The Girl in the Tank: Galactic Consortium, Season 1

Episode Seven: The End of Quarantine ch. 1

Lannister watched as Cheyenne disappeared into her medibay. He passed her door and continued down the otherwise empty hall. He paused, considering that fact. He had grown almost accustom to how crowded the ship was. His entire crew of just over three hundred had been confined to two floors, more or less. They had four common rooms and the occasional activity in the forward bay. It was no wonder they were cracking under the stress.

Last night there had been a fight on the lower floor on the other side of the ship, the Consortium side. Lannister hadn't heard the details and he didn't ask. It wasn't his business. But it made him feel better, to know that at least some of the discipline problems were not unique to him or his men. They were all feeling it, the pressure of being cooped up so long. No one was immune. This morning Rohana and Bankim had a shouting match over allowing a few American crew members tours of command deck.

"The deck is my responsibility, not yours," Rohana had barked at him.

But this hall was quiet and nearly empty. The medibays stood silent. All except two. Of the dozen or so American crew that had received serious injuries in the attack, only two were still primarily dependent on the Other's medical technology to survive. And soon that number would drop to only Cheyenne.

He paused in front of Martens door. "May I enter?" he inquired.

"You may," Martens replied.

Lannister wasn't sure what he expected to find when the door opened, but it was certainly not the fifty year old cook doing jumping jacks.

Martens stopped and snapped a salute. "Sir," he sang out.

"At ease," Lannister said. And then, "you're up?"

"Sir, yes, sir. Haven't felt better in years."

"But... But?" Lannister fumbled out. Martens looked fit and happy. Lannister's brow furled.

The day of the attack the cook had been thrown across the forward mess and slammed into a wall. That had triggered a chain of events that had nothing to do with the attack or with the radiation. Marten's family had a long, partly genetic, history of heart disease. He had been heavy set, with high blood pressure and high cholesterol. The shock had dislodged something in his arteries and he'd suffered his first major heart attack. Crew had performed CPR, trying desperately to save his life as the lights flickered on and off and radiation rained down upon them.

By the time the Consortium healers arrived, his heart was shot and most of his internal organs were failing as well. He'd survived, but was dependent on one of their medical tanks until they could grow him a new heart.

They'd done it and today was the day of his final surgery to replace the damaged organ with a new one. Lannister had expected to find him out, weak, recovering from the operation.

"Man, I feel like I am twenty again," Martens said, bouncing excitedly. "You wouldn't believe it sir. I've dropped near to forty pounds through this ordeal, and I'm sure that's part of it. But man, to have a new heart. I feel like I can take on the world."

Lannister put a hand on his shoulder. "God, it's incredible, their technology, isn't it?"

"You said a mouthful, sir."

"I'm glad to see you up. I take it the procedure went well then."

"By the case study, was their words, I believe." Martens pulled up his shirt and showed Lannister a thin strip of black binding the surgical wound together. "By the book, we might say, but I don't think they have books, per se."

"No, I don't think they do," Lannister agreed. "Wow, so what now?"

"They want to me stay here one more night, so they can monitor me. Then I can rejoin the crew, though to be honest, sir? I might want to fake something." He winked. "Don't relish being bunked up with three mates after having this place to myself."

Lannister chuckled. "I can understand. Kavinda suggested the other day that he might be able to temporarily convert some of these unused bays to rooms, just to give people a bit more elbow room. Still it won't be for long now, eh?"

"Won't it?" Martens asked, a gleam in his eye.

"No, it won't," Lannister assured him. "And I need to talk to you about that. Can we?" he gestured at a seat and Martens took it. Lannister sat opposite him.

"Kavinda says we can break quarantine soon, maybe a week, week and half."

"That's great news, sir."

"Yes, and the State Department is working on getting us home. I'll have details for everyone soon, and I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself until then, okay?"

Martens nodded. "Of course, sir."

"I've been working on my final status report. There's a few people who still need medical care our technology can't provide. And a few that are near or at the end of their enlistment. Your case, well frankly, I'm stumped."

"How so, sir?"

"Your final disposition. I don't know exactly what to say, and I guess, truth be told, maybe you can decide for me. You have over thirty years of service in. If I recall correctly, you've been toying with the idea of retiring?"

Martens thought, "Yes, sir, I have."

"Well, here is the issue. Your heart attack at the beginning of this, it would qualify you for a medical discharge, with honors. You'd keep all your benefits. But your current condition..."

"I am fit for duty," Martens replied. "Yeah, I see your point."

"Are you wanting to return to duty?" Lannister asked.

Martens looked away, thinking. He gripped the edge of his seat and his mouth moved as if he were talking himself through something. "I'm not rightly sure, Captain. I mean, I feel good. If I keep feeling this good, I could work a long time yet. And I love my job, really I do. I've loved serving my country, traveling the world. Navy's been my life, you know. Still..." After a long pause he went on. "Thing is, what happened to us, those events, this mission, being up here... It's never gonna be the same again, is it? And I don't just mean the consortium being here now. Any really big event changes things, changes you. Can I just go back to another ship and to being a cook? I don't rightly know sir."

"Well, you don't have to answer right away," Lannister said. "Think about it for a few days and let me know."

Lannister left Martens feeling introspective. He'd come to comfort a sick sailor and to start that sailor thinking about his future, in the navy or out of it. Instead Martens had said something incredibly profound, something that Lannister would have think long and hard about. Could you just go back?

Lannister himself was on the same short list that he'd discussed with Martens. They had regrown his eye for him. They wanted to place it in a couple of days. Then they would have to regrow the surrounding tissue, the eyelid and brow. It would take another several weeks. His men would be going home without him.

A few weeks of medical leave was nothing against a life time career, but there were other doubts plaguing Lannister about his future in the Navy. Would they christen another Cambridge? Would they give him another command? He'd heard the men whispering about bio-idents and how command would never trust someone the consortium could so easily track. It gave Lannister pause. Was he facing a desk job until retirement? Did he want that?

He sighed and continued back to his office. There was still time to think this through.