Hospital Ship (The Rim Confederacy #5) (18 page)

"Your name," the Caliph asked politely.

"My name is Jocko, my Caliph, Jocko al-Aziz," he said as he bowed his head deeply.

The Caliph nodded.

"Ahh ... al-Aziz, the esteemed one. So, are you esteemed now, Jocko?" he said dryly.

The man thought for a moment and then partly smiled.

"If the Caliph would know, my father was definitely an esteemed miner over on Nerian Prime. And I inherited his name, Caliph—so while it is my name, the honor goes to my father," he said softly.

The Caliph nodded once more and then leaned forward to take a date off the tray on the hassock in front of him. He slowly bit off a piece, chewed it slowly, and then popped the rest into his mouth. Turning to the woman at his side, he pointed at her with his chin.

"Meet one of my wives, Jocko—this is Nadia and I'm sure she is important, but I've no idea why that might be." He smiled at his wife who simply smiled back at him, her eyes hooded, and the smile looked like it was painted on.

Jocko bowed his head to her, and his face betrayed no emotion at all, unlike the woman who was sitting and seething but unable to do or say anything.

The Caliph sat back in his chair, put one foot up on the edge of the hassock in front of him, and nodded to the man.

"Jocko, I remember just three short years ago when you were the Caliphate's hope to win the VacJump Games—and yet you lost. You lost to a simpleton who outlasted you by almost thirty more seconds out in the vacuum of space—and by losing, the Caliphate lost too. We win usually with our VacJump champions and yet you lost. You lost and you lost your chance to become a full Nerian citizen; you were banished back to Neria Prime to work once again in the mines. And yet here you are. Would you like to know why your Caliph has called on you, Jocko?" His voice was smooth and his demeanor was still Royal, but he was trying to sell something, and he knew how to do that.

Jocko nodded—then vocalized his need to know.

"Caliph, yes, I should very much like to know why you have called on me—and you have my word, Caliph, that I will not fail the Caliphate again. Never!" he said forcefully and his eyes blazed. The shackles around his ankles clinked as he stood up even straighter, and the Caliph could see the man was ready to accept a mission for the Caliphate.

He talked for almost a full half hour. He explained what the mission was and who would be involved, and he left out nothing. The man must know not only what was expected of him but the why behind that need. He had to learn what the success would be for the Caliphate, and he had to know what that would mean for their future—the combined future of the billions of Caliphate citizens.

"And, if you are successful, Jocko—I personally will make you a full Nerian citizen. You will leave Nerian Prime, that desolate mining planet, and come here to Neria and be a citizen of the Caliphate, instead of an indentured miner. My promise to you if you succeed. Is this of interest to you, Jocko?"

The man was bouncing from one leg to the other, the shackles clinking loudly. He nodded and his hands met in a praying form and his head nodded over and over.

"Sire—Caliph—I will not fail. I know what is expected of me and I will not fail. The prize is yours, Caliph ..." he said and he meant it, the Caliph could tell.

He nodded.

"Then, Jocko, time to get you in shape and back into training—Colonel, refresh my memory—what are our VacJump Games?" he said as he reached for another date and took his time choosing which to eat next.

"My Caliph, the VacJump Games are held at the Casino Station up in orbit once a year. There are different classes and yet all the same really. Each contestant jumps out through the force field into the depths of space, with no spacesuit. They do have an instant recall switch, but they never seem to use it; instead they float in the vacuum of space 'til they can't last anymore and then they're retrieved. But the one that lasts the longest is the winner. And I remember Jocko, my Caliph, who lasted I believe more than a minute and some, before he gave in. The winner we've never seen again; but this is the Jocko who won more than a half dozen of the monthly contests only to lose in the annual VacJump Games," he finished off and the Caliph was satisfied.

"So we all know about you and your past, Jocko—what we need to ensure is your future. Your mission on the Barony Hospital Ship will lead you to Neria, if you are successful, correct, Jocko?"

The man nodded and those shackles clinked even more.

A second chance might be the one that worked. If his cousin, the doctor over on the Hospital Ship, didn't come through, then Jocko might, he thought and nodded to his colonel.

"Then, Colonel, with that in mind, take Jocko and get him rooms here in the Royal tent. I want him bathed, re-clothed, fed, and sleeping within the next few hours. Tomorrow, assign him to our best VacJump Games trainer and get him back into training STAT. No issues, Colonel, or you'll take his place over on Neria Prime in the mines ... understood?

The colonel's face blanched, but he nodded and hustled Jocko out of the tent quickly.

Now, to consider my company for later this evening ...

CHAPTER SIX

Bland ... the whole place was so bland Tanner wanted to scream right out loud that the doctor needed to put up some posters or waterfalls from Randi or even a beer brand poster. Anything but the nothing to see brown-ness, but then he remembered his psychiatrist was waiting for an answer to his question.

"Would you mind repeating that, Doctor?" he said, stalling for time.

The doctor shook his head no.

He wasn't going to play that game.

After all,
Tanner thought,
it was a pretty simple question.

Why did he kill Tibah on Halberd, the RIM prison planet?

There had been no other mitigating part questions—no way to duck the question.

Why indeed.

Tanner didn't sigh or try to equivocate or sidestep the issue.

He knew the answer. It was just that it made such little sense or reason in an office light-years away from where it had occurred.

"I looked down at the carbine—it was a Merkel, which I knew was a superior weapon, then my eyes tracked back to the trigger, and yes, there was s forefinger on the trigger, and finally to the face of the shooter. It was Tibah al-Rashid, a Countess of the Caliphate, cousin to the Caliph himself. She was aiming at the Caliph—her cousin, and she meant to kill him from just twenty feet away. I had literally less than a second to take this all in—yet I saw in her eyes a look—a fire behind her violet eyes that was death itself.

She was going to pull the trigger—so I shot her with my Colt. Point blank from less than ten feet away. Right in her left temple. And she was gone in an instant. I did that. I had killed her brother Nusayr, the leader of the Olbia rebels, only moments earlier as he also was trying to kill the Caliph with his stunner. And I mourn for neither. I did what I had—"

He choked back a sob then and a second later burst out into a bout of tears and more sobs as he leaned over in his chair and couldn't hold it back anymore.

He cried. He cried and cried and said her name over and over a few times, his tones of longing and sorrow.

He wiped his face with a hand as the doctor jammed a clean tissue into his other hand. He couldn't stop crying.

He stood to try to walk it off, but he couldn't take the first step and fell back into the soft chair as his eyes streamed tears.

He wiped again and again, but the flow was ongoing.

The doctor said nothing but watched and waited very quietly.

Tanner sobbed and after a few minutes more, it seemed to lessen, and he jerked in breaths of air as he attempted to get a hold of himself.

The doctor put a box of tissues on the table in front of him and then sat back again.

Tanner nodded as he snorted and blew his nose, wiping the final few tears away from his face. He nodded once more and only then could he look at his doctor.

"Tell me, Doc—do we all cry when we go back to the event itself?" he said.

His psychiatrist nodded.

"Yes, Tanner, just about everyone who faces the event—at least the first time—ends up in tears. Men, women, aliens—even the DenKoss aliens cry. So no shame in that—plus as you've told me, you had the beginnings of a relationship with that woman too, did you not?" His voice was low and yet there was a tone of importance to that question.

He shook his head and then shrugged. "I guess so, Doctor—but we'd been out on what one might call one date. We went to the Andros Stadium to watch an Avengers—that's rugger, Doctor—a sporting game. One date is all, but yes, I did get to know her a little, and she was a smart, intelligent, businesswoman, who I'd have to admit I did like somewhat. Well, like a lot would be perhaps more honest—and we want to be honest, right, Doc?" he said with a slight tone of cynicism.

Doctor Etter nodded but his face said spare me.

Tanner nodded one more time. "I killed her. It was my job as the head of the RIM Navy on the planet at that time—it was my job to protect the more than a couple dozen of the RIM heads of states from around the RIM. I was armed. There was a riot and people were trying to climb the stage to get their hands on the Caliph and others, so I did what any Navy man would have done—and I did it well, I believe."

The sob that followed caught him by surprise, and he choked it back down.

Another wipe of the eyes with a brand new tissue seemed to help, and he looked up finally at the doctor.

"So, Doctor—am I going to be okay? Is this—this—this thing going to haunt me for the rest of my life?"

"What do you think, Tanner?" was his answer.

The doctor's glasses were perched precariously on the very tip of his nose, but they didn't appear to be going to slip off. He had his tablet in front of him and only by looking could Tanner even tell that he was always updating some file on him.

What do I think?

That stopped him as he had always thought psychiatry meant the doctor asked questions and got the patient to think about what the issue was and that he'd then offer how to handle it. The doctor would tell him what to think, to do, and how to handle these awful memories.

Wasn't that his job?
Tanner thought.

But he knew the answer himself.

"Doctor, yes, I know the answer—it will haunt me for as long as I let it do that—is that not correct?" he said and his voice was tremulous but still sure.

The doctor nodded. "Good, Tanner—that is the exact right answer—for as long as you let it. PTSD can be caused by many traumas and what we're trying to do—with the treatment you're undergoing—is to keep you feeling calm and safe. To try to teach you how to cope with the symptoms you just engaged with—to learn how to reduce your anxiety and fear and take back control of your life.

The doctor leaned forward in his chair behind his desk and pointed at Tanner.

"We know that trauma can leave you feeling powerless and vulnerable—just like a few minutes ago. Trauma-focused cognitive-behavioral therapy, which is what you're undergoing, involves carefully and gradually 'exposing' yourself to thoughts, feelings, and situations that remind you of that trauma. Of those few minutes in the Andros Stadium while you protected those heads of state to the best of your ability. You did your job—and that was a good thing, Tanner—no matter how you feel about it now—you did your job. Lives were saved—even though you had to take some lives to do your duty."

He looked down at his tablet, swiped, made some further selections, and then noted something.

"Our therapy involves identifying upsetting thoughts about that traumatic event–particularly thoughts that are distorted and irrational—and replacing them with a more balanced picture. And to do that, we'll use the EMDR treatment.

"That's Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing which means we incorporate elements of cognitive-behavioral therapy with eye movements or other forms of rhythmic, left-right stimulation, such as hand taps or sounds. These work by 'unfreezing' the brain's information processing system, which is interrupted in times of extreme stress. This works. It will take about a month more of treatments, but we're ready for them now—your breakdown of a half hour ago shows me that, Tanner," he said and made more notes on his tablet.

Tanner interrupted him. "Wait, Doc? Am I sane? Isn't this whole ninety-day sojourn thingy up here just for that alone?" he said, his voice only wavering once.

His doctor nodded and then held out his hands with his palms up.

"Oh, you're sane, Captain. Sent that report down to Neres City courts about three weeks ago. But getting you healthy is what we're here for now—and that comes directly from the Lady St. August. She seems to have taken an interest in you, Tanner ..." the doctor said but was careful not to load any kind of tone into that sentence.

Tanner shook his head. "Doc, I'm sane? For the past three weeks then what the hell have I been doing up here? I want to go back to the captain's chair, Doc!" he said, his voice plaintive.

The doc shook his head too. "No can do, Captain. You are here for the ninety days in full—so let's use that time, shall we—and we cannot forget that the Lady St. August has ordered that to be our path. One more month is about it, Captain—then you will have your chair back, I assume.

Tanner shrugged. One more month and he'd be back on the Atlas. He could live with that.

####

Holding his PDA closer to his eyes, he realized it wasn't the resolution of the hologram display above it, but the simple fact that his eyes were in their seventh decade and he might need the new laser shaping of his corneas.

But that was for another day to think on,
Kahil thought and he re-ran the message and watched it fresh.

His message was from Neria; it contained EYES ONLY content about recent purchases by the secret labs here on the Hospital Ship over the past two months and the list of items was interesting. He saw there had been some new additions after the recent addition of the liver expert, Professor Bill Chapman, and that stuck out to him.