Chapter 8

“Tortured? Are you sure Ed?”

“His condition bears all the hall marks of Eastern Bloc questioning torture. I am 95% sure it was torture; 89% sure it was performed by Eastern Bloc specialists.”

Soon, the escape pod was pulled into the cargo bay, and the cargo bay was carefully pressurized. The entire medical staff of the station was there to investigate. He was carefully lifted from the escape pod. “How long do you think he’s been unconscious?” asked the head surgeon.

“Doctor Slayton, he’s not unconscious. He’s asleep.”

“Asleep? Are you sure Ed?”

A doctor looked at his blood chemistry and said, “Yeah, he probably is asleep. Blood chemistry shows that he’s suffered severe sleep deprivation. Leptin levels are near zero while ghrelin levels are through the roof. This guy has been awake for over a week, possibly two. He was probably hallucinating at the end.”

The head surgeon turned to a resident and said, “Doctor, what do you make of the injuries to his joints?”

“I ... I really don’t...” the resident looked and sputtered.

“Ed’s right, it’s torture,” said the surgeon. “this wound here was caused by a power drill, this one by a hammer. Looks like our friend had been a house guest of the Eastern Bloc. Let’s get his ID and check his medical insurance.”

“Medical ... what?” asked a young nurse.

“It’s a joke,” said the Surgeon. “We will probably pack him up in stasis and let him drift back to earth.”

“Will he survive a journey that long in an escape pod?” asked a nurse.

“Doctor Slayton, I have this man’s identification from his DNA sample if you would like to hear it.”

“Let’s hear it Ed,” said the head surgeon. “Who is this guy?”

“Scarlett, Alan B. Captain Western Alliances Navy. Commander 43rd fighter squadron the Strike Force Berserkers. Lost, assumed dead at the battle of Venus Prime.”

The room was silent. “Oh shit,” whispered a doctor. They couldn’t just wrap up a legend and ship him off in a stasis container back to earth and let them figure it out. They couldn’t do that to Captain Scarlett, they just couldn’t.

The senior doctors and nurses started shouting orders: “Let’s get ready to replace these ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, and elbows.”

“The wrists will have to heal, they’re too delicate of a joint for replacement.”

“We don’t have his consent to install a bionic so there’s nothing we can do about that eye.”

“Let’s start with the stab wounds and internal injuries. Get the operating room ready.”

“Ok folks, we have a hero to mend. Get me as much A negative blood as we can get.”

“I have 12 pints, take what he needs.”

“LET’S GO PEOPLE!”

SS Peake, December 3, 2156 Approaching High Orbit over Saturn

As Chief Cernan told the story, Pandora was in shock. Of course, the chief didn’t know how Alan was found, and his destroyed joints repaired, his crushed testicle and his slashed eyeball removed, and he was sent to earth, but Pandora didn’t ask, either. She didn’t know that she bombed her husband. How many surviving Berserkers did she kill? What if he was a moment later hitting that escape pod launch button? She looked at Chief Cernan and he tried to finish the story. “A friend who was on Armstrong station told me about how they picked up the Captain and found that he was bolted back together, there were a few spacemen that survived the SS Grissom who told me the rest. The Cap won’t talk about it at all.”

“Is this why Admiral Schirra put me on this mission?”

The chief looked at her strangely. “Admiral Schirra didn’t put you on this mission, the captain refused to take it unless you were on board. The admiral argued with him for days, but the captain won. The captain always wins.”

“Does he still hang out in the gym when he’s upset?”

“As always, ma’am.”

“Thank you chief. Oh, and chief? Paint my name on the pilot’s side of that plane please.”

“Yes ma’am!”

An empty cargo bay was reserved for crew use. There was some gym equipment bolted to the wall and floor, there was a set of bleachers facing up bolted to another wall, and videos could be projected on the ceiling. They used it for zero g flight training and for briefings, but mostly it was used for horsing around in zero g.

Pandora stuck her nose inside. The lights were dim, and it didn’t look like there was anyone in there. Then she heard a sniff and a shuddering breath. Quietly she hung a sign on the door that said Briefing in Progress and locked the door from the inside, then softly floated through the gym, looking. He wasn’t hard to find; Alan was curled up underneath the bleachers. He had wedged himself in there so he wouldn’t float away.

He was saying something, a kind of mantra. Then she heard what it was.

“McNair, Ron. Lieutenant. Slayton, Deke. Marine Captain. Young, John. Lt. Commander. Ochoa, Ellen. Commander...”

Alan was calling the roll of all his Berserkers. She squeezed in under the bleachers with him, but he seemed to ignore her until he called the name of every pilot and navigator lost above Venus. He finally opened his eye and looked at her. “I didn’t want you to see this. I figured I could just stand tall and say, ‘take it from here colonel’ and you would finish this mission and I could go and rejoin the berserkers. We would finally be ... I ... I can’t...” and he broke into tears. He wept for his lost friends and assistants, and he wept for what was and never will be again. Alan tightened up into a ball, trying to fight back the tears.