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A Care Givers Company story The Best and the Brightest Part I BY Maggie Finson I came awake slowly, my consciousness swimming up from the darkness and gradually, reluctantly acknowledging my surroundings. Various twinges, and dull pains announced themselves almost gleefully, letting me know that things weren't right in the body I had kept in such superb condition through twenty odd years of life. Along with numbness that refused to fade; my hands and feet tingled, but refused to accept the tactile sensations they should have been getting as I gingerly shifted them to make sure they still worked. They did, but clumsily, and without the sureness of purpose that should have been there. Sluggishly I tried to recall where I was, and why I was there. Memories began to filter into my still muzzy consciousness as I let out a small moan of anguish. The memories flooded me with a clarity that was nearly as intense as the experience itself had been. I was piloting a shuttle, my first command for NASA, though far from my first flight as crew in one. We were inbound to Earth when an explosive propellant leak sent us into an uncontrolled spin. I frantically worked controls that refused to respond for a critical few seconds while the computer rebooted after the power loss and brownout from the starboard pair of fuel cells blowing. Gee force from the spin we went into had slowed my reactions and thought processes to a dangerous point. The standard automated distress call began broadcasting with the data the flight recorder was getting as the shuttle, an older model due for retirement within the month, shuddered under the stress its aged frame was being subjected to. I almost had the tumble under control, almost had the old girl aligned with a near-proper re-entry attitude when things really went to hell. The old girl's attitude jets weren't functioning at all, so our spin could not be corrected as we drew perilously close to Earth's upper atmosphere. Even if they had functioned, retro control was still off line making our uncontrolled descent pretty well unstoppable. I knew we were going to burn up in re-entry if something didn't change fast. Our cargo, five hundred tons of refined nickel iron had broken loose from its webwork of moorings and was shifting in the hold, which only added to the unpredictable attitude of the Argonaut in relation to Earth's gravity well. Argonaut was groaning with the stress, threatening to break up, and if that happened five hundred tons of pure nickel-iron would make an uncontrolled descent into atmosphere. Fusing into a single meteor that would impact somewhere with devastating results. My co-pilot, Stewart McBain hit the panic button to jettison our cargo. That may sound idiotic given the information above, but it actually wasn't. My friend, the magnificent fool, had added to the problem we were dealing with but had just managed to save the planet below from some very real, and probably catastrophic damage. He'd managed to release the remaining holding straps on the ingots in our cargo bay, so they would hit atmosphere as individual pieces of a hundred pounds or so instead of in a huge mass. What five hudred tons of high grade Nickel-iron fused into a solid mass would have done hitting the Pacific Ocean at reentry speeds didn't, and still doesn't, bear thinking about even today. Argonaut's attitude underwent another violent and unplanned change, as the ingots our cargo was made up of were ejected and fell into Earth's gravity well. But as individual pieces instead of the solid mass they could have been. Stew shouted something about preventing a single impact through the comm then I heard nothing else from him. Argonaut's frame and skin hadn't been able to take the added stress of that violent ejection. The gallant old girl shuddered as her structural members buckled and her outer hull tore like tissue paper in a high wind. Debris spun through the control cabin in the explosive decompression of my ship's death throes. But the badly damaged computer finally came on line enough to activate emergency systems. That provided enough power - barely - for me to fight our uncontrolled tumble into something at least resembling a hastily worked out landing approach. Truthfully, that is exactly what it was. The collective tried its best to rip my left arm off as I literally hammered at the control to gain at least a minimally survivable entry into the lower atmosphere. Controls bucking and fighting every slightest change I made in Argonaut's final re- entry, I at last managed to at least stabilize the ship enough to allow the crew emergency pods a slim chance of ejecting without being torn to shreds during their ejection. A jagged piece of debris spun into my view as I hit the eject command and smashed into my face plate. I heard the hissing, agonized scream of violently escaping air for an eternity of milliseconds as my ears popped, my eyes tried leaving their sockets, and my lungs vainly worked to pull in oxygen that was rushing out of the cracked face plate. The emergency shield of my helmet slammed down to close off the breach as I felt the stomach wrenching jerk and lurch of the escape pod being blown clear of the disintegrating shuttle. I had time to wish to whatever gods were watching that I had died as my suit belatedly regained air pressure and shot pain killers and endorphins into my system. Then there was only blackness as the gee forces I was subjected to reached levels that should have been lethal. * * * * Damn, no wonder I felt so terrible. The amazing part of things was that I was still around to feel anything at all. I awakened to the sound of softly beeping machines and the certainty that something was not right. Not right at all. The effort of simply noticing my surroundings had exhausted me. I gratefully slid back into the almost comfortable shroud of unconsciousness. But through some miracle, I was still alive. * * * * "He's coming around, Doctor," a rare female voice announced as I began to notice my surroundings again. "Good," a deeper, quiet voice responded, further pulling me back into wakefulness. That same voice addressed me with a concerned note that I didn't like at all. "Lieutenant Chartrand?" "Where?" I questioned out of a mouth feeling as if it were full of sand. "You're in the Armstrong Medical complex at Orlando. I'm Dr. Allison, by the way," he answered, leaning forward to examine my eyes, which still hadn't managed to fully focus. "You were in pretty bad shape, Lieutenant. We've had you in ICU for three weeks since the accident. Your surviving that mess is nothing short of a major miracle, you know." "When?" They understood that as well. "It's Tuesday, January 24th, 2102." The doctor informed me. January 24th! The Argonaut, my first, and probably last, command, had run into the trouble that ended up with me in the hospital on January 5th. "Damage?" I questioned. "Well, I wouldn't care to go into everything you suffered at the moment..." Dr. Allison started. "No, damage to Pacific rim, from ingots," I corrected him. "Ahh." He hesitated then shrugged. "I'd prefer to wait until you've had some more time to rest." "Tell me." "There was no major damage to coastal areas, just some unusually large waves coming in," he answered slowly. "Though some of the central Pacific Islands had a bad time, along with a few ships in the area. LA had an unusually high tide, and the Hawaiian Islands had a few problems. It wasn't a major catastrophe, if that's what you want to know." "But?" "But nothing, Lieutenant," Allison firmly answered. "You aren't in any kind of condition to worry about anything other than your own recovery. I won't allow anything else just now. Understand?" Doctors have a way of command that is all their own, one that brooks no argument once they have made a pronouncement. All I could do at that moment was nod in meek acquiescence and wonder how bad it had been. "All right." "Good." With a nod he made a good imitation of examining my chart. "You have a lot of problems to overcome here, Lieutenant. The G forces you went through caused bruising of the spinal cord, a blood clot to form over the left side of your brain, and significant nerve damage in your extremities. Your brief exposure to near vacuum blew out your ear drums and nearly blinded you. There was lung damage from the same thing, though not to a debilitating amount, you might find it hard to catch your breath after exertion, but oxygen exchange should be adequate for normal activities. You shouldn't even be alive after your shuttle disintegrated like it did. You might take a little time to thank God for having His hand on your shoulder through that. It's the only thing I can think of that let you survive the experience." "McBain?" "The rescue teams recovered enough to bury, that's about all." "Yeah." I managed a small nod. "So what am I looking at here?" "Years of physical therapy, for one thing," Allison told me bluntly. "You'll never regain a lot of sensitivity in your hands or feet, and will have coordination problems for the rest of your life. We took care of the clot on the brain with some largely non-invasive surgery, replaced your ear drums, and transplanted new eyes. All of that looks good so far, no rejection at all, but the anti -rejection drugs we had to give you will make you very susceptible to just about any illness you come near. The injuries to your spinal cord will heal on their own eventually, but you could be subject to seizures as a result of those for the rest of your life." "Damn. Almost wish I'd died." "You may have been better off," he honestly told me. "As it is, you're never going to be fit for space again. You will walk again, and be able to handle basic functions of everyday life. I'm afraid that's about the best you can hope for, though." "Space." I shied away from that idea, memories of my last recalled moments there threatening to drown any coherent thoughts I could manage. "I -- I Don't even want to face possibility just now." "I'm sorry son, truly sorry." Allison reached forward to lightly touch my shoulder. "You shouldn't have survived that accident at all. You're a billion in one chance that came through, there's a better chance of hitting it big in the lottery. You just worry about getting yourself as healthy as possible. Going back up there is something that you'll never have to deal with again. You'll never be fit enough for that." "Just as well," I quietly replied. "First command and that happened. I'd have a black mark against me that I'd never overcome. No matter what the official findings said about it. Even if I could go back, and wanted to, I'd never be given a command again, or even a crew position with any real responsibility." "Don't dwell on it," he advised. "It would just complicate an already difficult recovery process." Right. My life was over, in everything that had ever meant anything to me. I had directed my entire life since childhood with one thing and one thing only in mind: getting into space and making my life out there, where Humanity had a chance of becoming something other than an overpopulation threat and resource drain to Mother Earth. How could I not think about that? Not getting back into space would likely kill me just as surely as trying to get back out there. I knew I didn't want to live the way I was at that particular moment. But as things stood, I wasn't being given a choice. * * * * The next few weeks were a misery of sameness. Pain that never quite went away, tests to see how my nervous system was recovering, and constantly wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life once I finally got out of the medical complex. To the last, I really didn't know. I could probably teach at university level. I had the psych training that required, and the knowledge. But the prospect held no real appeal for me. Watching young people move on to the things I had once hoped to do would be a little too painful. Or I could consult here on Earth. With my education and experience, there would probably be more than one company who would be happy to have me in that capacity. Doing such a thing would be hard too. I just didn't have the mindset that grounders seemed to expect, and wanted to deal with. Overall I was fighting a huge sense of loss and no little bitterness over the fact that I'd survived to be what I considered not much more than a useless drone. Nothing I thought of that would be doable with my health and physical abilities held the least appeal for me. Better that I had died in the accident I caught myself thinking off and on. Those, however, were not much more than passing thoughts. I was far too busy just working to get my uncooperative arms and legs to do what I wanted them to for other concerns to bother me all that much. At times it felt as if I was destined to go through all that alone. My parents had been gone for a long time. A freeway accident when I was still in high school working my tail off to qualify for the universities I hoped to attend. I'd been taken in by my maternal grandmother then, but she was too old and ill to make the trip from Topeka, Kansas to Orlando for a visit. Though it turned out that I was not quite alone One of the duty nurses working the wing I was in had been a good friend through my university years, and she made a point of visiting every day. Hers was a friendship that I had always treasured, and was actually kind of a rare thing these days with the male to female ratio sitting around 3:1 on a world groaning under the weight of 25 billion people. But that thought led my mind into directions I still shied away from, so I snuffed it before it really had time to depress me and ruin the visit. "Hi Eric!" Consuela Martinez greeted me as she entered my little section of the world. "Hi Connie." My response was more than a little listless, but I was glad to see her. Connie has always been easy on the eyes. Five feet three inches of Hispanic energy with the face of a Madonna and a disposition that was pretty close to that description unless someone really got her angry. I managed to smile for her as she sat next to my bed. "How was your day?" "Oh, the usual," she answered almost airily. "Nothing really special, just a day." "Yeah, me too," I responded with a sigh. "I did get up and walk to the bathroom all by myself today, though." "That's wonderful!" Her lovely, round face beamed at the news. "I knew you'd do it pretty soon. You just aren't the type to lie around doing nothing." "There isn't much else I can do just now, you know," I pointed out. "Two nurses and a physical therapist were standing by just to make sure I didn't get too frisky this time around. Not that I could. That and one of the other guys in there, waiting for a prosthetic pair of legs has been needling me about at least having all my own original equipment so I should start using it the way it was meant to be used." "Good for him. You're getting there, Eric." Her dark eyes were filled with concern as she tried to give my spirits a boost. "This isn't going to be an easy thing, you know that. But you also know you have the determination to get through it and start living life again." "Life?" I shook my head. "My life ended at 150,000 feet, Connie. It just didn't have the decency to take me with it, is all." "That's not true and you know it," she firmly answered. "You can still do things, important things, here on Earth." "Sure I could." With a shrug -- I'd managed to get that gesture right the week before -- I looked directly at her. "But nothing I've thought of holds any appeal to me. What I was really meant to do, what I directed my whole life towards, is something I can't even contemplate now without having nightmares. Connie, space is all I know, and anything I do down here would just remind me that I can never go back. Hell, I don't even know if I'd want to, even if I could. Which I can't." "You don't know what the future holds any more than I do," she said so softly I nearly didn't hear her, the pain she felt for me clear in her large eyes. Then with more confidence she added, "With the qualifications you have there would probably be more employment opportunities available than you'll be able to read once you're up and around again." "I appreciate the thought, Connie." My answer sounded a little bitter, and hurtful, even to me, so I tried to soften it with a smile that faltered and fizzled out before it even got properly started. "But I trashed my first command. A thing like that will follow me for the rest of my life no matter what I do. I'll never fly anything but a desk somewhere again, and a pilot without a craft to handle is only a shadow filled with dust and cobwebs." "For your sake I hope you change your mind about that, Eric." Rising from the chair and leaning forward to place a light kiss on my cheek, she finished, "I have to go now. I'll come to see you tomorrow, ok?" "Sure." I nodded and managed a smile that didn't look too much like a rictus of agony. "I'd like to see you again. Thanks." * * * * Connie was good on her word, stopping in to visit, and talking what most people would have considered good sense to me in her direct, but gentle manner. There were some days when I actually came close to believing her. But the nightmares still came every night, sometimes so vividly I would wake up convinced I was still in the disintegrating shuttle's command cabin. At times like that, once a worried nurse had administered yet another sedative to take the edge off, I would usually end up crying myself back to sleep. When sleep would return at all, that is. * * * * "Lieutenant Chartrand," a quiet male voice that I hadn't heard before woke me from a fitful nap and I opened my eyes to see a middle aged Major standing at the side of my bed. I tried getting up, and saluting, but he waved me back with a shake of his head. "No need for that just now, son. But I appreciate the effort. I'm Major Willis Handsford, and stopped by to ask you a few questions and answer a few if you have any. The board of enquiry into your accident wants your personal version of what happened up there, if you feel up to it just now." "Sure, why not, sir?" I did sit up, shakily, but on my own, and smoothed my rumpled hair -- far longer than the regulation cut I'd worn while on active service -- and nodded. "What exactly do you want to hear about?" "Just your own version of events, and any thoughts you might have had during your convalescence here, Lieutenant." The major answered with a tired smile before adding. I'm only tying up loose ends here, getting your testimony into the record before the investigation is closed." "All right." Wondering what the verdict had been, but sure I wouldn't hear that until I'd given the man what he wanted, I began talking. The story came out almost on its own. I'd been thinking of nothing much other than that since first regaining consciousness at the medical complex. "Very good, Lieutenant." Handsford nodded with another smilethat was more friendly this time, once I had finished the story that ran through most of my nights without letup. "All that is consistent with what the flight and cabin voice recorders sent out with your distress call. Is there anything else you'd like to say here, for the record, before I send your testimony in to be added to the findings?" "Only that Stew McBain was a damned fool," I finished slowly, tears beginning to form in my eyes. "He knew what he did would kill us, but had also worked out what a shuttle loaded with five hundred tons of metal ingots would do if we hit the Pacific in one or two pieces. Two lives weighed against millions at the least. I'd like to go on record as saying that he did the right thing in jettisoning the cargo when he did. I'm pretty certain that I wouldn't have been able to recover the approach in time." "Interesting that you should say that." Handsford nodded. "The board decided the same thing. The cargo bay at least, may well have reached the surface intact, and the impact would have been catastrophic for the Pacific Rim. As it was, a few ships in the area had some excitement, some Central Pacific Islands experienced unusually high tides, and surfers around LA must have loved you for a short time. Both of your names are cleared, and McBain Has received a posthumous commendation and Presidential Medal of Honor. Yours will be presented to you later, once you're on your feet properly again." "Good," was all I could manage to get out over that news. About Stew, any way. That I was to be receiving the same honors -- sans the military funeral was something I really didn't feel that I deserved. "There will be some formal paperwork coming through for you to sign off on, regarding the findings and your position with NASA now," Handsford told me as he rose from the chair where he had taken during my description of the incident and shook my hand. "From all the records I've seen, you were a damned good pilot, Lieutenant. I'm sure the Agency will have something for you besides a pension if you want it." "Thank you, sir," I answered quietly. The operative words there had been pilot and were. Somehow I knew there would be no facing a ground based job with NASA for me. Not after what had happened, and especially not after being a pilot. It just wouldn't work, but I didn't tell him that. I think he suspected as much, but refrained from mentioning it again as he made his exit from my little piece of the world. * * * * "It's something called 'Survivor's Syndrome' in the trade," Dr. Allen Clarke told me simply during one of our regular one on one sessions. The psychiatrist gave me a troubled look as he went on. "Accident and disaster survivors are often left with the idea that they shouldn't have lived, and are guilty that they did. It's nonsense, but that's the Human psyche for you." "So that's why I feel so miserable at times?" I questioned with a small shrug. Putting a name to the reasons for at least some of my depression wasn't all that much help, really. "But why do I still have those damned nightmares? I'm pretty sure the staff around here is thinking of soundproofing my room." "The nightmares are pretty normal, Eric," Clarke answered with a small frown. You're not clear, mentally or emotionally, of that accident yet, and honestly you probably won't ever be. But as you get back into the routines of daily living out in the world, they should fade, and become rare visits to a past that isn't healthy for you to dwell on any longer." "Great, another doctor telling me to get on with my life," I grumbled, then let out a long sigh. "Sorry, doc. I just can't see myself fitting in down here all that well if I'm healthy, which I won't ever be again. It's kind of tough to handle so far, and I know I'm not doing such a good job of it here." "I know it's tough, Eric." "Yeah, and you're doing your best to help me work through all of it, I appreciate that doc. I really do. It's just that..." I hesitated there, not wanting to sound like a whiner, or hopeless to either him or myself. "I just can't seem to get my head around the fact that I'll never lift ship again, or be out there. That I'll have to sit here on Earth and watch all of that from a distance." "It's something you'll have to accept." Clarke shook his head slowly, the sorrow, not pity, showing in his eyes. "I'm sorry that's the way things turned out, but it's the way things are now." "So I'll deal with it." My answer didn't sound all that convincing, but he let it go at that and returned to the original subject. "That you'll have to do largely on your own, Eric, but I can and will help you with that heavy burden of guilt you're carrying around now." Let me tell you something. Digging into that was not at all pleasant, for either one of us. We both stuck it out. * * * * "Well, I have a pretty good pension to live on." I was telling Connie about the things in the package I had received from Major Handsford. "But I'm a civilian again. NASA retired me." "You could still work for them in that capacity and you know it," she told me without hesitation. "Or go just about anywhere with a program involving space technologies or skills." "I know, but..." "No buts here, Eric Chartrand," Connie interrupted me while looking straight into my eyes. "You could. Why aren't you considering that possibility? Or any possibility at all?" "I just can't." The answer sounded lame, even to me, but it was the truth. I no longer seemed to have the heart for even thinking about anything to do with space. "Connie, I'm having enough trouble just getting to the point where I can accept -- mostly -- that I'm going to be an infection prone half-invalid for the rest of my life. I have to come to terms with all that before I can even consider any kind of employment. And I definitely don't want anything to do with the space program once I do." "Bullshit," Connie tartly responded to the clear bitterness in my voice. "You just don't want to is all. Eric, you're one of the most intelligent people I've ever known. It would be a terrible waste for you to turn your back on everything you've lived for since you were what? Ten years old?" "It's turned its back on me, Connie." I let out a ragged sigh before going on. "And I don't think I really care for living with that all that much." "I think you do," she answered softly. "What's the difference?" I questioned with more heat than I'd intended or expected. "More than you'd like to admit, even to yourself," she said quietly before leaning down to kiss my forehead. "More than you want to believe, Eric. Don't throw your life away, please." Without another word, she gave me a sad, knowing smile, then left me to my muddled thoughts. * * * * Several days later I had a visitor I'd been dreading since I regained consciousness. Claire McBain was dressed in her usual jeans and top, but her dark hair was immaculate as always, framing her oval face with smooth sweeping curves that accentuated her even features perfectly. I'd always thought that if Stewart hadn't been married to her, I would have been interested. That was then, however. Things were different now, very different. "Hello, Eric." Her voice was still smooth as silk running across a polished surface, though her face, especially around her gray eyes, showed traces of the strain and grief she had been through recently. "Hi Claire. How are you holding up?" "All right, I suppose." Her answer was slow, but her tone of voice was certain. "It hasn't been an easy thing at all, but I have the kids to think about." "Yeah, how are Jack and Dana handling it?" Stewart and Claire had been blessed with almost perfect children. Ten year old Jack was almost the image of his father, and eight year old Dana promised to be as beautiful and intelligent as her mother. "Well, they know Stew isn't ever coming back, but would rather have a live father than a dead hero in the family. That's to be expected, though. They miss him, but have been really good over the whole thing." Claire let out a long sigh. "They both still cry at night, but then so do I. We'll get through it, are getting through it." "They're good kids, Claire," I offered, not really knowing what else I could say to her about that situation. "Yes, and both have been asking about their 'Uncle' Eric." She smiled a bit sadly then shook her head as if to clear it. "How are you doing?" "As well as I can be, I suppose." "I saw Consuela Martinez on the way in." Claire nodded. "She told me about the nerve damage, and -- other things." "Yeah it's those other things that are the killer just now." I nodded with a halfway decent smile for a change. "I know I've been a difficult patient here, and am trying to mend my ways in that respect." "You're alive, Eric," she said with a wistful tone in her voice that grew tight when she went on. "I almost hated you for surviving when Stew didn't, but knew that was stupid. God, or whatever, made that choice and I can't or won't gainsay it. There must have been a reason for how things turned out." "I just wish I could see it." My answer was more sad than angry this time as I added, "Right now, all I can see is a lot of needless suffering for more people than just me. I don't know what to do next." "You need to get as well as you can for starters," Claire answered, practical as always. "Then get yourself out of this funk about how things turned out for you. You're still alive, and there are so many possibilities just because of that." "Possibilities for an infection and seizure prone cripple?" I questioned with my now familiar bitterness. "Like what?" "Come off it, Eric!" Her voice rose a little, and had the familiar steel I had come to associate with her when determined she was right no matter who thought otherwise in it again as she glared at me. "You could still do anything you chose to on Earth, and would be welcomed with open arms at NASA, or just about any technical university in the world. Your life isn't over, and you'd better start realizing that right now." "Yes, I've heard it all before, Claire." "Eric, you and Stew shared a dream once. Of Humanity reaching for the stars and living among them. Stew always said that he really thought space exploration and colonization was mankind's Last Great Hope. You shared that dream, and I think still do even if you won't admit it to yourself." "Uh..." I started to come up with a rejoinder to that but was stopped by her raised hand and penetrating gaze. "No, you let me finish before I break down and can't." She bit off the words in little chunks but was clearly determined to go on with the subject even with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't you even think of letting Stew down on this! He won't be around to help that dream become real, but you will. He'd expect you to go on with it, you know. Don't let his only memory become something for a footnote in a damned history book, Eric. Don't. Please think about that, Stew deserves more from you, even if it's just his memory you're honoring as you go on. Don't let his dream or memory die this way. Not when you can carry it on for him like I know you are able to do. Find a way, then do it for him, for me, and most importantly, for yourself. Please." "I -- ." She was crying now, and damnit, so was I. It was almost too much to bear as I reached out to take her in a tight hug. "I don't know if I can any more, Claire. I just don't know." "You can, and you know it as well as I do." "Ok, Claire. Ok." "Not just ok," she responded, pulling gently out of my hug after giving me a quick squeeze in return. "You need more than that and you know it." "Maybe I do." "You do," she affirmed with a nod then gave me a shaky smile as I offered her the box of tissues beside my bed. "Thanks. I'm sorry I shouldn't have said all that or made such a scene here." "That's all right," I answered with a little smile. "You needed it as much as you seem to think I did. Don't apologize." "I really didn't mean to put that kind of stress on you." "Stress I can handle," I grinned and shrugged. "Crying now, I'm not so sure about." "You or me doing it?" "Both, I can't stand to see a woman cry, you know that. I always feel like I need to try and fix the problem so she'll stop. As for me doing it... Well, let's just say I haven't done much of that since I was twelve and my parents died." "Well what are you going to do about it?" "Whatever I can, I suppose." "That's the answer I wanted to hear out of you." We exchanged some awkward small talk that grew more comfortable as it went on until she rose from her chair and reached into her bag to retrieve something she handed to me. "I almost forgot, Jack and Dana sent this for you." It was an envelope. I clumsily tore open the thing then carefully withdrew the card inside with my numb, still almost useless fingers. Claire quietly waited for me to either get it or ask for help. I managed to work the card free and just stared at it for a few moments. "They picked that one out especially for you." Claire smiled a little sadly as I looked at the photo of an old Apollo moon lander on the front. "They thought you'd like it. I tried to talk them into getting a different one." "No, this is fine," I answered, reading the legend written on the face of the card. One Small Step... "This is a good choice." "Maybe you should open it?" "Probably be a good idea, wouldn't it?" I answered, again fumbling until the thing was open. There was a note scrawled on the inside in Jacks imprecise hand, but it was readable. Uncle Eric, Mom says that you were hurt real bad and will take a long time to get better. She says you'll have to take it in little steps so you can get back to being yourself. So take as many little ones as you can so you can visit us again, please. We miss you. Get well as soon as you can, ok? Love, Jack and Dana "Tell them I said thanks," I quietly told her, my vision blurring as I read it again. "That I'll do my best, and I love them too." "I will, Eric." She quietly left me a few minutes later with a soft peck on the cheek and the promise to come again. I just held on to that card and cried until there was nothing left in me to come out. I actually slept a night through without nightmares for the first time since the accident. * * * * You'd think that might have been enough to motivate me into some sort of positive action to start putting a life back together. It should have, and though it shames me, I was still hesitant to even look at possibilities in my diminished physical state. I was thirty-five years old in a time and place where people routinely lived past a hundred and were still active, but my zest for it was gone and I just couldn't find it in me to search for something that would give it back to me. Claire's visit, and the card from her kids had started me thinking about things I should be doing again, though. Like the note in the card had said, things got started with small steps. I guess that was one of those. I worked harder at getting myself into a semblance of acceptable condition after that, anyway. But small steps were all I had the heart, or energy, to manage. * * * * In National news today Congressman Daniel Shu addressed the House with a denouncement of those perceived to be catering to Space based interests, to the detriment of the country and world in general. Shu, a voluble proponent of the controversial Protection of Women legislation being considered in both houses asked his fellow representatives to take a more hard line stance with industries that are non-Earth based and not to allow those outsiders the chance to hold our Nation for what is essentially ransom just to get easy access to resources that should rightfully belong to Humanity as a whole and not be rationed out by those who had for all intents, abandoned the Mother World. * * * * "So, I hear you walked all the way down the hall today." Connie grinned at me as she entered my room, still in her uniform and looking very business-like. "Yeah, didn't fall down once this time," I answered with a sigh. I hated my lack of decent motor control and the idea that I'd never get much better with it than being able to walk without being in danger of stumbling to my knees, or worse, but refrained from mentioning that. "Hey, you fall down, you have to get up and start again," she told me, meaning far more than simply walking, I knew. "And keep getting up until you get it right." "I'm learning that," I replied a bit sourly. "Then maybe it's about time you started acting like you were. Learning that, I mean," she told me from beside my bed. "I keep hearing that from everyone around here." "Then start listening to us, damnit!" Her voice rose and I could see the beginnings of an overflow of her usually well contained Hispanic temper in her face, posture, and flashing eyes. "You're not going to accomplish anything at all here if you don't get off your ass and quit feeling sorry for yourself!" "Hey, wait a second here..." "No, you're going to listen to this. All the way through," she flatly told me, hands on her hips and head tilted to the left a bit in a stance that showed just how angry she was. "So just lie there and let me finish. You've gotten pretty good at that, laying around and moaning, I mean. It's not like the Eric Chartrand I used to know, and it isn't you now. Whether you choose to accept that or not, it's true." "No it..." "IT IS!" She almost screamed that, then visibly worked to calm herself down. "I came in here to give you another pep talk, but none of those have worked yet, not even the one you got from Claire McBain, and that was a good one. You should see yourself from someone else's viewpoint fella. I can tell you it's pathetic. Not your disabilities, those I won't deny are something that you'll have to work with to get around, but you could do that. No, the really sad thing is you sitting in here, not even trying to get to a point where you could go outside and see the sky, or green grass, or trees, or God forbid -- people! Or do something other than wallow in self pity and hatred for what you've become. Poor you!" I just sat there, dumbfounded, and beginning to get angry in my turn. But that olive skinned dynamo wasn't going to give me the chance to argue with her. "Bullshit!" She was actually in my face, glaring and breathing hard from her building rage. "You still have a lot more going for you than most people I know do. There's nothing wrong with your intelligence, that wasn't impaired at all, or your ability to make use of it. You have a wealth of experience that most people on this planet, myself included, would almost sell their souls to get a chance to have. You have more education than most university professors, and the know how to make use of it." "I've watched you sit here and start to stagnate, to start a downwards spiral that will end up with you throwing all that away for no better reason than you aren't up to the standard you once set for yourself." Her hands were on my shoulders and I felt them clench until her grip was almost painful. "God! Sometimes I just want to take you like this and shake you until some sense works its way into your brain again!" "What do you want me to do?" "I want you to stand up and start living again, damnit!" She almost sobbed, and released her grip on my shoulders. "I want to see the Eric Chartrand I once knew, the one who wouldn't give up regardless of the obstacles he ran up against. That's what I want. And you know something else? I don't just want that for you." "Huh?" "I've known you for years, Eric, since I was nineteen and you were what? Twenty? We've dated, we've made love we've shared things I never have shared with another man. I love you like the brother I never had, and its killing me to see you like this. If you can't do anything for yourself, then do it for me. For Claire and those kids who worship you and call you their uncle. For anyone. Just get your lazy butt moving in some positive direction." I just stared at her as if she'd grown a spade tipped tail and horns, I was so dumbfounded. "I've got to go on duty in a few minutes, so I'll leave you to think about what I've said here. I won't apologize for it, either." She started to walk towards the door, her back painfully straight. "Hey, Connie." "What?" She didn't even turn around to look at me. "You win, I'll do it," I answered in a shaky voice. "The patient is going to live, ok?" "Prove it to me." She turned to give me one of the most entreating looks I've ever seen one adult give another. "Prove it to yourself. Once you've made some real progress I might start believing you." "Ok, I deserved that one," I answered softly while wincing. "All I can tell you is that I'll do my best. Will that do?" "For now." "But you'll expect more, won't you?" "I always do, I demand it, and I get results," she responded with a tight little smile. "That's why you're so damned good at what you do," I admitted. "You do the same thing." "Not lately, it seems." I gave a shaky laugh as I got that out. "Oh, I'd say you've been achieving excellence as a royal pain in the ass." She grinned back. "I have something else I'd like for you to do for me, too." "What's that?" "I have a good friend in town right now. I'd like for you to meet her. She might be able to help you where I can't. Would you agree to see her?" "A shrink?" I asked carefully, I'd been barraged with psychiatrists, psychologists, and other mental health practitioners over the past few weeks, all with no visible results in most cases except anger and denial from me and head shakes from them. "Not exactly," Connie hedged, but was smiling as she did. "I think you'll like Naomi. She's something special, even for a woman these days. Will you?" "Will I what?" "Don't be dense, you were actually starting to act like the old Eric there for a while," she retorted. "Will you see her?" "Sure." "Good, I'll let her know, then." I knew I'd been had in some way from the triumphant glint in Connie's dark eyes, but it was too late to back out now. At least it was if I intended to keep her friendship, which was valuable to me in a way I'd never really let myself consider much until just then. "I'll even be polite to her when she visits," I offered. "Yes you will," she answered with a tone that added an unspoken 'If you know what's good for you.' to that short sentence. "Orders received and acknowledged, Ma'am." I sketched a brief salute, then gave her my best, winning smile. Funny, I hadn't felt like smiling that way in a long time. "Be a good boy, and I'll come see you tomorrow to check on your progress with this change of attitude." With that she turned, walked out the door, and quietly closed it behind her. Man, can that lady deliver an ass kicking. In this case, it was well deserved and badly needed. * * * * I actually worked hard at getting myself able to walk without help after that, and applied myself to the simple, but difficult exercises occupational therapy put me through. I would never have believed it could be so difficult to place one square peg in a matching hole. But I did it and kept doing it, along with managing to hold a knife and fork without dropping, or throwing them across the room in frustration. The doctors, therapists, and nurses who worked with me all voiced their pleasant surprise at my sudden turnaround. I knew they were aware of Connie's rather loud visit with me earlier in the week, but none of them mentioned it beyond telling me I was fortunate to have such good friends. Naturally, I agreed whole-heartedly. While thinking that I hadn't deserved even the one with the way I'd been acting. That and vowed to myself that I would do better. * * * * Naomi Foster was breathtaking. Take every male's most cherished idea of feminine beauty, wrap it in unconscious and unassuming grace, give her a voice that strokes one's ears like a soft, warm hand, and package all that in a pair of white jeans and a green silk top, and you may be able to imagine what my first impression of her was. Maybe. But I really doubt it. A wealth of wavy, red-gold hair wreathed her oval face like a fiery halo then exuberantly tumbled down her back to tease at a bottom that was as near perfect as I'd ever seen. Her face lit with the smile on her lovely cupid's bow mouth as I heard a silky voice in the lower soprano register with a slightly musical lilt ask. "Eric?" "Uh, yes, that's me," I answered in a near daze. God, I'd never seen a woman so beautiful before in my life except in vids. "I'm Naomi Foster." That brilliant smile again, and I would have done absolutely anything short of commit murder to see it again. Well, maybe that last too, if someone had hurt her. "Connie Martinez asked me to come see you? Is now a good time?" "Well..." Who was I trying to kid here? "Sure, I don't have anything scheduled for several hours yet, and they're kind of flexible when I have visitors. Come on in." "Thanks." Moving with the lithe grace of a professional dancer or athlete, she almost glided across the room until she seated herself in a chair at an angle to the recliner I was using during the day. "Connie has been really worried about you lately, you know." "Yeah, I know that. She let me know just how worried a few days ago." That last was delivered with a wry little grin. Lovely as this young woman was, she had a way of making you feel at ease in her presence, and I was actually relaxing as I basked in her beauty. "Connie can be rather -- umm -- forceful when that Hispanic heritage of hers comes out," she agreed with a small chuckle. "I've been on the receiving end of that once or twice myself." "Truthfully, I don't know of anyone who knows and loves her who hasn't," I put in ruefully then chuckled myself. "But only when they've deserved it." "It does get one's attention, doesn't it?" Naomi grinned. "Oh that it does," I agreed. "It sure got mine. Though I can't imagine what you could have done to deserve getting laid into that way." "Trust me, I deserved it and needed it," Naomi assured me in that musical voice then went on. "Connie and I have been friends for a long time, since before she left for university, and have kept in pretty close touch since we went our separate ways." "That's interesting. I don't recall ever seeing you, but then I wasn't close to a constant companion with her through school either." But I was sure I'd have remembered someone that striking, even if I'd just seen her in passing. "Oh you probably did." She smiled and shook her head. "I'm what you might call a late bloomer. I didn't look anything like I do now back then. You probably wouldn't have noticed me at all, so don't worry about it." "That's difficult to believe." I shook my head at that. "That's nice of you to say," she answered with another smile. "But it's true, and thank you. Connie was right, you are a dear." I think I actually blushed at that one. "Well, I haven't been lately, up until recently, anyway. You've heard about what happened to me haven't you?" "Yes." This time her nod was accompanied by a serious expression for a moment that faded back into her easy smile. "You're something of a hero over at NASA, by the way, and from what I've heard respected by a lot of Spacers for what you and your co-pilot did. I have it on pretty good authority that few pilots could have maintained any control of their ship at all under like circumstances, and your sacrifices saved billions of lives. That isn't something to take lightly, Eric. You did good." "How would you know all that? Do you work for NASA or something?" "Something," she agreed with a smile. "I'm home on leave for a while. I just got finished with a run out to Mars with supplies for the colony there. We even heard about your adventure out there." "Space." I felt a twinge that was an odd combination of jealousy and fear at mention of that. "Oh, I'm sorry." Reading my expression correctly, Naomi reached out and lightly touched my arm in apology. "I hadn't meant to bring up painful memories. Really." "That's all right," I answered slowly, and began to realize that it actually was for a change. "I have to face up to them, and my new reality. It isn't easy, I feel like my soul has been wrenched out of shape, and I both miss and fear the idea of being out there. Just something I'll have to deal with and I will." "Good for you. But I'm still so sorry. I hadn't meant to cause you any more pain." She actually did look contrite while she said that. I believed her. "Like I said. It's a problem, but I can handle it." "All right." Nodding she changed the subject. "Do you feel up to taking a walk outside? It's a lovely day." "Sure." Just let me get my shoes on and check with the desk. "I've already spoken to the charge nurse about the possibility." With a grin and wink that would have had the most devotedly homosexual man re-evaluating his sexual orientation, she added, "You see, I had this part planned out in advance." I was wearing street clothes instead of pajamas, another way for me to get used to living normally, I guess. That and relearning how to get my still clumsy hands and fingers to handle the clothing on my own. Naomi watched without a word as I fumbled the Velcro fastenings on my shoes closed then arose gracefully as I stood and offered me her arm. "Would you mind?" "Not at all," I responded, taking her offered arm and secretly grateful for the added balance she had offered me so casually. Her skin was warm and satiny, a real pleasure to even my stunted sense of touch, and I found myself enjoying the contact in a far different way than I would have first anticipated. In retrospect, I know that I'd had so few human tactile contacts that weren't professional in nature in that place, the ones that were simply touching for the sake of it were special in a sense that I can't really describe. If you've been there, you understand, if you haven't, you may never be able to, and odd as it sounds, I almost pity you. As we walked slowly past the desk, I saw several of the staff give surreptitious thumbs up from the corner of my eye and almost grinned back at them. The ride on the lift was the first thing I'd been on that moved other than gurneys and wheel chairs in months. It was an interesting experience to say the least, especially when the thing changed direction several times. I almost lost my balance during that, but the quiet dignity of my companion instilled something of the same in me. I worked hard at not appearing too clumsy. Naomi noticed, and gave me a small approving smile while giving my arm an encouraging squeeze with her free hand. Wow, that woman could say volumes without speaking one word. I think I was in love from that moment on, but wouldn't embarrass her by showing it. Not too much anyway. Once we were outside, I had to put on a pair of sunglasses against the glare of sunlight, my eyes weren't at all used to that, but I noticed that she had been right. It was a gorgeous day, sunny, with a light breeze, and somewhere in the mid-seventies. Then, again, with my companion that day, it could have been storming, or blisteringly hot and humid and the day would have still been beautiful. Plus, it was my first time outside the hospital buildings since I'd awakened there. "You were right," I told her. "I hadn't realized how much I missed this. Thanks." "Fresh air and sunshine are always good for the soul, and the body," Naomi agreed softly. "Far too many people take such simple treasures for granted, or ignore them altogether. I think that's sad, don't you?" "Yes I do." Anyone who spent much time at all in space treasured time in the open air when they could get it, and rarely took it for granted. "Would you mind if we sat for a while?" she asked, knowing that I was beginning to feel the unaccustomed exercise, but considerately bringing up the subject before I could ask and indicating a park bench nearby. "Not at all." I gratefully eased myself onto the bench and was surprised when she sat close beside me with a sigh of her own. "I've been living in reduced Gee for the past few months," she told me with a grin. "Full gravity takes a little getting used to after that." "I know." Returning her grin and actually feeling good for the first time in recent memory, I simply sat back and enjoyed the breeze as it gently brushed my face with the scents of grass, hyacinth, and a mild salt tang from the distant Atlantic. "I sometimes almost forget just how wonderful something like this is, you know. But it never entirely leaves me. "I do know what you meant there." Her expressive green eyes closed as she savored the feel and scents along with me, then began talking. "At times like this I really miss Ireland. It can be such a lovely country in the spring and summer." "How long since you've been back there?" I questioned, the musical lilt in her voice explained, and I was genuinely curious. "Years," was her soft answer. "I first came to this country as an exchange student, then returned on a student visa for my university education. I haven't taken citizenship here, but it's almost become my home since then. I had planned on going back there this trip, but other things came up." "I'm sorry." I felt a pang of remorse, sure that I was at least one of those other things. "Ah well, I have no family left there to speak of now," she responded with a quiet sadness I knew masked a profound grief. "Ireland is still plagued with internal violence. My parents were -- killed in a bombing there, while attending church services. I was an only child and they had no living relations either, so I've been pretty much left on my own in that respect for a long time." "I really am sorry." I found my arm had remembered how to drape itself across a beautiful woman's shoulders and she leaned into me in response. "I shouldn't have brought it up." "That's all right." Her smile returned, even if it was a bit wistful. "It was a long time ago, and I've had time to heal." We talked, just talked for a long time on that bench. Oddly, what she did for a living never did come up. I didn't ask and she didn't volunteer the information. Not that it mattered to me. We simply shared pleasant conversation. About our lives, our educations, our mutual acquaintance with Connie, and just general things people seem to find interesting when getting to know one another. Work, hers, and my prospects in that weren't one of the subjects we covered. "Uh oh." she looked at her watch and shook her head. "If I don't get you back inside pretty soon the hospital staff is going to send out a search party and accuse me of kidnapping you." "I can think of worse things that could happen to me," I answered, slowly standing up and working the kinks out of my back and legs. "I wouldn't fight a kidnapper like you at all." "Oh?" With one of her infectious grins, Naomi offered me her arm once again. "I'll remind you about saying that when I do kidnap you. And I promise you'll enjoy the experience when I do." "I believe you." A small thrill ran up and down my spine. She'd said when not if. "But maybe we should just arrange it in advance to avoid problems with the police?" "Oh, you're no fun," she teased as we walked towards the doors leading to what had been, until that morning, my whole world. "What? You don't like a bit of excitement in your life?" "Trust me, I've more than enough of that for a while," I told her then laughed, a genuinely happy sound that wiped the growing expression of unhappiness on her face at reminding me of painful things away. "Besides, you're enough excitement for any sane man to handle." "You say the nicest things, Eric," she laughed in response and squeezed my arm again. "I can see why Connie likes you." It was amazing. I actually felt good for a change. I'm sure there was a little bounce in my step as we returned to my room. More importantly, I was truly willing to try and live life again, on whatever terms it handed me. Meeting Naomi Foster was a major turning point in my life, though at the time I didn't realize just how important that was. * * * * Riots broke out in Beijing earlier today when the government of China declared sexual selection of children illegal. While the world-wide male to female ratio is currently holding at 7:3, the disparity in numbers of male children against female in China is currently 5:1 and shows no sign of improvement without drastic action such as that taken by the Chinese Republic. "Selection for sons instead of daughters, especially in China and third world countries has become a problem that can't be ignored any longer." A Chinese government spokesman was quoted as saying. "Having sons assures a continuance of family names and lines. Having daughters will assure the continuance of the Chinese people." It is noted here that some experts have previously expressed concern that artificial selection for male babies could eventually breed Humanity to near extinction if current trends continue... * * * * December 27th, 2102 was on a Wednesday, and was another landmark in my life. I was finally released from the hospital that day. For good. No more physical therapy, no more tests, no more of the confinement I had started to feel in the place. It was freedom of a kind that I hadn't known for some time, and admittedly, the idea was both exhilarating and frightening all at once. Naomi, a frequent visitor following our first meeting, and Connie were both there for me and with me on that overcast day that threatened rain from Hurricane Helga hovering just off the east coast trying to decide decide whether to move west towards the mainland or go north. Not that I was bothered about that. I was getting back to some kind of independence that day, and it felt good. Really good. "Ready?" Connie asked as I got out of the wheelchair hospitals still insisted that even outgoing patients use and smelled the air as I picked up my cane and moved away from the doors of what had been my home for months. "You know it," I replied then looked at her with concern. "Me staying with you for a while won't cause problems will it?" "We've been through this conversation before and I won't endure it again, Eric," the Hispanic beauty told me. "I have more than enough room, even with Naomi staying there, and until you can find a place of your own it would sure beat living in a hotel. No more arguments out of you about it, ok?" "Besides," Naomi favored me with one of her patented 'melt the guy at forty paces' smiles, "I've gotten kind of attached to you. Having you close by is a real plus in my estimation." "All right, all right." Laughing as I raised my unoccupied hand in surrender, I nodded my thanks to the orderly who had carried my scant belongings down with our little group. "You win, I won't fight it, ladies." "You're one lucky guy, Lieutenant," the young man told me with more than a hint of envy in his expression. "I'm retired now, Larry," I answered with a shrug. "You can call me Eric like everyone else is going to. I may as well start getting used to that right now." "Ok, Eric," he grinned. "But you're still one of the luckiest bastards I've ever known. Hope you realize that." "Oh I do, I do." In many more ways than being accompanied by two beautiful women. But that was something I rarely talked about in public. The nightmares still came off and on in the night, and I knew they'd never really leave me for good. But I wasn't going to let that spoil the day. "Thanks for everything you've done for me, Larry." "Hey, just part of the service, man." "Take care of yourself, ok?" "I'm supposed to be the one saying that to you, Eric," he replied, then nodded. "But I will. You do the same, ok?" "Will do." I knew that would be the case. I had two angels for guardians and they would brook nothing less than that out of me. "Bye." * * * * There was a real surprise waiting for me at Connie's place. Four of them to be precise. Claire McBain was waiting there, along with Jack and Dana. But the biggest surprise was seeing my grandmother seated in a comfortable chair and beaming at me. I almost broke down and cried right there, but managed to just be very pleasantly surprised. "Gran! How did they talk you into coming all this way?" "Your friends are very persuasive, kiddo," she answered with a wicked grin. "Besides, I haven't seen you in ages. It's about time. Come give me a hug." I did. More than one. Then did the same with Claire and the kids. "Welcome back to the living," Claire softly greeted me as I hugged her. "Thanks, and you had a hand in that, too," I replied. "A small one, maybe, but I plead guilty to the charge." Laughing she disengaged herself and gave me a good looking over. "You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you." "Thanks, I think." Lifting the intricately carved walnut cane I had been presented by the hospital staff, I asked, "What do you think of my newest fashion statement here?" "Very distinguished." "Did you like the card we sent you Uncle Eric?" Dana pushed into the conversation as children will, and I smiled down at her while nodding my head. "Yes I did. I still have it, and plan on keeping it with me for as long as it holds up. Thanks." "Cool!" With that she hugged me tightly, around the waist then turned to her brother. "Aren't you going to hug Uncle Eric hello, too?" "Nah," I told her while giving the boy a wink. "Jack wants to shake hands instead, don't you?" "Not today." His response was serious, and the hug from him the same way. "I'm glad you're out of the hospital Uncle Eric. Really glad." "Thanks, Jack, so am I. It's good to be out. And to see all of you. I really didn't expect this." Truthfully I was starting to choke up again, and you know what? It didn't feel at all embarrassing. These people were family to me. Grandmother Ilene by blood, the others by association and deeply held friendships. There are times when a man can shed tears and not seem either stupid or maudlin. That day was one of those. A memory I will always cherish and take out for fond examination as long as I live. It being two days after Christmas Connie's place was still decorated for the season, with a real tree set in a prominent corner of the living room. I noted a collection of brightly wrapped packages under it in the whirl of activity and found that they were for me. "But I don't have anything for all of you," I protested. "Don't be more of an idiot than you already are, boy," my Grandmother admonished sternly. Then softened that with a smile I had grown up knowing meant she had been almost teasing. But a bit serious at the same time. "You're alive and with us. That's a gift all by itself, and more than enough for every one of us here." I learned a long time ago not to argue with Grandma Ilene. Doing so tended to be a no win situation at the best of times, so I only nodded in quiet agreement and seated myself in the comfortable easy chair Naomi guided me to. I received a thick wool sweater from Connie, which got some good natured chuckles given the present climate in Orlando, but I loved it. Besides, it could get chilly even in Florida at that time of year. There was a small portable vid player and some mini-disks from Jack, it must have set him back at least a month's allowance to get that, and I was properly appreciative. Dana's gift was a simple gold chain to wear around my neck. As I moved to put it on, Claire stopped me. "You should open mine before you do that. They go together." "Oh god," I br