The doors to Med Deck hissed open and Harper stepped inside the dim room, body aching, eyes heavy and full of grit, his stomach growling after ten hours the conduits with only a few minutes stolen here and there to consume chalky protein bars and Sparky Cola. Two-weeks-four-days since the newly christened Battle of the Worldship, and even in dry dock with access to unlimited supplies from Terazed, and a gaggle of over-eager Perseid engineers on loan from Xinti, Andromeda still needed copious amount of works. Progress moved slower than a Lidean great slug on a sandy beach, each fix revealing another requiring immediate attention. The battle had damaged the majority of Andromeda's systems, a few to the point of needing a complete overhaul. Still, he did not want to rest until he devoted time to Trance, as he had late into every night since the Worldship's defeat.
He stood for a moment watching Rommie's shadow through curtains set up in the back corner to protect Trance's privacy from the trickle of crewmates with minor injuries and illnesses that passed through Med Deck every day now that over five hundred people called Andromeda home. Dylan was adamant that only familiar faces surround her. No one objected. Without discussion or prompting, the senior staff had fallen into a routine to care for their friend, someone who loved her nearby at all hours. The new team of medics, Trance's team, assigned elsewhere until needed.
He listened as she explained the exercises she was helping Trance to do; arm night tonight, from the sound of it. Several times a day Rommie or Doyle worked through a series of exercises meant to, with the aid of specialized nanobots, prevent muscle atrophy and reduce recovery time when she woke. No one entertained the idea, at least not out loud, that she would not wake.
Feet dragging out of both exhaustion and reluctance, Harper made his way across the room. He hated watching these necessary physical therapy sessions. His skin crawled to see someone who, in the past, had been so self-possessed and full of life lay unresponsive while others manipulated her limbs. In Seefra, he'd disliked watching her rely on Dylan for every decision, so unsure of herself without her memories. At least then she'd possessed the ability to decide at all.
"I think we've done enough for tonight. Harper is here," Rommie told the other women, signaling her awareness of his entrance. He suspected she realized the exercises made him uncomfortable because they always ended after his arrival. He picked up his pace and slid behind the partitions, the make-shift alcove large enough to host two visitors in relative comfort. Rommie, dressed in a blue leather fitted tank top and navy slacks, black hair framing her face, tucked a shimmering midnight purple blanket around Trance, who lay on her side, pillows bolstering her from behind.
Her face, pale, and sallow-skinned, with eyes sunken and ringed with shadows, gave lie to illusion of a young woman taking a simple nap. Yesterday Beka spent close to an hour combing out and braiding younger woman's hair into a French braid to stop it tangling when Rommie and Doyle changed her position throughout the day. With her thick curls pulled from her face it was easier to see the sharp protruding angles of her cheek and jaw bones, the peaks and valleys caused by weight loss. Slender to begin with, the result was shocking. She looked even smaller in the standard baggy white medical pajamas she wore, a child in her mother's clothing. Andromeda's search for the perfect cocktail of nutrients to keep her from losing more continued with little luck. Trance needed solid food.
The orchid and rose bush he'd found her with the night she'd fallen ill, retrieved after the battle, sat on a cart by her bedside, delicate sentries watching over nanobots and medication injectors pre-filled with presumably safe medications. A tiny forest of plants, identified by each of them as Trance's favorites, covered metallic surfaces and obscured monitors and screens, a unique blending of nature and technology. The lights were low and a few candles burned, giving the room a soft, flickering glow the sweet aroma of flowers rising with the smoke. Rommie's contribution.
Beka had had gathered blankets and pillows from Trance's quarters, along with her comb and hairbrush, both made of bone with intricate engravings of small-petaled flowers painted pink and yellow, faded by the passage of time. She'd had them as long as he'd known her.
Harper nodded to Rommie in greeting. His studied the vitals readouts above Trance's head, as he did every evening. He grimaced at the temperature readout.
"Another fever?" he asked, disbelief lacing his tone. Every time one broke another took its place within a few hours.
"Yes. Low grade today, for the first time. A low fever can be an important part of the immune process. The number of viruses in her body has dropped 5% since this morning. This fever is helping, not hurting," Rommie explained.
"What about her brain activity?" he asked. Two days ago scans had showed more signs of activity in the areas Andromeda thought governed her senses — but while much of her physiology was like a human's, as Doyle had explained to him, her brain held many differences. It was a guess, even with the AIs' massive joint brainpower, which areas directed which functions and how to heal the damage from weeks of pressure on the brain. It was still a hopeful sign, and that activity appeared to be increasing at a steady rate.
"There has been improvement today. I am hopeful she will return to consciousness soon." Harper took a seat on the black leather armchair Doyle brought up from storage to offer visitors comfort in their vigil.
"I hope so, with Dylan talking about sending her to Xinti," he snapped, not bothering to keep the venom from his voice. Dylan added that little nugget to the end of their senior staff meeting two days ago. A possibility if her convalescence continued. Andromeda wasn't equipped for long term patients. Xinti was home to the foremost expert on alien medicine and he had access to the Commonwealth's most advanced medical equipment. Harper had to admit Dylan would never send Trance away without believing she had a better chance elsewhere. But still he fumed. "He can't do that. She'll be a lab rat to an overzealous chin-head with visions of academic grandeur." And, he didn't add, she would be light years away from anyone who loved and cared about her. It seemed cruel to abandon her, even for her own good.
He reached out and grabbed a warm hand. Her fingers twitched at his touch, something that had been happening for the last week. A small, but hopeful sign.
"That is only one possibility for treatment, Harper." Rommie said, tone placating and comforting. "A last resort. I don't think it will come to that." She rearranged items on the bedside cart then ducked out. A door opened and shut on the other side. She returned with a lidded silver food container and water bottle. She put both on the cart next to him.
"What's that?"
"Dinner."
"Um, thanks. It looks… healthy." Rommie gave him her 'Harper, just do as you're told,' look.
"You have eaten nothing that resembles actual food today and you don't sleep at night. We are all worried about you." Harper didn't miss her emphasis on the word 'all'. Okay, maybe he was pushing himself a little harder than necessary. In the past, Trance would have already stopped by to give him 'company', code for checking on him and making sure he took care of himself. Guilt bubbled up. They had enough worries on the table without him adding to them.
"Ok, I'll eat… Thank you, Rommie." She patted his shoulder and smiled before heading out.
"I will monitor things here, but let me know if you need anything," she said, and then left, her boots clicking on the deck plates.
He pulled his hand out of Trance's and picked up his dinner; a variety of colorful fruits sliced and stacked with a smattering of small red berries, two hard white cheese varieties, a yellow cream cheese for dipping fruit into, and two crusty brown rolls with a sprinkle of grains on top and little round patties of butter.
"This dinner has Trance's choice written all over it," he told his companion, "It's like what you used to make us when it was your turn to cook on the Maru. You're always trying to convince me to eat healthy." He took a slice of a crispy red fruit, a popular variety from Hydroponics, and dipped it into the cream cheese.
He ate in silence for a few minutes to the symphony of mechanical whirs and the steady beeping of Trance's heartbeat. The food quieted his grumbling stomach, and the coolness of the fruit and creaminess of the cheese refreshed him. Fruits and vegetables like these, fresh and perfect, had been a rarity growing up. Refugee camps on Earth netted you one hot and a cot if you were lucky.
Three weeks ago he had tried to return to that life. A hasty decision. A bad one. Fodder for future self loathing and regrets of the capital 'R' variety. It wasn't just knowing his presence in the Maru's cargo hold the day after his attempted leave-taking saved Trance's life. It was knowing how terrified he was at this moment that her life would slip away, gone forever, that made him understand; if he left his friends, he left a part of himself behind. The better part.
He hadn't loved like this since his parents died. When he left Earth, he had intended to keep it that way. Travel the universe. Convince a woman to put up with him. Move on when feelings sprouted through the cracks. But the first person he met was Beka, and she collected lost souls, his kindred spirits. First Rev, then Vexpeg, and finally Trance after Vexpeg's unfortunate run in with the vacuum of space. He allowed them to become his new family. It made him vulnerable. When he lost everyone on Seefra, it was his worst nightmare realized.
His solution? A preemptive strike. Leave them now before they could leave him. Some self-sabotage in the present to save himself from pain when everything fell apart, as it always did.
The silence dragged on as he finished his meal. He stacked his dirty dishes on the cart and took one of her hands into both of his. No movement this time. Words abandoned him tonight. Earthers believed the voices of loved ones could heal. Without access doctors and proper medical equipment in the refugee camps they armed themselves with thoughts and prayers. So, he talked. He told her legends and stories from Earth and tales about his parents, cousins, and friends. When he tired of those, he gave her detailed reports on the repairs to Andromeda, focusing on upgrades he'd ordered for Med Deck and Hydroponics, as if he could appeal to her solid work ethic to get her to open her eyes. He even read to her his favorite stories and poems from childhood. Tonight, it wasn't enough.
Maybe working himself to exhaustion was not sufficient enough to keep his mind from wandering into the shadows of sorrow and despair. As this version of life became routine and the crew of Andromeda developed a sense of normalcy, a part of him recoiled, fought against the change. With Earth gone, and Trance's life still so uncertain, they were moving on too fast, leaving him behind. Too many complicated thoughts crowded his mind. He no longer had the energy to uphold a one-sided conversation. At the moment, he really needed a therapist, but would settle for his best friend.
"Come on, Trance. You've got to wake up," he pleaded. "I miss you. I know I tried to leave everyone behind, so that might not sound like the most sincere admission, but it's true. You've been here all along and I know that. I know I didn't go out of my way to be a great friend, even before Seefra. But I do. I miss you… I miss you more than I can ever tell you." The words kept pouring out of him. Like a waterfall breaking free from winter's freeze. Like a sudden rainstorm over parched land. Everything he felt. Everything he wanted to say rushed out, no longer containable. "I promise I will work harder this time. You might not believe me, but open your eyes and give me a chance… I need you. We all do… You're our heart."
His last sentence surprised him, a feeling rising from the deepest chasms of buried emotions. Without a doubt, it was true. She was their heart, their hope, their lucky charm — indispensable and irreplaceable.
Her fingers tickled his palm as if to acknowledge his words, but her eyes remained stubbornly shut tight, her body motionless. His words hung in the air between them filling it with static. They were out there, free floating, yet unheard and unrealized. A frantic need to diffuse the sudden tension gripped him.
"Trance… Listen, if you wake up right now I will never hit on you again. No more sexual advances. I promise," he said, using his tried and true brand of humor. No movement. No acknowledgement. He sighed, pushing the air out of his lungs until he was lightheaded. He felt defeated, ground down by the universe itself.
"This is hopeless," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes.
Then he heard it. A quick intake of breath followed by a long exhale. At first he thought he was imagining things until it happened again. Inside his hands Trance's hand coil into a tight fist, then release. A small, hushed groan joined the steady beeping of her vitals monitors.
His eyes snapped open, he shot out of the chair, letting go of her hand and leaning forward on the bed with both hands resting beside her. The chair rocked on two legs, landing on all four again with a solid thump. Her eyes had yet to open, but her furrowed brow and pursed lips told him she was awake now, or at least aware enough to show signs of pain. Her hand opened again, and she stretched out her fingers. They brushed against his hand. She reached for him and he grabbed her hand to let her know he was there. She held on, her grasp weak.
"That worked?" he asked, amazed. "Trance! Trance! I'm right here. I'm right here."
Her breaths came quick and shallow. The monitor above her head beeped in warning as her heart rate picked up speed. He removed the pillows holding her up on her side and rolled her onto her back, hoping it might make it easier to breathe. His heart thumped hard against his chest. Dinner, so refreshing a moment before, rolled in his stomach. Old movies from Earth showed smiling, happy patients springing back to life with a clever quip, ready to rejoin their loved ones in the world of the living. Not this. He was not prepared for this.
"Seamus… It hurts," she said, her unused voice a faint whisper. Her eyes opened, cloudy and out of focus. She blinked several times, but they remained dazed. In their depths he read fear, pain, and confusion. He didn't need medical training to understand that her anxiety was rising. So was his.
"Boy am I glad to see you," he said, giving the hand he held a tight squeeze. "I'm going to help you. Just as soon as I figure out how." His voice took on a higher pitch, carrying the note of his own anxiety.
"Harper," Andromeda said, her hologram popping up across from him, her voice calm and commanding, "On the cart is an injector with hydromatazline, give her one-quarter dose. Rommie is on her way. Trance, can you hear me?" Trance nodded, but kept her eyes on Harper. "Your body reacts strongly to medications. I have concluded that this formula is the most likely to work with your physiology and have the fewest adverse effects. We have to start with a low dose. I cannot be certain what will happen. Do you understand?"
She winced with eyes shut tight, then nodded.
"Yes, Andromeda," she replied, her voice louder. A fit of coughing seized her. Her heart rate continued to increase, and the coughing worsened with it.
"Harper, the nanobots aren't able to keep up with the increased respiration. You need to help her calm down until Rommie can get here and adjust them."
He reached towards the cart with his free hand, unwilling to let go of her when she was holding on so tight and fumbled with the injectors until he found the correct one. It took just a moment to program in the correct dose and press it to Trance's neck. It hissed as it released the medication into her system.
"This should help," he told her, watching the monitor out of the corner of his eyes for any new signs of distress. Her eyes opened again. They searched his face, trying hard to focus on him. He kept hold of her hand and brought his free hand to her crown, smoothing down her hair the way she did for him when he was sick. Her eyes finally came into focus. They were so dark. In almost three weeks, he had forgotten just how dark they were. "I'm here. Right here. I'm not going anywhere. You're on Med Deck. You're safe. Just try to breathe. Nice and slow. Rommie will be here in a few minutes."
His words, meant for her, comforted him. She said nothing, just watched him. The pain medication, even at such a minuscule dose, took effect. Her forehead smoothed out, her breathing stabilized and slowed down, the nanobots taking control again.
"Better?" he asked. She gave a small nod.
"I heard you… your voice," she whispered.
He gave her a tiny smile, and she returned it with a slight upturn of her lips. He wondered how much she had heard and understood. Her eyes shut and then opened again, wider than before, an instant later, wider than. She didn't blink for a long time, and when she did her eyes stayed shut for a beat before she forced them open again, fighting a losing battle against fatigue.
"It's okay. You can go to sleep again. One of us will be here when you wake up," he told her, "You don't have to worry."
"Just woke… so tired."
"It's okay," he repeated.
She blinked a few more times, the distance between each blink growing longer until her eyes stayed closed. She was asleep a moment later. He stayed there, watching the almost unnoticeable movements of her brow and lips as she truly slept for the first time in weeks. A hiss, some heavy footsteps, and then Rommie was beside him. He tore his eyes off Trance at the pressure of Rommie's hand on his shoulder.
"You did well," she said, giving him a rare compliment, "You should go to bed. She likely won't wake up again for several hours. It is not uncommon for a patient to only wake up for a few moments at a time for several days after a coma."
"Yeah, I guess," he said, turning back towards Trance. Even though his body craved sleep the way flower reached for the sun, he found himself reluctant to leave. He picked up Trance's blanket, a waterfall of soft fabric hanging off the bed after all the excitement, and arranged it around her. She stirred, her head turning to the side, the golden fingers of one hand curling around the blanket. "Take good care of her, Rom Doll."
"Of Course, Harper. Good night."
