Orbital

Fifty-Five Inpatient

It takes 30 minutes for the printer to assemble the gun and the robotic manipulators only five to fit all the parts together. I’d test fire it, but after my shoe mishap, I’d rather take the chance I won’t need it then have it blow up in my hand.

I slide it into the holster under my jacket and leave the zipper open. The whole point of the gun is to make it look like I’m some kind of authority.

I hope everyone else buys that, because I sure as hell don’t.

My intercom rings and Warren’s angry face appears on the monitor. I buzz him through the outer hatch and open the door to my module.

“Of all the stupid patients I’ve dealt with…” He spots the gun under my arm as my jacket opens in the air current. “Jesus Christ. Did you suffer brain damage too?”

I grab him by the arm and pull him inside my lab. The effort sends icy needles through my arm, but I try not to show it.

I point to his medical backpack. “Painkillers. Give me whatever you can that won’t make me foggy.”

“You mean locals? Like injections? No way.”

“This isn’t a debate. In ten minutes I’m going to call everyone together and I can’t look like I’m about to fall to pieces.”

Warren floats there, staring at me, trying to figure out if I’ve gone mad.

“I’m a government agent sent here to investigate the explosion of the transport craft.”

His face goes wide with surprise. “Why the hell didn’t you say so?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now I need you to dig into your bag and find something that will numb the pain.”

“Dixon, that could cause nerve damage. We don’t know…”

I cut him off. “And if you don’t, it could be bad for us all.”

For a moment I think he’s going to argue with me. Instead he just mutters and starts digging through his medical supplies.

I go over to the door and type a code, sealing us in.

He looks up from a syringe.

“What’s the point of that?”

“I’ve locked us in. Not even Tamara can get through that door. If you try something, like giving me a sedative, you’re going to be stuck in here for a long time.”

“There goes that plan.” He puts the syringe away and takes out another.

Part of my concern is that he could still be my attempted killer. Although, his reaction to my locked door ploy indicates that his feeble attempt to knock me out may have been out of what he thought was my best interest.

“You’re pretty intense when you get angry,” says Laney over my comm.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“The half of what?” asks Warren.

I tap my earpiece. “Talking to my superiors.”

“Right,” he replies, not sure if I’m insane or not.

“Did you just call me you superior?”

I ignore her and keep my attention on Warren. Part of Laney’s job, besides providing me helpful facts, is moral support.

Back in the iCosmos control center we always had somebody standing by, usually a veteran astronaut to hop on the comm in intense times with calming anecdotes and sometimes helpful information.

Warren holds up a syringe. “Ready? This will numb your joints and cut down on some of the pain, but I don’t recommend we do that.”

“Understood. Do it.”

“Right. I just want your friends, hopefully not imaginary, to know this.”

“They do.”

“Read us the label,” says Laney.

“Hand me that?” I hold out my hand for the syringe.

Warren rolls his eyes. “I don’t recommend you administer that.”

“I’m not. Just being cautious.” The label is visible through a window in the handle. “Ropivacaine?”

“You’re good,” says Laney.

I hand the needle back to Warren.

He injects me in all my joints, which is made easier by the swelling, giving him plenty of surface area to target.

“Happy now?” he asks.

I rub my knees and elbows, trying to work the anesthetic into the tissue. “I’ll know in a little while. Now I need something for my face.”

“Have you considered a paper bag?”

“I’ll punch his lights out,” growls Laney.

“An anti-inflammatory to get the swelling down.”

“The swelling is your body’s natural way of healing. Otherwise I would have done something in the clinic for you.”

“Understood. But I need to get the puffiness down. Let’s not argue about it.”

He takes another syringe from his pack. “This will make you feel a little woozy.”

“How much?”

“In your condition? No way of telling.”

“Fine. We’ll leave it.”

I check my face in the computer monitor. It’s a little improved, but would still take first prize in the ugly pageant.

When I flex and stretch my hand I don’t feel as much pain as before. I also can’t feel much anything. It’s like wearing a thick pair of rubber gloves.

“One more thing. What sedative were you going to use on me?”

“Just a muscle relaxant. Nothing personal.”

“I want you to prepare a couple more.”

“What for?”

“I don’t exactly have a pair of handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs? I don’t understand.”

“Like I said, I’m here to investigate the transport explosion. The person who did that is also the one who just tried to kill me. And they’re still up here.”

“This just keeps getting better and better.”

When he finishes the doses I put them in a plastic pouch and slide them into my pocket. “Okay, Doc. Let’s go to the lounge module and call everyone together.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we gathered in the hotel?”

“Not for me.”

“Well, this is going to be entertaining. I can’t wait to see the look on Tamara’s face when you announce you’re placing the station under Marshal Law.”

Technically I really don’t have any jurisdiction. But if they don’t know that, then all the better. If I want to survive this, I’m going to have to bluff my heart out.

“Go get ‘em, Sheriff,” Laney says over the comm in my ear.