Michael Kube-McDowell - Odyssey

Derec’s mind was slowly working its way backward from the explosion. He understood that he was no longer in the command center. The robot hovering over him was not Alpha. Which meant-

“Aranimas got his robots,” Derec croaked.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“He won,” Derec whispered. “I didn’t get away.”

“Sir?”

“Tell Aranimas I won’t stop trying-”

“Sir, I would be happy to deliver the message for you. However, the person you named is unknown to me. Where may this individual be found?”

“Aranimas is the ship’s boss-”

“This individual was a member of the ship’s company?”

“Yes-” The robot’s responses were beginning to puzzle Derec.

“Sir, I regret to inform you that no person of that name was found when the paramedics boarded-”

“I’m not on the ship?”

“You are resting on a therapeutic diamagnetic force field, more commonly known as an airbed. The airbed is in the Intensive Care Ward of the hospital at Rockliffe Station.”

The wave of relief that swept through Derec on hearing those words seemed to take all his energy with it. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to float on the gentle currents of sleep once more. Distantly, he heard voices, but could not rouse himself to think about what they were saying.

“He is fatigued,” the robot said.

“We need his assistance,” a new voice answered.

“Our needs are less pressing than his own,” the robot said. “We will wait.”

The next time Derec awoke, the copper-skinned robot was again nearby.

“Good evening,” it said, coming to his side. “How are you feeling?”

Derec managed an anemic smile. “I was just lying here thinking about all the times in the last week that I closed my eyes one place and opened them somewhere else. Every time it happened I found myself in worse surroundings and deeper trouble-until the first time I woke up here.”

The robot nodded gravely. “I promise that you will receive the best of care.”

“I know I will,” Derec said. “Do you have a name?”

“My assigned designation is Human Diagnostic Medicine Specialist 4. However, the supervisor of medicine for this district refers to me as Dr. Galen.”

“Why?”

“He has never explained this to me. However, I have determined that Galen was the name of a Greek physician of the classical age who wrote on the subject of the ‘vital forces’ inhabiting the body. I believe that my supervisor found it amusing to call an advanced diagnostic technician by the name of a primitive medical mystic. Since this question concerns humor, I cannot offer an authoritative conclusion.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Derec said. “You won’t be offended if I call you Dr. Galen? It’s a good bit handier than your other name.”

“Why should I be offended, sir?”

“No reason,” Derec said. At least not when I say it, he added silently. But that supervisor is definitely expressing some hostility. Probably has a secret fantasy of being a family practice doctor on a Settler world instead of tender-to-robots. “Where is your supervisor?”

“On Nexon.”

Derec knew the name: it was one of the larger Spacer worlds, and the second-farthest from Earth. “You said this is Rockliffe Station?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Where is your local supervisor? The hospital director?”

“Sir, I am hospital director at present.”

Derec frowned. “Maybe you’d better tell me some more about Rockliffe Station, then.”

“Certainly, sir. What would you like to know?”

Rockliffe Station, Dr. Galen explained, was a centuries old Spacer facility, a way station dating from the days when a long interstellar journey could only be managed through a series of shorter Jumps. Dozens of way stations had been built while the Earth emigrants who would become the Spacers were colonizing the fifty worlds that would become their homes.

With the coming of more powerful drives capable of spanning known space in one or two Jumps, most of the way stations had long since been abandoned. A few, of which this was one, had been fortunately enough placed that they outlived their original function.

Rockliffe Station lay in the middle of one of the largest “open” regions along the fringes of Spacer territory, looking out toward the quarantine zone beyond which lay the Settler worlds. There were no livable worlds in the nearest star system, but there was one planet with a crust rich enough in iridium to justify a small mining and processing center.

So Rockliffe had survived on the strength of its usefulness as a listening post on the frontier, as a transshipment point for processed iridium, and a military outpost should relations with the Settlers deteriorate. But those were not reason enough to keep it active at the peak level of the early days-not enough even to maintain a human presence there.

According to Dr. Galen, less than ten percent of the station was occupied, and that entirely by robots. The human supervision they required was provided by means of hypervision and the ships that called every two months.

Only because of the chance that those visiting crews might need its services had the hospital been kept staffed. But the managers on Nexon were realists. Dr. Galen was hospital administrator because his caseload was usually zero, while the only other medical robot on station, a nurse-orderly, had a full schedule of cleaning and maintenance.

No wonder the supervisor makes jokes at Dr.Galen’s expense, Derec thought.

“You seem disturbed by this information,” Dr. Galen said. “Is there a problem?”

Derec thought about the question for a moment. He had grown progressively unhappier as Dr. Galen’s explanation had proceeded. But did it matter so much that he apparently was still alone? At least Rockliffe Station was more or less familiar territory, unlike the asteroid colony or the raider ship. He should be able to have his own way more easily here.

“No. No problem,” Derec said. “Except I’d like to know a little more about what happened. How did I get here? You said something about paramedics-”

“I do not know all the details. The dispatcher or dock supervisor would be better sources of information.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“Apparently your ship was disabled following its Jump. Exactly what happened next is not clear. The dispatcher will no doubt want to inquire about the circumstances. However, it appeared as though your ship discarded or released a smaller vessel, a shuttle or lifeboat, before changing course and heading into the Q-zone.”

“They must have cut us loose after the explosion-” Derec said thoughtfully.

“The smaller vessel apparently was following an unacceptable approach vector and did not respond to the dispatcher’s commands. On the assumption that it was a derelict, a tug was dispatched to intercept it and bring it in. When the derelict was boarded you were found and brought here.”

“Did they bring the ship-our ship-in, then?”

“That is my understanding. Of course, my concern since that time has been with your care.”

“Of course,” Derec echoed. If Aranimas’s ship is here, maybe I didn’t lose the artifact after all, he thought joyously. “Listen, Dr. Galen, what would you say to my getting up and doing a little walking? Airbeds are as comfortable as beds get, but I’m tired of just lying here. Maybe I could go see what kind of shape the ship is in, answer any questions the dispatcher has.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dr. Galen said. “Your injuries are not yet sufficiently healed to permit that.”

“What are my injuries?”

“You suffered flash burns over fifteen percent of your body, primarily over your arms, face, and neck. Three of your ribs were cracked-”