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Johnson opened her eyes. She had expected the bright lights and white walls of a sick bay or operating theatre. Instead, the light was a dim off-white glow, slightly on the green side; perfectly fine to see by but it didn’t scream ‘clinical’. Focusing, she realised the light was coming from the ceiling; not something attached to the ceiling but from within the ceiling itself. She looked around as best she could. Her eyes locked onto the opening at the end of the room. Not a sliding metal door, a muscular iris, a purely biological feature. Her eyes widened. Organic components, Republic hunter-killer, boarding mission...
^You remember.^
“Yes ... Snippets, nothing substantial,” she said, trying to move but finding her limbs weren’t responding. She started to hyperventilate, or rather she felt like she was going to, only her chest kept rising and falling at a steady rate.
^Try to use your EIS. I need to know it is still fully integrated. There are areas of me that do not have audio feeds so you will have to be able to use comms.^
“What if I don’t want to?” She was a prisoner. It was the only logical possibility.
^Then there is a risk you would not be able to call for help when you need it.^
She sighed, acquiescing in the futility of immobility. ^Testing? Testing?^
^Good. Am I OK to remove the block on your major motor functions, or are you going to do something regrettable?^
^Is that a threat?^ She made every effort to keep a tremor out of her voice. Years of command had left her able to clamp down on her emotions, parcel them up for later, for when they wouldn’t interfere with her decisions.
^No. I have no reason to hurt you. I am worried you might harm yourself, or do something that will require me to medicate you again.^
I don’t really have a choice. I can’t lie here forever.
Despite everything else that had happened in the war, both sides had by and large stuck to the rules when it came to POWs. If she was a prisoner, she was pretty sure they wouldn’t harm her. It could all be a way to get intel out of her, of course. An elaborate interrogation scheme. Well, she’d have to be careful what she said. They’d obviously hacked her electronic interface system already, they had access to a lot of data, but things like her access codes were never recorded digitally.
“Do I offer you my parole?”
^If you want. I said before, you are not my prisoner.^
Johnson’s EIS notified her of an external connection making a change to her settings. She ran a surface query. Only the medical routines appeared to have been under outside control, and they reported they had granted access under standard emergency protocols. She would delve deeper when she got the chance.
The blocks faded. She wiggled her fingers, then tentatively stretched. She tried to keep as steady as possible, knowing from previous injuries that moving her head too much right now would be a bad idea. After a couple of minutes just stretching and trying out muscles that hadn’t been used in weeks, she attempted to sit up. It felt like it took forever, but she made it upright.
“There is gravity,” she said. “There wasn’t any when we came aboard.”
^We normally do not bother with it in combat operations. The crew members are all strapped into their immersion couches on the bridge. Gravity generators just drain power,^ he replied. ^I turned it back on to help with your recovery.^
“Thank you, I suppose.” She knew she was stalling. Postponing the moment she had to look at her leg. Seeing it would make it real.
^You are welcome. Talking about your recovery, it is time for your first physio session. I will have one of the ‘bots help you get there.^
“I don’t need a robot to help me. Turn off the gravity, I’ll get there myself. Just have it show me the way.” She swung her legs off the table.
A deep breath and she looked down. And blinked. From the knee down, her left leg was pink, and there was a ring of white scar tissue, but otherwise it looked like her leg. It didn’t seem right; she deserved to lose it for not protecting her crew, a mark that warned the world that she wasn’t good enough. She felt cheated. And recognised the return of her old partner in life.
No. Not now, Olivia. You’ve been on top of the depression for years. You can’t let it swallow you now.
A small spider-like machine skittered into the room. It stopped in front of the bed, looking up her.
Johnson roused herself and clamped down on the dark thoughts. ^What’s that thing used for? I didn’t see any before.^
^It is used to inspect hard to reach places for damage, to repair wiring in conduits, that kind of thing. I concluded after your experiences with my other units, you would not want to meet them again. Not that many of them are working right now anyway.^
^Can it hear me if I speak?^
^Not directly, but if you are in an area with microphones the instructions will be relayed to it. It has also been set to accept transmissions from you.^
“Hello, little one. I understand you are going to take me to do some exercise.”
Exercise will help. It always does.
#
^The ship seems bigger than what I remember,^ she commented, as they drifted along a corridor.
^When you arrived, I was cleared for action,^ replied Indie. ^All non-essential areas were closed down. Since then, I have relaxed and the rooms have returned.^
She recognised the exercise area. A patch on one wall was an ugly pink compared to the normal greenish-brown; scar tissue from where they had breached the hull. ^This wasn’t closed down.^
^Really?^ replied Indie. ^I did not know. It was likely isolated by battle damage then.^
As she floated, one hand loosely gripping a rung, a door opened in one of the metal walls. A zero-g exercise bike hinged out.
“Ten minutes, this first session.”
Johnson jumped. It was the first time Indie had spoken to her through the robot. Was it Indie or the robot itself? “I can do more than that!” she protested.
I need longer than that. I need to lose myself in it.
“The medical text is quite clear. Ten minutes maximum.”
She manoeuvered herself over to the bike using her arms and strapped herself in. It was weird fastening the Velcro over her new leg. She could feel it, but it didn’t seem quite part of her. It was as if the pressure of the strap wasn’t in the right place.
The resistance on the bike wasn’t set very high. She looked for a way to change it, but it seemed it needed operating system access she didn’t have. No point asking now, it would have been set the way the medical texts had laid down.
“Your time is up.”
“I’ve not been out long enough to lose that much muscle tone. I can do a lot longer. It helps me focus.”
“It is not your muscles that are the problem. The leg is calibrating. It has been recording your nerve impulses and your EIS activity since you woke up. Now it needs another baseline. It will reboot while you rest. The more you can relax, the better. Most experienced spacers have found drifting in zero-g to be the most effective.”
She did another few turns, just to show she wasn’t going to jump to the AI’s orders, and stopped and unclipped her shoes from the pedals. Undoing the waist and shoulder straps, she pushed off. Her last tap of the handlebars gave her a little rotation. She arched her back, her arms out, and tilted her head back, gracefully flipping over through 360 degrees. Her spread fingertips met the far wall and flexed, killing her momentum and leaving her floating. A glimmer of a smile crossed her face.
Still got it.
She closed her eyes and relaxed into a star shape.
^Let me know when it’s time to wake up.^
No point fighting it now. May as well rest and heal up while I think of a way out of this.
#
^Are you hungry?^
Johnson counted the last three step-ups before replying. She was working in 0.75g gravity now, her body still showing no sign of rejecting her new leg. The point where the carbon filaments bound the prosthetic to her bone ached from the repeated impacts, but it was getting better.
It isn’t your leg. Never forget that.
^Ravenous. That paste you’ve been feeding me never seems to do much more than fill a corner.^
^I understand that is the case with post-op rations. They are designed to supply you with exactly what your body needs to repair and fight possible infection, whilst keeping your digestive system active. Eat anything else, and it could reduce the amounts taken up by your body.^ There was a heartbeat’s pause before he continued. ^It has been a week now, and you are making good progress, so perhaps we can relent a little.^
^Too right!^ she agreed. ^Even just a hunk of bread. Something to fill me up a bit.^
Her little guide scuttled into the room.
“If you would like to follow me,” it said, “I will show you to the galley.”
Johnson grabbed a pack of bread and shoved it into the oven as soon as she entered the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, the three-centimetre cube puffed up into a rough sphere about ten centimetres across. The oven chimed and she pulled the packet out, holding a corner by her fingernails to avoid getting burnt. Ripping the cutaway strip across the top, she inhaled the heady smell of freshly baked dough. She tore off a chunk and shoved it in her mouth. It wasn’t the same as real, handmade bread, but it was heaven at that moment.
She looked through more drawers, examining the packets as she devoured mouthful after mouthful of the loaf. As she came to the last bite, she decided on coq au vin. While it warmed up, she looked around and found a bowl. It clunked down onto the counter, where it was held in place by a magnet. The oven only took a minute and she had a steaming bowl of food. Limping slightly, more out of habit than pain, she went to get some cutlery. She picked up a fork, then her hand hesitated over the knives.
Why did I survive? It killed everyone else, but saved me? Perhaps it’s all an elaborate interrogation. Perhaps I’d be better off ending it now, before I give anything away. I’m no use to anyone anyway.
A further moment’s hesitation, then she left the knives and took a spoon.