Samurai aeolus investiga.., p.1
Samurai (Aeolus Investigations Book 8), page 1
Contents
Cover
Copyright
Chapter 1, Coma Ward
Chapter 2, Where’s Ron?
Chapter 3, Home?
Chapter 4, The Accident
Chapter 5, Geppetto
Chapter 6, Power Lifter
Chapter 7, Zombies
Chapter 8, Armed and Dangerous
Chapter 9, Halloween
Chapter 10, Different and Dangerous
Chapter 11, Au Revoir
Chapter 12, Spartacus
Chapter 13, Badowine
Chapter 14, Data Raider
Chapter 15, Orbiting Hope
Chapter 16, Dealing the Cards
Chapter 17, Saving Hope
Chapter 18, Date Night
Chapter 19, Remediation
Chapter 20, Cute with Muscles
Chapter 21, Allie Stevens
Author’s Note
Books by Bob Colfax
SAMURAI
Aeolus Investigations (Episode 8)
A Lexi Stevens Adventure
by
Robert E Colfax
Cover artist: Dave Kirk
Editing/Proofreading: Dee Bullock, Rosemary Wright
Publisher: Robert C Kirk
Thank you
Copyright © 2020 Robert C Kirk
All rights reserved.
The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
Prologue
“Are you getting any more than I am from the sensor scans, Urania?” Ron Samue asked. Ron and his life-mate, Lexi Stevens, were on their starship, Urania, responding to what was presumed to be a distress call from an alien starship that was cruising at sub-light speed through Accord space. This intruder was the size of a junior planet. Due to its enormous size, Urania was in orbit around it. The distress signal had been being transmitted for at least the last three months — the time when it was first noticed by a passing Xeason freighter. The Xeasons’ attempts at communication with the crew of the ship had gone unanswered.
Urania replied, “Just a tremendously large ship, Ron. Lots of scarring along the hull although it doesn’t look like battle damage. More like collisions with asteroids. Some of the impacts look pretty severe. Despite its size, it seems pretty low-tech. Large areas are lacking shields. The shields in other areas are far substandard compared to Accord tech. I’m not picking up anything we need to worry about. I’m showing fourteen to sixteen thousand lifeforms on board — not many for a ship the size of a small planet. They’re not moving at all and, while the indications are weak, they’re definitely registering as life. I don’t get it.”
“Maybe they’re all in cryo-sleep,” Lexi Stevens, the third of the three people on board, suggested. “It’s an old ship traveling out here in the middle of nowhere at sub-light speeds. My guess is that it’s a colony ship. With those indications what else could it be?”
“Temperature readings are pretty low throughout the ship,” Urania confirmed. “I’ve got a single hot-spot showing minor signs of lifeform activity.”
Ron sighed. “So, we’re going to have to transport over and check it out,” he said. “Oh, goody. We’d better pack a lunch.” He looked up from his console at Urania. “Urania, you’ve got the bridge.”
Urania, despite sitting on the bridge with them — wearing an avatar body made of forcefields and holograms — was the ship’s command-comp. She laughed. “I always have the bridge, wise-ass. Be careful over there, guys.”
Chapter 1
Coma Ward
This time was different. Disturbingly so.
Normally, she felt fully awake after no more than a few hours’ sleep. Sure, there had been a few extreme occasions when she slept longer than that, but still, awake for her was always awake. She never had to deal with grogginess, with getting the old engine turning over. She never needed that cup of hot, black coffee to get her started. This morning, however, getting her mind in gear felt like watching her Dad start his old car in sub-zero weather. It took a lot of work. She wasn’t sure she was firing on all cylinders, either.
The air in her room was quiet and chill, with a slightly odd tang to it. She wasn’t able to identify the soft background noises that surrounded her. After a few minutes of lying in bed, trying to get a sense of her surroundings, she finally opened her eyes. She found herself in a rather ugly, clinical-looking room. Why the hell would anyone choose that ghastly color to paint the walls?
One of the ceiling panels had a round, brown, water stain. Rough-weave curtains were mounted just below the drop-panel ceiling. The row of windows they hid stretched across the width of the room from six feet above the floor up to the ceiling, blocking most of the light. Sunlight trying to alter the room’s innate lack of ambiance seemed to give up as it failed to stream into the room. Along the wall, below the windows, a shelf held toys and a small collection of children’s books.
Glancing to her left, she noted two nearly empty IV bags dangling from a hook on a stand at the head of the bed. Her gaze ran down the tubes from the bags to where they attached to the back of her left hand. The vein looked fine, with no signs of bruising or inflammation.
Looking down at both of her arms and her hands, she saw only smooth unmarked skin covering extremely well-defined musculature. She reached under the bed covers and the shapeless hospital smock she was wearing. She was wearing a diaper. Her hand also encountered a small, hard object that seemed to be implanted in the wall of her abdomen. Based on its placement, she assumed it was the external, button end of a gastric feeding tube. The other end would be in her stomach, making it possible to pump liquid foods into a comatose patient. Primitive, but effective. They wouldn’t implant a G-tube unless I’ve been in this condition longer than the six weeks a nasogastric feeding tube, inserted through the nose and into the stomach, can be safely used. So where am I? More to the point, how the hell did I get here? How freakin’ long have I been unconscious? Why have I been unconscious?
She lay back onto the pillow, closing her eyes on the dim fluorescent lighting and old-style suspended ceiling. She felt her heart beating with a slow, rhythmic beat. Her breathing was also slow and steady, drawing chilled air deep into her lungs before expelling it back into the room. She felt the heft and texture of the sheet and blanket weighing down her legs and feet. She wiggled her toes. When she lifted her unencumbered hand to feel her face, it felt like her face. No scabs or contusions. No scar tissue that she could feel. Pulling her hair in front of her face conveyed that it was long and a deep shade of red. Exploring her skull, all she could determine was that she was overdue for a shampoo. Clearly, this is a hospital room. Mentally, I’m groggy and I’m confused, but physically, I feel fine. No sign of any damage. Not even any shaved patches on my scalp. Nothing hurts.
Even in her current, limited mental condition she realized she must have options. There were almost always options. She wasn’t helpless. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that she never allowed herself to be helpless. Still, she could just wait and see what happened. Not her normal operational style perhaps, but then again, no one was torturing her. That’s kind of an odd thought to jump to, isn’t it?
She wasn’t even particularly uncomfortable. It did appear suspiciously like she was hospitalized, possibly sedated. Her own personality aside, that first wait-and-see option was fairly easy to implement. As far as she could remember, she had no pressing business elsewhere. On the other hand, as option two, she could easily disconnect herself from the drip tubes and go exploring. With a shrug, she felt around for a call button. Make that option one-b.
As the minutes ticked by with no response, she reconsidered implementing option two. Unless she was in Raccoon City during a zombie apocalypse, someone should answer the call bell. As silly as that movie is, I always liked Resident Evil. Of course, if she had really been out of it for longer than six weeks, the ringing call bell might not be as closely attended as it should be. So she sighed and waited.
It was nearly twelve minutes before a short, heavyset woman, dressed in pale-blue scrubs covered with cartoon animals, bustled into the room. She looked more than surprised — shocked might be a better term, as her patient’s eyes followed her into the room. “Why good morning, dear,” the nurse managed to say. Her name tag proclaimed her to be a registered nurse named Martha Kurtzman. Martha needed to brush her teeth, Lexi noted. She didn’t appear to be a zombie, though, so not Raccoon City. “You just lay there quietly, sweetheart. I’m nurse Martha. I know this is a little scary, isn’t it? You’re safe here, Lexi. How are we feeling this morning?”
Martha beamed happily at her when Lexi answered, “OK, I guess.” Her voice felt strange, like she hadn’t used it recently. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, I can’t get you anything to eat until your doctor sees you,” Martha apologized. “It’ll be a just a little while before the doctor can get here. Your mommy and daddy will be here soon, too. They’re going to be so happy you’re feeling better. Would you like me get you a toy to hold while we wait for them?”
The woman’s tone and syntax as she spoke suggested she was speaking to a child. Lexi’s self-examination indicated her body was that of an adult woman, not a child. Martha’s offer of a toy for her patient to
Her nurse smiled at her and said, “OK, sweetie-pie, let me go make those calls. I’ll be right back to sit with you.”
Lexi watched as the woman bustled from the room. While she was gone, Lexi pulled the IV needle from her hand. She couldn’t tell if the drip was drugged or not, but just in case it was, she wanted it stopped. She brushed the small drop of blood away with her other hand. Then she watched as the hole in the back of her hand closed, leaving smooth, unblemished skin. She didn’t know what to make of that.
Mommy and Daddy will be here soon? That didn’t sound right at all. What about Ron? What is going on?
Chapter 2
Where’s Ron?
Lexi suffered through nearly an hour of listening to Nurse Kurtzman read Dr. Seuss books to her. At least the woman had an interesting voice. She spoke with a slight Scottish burr. After the first few minutes of listening to her, Lexi asked if she had anything by Walter Scott or Robert Burns, two famous Scottish writers. When Martha looked confused, Lexi suggested Robert Louis Stevenson might be a good option. She got Hop on Pop.
Martha clearly thought Lexi was a child and continued with Dr. Seuss. For the moment, Lexi saw no reason to try to convince her otherwise. Still, it was disconcerting that Lexi couldn’t find any memories that indicated she wasn’t a child. She had vivid memories of play-dates with neighborhood friends. She remembered preschool. Higher grades she must have attended just weren’t there. While Martha read about red and blue fish, Lexi worked out all of the prime numbers up to 2309. After calculating pi to one hundred twenty-two decimal places, she switched to working calculus problems.
Physically, I’m an adult. Mentally, I can do damn advanced math in my head. What has happened to me? Something bad if I have retrograde amnesia to this degree. Even so, that doesn’t explain Nurse Martha reading Seuss to me. Doesn’t explain the shelf with my toys, either. I’m sure most of those must have been given away ages ago.
Deciding to deal with the situation with a wait-and-see attitude, Lexi sat bolt upright in bed as her parents came through the door. Her father was clearly her father, looking exactly as she remembered him. The raven-haired woman with him was tall, slim, and quite well muscled. “Mama?” She didn’t understand why seeing her mother with her father shocked her. Who was she expecting? Wait! Didn’t Dad remarry?
Both women had tears running down their faces as Violet Stevens rushed to her bedside and hugged Lexi as best she could while leaning over the rail. “Of course, love.” She let go of Lexi and took a step back. “Charlie, come give your daughter a hug.”
Charlie had tears in his eyes, too. He held her close for over a minute. When he finally stood back, he asked, “How’s my baby-girl feeling?”
They both spoke as though she was fragile, that the sound of their voices might knock her out again. She shrugged. “Nothing hurts. I feel weak, though. And confused. I’m dealing with it.”
Charlie looked at Violet, saying, “I think it’s OK.” Violet nodded and headed toward the door. Charlie said, his emotion-laden voice gentle, “There’s someone waiting in the hall who very much wants to see you too, Lexi.”
Lexi assumed he meant Ron. However, her mother reentered the room with a young woman — a teenager, a stranger. As the two approached the bed, Violet said, “Lexi, sweetheart, this is your sister, Alexa. She’s very excited that you’re awake.”
She does look like she could be my sister. If I had a sister. I see the resemblance. It’s kind of odd that Mama is introducing her that way, though. True, I don’t remember her, but how would Mama know that? How long have I been comatose? Lexi smiled up at the young woman, who was practically beaming as she leaned over and hugged her. Lexi carefully hugged her back, even though something wasn’t right. In fact, this entire situation significantly transcended not being right. “Mama, where’s Ron?”
Her parent’s exchanged glances. “Who’s Ron, baby?” Violet asked.
Perplexed, Lexi said, “He’s my husband. Hard man to miss. Six-foot-seven. Two hundred ninety pounds. He should be here.”
Concern in her voice, Violet said, “We don’t know of such a person. You’re not married, dear. There was an accident, honey. You were hurt. You’ve been sleeping and getting better for a long time. Maybe he’s from a dream you had.”
Lexi shook her head. “No. I’m sure he’s my husband. You’re telling me I’m waking from a coma — I already figured that out. I’ve got a damn gastric feeding tube in my stomach. How long?” She looked at Alexa. “You’re what, fourteen, maybe fifteen? I’m sorry; I don’t remember you.” She shook her head again. “I guess I don’t remember much about Ron either, except that he should be here.”
“We were in a horrible car accident, Lexi. It happened…” Charlie began. He stopped when he noticed Violet looking at him and shaking her head.
“So I suffered a TBI.” At Alexa’s puzzled expression, she added, “A TBI is a traumatic brain injury. It can cause debilitating memory loss. I don’t think I’m debilitated. Where’s my damn doctor? I want to see my EEGs.”
Alexa, her expression puzzled, asked, “Do you know what an EEG is, Lexi?”
Lexi frowned. It seemed an odd question. “It’s the short name for an electroencephalogram. It detects electrical activity in the brain.”
Alexa frowned, too, now. Speaking directly to Lexi, she said, “Everybody warned me that you would have the mind of a four-year-old, Lexi. That’s how old you were when the accident happened.” She paused, looking from Lexi to her parents. “No way are we talking to a four-year-old, guys.”
The doctor arrived as she was talking. Charlie and Alexa left the room to wait outside. Violet came out ten minutes later, looking almost frightened. Charlie immediately stood and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Violet gave him a weak smile. “Everything is fine. Dr. Srinivas let her see her charts. I think he was humoring her. But now she’s explaining the electrical and chemical interactions of the brain to him while she goes through the pages.” She made a strained laugh. “I was freaking out. He was clearly humoring her at first. I think they’re way beyond that point now. I heard her asking him medical questions that he couldn’t answer, then, as often as not answering them herself a moment or two later. I had to get out of there. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
She sat down, with Charlie and Alexa on either side of her, each holding a hand. Oddly, none of them had anything to say, not even speculations. Less than a half an hour later, the doctor came out of the room looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights. “You can all go back in now. She wants us to run some tests before we release her. For that matter, I do too. I’ll have a nurse-practitioner in to remove the G-tube in the meantime. It’s a straightforward procedure, but requires a consent form, of course. The hole will be need to be kept clean and covered with gauze until it closes.”
