”

“Oh.” The lieutenant leafed through the small file, searching for the information. “There’s so little information here. He must have his personal notes in another file.”

Steg wondered why the young officer did not access the ship system where the captain kept his records. People were starting to enter the courtroom: two court officials, three nurses, two of whom he recognized, and some strangers, their presence likely no more than fulfillment of idle curiosity.

“Lieutenant, I suggest you request a stay of proceedings, because of the captain’s accident.”