Duh.
“So how does it work? What does the base material have to be?”
“No,” I said.
“No what?”
“No, I’m not telling you how I do it.”
“I’m not asking that.”
“You just did.”
“No, I am trying to find out what you need for your ‘base material’ so we can supply you with suitable stuff,” he said, sounding virtuous. “So you don’t have to steal things. Or use all our chairs.”
“It doesn’t matter what it is. It just has to be something.”
“So you don’t need something made out of metal if you want to make a metal object?”
“It can be anything.”
“I think we can manage ‘anything’,” he replied. “What about rocks? We have some rock samples that are no longer required. Do rocks count as ‘anything’?”
“I can make organics out of rocks. And rocks out of organics.”
“You can make organic objects?”
We’d got back onto me again. I really had to stop answering questions. “Anything means anything.” He looked like he was about to speak again. “Anything,” I said quickly. “Anything, anything. Anything at all.” He opened his mouth. “Anything,” I added.
He gave up.
2.15. The healed heart
Min-XR sent out a communication to all the crew of the Bonaventure (other than me) explaining about the shortened deployment and paying-off at the end of the trip, the quick re-provisioning of the Bonaventure, the appointment of her new Captain and the ship’s new deployment. This was to be a perfectly normal resources exploration deployment (apart from the minor matter of having an alien on board). The ship was to be crewed entirely by volunteers, and her existing crew were to be given first refusal on the available positions. Good luck on that one.
One result of this request for volunteers became apparent the following day, when Mateo Michaels (steward) took a knife from the kitchen and stabbed me as I walked down the corridor to look at the fish in the aquarium.
There were only three other people in the corridor at the time, but not for long. Those who came running divided into two parties: one half that came to stand round me watching Gregory Jones, who had taken off his shirt and was now holding it tightly against my wound, and one half who went to help restrain Mateo Michaels. There was, as usual, much shouting, many orders, people asking what was happening and others offering explanations, not necessarily correct, but Michaels was soon whisked away in one direction, hopefully to some form of incarceration, while I was carried off in the other direction, hopefully to the hospital.
The wound was under my ribs but the blade had been angled upwards to hit my heart and had been enough to kill me, so I quickly healed my heart, but thought it only polite to let the outer wound bleed since people were putting so much effort into saving my life. When Dr Howard had got all people surplus to requirements out of her hospital, I explained this to her, so she just had a quick poke about in it and replaced the bloody shirt with something a little more clinical.
Lieutenant Shue arrived at a run, half-dressed since it was the middle of his night. He burst through the doors looking worried, but his first words were: “Where is Michaels?”
Dr Howard denied all knowledge of the location of Michaels. She began to explain that I wasn’t in any danger.
“What have you done with Michaels?” he demanded of me, not interested in her explanation.
“Nothing,” I replied, startled. “Should I have done something?”
“They said he tried to kill you.”
“He did.”
“He tried to kill you, and you didn’t do anything to him?”
“Well, the others seemed to have him under control.”
“You haven’t killed him?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“You don’t intend to kill him?”
“I think you’ll find he has to be prosecuted in a court of law for attempted murder .... Although, come to think of it, if you define ‘murder’ as the killing of a human, can you really call it attempted murder? And as I cannot be killed by a knife, he could never have succeeded. Can you prosecute him because he thought I was human and he thought he could kill me? Is it going to have to be a lesser charge?”
He touched me briefly on one shoulder before turning away to listen properly to Dr Howard and then he left again to report to Captain Munk. He went away again and came back, and went away and came back, more properly dressed. He went away yet again, and returned. He looked at me still lying on the trolley-bed and then looked in query at Dr Howard.
“I’ve persuaded him to stay here for a while. ‘Wounded’ as he is.”
He came back this time with information about Michael’s motive.
“He had thought you were being taken back to Camp Munro to stand trial for the deaths of the Invincible’s crew. Then he found out about the new deployment, and felt you were being rewarded instead. He did not think it was fair.”
“It doesn’t seem very fair that he tried to kill me, either.” But that was humans for you. “Could you fetch my nexus?”
The pair of them looked at me oddly.
“Your nexus?”
“It’s next door.”
“Why would you want your nexus?”
“I’ve got to write out my witness statement for the police.”
“You don’t want to hear about Michael’s state of mind?”
“Not particularly.”
Lieutenant Shue just kept staring at me.
“What?”
He got my nexus, and I settled down to write my statement. He could easily have gone back to bed, but instead he pulled up a chair to sit beside me. He seemed strangely keen to hear my version of events.
2.16. Designing my own death
I spent three days lying in the bed in the hospital. On the fourth day Dr Howard came in and looked at me thoughtfully.
“It’s about time you got up,” she said. “Considering there’s nothing actually wrong with you.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh?” She said it in a tone of voice suggesting she was not what you would call happy about the news.
“I was thinking I could die,” I said. “Then I could come back as some-one new. I could have a new body. Be some-one different.” Her expression was not exactly encouraging. “So, what do you think?”
“Well, first off,” she said, “I’ve told every-one you’re not in any danger. It’s going to be embarrassing if you then turn round and die.”
“OK, but -”
“Secondly,” she said, firmly talking over me, “that would make it murder, and the police really would have to get involved -”
“Well, technically it was murder.”
“- and then, while you might appear in a new body, you would still be you. I’m not sure the crew is ready to deal with reincarnation just at the moment.” Dr Howard’s eye caught the ‘get well’ card on the bedside cabinet, and her hand started forward to pick it up to see who had sent it, before thinking better of it. As no-one had sent me one I had made one for myself. “We’re used to you as Ben. Better to stay as you are, eh?”
“I can always die from some other cause. An inoperable brain-tumour, perhaps? A blood clot? Or I could always slip and fall down a companionway. Head-first.”
“Dying is a serious matter, Ben. It’s not a game,” she said. “It’s better you don’t play around with it.” She looked to see how well I was taking criticism. “I really think you should stay as you are.” She said it remarkably firmly. And then, before I could make any reply, she added swiftly: “And it really is time you got out of bed. Go and find some-one else to annoy.” She paused. “Lieutenant Shue springs to mind.”
2.17. It was nothing
“It was nothing,” I said and followed it with a slight shrug, hardly any movement at all, and a turn of the head, gaze lowered. “It was nothing.” Shrug, head turn. “It was no
thing.” Less of a shrug, more subtle head movement. “It was nothing.” Shrug. Look down. Getting there. “Any-one would have done the same.” More pronounced shrug, but modest, almost apologetic. “Any-one would have done the same.” Shrug. “It was nothing.”
“What are you doing now?” Lieutenant Shue asked, coming into the ward.
“Dr Howard suggested I thank the people who saved my life.” Even though they hadn’t. She had said it in her ‘I hope this won’t annoy you’ voice, but I was always open to new suggestions. Other than ‘leave my ship now’.
Lieutenant Shue frowned. Dr Howard rather encouraged my interaction with the crew: he usually did his best to keep us apart.
“So?” he asked.
“So I went to see them. John Alba was the one who took the knife off Michaels, and he simply said ‘it was nothing’. Juan Villareal stopped the bleeding, and he said ‘any-one would have done the same’. They were both embarrassed at being thanked, and I’m practising that mix of modesty and embarrassment, with just a hint of pride. It was nothing.” Shrug, turn head. “It was nothing. Any-one would have done the same.”
“Well, take a break from your practising and come and have a drink.”
The operative word ‘alcoholic’ from before the ‘drink’ was missing but implied. Although on reflection, maybe not. They were rather keen on keeping me away from alcohol on the whole, and I was often given something else to drink when the others got wine during meals. I had drunk rather more alcohol than they thought, though: there were few stewards who would stand up to me if I asked them directly for it.
“I need to practise this,” I said, to see what he would do. The invitation was