Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict is under copyright by Tribune Entertainment Company.
The show is produced by Roddenberry/Kirshner Productions. They are used without permission.
No infringement is intended.


Authors Rating: G

Summary: Someone is snatching bodies from the coroner's office...

TITLE: The Crucible
By: Ruth Colbourne
ruthc@geocities.com

        Another One AM. Joshua Kane continued his easy gait down one of the long sets of stairs in Church Home Hospital. He would reach the basement soon enough. With a little luck, he would even get to the Coroner's office before too much funny business took place. Whoever had set up that ill-fated plan, would have to be covering their tracks double-time. And the first place to begin was with Skrill-boy. A stiff with that particular ornamentation could not be readily explained.
        It was just as well, he supposed, that he found sleep so elusive. He was accustomed to working at night thanks to years of service in Force Recon. Most of their operations were conducted under cover of darkness. After awhile, he had just gotten used to being up all night. Since Implantation his sleep patterns had become even more erratic. Sometimes he seemed to fall into a vast, deep hole of dreamless slumber, awakening within only a few minutes feeling refreshed. Sometimes, though, there were nightmares. He used to think that reliving memories in dreamscape was terrible. Now, tormenting images from the past seemed less threatening than the alien visions he occasionally had. Tonight was no exception. Vessels of translucent pink danced amid an ocean of black. They were not human ships, and that troubled him. How could he dream of things he had never imagined, let alone seen?
        When was the last time he'd slept the whole night through? August 23, 2000. His CVI responded his rhetorical question with painful clarity. The last night you were with Mariko. Her face materialized before his mind's eye. He remembered everything, the sweet smell of her skin, the soft caress of her hands...
        Stop. Just breathe. He inhaled deeply allowing his breath to sweep the memory away.   Such reminiscences were unproductive.
        The hospital was very modern, with bright colors, soft carpet and computerized assistance in every hallway. He could have found his destination without any directions. Morgues were all alike. He left the stairwell and strode down the dimly lit cinder block hallway toward the double doors at its end. Like all the rest, this one was in the lowest floor, lit like a Satanic church, and located at the end of a long corridor which stretched forward like the river Styx. There was no boatman to pay. Instead of
crossing the river, you just went with its flow, and ended up in hell. The swinging doors were once painted a brilliant white. Their color had long since been yellowed by time, and scarred by innumerable battles with gurneys and corpses. They were still standing; a mute testament to their victory. He half expected to see, "All hope abandon, ye who enter here..." carved into the lintel above.1
        He did not hesitate, but pushed open one of the much abused doors and entered. Here Hades was very different than the vision of Dante. There were no lakes of fire, only frozen corpses. No smoke or brimstone; it smelled of Formaldehyde, disinfectant, and decaying flesh. Instead of agonized shrieks, there was only silence. Or perhaps he could simply not hear them cry. Both places were prisons for tormented spirits. Who was he to say that the dead did not scream?
        Easy now, Joshua, he thought. They had always said the Corps would make you crazy. Instead, it seems to have brought the poet out in you.
        The walls inside the office were the same yellowed-white as the doors which lay before. Green tile, much worn and faded gave the room a jaundiced appearance. Behind the lone desk was a young man of about 26 in a stained lab coat. His watery blue eyes widened at Kane's entrance, and he dropped the sugar-coated donut he was eating.
        "It's way after hours." He offered. His oily brown hair was combed neatly back, but his tie was as stained as the coat he wore. Remnants of pizza clung to it. He smelled of stale ginger ale and garlic.
        Kane produced his ID. "Companion Agent Kane."
        The boy reviewed his credentials, then nodded. "It's still real late for this sort of visit."
        "And?" He moved forward, feeling his rebellious left arm twitch. He despised people who were unwilling to earn the money they were being paid. Pocketing his ID, he quickly clasped his hands, right over left. His eyes flicked across the boy's name tag, Potticker, W., it read.

With a longing look at his half-eaten pastry, Pothead appeared to realized that there was no avoiding work. "What can I do for you?"

You could start by taking a bath, Kane thought, and follow it up with a breath mint. "I want to examine the bodies of the shooters from BMA."

"Autopsies haven't been performed yet." Pothead responded smugly. Kane gripped his left wrist more tightly. His patience was apparently worn thin. He could feel the tension of his other arm.

"Did I ask you about autopsies?" Kane purred. "I just want to see the bodies."

"Alright already." Potticker heaved an exaggerated sigh and motioned for him to follow.  "I'll be glad when these stiffs are gone. Everyone wants them."

Kane walked after him, noticing a copy of the latest Playboy sticking out from under a file. He paused long enough to bestow an appreciative glance at the center-fold. Nice.   He'd always liked redheads.

"Who else is asking about them," he growled.

"FBI, mainly. In fact, they're scheduled to pick up the bodies at 0200. The Department of Justice wants to handle the postmortems. You got here just in time."

Kane nodded. He didn't have to be a cop to figure that was weird. The government was playing a part in the cover-up. The question was, were the feds involved from the beginning, or were they being used. Too soon to tell.

Potticker turned on the harsh white flourescent lights without warning, causing Kane's eyes to squint in protest. Stainless steel tables, carts, and meat-lockers melded into gray walls and floors. Only the shine made them stand out. "These 3." He opened the appropriate metal chambers. "You want me to wait?"

"Nope." Kane turned his back on the young man. I wouldn't want to keep you from your sweets - either of them.

He examined each in turn, hands, wounds, etc. Everything was in order except for the last. The face which lay on the slab before him did not match the one he had seen beneath Darth Vader's mask. He recalled those features with all the accuracy his CVI granted. This man was the same height, build and colorations, but was clearly not the one. No skrill or marks thereof were evident on the corpse's arm. Kane turned over one of the dead man's hands. It was rough, hardened through years of work. He sniffed and discovered the smell of cement or mortar. On the third finger, left hand,
there was the unmistakable indentation of a wedding band. Where the jewelry was now, was anybody's guess. He shook his head. Some wife was home waiting for the husband who would never arrive. Unbidden his left hand reached up and gently smoothed down the man's hair. Kane's eyes narrowed again. He would never get used to that. Sometimes his left arm seemed to have its own mind. It was unnerving.

A shake of his head cleared out those troubled thoughts. Kane washed his hands, then stalked out to the desk. Pothead had finished his snack and was wiping little white sprinkles off his smooth face.

He inquired of the boy, "Have the preliminary pictures been taken?"

"Yeah." There was a dubious tone to the reply.

"I want a copy of number three." Two steps brought him up beside the boy's chair.

"It's not standard policy to give those out until after the autopsy." He managed to look down his nose at the same time as he faced up at Kane.

The left hand slid out like greased lightning, grasping Pothead by the neck and pulling him to his feet.

"Perhaps I didn't quite make myself clear..." Kane whispered menacingly.

Moments later he exited, picture in hand. The lab assistant seemed to have suddenly acquired more sense.


**************

Lili Marquette would have rather been in bed. The past several hours had been rough
Between Doors' barking orders, and Allen's incessant protests, her head was splitting open. Dealing with the two of them was like running a daycare center. At least Allen had agreed to work for Thu'ul. They would have a pipeline of intell on what, if anything, the newest Taelon was doing. Secretly she thought that the young Jamaican was pleased to have a challenging assignment. Not that he'd ever admit it.

She nimbly guided her shuttle toward Church Home Hospital. The joint was jumping tonight. Little figures in white cris-crossed the roof at a frenzied pace. At least one 'copter occupied the Hela-pad, and it looked like another was circling about waiting its turn. She elected to just drop down in the near-empty parking lot, then pulled two aspirin out of her pocket and swallowed them. For all this she'd given up a nice cushy job as a fighter pilot.

Oh well, she wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway. Something was going on here, something not right. Sandoval had been insistent that he personally oversee the forensics. That aroused her suspicions. To make matters worse, she'd gained the distinct impression that Thu'ul was withholding information during their interview.

Well damn them both! These cat and mouse games of deceit made her sick! A straightforward fight was preferable. Unfortunately, since the Companions came to earth, it all seemed more complicated. There were no more blacks and whites, everyone, everything seemed to be a shade of gray. Perhaps it had always been that way, and she'd just never noticed.

And maybe you're just feeling sorry for yourself.

For the nine millionth time, she wished Boone were still alive. Between Doors and Da'an, Zo'or and Sandoval, there were too plots. Boone had been an honest friend, and a valuable ally.

But he's gone, Lili. She swallowed her pain, finding it a more bitter pill than the aspirin.

She would have to try and unravel this mystery on her own, and an examination of the bodies was as good a place to start as any.

As Marquette stepped out of her craft her surprised gaze settled on the unmistakable silhouette of Joshua Kane. What the devil was he doing here? Was he as curious as she, or was he in on this sordid little plot? Those who knew weren't telling. In fact, Sandoval had flatly refused to let her see Kane's file. He would only say that his performance had been better than satisfactory. Lili snorted at the memory. Such secrecy had prompted Doors to order Auger on the case. Hopefully the 'world's
greatest hacker' would uncover something useful. Until then, Kane was an unknown quantity. She saw his steps falter and realized that he had spotted her. This could get interesting, she thought as he changed direction and approached.

Kane touched the brim of his hat with a finger by way of greeting, "Ma'am."

Lili tilted her head at the hoarse sound of his voice. It was almost as thought he had to drag the words from his throat. That was what Allen had reported as well. "Keeping late hours I see," she observed. "I assume that you've been to the morgue?"

A nod. She expected to play twenty questions with him, but instead he wordlessly handed her a photograph. In the dim light of street lamps, she recognized it as one of the assassins. With a shrug she handed it back to him.

The cowboy drew in a long breath and seemed to gather his energy. "I looked under Darth Vader's mask. This is not the man I saw." She had the feeling that he was watching her, measuring her reaction.  She looked again at the picture, eyes squinting in concentration. Was he telling the
truth? His body language told nothing. His hands were loose, dangling at the ends of his arms. His stance was relaxed, but she sensed tension. If what he said were true, then someone had switched the bodies. But who, how, and, more importantly, why?

"Did you get DNA samples?" Even before he shook his head, she realized that DNA would be useless. Anyone smart enough to change bodies would have already altered the computer records. Damn. Her eyes widened. They would dump the real body too, and probably burn it, covering their tracks. She stared at Kane, seeking a solution.

"Missing Person Report?" He interjected softly.

"Not been enough time. It takes 48 hours for an all points."

But, she thought, but, it was possible that a preliminary report had been taken. It was routine for all such calls to be recorded. Those calls could be accessed through the computer at headquarters.

"Come with me." She ordered, and headed back to the shuttle. Kane fell into step with her. She noticed the rhythmic cadence of their feet. This guy was definitely former military. No doubt about it. Lili made a mental note to inform Auger.

She watched the Texan as closely as possible during their short ride to Washington. Kane's knuckles were scarred and calloused. He was no stranger to fighting. Judging from the mark on his cheek, he'd been on the bad end of a knife. Could be mobile infantry, could be Marine Corps. To her surprise, he leaned forward as they lifted off, a half-smile playing across his lean features. The faster they went, the wider his smile. Their eyes met and she saw an appreciation of speed which rivaled her own. That made her grin in return. "Have you been taught how to fly one of these?"

"No ma'am."

"I'll try to get you some sim time before you and Thu'ul have to transfer."

Gratitude and doubt warred in his eyes for a moment. "I've never flown anything before."

"That's alright. You don't have any bad habits to unlearn." He was not the same sort of emotionless Implant that Sandoval appeared to be. That fact intrigued her. A few hours in the simulator would give her more time to observe him. That should please Doors.

They arrived at her office within minutes. No one else was in the building. Good. Lili threw her leather jacket across the back of her desk chair. "This will take some time, unfortunately." She announced that more to herself than her stoic comrade. Kane nodded, removing his hat and finding a place to sit. She glanced at him. "There's come coffee if you like. It's a little old, and probably strong enough to crawl away."  She programed the description and set the machine searching through recent reports then turned her attention back to her companion. He didn't seem interested in coffee.

Her assessing gaze was returned in equal measure. Marquette broke their silence first.   "What made you go check the bodies?"

"Their plan was FUBAR." He used a familiar military expression. Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition. Actually, she recalled, the first word was usually rendered in a less polite manner.

She nodded. "I know that. But that doesn't explain what made you go check the bodies."

"Same reason as you, I expect. No better place to start."

She didn't buy it. Not one measly word of it. Seeing from his expression that further information was not forthcoming, she decided to think aloud. "Why would they switch bodies, and not just DNA info? Unless, unless there was something distinctive, something they could not afford to have seen."

The little half-smile had returned. Lili leaned forward, glaring at him. "Do you find something amusing mister?"

"No ma'am." He breathed deeply again. "I just admire a sharp mind."

She considered him, the realized, "But you already know."

He nodded.

"So tell me."

"Can't. Orders."

"You were ordered not to tell me?"

Kane shook his head slowly.

It hit her then. "You were ordered not to tell anyone."

Silence was her only answer, but there were peculiar lights in his murky eyes. Lili flopped back into her chair and rubbed at her eyes. Thu'ul ordered him not to tell anyone, even Companion Security. Either Thu'ul was really foolish, or he strongly suspected an inside job. What else could it be? The question was how far inside, and how high up?

Her computer beeped interrupting her thoughts. The screen was alight with information. They were in luck. "We've got two possibilities. Both men were due home tonight, and both didn't show. The police took down names and addresses, so we have a starting point." She downloaded the data into her comm link and stood. It was about time she had somewhere to channel her energy.

Kane did not move. He raised his left hand toward her, a stopping motion, and turned his head to the right. There was a strange, disassociated expression on his face.

"What is it?" Marquette moved toward him carefully, and peered out the office door.  To her surprise, the lift lights were flashing as the elevator descended. Someone was coming down from the roof.

"I don't know," he replied. She glanced back at him, catching a glimpse of the strain on his face.

The elevator doors opened and Ronald Sandoval stalked out, a characteristically unpleasant look on his round face. He acknowledged her presence with a surprised nod.

"Captain, you're keeping late hours tonight."

Lili smiled sweetly at him. She wished Zo'or's errand boy were anywhere but here. Ever since Boone had died, Sandoval had been up the Synod Leader's butt. They were both probably involved in this little escapade.

"Yeah, Kane and I were just working on his report." She had always hated lying. Now it seemed to be an everyday occurrence.

The Implant nodded. "Good. I want to see it when it's finished."

He did not wait for her reply or invitation, but entered her office, running face to face with Kane. She observed the interplay between the two men. Neither spoke. Neither changed expression, but the tension was evident. It seemed to leak from their pores.

Sandoval circled her desk and looked at the computer monitor. Lili groaned inwardly. Why hadn't she erased the screen?

"What are these?" Sandoval demanded, indicating the data.

"Kane's description of the attacker dressed as Darth Vader did not match that of the body." She replied smoothly. "Our theory is that the bodies were switched between the museum and the coroner's office."

Sandoval's brows dropped. The look he shot toward Kane was anything but kind.
"That's a serious accusation."

Kane returned the glared with a steady unwavering gaze of his own.

"Anyway," she hurried on. "We were going to take this photo," she showed him the
morgue shot. "And see check it against two men who were reported missing."

His frown deepened. "That seems like a waste of time, Captain. You idea is
outrageous, and even if it were true, there is no reason to suppose that this - substitute
corpse - came from anywhere locally."

"I can't just disregard the report of a Companion Agent." Lili protested sternly. "And neither can you."

His eyes bored into hers for a moment. "Very well, Captain. Let's go."

Without another word, he preceded them out the door.

Lili shook her head. This was going to be bad.


*************

Kane watched Captain Marquette from beneath the broad shadow of his Stetson's brim. She was an amazing pilot. Her fingers danced instinctively across a control panel he could not even see. Every subtle movement caused brightly colored indicator lights to flicker in response. It was less similar to piloting, in truth, and more closely resembled a conductor and her orchestra. There was a rhythm to her, the Shuttle, even the passengers, as if all were enveloped in some ancient, primal form of music. He couldn't hear it. He could only feel it vibrate through his arms and chest. Strangely enough, he thought that a part of him was singing back. The captain made another adjustment. She was aware of it as well, on some level or other. Lili Marquette was never out of harmony with her craft.

He glanced down at his boots and brushed away the faint coating of dust that had accumulated there. Trouble was on the way. Oh yeah. He could feel that too; this time from the hair on the back of his neck. Those little early warning signals had saved his life more times than he could count. He trusted them implicitly. It was too bad they didn't have a sense of direction. Life would be so much easier.

Moments after take-off the captain had been notified by her computer that one of the missing men was accounted for. Alexander Marsh had been in an accident that left him pinned in his car for 5 hours, but he was very much alive. That left only a single lead to follow: David Keating was a construction worker who got off work at 5 pm. He was married with two children, ages 7 and 3. His wife Martha had called Baltimore's Central Precinct when he had not gotten home by 8 o'clock. She called again at 11, still no sign of him. He had to be the one.

If you're right, my boy, and all instincts aside, you could be wrong.

Sandoval had spent the first several minutes of the flight grilling him on exactly that. Kane discovered that trying to justify this o'dark-thirty race to a quiet residential section of Baltimore was challenging, given Thu'ul's order to withhold the keystone of his theory. He glanced at the other man. There was something unsettling about the Companion Agent. He was hiding something behind his emotionless mask, something foul. The skrill on his Kane's arm tightened its grip slightly. She apparently shared his opinion. Every time Sandoval got within a stone's throw, she tickled his arm. As he reached over and stroked the creature through the cotton fabric of his shirt, he wondered if all skrills had sexes. The one on his left was clearly female; the one on his right was male. He knew this was so in the same absolute way a child understands whether he is right or left handed. Male and female; one night he was liable to wake up and find the two of them swapping spit.

Now that was a kinky thought.

"Oh no." Captain Marquette's voice broke his concentration. She was frowning at the virtual screen before her.

"What is it Captain?" Sandoval leaned forward with his inquiry.

"The house is on fire."

Kane's brows furrowed as he beheld the brilliant flickers of orange and red which lit the blackness of night. Marquette passed overhead, giving he and Sandoval a good view.   The house was fully engulfed by flames. It looked like a total loss. Surrounding the blaze were at least 4 fire engines. Streams of water warred with the conflagration as firefighters struggled to protect the adjacent houses. Smoke and steam rose in a giant column above the battle. The fire would lose, eventually, but it would devour all around it until then. It was odd that the appetite of fire was matched only by its beauty.

"I'm going to set her down. Maybe we can find out what happened." Marquette began to descend. The pitch of their craft and its subliminal music both changed. Kane watched the land sweep past, noting how ordinary everything else seemed. Two streets over, the world still slept in the muted darkness created by streetlights. Only the amber light of an electric company repair vehicle disturbed its serenity. Everything else was still.

Except himself. Kane sensed his left hand close in to a tight fist. He looked down at its white knuckles. There was a hot river of flame running within him. The moment he felt its heat, he understood the fire below. Part of him was made of that element. Was it anger, rage? There was no name for this sensation. Carefully he covered the clenched hand with his right.

'Scholar over Warrior, boy,' Kane chanted silently. 'Dragon over Tiger. Your body is only a vehicle. It carries your spirit, but you are driving the car. It must never drive itself.'

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The hand relaxed.

The shuttle landed. Her pilot was so skillful that there was scarcely a bump. Kane followed his senior comrades out into a world of flashing strobe lights, white, blue and red. For the first time Kane noticed the police cars which had taken up flanking positions. The boys in blue were keeping back the press and a few late-night gawkers.   He and the others jogged forward displaying ID's to one of the uniformed officers. The fire's terrible rage and the sound of impacting water filled the atmosphere with a kind of roaring hiss. Sandoval had to shout to make himself heard by the tall policeman.

"What happened?"

"We're not sure yet." The cop responded. "The neighbors heard an explosion. Right now it looks like their gas line burst and ignited. But we won't know for sure until the Fire Marshall can get in there."

"And the family?" Marquette inquired.

A solemn shake of the officer's head was sufficient to answer. They were all inside. No survivors.

"Damn it!." Marquette turned away, pacing several steps, hands on hips. She wheeled on Sandoval. "Don't you find this a bit much for a coincidence?"

There was no reply. The dark eyes of Agent Sandoval were fixed upon the fire as if mesmerized. Kane followed his gaze, his thoughts as unsettled as the inferno before him. It was too convenient. He watched the flames soar into the night sky. Four people had died, and nothing could be proven. The fire would melt every clue into a black unidentifiable lump, like a forge created steel out of different components. Once done, it could not be undone.

The hairs on his neck suddenly sprang to life once more. Kane snapped his head to the right and left.

"Kane!" He heard Marquette's shout and felt an impact against his knees. They buckled, sending him down and to the left. Searing pain cut across his scalp, like someone had suddenly cut a line above his ear with a razor blade. A split second later he heard an impact on the road's surface, high pitched and metallic. Marquette lost her grip on his legs. He hit the pavement and instinctively rolled several times. She rolled with him and the two took shelter behind a police car. The scarlet signature of a laser sight played across the road for an instant, and was gone.

"Jesus Christ was that a shot?" Someone shouted.

"I didn't hear anything!" Other voices started yelling.

Liquid was flowing down his neck. Kane felt the moist warmth of it soak into his collar.

"Are you okay?" Marquette was yelling at him. He nodded. Her gun was out. Kane saw Sandoval run past, down the street. Several officers followed. With a groan he stood, smacking himself in the face to clear his head of the bubbles of dark light which were blossoming like firecrackers.

"It came from over there!" Another voice shouted. "I saw the muzzle flash."

"Central we have shots fired. Repeat, we have shots fired."

"Where is he! I don't see him!"


"There!"

Police man scrambled from cover. The Captain was already running, crossing through someone's front yard. Kane ran after her, focusing on moving his feet. He remembered something, an image, something important. The amber light! She and the others were running toward the location of the repair truck. 

It was already in motion when Kane broke clear of the last house. The heavy diesel engine propelled the machine toward two cops. They held their ground, firing at it, then dove to the side. Marquette's own pistol spoke. The truck turned in her direction.

Oh no you don't. His left arm rose and the skrill on it awakened. The energy surge which burst forth was immense, lighting up the neighborhood with an argent stream of power. It struck the vehicle in the rear, exploding the axle and tires, and igniting the fuel. The back of the truck literally imploded. It collapsed in on itself, bringing the damaged vehicle to a screeching halt. A second blast came from his left. Sandoval's skrill hit the cab, melting through glass and frying the driver alive.

What the f...

Kane dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. Using Her Majesty took a lot out of him.   He searched for Marquette. She was okay, picking herself up off the sidewalk and looking around. Sandoval was leaning against one of the parked cars, looking nearly as spent as Kane felt. Good. There was at least some justice in the world. He wiped some of the blood from his face. It was still oozing from the graze on his scalp. With a sigh, he sat down. There was nothing left to do.

Except wring Sandoval's neck. That thought brought him comfort as he gathered his energy. Maybe he would choke him before going to the hospital, maybe afterward, just to have something to look forward to. The agent had killed the only person left to question. Kane covered his wound with a hand to help staunch the bleeding. His head felt like it was cracking open. To make matters worse, he'd lost his hat somewhere along the way. The realization made him curse. Then again, it was probably ruined.  Cowboy hats with bullet holes only looked good in the movies. Now he'd have to train a new one to his head.

Marquette and the agent were arguing. Kane heard the questions of Marquette, and Sandoval's smooth answers. Of course he was concerned for her safety. What the hell else could he say? He reacted to a threat against a companion agent. That sounded good. Kane observed the two of them. Noting the woman's passion and the man's emotionless mask. Marquette was a fire-eater. She finished with Sandoval and then came over to him.

"You look like hell, cowboy." She gave him a hand up.

"Yes ma'am." He managed, then gripped her arm tightly. Their eyes met. "You saved my life, Captain. Thank you."

"Forget about it. Any soldier would have done the same. I'll finish things here then we'll get you to a hospital." She punched his shoulder in a friendly fashion, then walked away.

His eyes followed her retreating figure. He owed her. The debt was his to remember.   So was its payment. Covering his left fist with right hand, he brought both to chest level and bowed slightly at her back. The action, though nobly intended, caused his head to throb. A hospital was a good idea, but right now he'd settle for a bottle of Advil.


*************


Thu'ul entered the treatment room with trepidation. It was a small, squarish room, uniformly white from its tile floor to its painted cabinets. Harsh flourescent illumination caused it to effectively glow. The glare was not what gave him pause. It was the culmination of recent events. He had not thought it possible for things to deteriorate so quickly. In the short span of two human days, his life had been threatened, a museum exhibit had been disrupted - defaced, and now an experimental implant had been injured. These events did not reflect favorably on his performance. The Synod was
likely to replace him, and quickly before further embarrassment could result.

Your thoughts are only for yourself, Thu'ul. Have you become so like Zo'or?

The mental chiding had its desired effect. Thu'ul turned his attention to Kane. The human looked considerably less threatening in a hospital gown. His legs were covered with soft-looking blonde hair. They were muscular, at least what he could see of them.  He looked up. Kane's long locks of golden hair had been shaved. The effect was strange, but Thu'ul believed that this human was always meant to keep his hair short.

He will not allow it to grow so long in the future. Thu'ul was confident in this prediction.

A puckered line of sutures marred the smooth surface of his protector's head. There were other scars, older ones. Apparently this human was accustomed to placing his head in the path of danger. Had no one ever instructed him in self-preservation? A splash of color on Kane's shoulder drew his gaze. There was a tattoo? Thu'ul believed that was the correct term. It was a colored picture with a skull and crossbones motif on a red background. The words, "Swift, Silent, Deadly," circled the sinister graphic. It was a strange picture with which to adorn one's self, but on this Implant it
seemed to belong.

Kane met his eyes. They were calm, as always. He nodded, and Thu'ul took that gesture as an assurance that all was well with his protector. Was his Motivational Imperative so strong that even when injured Kane felt he must comfort a Companion?  Thu'ul walked toward Kane intent upon considering his own question, but got no chance. His eyes fell upon the skrills. The right one looked normal, like any skrill. The left one was a third again larger.

Great Light-bringer. What manifestation was this?

A moment later, Dr. Julianne Belman entered. She was a plump human with brown hair and eyes. Her white coat was neatly pressed and unmarred. There was a cool, almost sardonic expression fixed in her eyes. Thu'ul rather believed that such an expression characterized her inmost being. He recalled with humor her words as written in the files, "What part of dead don't you understand?" Would that he had been an invisible observer on that day!

"Doctor," he greeted, bowing slightly forward.

"Companion Thu'ul." She picked up a clipboard and faced him. "Your implant is fine.  The bullet only grazed his scalp creating a superficial laceration. No fractures or concussions evident. His scans and imaging are all negative on brain injury."

"Excellent." He sensed, however, that there was something more. Something else behind her dark, liquid eyes. "Yes Dr. Belman?"

She hesitated a moment, then pulled up a stool and sat near the Kane's gurney. "Are you at all familiar with your Implant's augmentation."

How to answer that. Admit ignorance and own his own lack of significance in the eyes of the Synod, or feign knowledge he did not possess in order to preserve his image.   There was little choice here. A scholar did not fake wisdom.

"No," he answered truthfully. "I was assigned Kane only yesterday. There has been no time to be briefed." The last was more evasion than veracity. Zo'or could have briefed him any time, but had chosen not to.

Her forehead and brows frowned at him as if disappointed that he would have no answers to some unasked question. "Let me show you something. Both of you."

She removed a model of a human brain from within a snow-white cupboard. "Do you understand the human nervous system?"

After yesterday, Thu'ul rather thought that he didn't understand his own nervous system, let alone that of an alien. Making such a statement would serve no purpose, so he only admitted. "I've read about human physiology."

"The human brain is divided into two hemispheres." She disassembled the model displaying a ribbon of little nerves connecting the two halves. "They are connected by this little bundle of nerve fibers here, called the Corpus Callosum. This allows both halves of the brain to communicate with one another."

Thu'ul felt his own forehead wrinkle. It was a very inefficient form of sentient anatomy.   No wonder the so many experiments were being conducted. This species had a very long way to evolve. He waited for her to continue.

She did so, but only after bringing a wall mounted computer screen to life. "This a picture of Kane's brain." She pointed to a section of it. "Note the condition of the Corpus Callosum."

It was severed. To Thu'ul's eyes it looked as though it had been burned through with a laser. Kane stepped forward, his barefeet smacking on the tile floor. The Implant's face was still, but there was an intensity to his gaze that told Thu'ul how truly interested he was. Times such as this led him to question the wisdom of hiding so much from humans. He quickly dismissed the thought. As he did so he became aware of other eyes watching him. The Commonality was particularly active. He could sense them attending.

Oh dear. If any more of his kind were to notice him, he would have to seriously consider relocating to some far off corner of the universe. Perhaps there was a hole sufficiently deep to secure around him.

Thu'ul mentally shook himself as Dr. Belman continued. "In each hemisphere of his brain is an independent CVI which communicates with the skrills on his arms. She motioned for Kane to return to his seat. "The short version is as follows: The right brain feels. The left brain thinks. The left brain controls the right side of the body, including the right eye. The right brain controls the left side of the body, including the left eye. So this CVI," she indicated the one on the right, controls the larger skrill."

"What would be the advantages to such an operation?" Thu'ul inquired. "And why is one skrill of a different size?"

Belman shook her head. "I can't answer your last question, and can only shed a little light on the first. Only a few studies have been conducted on Split-Brain Syndrome, which is what your protector is currently experiencing. It is an operation normally used to treat extreme cases of drug-resistant epilepsy. We do know that those who have undergone it tend to become ambidextrous. Beyond that, I can tell you little, except about one of its side effects."

At his quizzical look she approached Kane. "Most of the time this is not much of a factor. However..." She faced Kane. "Close your eyes and hold out your left hand."  He obeyed. Belman placed her hand on his palm. "What is in your hand?"

Kane's closed eyes squeezed tightly down. His brows knit together in concentration.   Finally he answered, "I don't know."

Before Thu'ul could interject, Belman continued. "Show me what you can do with the object."

Kane raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Dr. Belman flushed slightly. "You flirt," she chastised lightly. "You could have just squeezed it." She removed her hand and placed in on his right. "Now tell me what this is."

"Your hand." Kane answered immediately.

"Open your eyes."

Thu'ul was more confused than ever. At his expression Belman spared him a quick nod. "The language centers for humans are located in the left hemisphere. Without the unification provided by vision, his left brain has no idea what his left hand is holding, and thus can't give it a name. He knows what it is, and knows what to do with it, but can't put it into words. That's the most common side-effect."

Thu'ul quietly sat in the only other chair available. "Are there others?"

She blew air from her lungs forcefully. "He probably will have difficulty discussing his emotions. Remember, the right brain is the feeling half. The left brain is the thinking half. He will have emotions, but will be unable to label them, just like he could not label my hand." She faced the Implant once more. "Have you experienced your left hand reacting without being aware of a conscious volition for it to do so?" Kane nodded and captured the woman's hand again - with his left, Thu'ul observed - and squeezed it lightly. She smiled a tight smile at the human. "You're a real heartbreaker, aren't you?"  She squeezed back then withdrew. "Since his brain is no longer completely unified, sometimes the two halves may not agree. He might, for example, open the door with his right hand, and simultaneously close it with his left." Belman turned back to Thu'ul.

She paced about the room. "If your people had consulted with me before beginning such experiments, I could have saved you some trouble. We don't understand the processes working in the brain, how can you expect to?" Her eyes were angry.

Thu'ul stood. "I am grateful for your expertise and your concern," he answered with belied calmness. "However, I am certain that the Synod took all necessary precautions and gathered all available information before condoning such alterations." He motioned for Kane to make ready. "As we Companions have made significant strides in human medicine, obviously our scientists are more knowledgeable on this subject than are you. I am, unfortunately, not a scientist, and have no true understanding of such things." He paused, closing his eyes. A question formed itself from the ether of the Commonality. "What is the status of his motivational imperative."

"One hundred percent operational." She pressed her lips in a tight line, a sure sign of displeasure.

The presence of the others slowly faded. Thu'ul blinked several times, and walked steadily toward the door. "You have been very helpful, Doctor. I shall inform the Synod of your continuing and unwavering assistance."

He escaped into the hallway. She disapproved. Highly. She could not grasp the necessity of sacrifice. Still, it escaped him that Da'an could authorize such. He was said to be sentimental where humans were concerned, and ninety seven of them had died in the creation of this Implant. Who could know the status of the other survivors?

Kane joined him after a few minutes, dressed in hospital scrubs, and carrying his blood- stained clothing in a plastic bag. His hand settled gently against Thu'ul's back and they departed.

His touch was all too easy to become accustomed to. Thu'ul reflected. It has been so long that any of us has been touched. What will the future bring if we continue to contact these humans? His thoughts remained troubled throughout their journey.


Lili Marquette waited until Taelon and Implant had disappeared into the bowels of the elevator before entering the treatment room. Julianne's dark eyes were troubled. She faced the captain with a look of resignation.

"They'll never learn, Lili."

Marquette patted her arm briefly. She would like to have given her friend some kind of reassurance, but there was none to offer. If Da'an could not stop these kinds of experiments there was no one else who could. Yet. She perched on the edge of a chair, going over the conversation she'd surreptitiously listened to via the comm link in Belman's computer console. She'd have sworn that Kane was acting freely. There was so much expression in his eyes and hands.

"So we're dealing with a full implant." Marquette stated softly. "Doors will flip a script
when he hears that."

"No." Dr Belman's word struck her like a huge, resounding gong.

Marquette stared at her in astonishment.

"He has two CVI's Lili. Only one of them contains Imperative coding. The one in his left brain. Our Taelon friends normally implant to this hemisphere because it is the dominant one in humans."

Lili frowned. She was not getting something here, and should. It made her feel stupid.   Feeling stupid made her temper flare. "So?" Her demand came out more harshly than intended.

"So the two hemispheres are disconnected and functioning independently. The right brain no longer answers to the left. The left brain has nothing to do with emotions, or motivations. Without the connecting nerves, the MI can't intercept emotional signals, nor can its broadcasts be received." Dr Belman rolled her head from side to side, relieving the tension in her neck. "It's like striking a match in a vacuum. There is simply nothing to burn." She tossed the clipboard on top of the gurney and looked Marquette dead in the eyes. "The new Implant is functioning on his own. We have a wild card on our hands."

Silence reigned as both women assessed this information. Eventually Marquette moved to another topic. She was getting nowhere with this one.

"And his skrills?"

Belman shrugged. "How should I know? We're in unknown territory here."

"Look Doctor, this guy imploded the back of the truck with his skrill. What do I tell Doors?"

"The same thing I'll tell him." Belman stood. "The only thing to do is wait and observe. The answers won't come any quicker."

That was just terrific. Marquette followed the older woman out. Doors was such a patient sort of man. He'd be real happy with that.