c. 2026 Rod Ice
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(5-26)
Judson Baines had been stymied by the injury to his partner, and her sudden lapse into what appeared to be a coma. So, although accepting assistance from someone who was a stranger from an unfamiliar territory rattled his confidence, it seemed wise. He decided to allow an examination, and carefully observe as some sort of treatment was prescribed. In truth, he had no idea what to expect. Had they remained on the Morningstar III, expert medical advice would have been readily available. He trusted all of the Space Force physicians, implicitly. But in the abandoned trailer community of Evergreen Estates, that sort of resource could not be tapped. He was very much alone, and handicapped by a lack of personal knowledge.
Trust was something difficult to summon in a situation predicated on unknown factors. But he chose to gamble, because there was no other option readily available.
When Serge Tarka returned from the wreckage of his lander, he carried a simple diagnostic pack, about the size of a briefcase. Inside, there was an assortment of drugs, electronic gauges, and bandages, but nothing to indicate having a special capability for providing relief. Yet when the mission commander had finished performing a quick overview of his unconscious subject, he reacted with certainty about what should be done.
“We’ve only begun to understand brain issues in my home republic. Our theory is that head trauma may produce obvious injury, but can also scramble the natural connections in cerebral tissues. There are minute impulses that fire in order, so that we are able to think and act properly. But if those organic sparks are out of sync, then everything shuts down. What I carry in my kit is a derivative of the wave generator designed at our primary hospital complex. It’s on the order of a transistor radio, but sends signals instead of receiving them. I can use a headband crown to transfer those patterns to your friend, through her skull. With enough time, there will be an adjustment in her gray matter, to mimic the standard form. That realignment should stabilize her core consciousness, and allow her to wake.”
The university professor was stunned into silence. What his guest had just described was the principle upon which Hidecki’s infamous Wellness Chair operated. But he remembered that the device had first been invented as an aid for those suffering from afflictions that were untreatable by conventional methods.
He watched attentively, as the metallic headband was put into place.
“I must say that I am impressed, Serge. We didn’t think anything that sophisticated could be present in the post-apocalyptic environment on Planet Earth...”
Tarka connected the junction cable to his tiny transmitter. Then, powered up the instrument, and dialed it in, to produce a maximum output.
“Our people are still in the dark, really. We’ve been working through what remained of the library at Toqua Platte. Anything inland of the coastline was destroyed, a century ago. It has taken generations to rebuild our society. But we’ve fared better than the other enclaves, I believe. That is a blessing and curse, because it puts us at odds with the backward people in other regions on this continent.”
Baines scratched his shaggy chin. He was fascinated by the simplicity of his new contact’s device.
“So, you’re basically teaching the brain to relearn its natural rhythm? That is brilliant, I have to say. I would never have guessed on a treatment that was completely non-invasive...”
The Calimex engineer smiled at this expression of approval.
“The therapy seemed to work in clinical trials, but our doctors don’t quite understand it just yet. I’m glad that the wave generator was included in my emergency kit, though. For this specific use, there’s no better way to put things right.”
As the standard cerebral pattern was communicated, electronically, Kelly Strafe uttered gasps and groans that indicated her awareness was returning. She began to toss on the bed-board, and posture her hands with catlike gestures. Finally, her breathing grew more intense.
“JUDDY! WHERE IS JUDDY? WHERE THE FRIG IS JUDDY?”
The university scholar sputtered with amazement. He had not expected such a rapid response to the unconventional treatment.
“Kells, I’m right here! I’ve been here all along!”
Dramatically, the former lieutenant sat up, and threw aside her synthetic blanket.
“DAMMIT JUDDY, I’VE BEEN CHASING DREAM-GHOSTS AROUND THE UNIVERSE! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?”
Tarka switched off his medical device. The healing routine appeared to have been a success.
“Miss, you’ve been in a comatose state for several days, apparently. I believe that condition has been rectified. How do you feel?”
The young woman shook her head, as if to dispel mental cobwebs that lingered after the period of negation.
“I’m, umm, exhausted, to be honest. Maybe a bit dizzy still, but much better than when I fell down the hillside. How long have I been off the grid? And who the blazes are you?”
Baines caressed her forehead with gentle concern.
“More than a week, Kells. This fellow is a guest you might say, he came here from the Pacific coast. Someone on an adventure, like us, but not so lucky in the end...”
The Frigoris-Farragut pilot reddened a bit, from regret. But agreed with the description that had been offered.
“Not so lucky, indeed. I was on my way to the Luna Citadel base, with two crewmates. We had a mishap and went off course. I fell on the same hillside you referenced, but a bit further up the slope. My men did not survive, unfortunately.”
The erstwhile Space Force officer was horrified by this report of fatalities. She rubbed her eyes, while attempting to stand.
“Two men dead? From the crash, you mean? What about you?”
Tarka closed his eyes, while reflecting on the tragedy.
“I was spared somehow. It still makes no literal sense. Our lander and capsule impacted the ground at a speed too great for the hull’s integrity. I was surrounded by cargo containers, that must have helped to insulate my seat and harness from damage. It doesn’t clear my soul of guilt though, those explorers deserved better. I should’ve done more to protect them, and control our rate of descent. It was my responsibility!”
Baines frowned and pointed his right, index finger at the coastal refugee.
“Look, I can’t give you a rationale for what happened, but I’m glad to have had you here when my friend was in need. She owes you a debt of gratitude now, and believe me, I do as well!”
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