Rayne

  “Yes,” she replied in a whisper.

  ***

  Captain Gault restrained himself from reaching across his desk to punch the man before him. Instead, he projected the calm and quiet confidence of command. This was his ship after all, even if it was in dock. But Dr. Alan had to be one of the most condescending and arrogant men he’d ever come across and his patience was being severely tested. The doctor had stormed into his office unannounced and uninvited, making demands regarding Rayne. It had been five minutes now, and the man had yet to stop talking. He was half tempted to have him escorted from the ship, but that would create more problems than it solved. Instead, he sat quietly waiting for the doctor to run out of steam. It was a little like waiting out his drill instructor in basic. Sgt. Galespy, if he remembered correctly. Just ride the storm until it blew itself out. He brought himself back to the present as Dr. Alan asked a question that required answering.

  “And what do you intend to do about it?” He huffed, obviously a little winded by his diatribe.

  “I don’t intend to do anything at all. Your medical team and station security are responsible for the entire mess.” He looked pointedly at Procyon Naval Station’s security commander standing behind the doctor and then back to Dr. Alan himself. "A medical team exhibiting any kind of competence should know better than to wake a combat pilot from stasis without restraint.” The doctor looked ready to protest. “Isn’t that the proper procedure? Or am I mis-informed?”

  “Well, yes, but…,” the doctor sputtered.

  Captain Gault didn’t let him finish.

  “The fact that she looks like a teenage girl shouldn’t have changed that. So, if your people deviated from procedure and got hurt in the process that’s their own fault.” He leaned forward, looking at the doctor seriously. “I also have some serious concerns that after finally gaining control of the situation, with the help of some of my marines I might add, you decided that using stun batons on the young girl would be a good idea.”

  “She knocked me unconscious!”

  “And you damn well deserved it! I’m half tempted to do it myself!” The captain didn’t lose his temper often, but when he did, he lost it big. He shouted the words and spittle flew forward and onto the cowering forms before him. “Your level of incompetence is astounding! You can be sure it will come to the attention of station command.” Captain Gault closed his eyes briefly and drew a slow breath. He opened them again and fixed his piercing gaze on both men before him as he smoothed his uniform.

  “What about the psych test?” Asked Dr. Alan. He wasn’t completely cowed, but had backed off from his earlier aggressive demands. Captain Gault guessed the doctor knew he'd pushed too far already.

  “You will get your psychological testing, Dr. Alan. But with respect to Rayne, you will no longer have direct control, since you’ve proven yourself incompetent to do so.” The captain held a hand up as the doctor was about to speak. “First, any testing will be cleared through me. Second, Rayne will be escorted by two of my marines at all times, not this station’s security.” The security commander didn’t look happy, but knew better than to complain to the already angry captain. “And third, don’t ever come into my office uninvited. Now get out.”

  The doctor looked about to say something, but the commander grabbed him by the arm and hurriedly escorted him from the room.

  He leaned back in his chair as they left and began thinking through his options. While this was not a combat op, the principles would be no different. If he didn't think it through he could find himself blindsided by some bureaucratic piece of regulation that would tie his hands or limit his control over Rayne's welfare. His brief contact with the girl had convinced him she had some serious issues that needed dealt with. The station’s medical and security teams had so far proven themselves unequal to the task. The assertion that Rayne was part of his crew would only hold up for so long. Once they found out who she really was, a simple, orphaned child from a wrecked cargo vessel, he would lose any pretended authority he had. Captain Gault had yet to share his information with the station’s medical staff, and in light of recent events, intended withholding the information for as long as possible. In the meantime, he needed options.

  He didn't trust the station to make the right decisions where Rayne was concerned. Although why he was involving himself, he wasn't quite sure. Procedure dictated he hand over all relevant data on the girl, dump her off and move on. But that was the problem with procedure he was finally coming to realize. It lacked flexibility; humanity even. Was it possible procedure could prevent someone from doing the right thing? He was beginning to believe that it was. Sgt. Weber's highly risky stunt during the rescue mission had been just one of many instances that was solidifying that emerging belief. He'd been giving the whole idea a great deal of thought and was coming to the conclusion that a lack of flexibility and strict adherence to procedure had lost him a number of battles, not the least of which was his marriage.

  The captain grimaced. It always seemed to come back to that. Possibly the greatest failure in his life was his divorce. He didn't like losing but it was a great deal more than that. He'd felt a great deal of loss over the whole thing. It was like losing his right arm and the memory of having it still there.

  He rubbed his temples as he attempted to clear the useless thoughts from his head. Options. He needed options. The captain pulled himself forward and began wading through the mountains of procedure and legal data, hoping to find something that would allow him to do the right thing.

  ***

  Rayne's terrified flight through the jungle had left her exhausted. She'd fallen so many times she'd lost count. She felt like a toddler learning to walk. Even without the added obstacles the jungle environment posed, she would have had difficulty. The T80's interface with her brain was hardly complete and was a process that often took weeks the first time the suit was worn. Until then, pilots often found themselves walking around like drunken monkeys. Mastering the T80 took mental concentration. You couldn't just move your arms and legs and expect it to follow your movements. It took some mental gymnastics to move your limbs while simultaneously willing the suit into action. Even the training manuals had a hard time explaining it, and many new marine pilots were never able to make the adjustment and washed from the program.

  It was perhaps Rayne's own terror that had given her any amount of control. The overpowering need to flee gave her mind the power and direction the T80 required to make movement possible. She'd covered perhaps fifteen kilometers from the remains of the crashed ship, over uneven ground and thick jungle. She'd fallen over embankments and into streams, careened off trees and low-hanging limbs, been tripped by vines and her own feet as she ran wildly through the trees.

  The T80 had taken over all sensory input, including that of her now useless eyes. Rayne was having trouble making sense of the volumes of incoming data. While supposedly feeding visual data into the optic nerve, the data sent to her brain was something almost felt rather than seen. While some might describe it as seeing thoughts in your head, the description was off and not quite right. Again, the training manual couldn't explain it either, and Rayne was still left to struggle as the T80 pummeled her brain with sights, sounds, images and things she didn't have names for. Her brain tried to turn the data into something she could wrap around, but she felt as if she was going insane...and claustrophobic.

  She'd never been claustrophobic before, but she had become so very quickly. Her breath came in great heaving gasps, and she screamed and screamed to be let out, but the T80 kept her in its firm grip. There was no wiggle room. No escape. Had she been in training, they would have screened her for any fear of enclosed spaces, monitoring her vitals as she was suited up and they would have quickly removed her from the suit at any sign of panic. But she had no help, and so Rayne tore at the armor plates and thrashed about in a failed effort to shake the suit off. But she was tra
pped in its tight embrace and it wouldn't let go. It had finally been out of sheer exhaustion that she had fallen still. Lying flat on her back, she closed sightless eyes and tried to ignore the chaos streaming through her head.

  For the space of an hour, Rayne had lain there on the edge of insanity. She focused on her breathing and attempted to block everything else out. The air brought in by the T80 was cool and had a metallic taste, but it was that little bit of coolness that help her maintain calm. She breathed slowly. In … then out. In … then out; concentrating on each slow breath. She had achieved something close to calm when the river of data rushing through her head grew to a fevered pitch. Alarms and warnings pulsed through her head like an exploding supernova as they warned of movement from the direction of her downed ship. Calm fled and familiar terror returned as she stumbled to her feet and ran.

  The scene repeated itself in her mind as she dreamed. She cried out and thrashed in the dark and then fell still as she gasped for breath in great ragged gasps. Sweat glistened on her smooth obsidian skin and soaked the sheets that covered her small form.

  Two marines sat quietly outside her door, whispering softly as she slept.

  "She sounds seriously messed up, bro."

  "No kidding. You don't think she'll hurt herself with all that thrashing, do you? I don't want to be in trouble if she gets hurt."

  "You thinkin’ we should go in there?"

  "Oh, hell, no. You saw what she did to the security guys. I ain't goin’ in there."

  "Me, neither. I seen guys come back from combat tours like that. Seriously messed up. They'd kill ya in their sleep before they'd even realized what they'd done."

  They lapsed into silence. Their orders were to keep an eye on the girl while she slept and notify Sgt. Weber immediately when she awoke. Rayne had gone willingly with the group of marines after her confrontation with security, still clutching her batons tightly. Curious eyes followed her as she walked down the station hall. After arriving at the ship, she'd been given another opportunity to eat, which she dove into without hesitation, while still casting wary eyes around her with batons clutched tightly in one hand. They'd then asked her to accompany them to the guest quarters where she could rest. She'd peered into the room cautiously and stepped inside the small space. She sat on the bed and gave a little bounce as she inspected the sparse furnishings. Finally satisfied, she lay down, tucked her batons to her side and went to sleep.

  The marines continued their whispered conversation as she slept.

  “Did you see how fast she moved?”

  “Yeah, man. They never even laid a finger on her she was so fast.”

  “Damn right scary is what it was.”

  “I gotta hand it to the security guys for trying though.”

  “They never had much in the brains department.”

  “Nope.”

  “Serves’em right, though. You remember that beating they gave the navy guy in engineering? He was in medical for a week. It’s about time someone beat’em with their own sticks.”

  “Got that right.”

  There was a long pause as they both imagined beating security themselves.

  “The black skin is freaky, isn’t it?”

  Pause.

  “Did you really just ask me that question? I am black. You remember that right?”

  “No, man. That’s not what I mean. I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m just saying I ain’t never seen someone so dark, have you?”

  “I gotta cousin that’s pretty dark, but nothin’ like that. Reminds me of the bio gel lining in the T80.”

  “That’s what Sgt. Weber said it came from. Too much time in the suit.”

  “How long was it, did you hear?”

  “Somebody said three years. Guess they had to cut the damn thing off in pieces.”

  “Damn. Hope she wasn’t awake for that.”

  Rayne cried out in her sleep and the marines fell silent. Soft sobbing echoed through the quiet corridors of the ship as they maintained their quiet vigil.

  ***

  Rayne came awake instantly with the automatic lights. She cried out in pain as the light stabbed at the back of her skull. She closed her eyes tightly, rolling to a sitting position with one hand held tightly to her face to shield the remaining light that not even her lids could filter out. The pressure in the back of her head was still there and, if anything, had increased while she slept. The hissing static was still there as well, but thankfully hadn’t increased in volume. She hoped it would fade with time along with the sensitivity to light.

  She felt around, searching by feel for the smooth lengths of the batons that had shared her bed. Despite the pain in her head she smiled at the feel of the fabric’s weave under her fingers. She could almost feel every fiber, and her senses thrilled with the sensation. Her hand bumped into the smooth surface of the batons and she gripped them firmly in her hand. She hated being vulnerable like this. She gripped them tighter, taking what security she could from the cool, hard surface. She attempted to push her senses out to feel and see the world around her, but was met with static and nothingness. She’d been attempting subconsciously to connect with her surroundings since coming awake, but had met with failure every time. The failed attempt now made it plain she would never see the world again as she’d seen it before. She was all but deaf and blind, in addition to losing her digital companion. She frowned bitterly; realizing her rescue was a mixed blessing. Rayne wondered briefly whether it wouldn’t have been better if she’d been left to die rather than face an uncertain future with no friends or family and disabled to the point of uselessness. She gritted her teeth and growled in anger and frustration.

  Rayne turned her head suddenly to the sound of movement where she remembered the door to her small room was. She tried squinting through the blinding lights, but closed them quickly as the light assaulted her eyes. She stumbled to her feet and squared off in the direction of the door.

  “Taft. Go tell the sergeant the girl is awake.”

  Rayne heard the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. She had the sense someone was still there, but couldn’t open her eyes through the bright lights, and the static in her ears covered the sound of any movement.

  “Sorry ‘bout the lights,” said a deep voice. “They’re on audomatic.”

  Rayne thought she recognized the voice as one of the ship’s marines. There was a nasal quality to it like he had a cold, but he sounded just a little guarded. She didn’t relax her stance, but kept the batons at the ready. They stood in silence for several long moments as they each waited for the other to say something. Rayne heard movement over the static in her head and the sound of something metallic being picked up from a hard surface.

  “Here. Try dese. They’ll help wid the lights.”

  She heard movement coming slowly toward her and she took several steps back. There was no way she’d let anyone near her when she couldn’t see.

  “I’ll jusd sed them on the bed here.”

  She heard movement again as something was set on the bed and whoever it was retreated back toward the door. She raged silently inside at her helplessness and took several moments to decide before moving to the bed to pick up whatever had been left for her. If it would help with the lights, she was willing to accept the help. She snatched whatever it was off the bed and retreated to her defensive position. Rayne held what felt like a pair of glasses. She ran her fingers over the cool metallic surface, before finally setting them on her face and breathing a sigh of relief. She still had to squint to block the light from her overly sensitive eyes, but at least she could see. Rayne looked up at the marine standing at the door and relaxed several degrees.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The marine gave her a crooked smile to match his crooked nose.

  “You’re welcome.”

  ***

  The request for Rayne’s psychological evaluation came during the ne
xt work cycle. There was no day or night on the station, so days were in twenty four hour cycles to match earth normal time. There were no times when the stations crews were completely quiet. Crews were constantly active maintaining the station’s systems and servicing the ships as they came and went. Mike and Lena had volunteered for the assignment, which was good, since the captain would probably have assigned them anyway. Jackson declined the offer to go with them, mumbling something about grabbing another cold pack for his still swollen nose.

  Captain Gault come personally to speak with Rayne as she ate her morning meal. She still wore her white gown, which showed in stark contrast to her skin. She had also added a pair of mirrored wrap-around sunglasses to protect her sensitive eyes from the bright lights. She raked the food in at an impressive rate and seemed to like anything green or with a high iron content. Mike and Lena sat on either side of her, but outside arms reach. While Rayne now seemed to be comfortable with the marines, they weren’t prepared to take anything for granted, and made sure to keep their distance to prevent anything from startling her. Jackson had made the observation that she was as twitchy as an alley cat.

  The captain sat opposite Rayne at the table as she stuffed lettuce into her already full mouth. She glanced curiously across at him as she chewed.

  “Hello, Rayne,” he said with a smile. She made no response, but kept chewing her lettuce.

  “May I talk to you for a moment?”

  She swallowed her food and replied with a nod.

  “Dr. Alan would like you to take a test today. Do you remember Dr. Alan?”

  “The fat, annoying one?” She whispered. Her voice was still hoarse and raspy from the abuse of the last few days.

  Mike and Lena both covered grins at her response and the captain smiled openly.

  “Yes. The fat annoying one. Would you be willing to take his test?” He hoped for a “yes” and wasn’t sure what he’d do if it wasn’t. He’d told the doctor he’d get his test and now he had to make it happen.

  “I don’t like him.” She replied. Her head moved slightly as she shifted her eyes to scan the room, obviously searching for threats and making sure her closest routes of escape were still clear.