was certain to be more interesting thanwhat I had intercepted so far.
Before I could get much further I heardalarms going off. I began to work my way back out of the puzzle. Itusually took me forty-five seconds to a minute to return to fullawareness. As I emerged from my deep focus, I realized I was on astretcher with crewmen barking orders all around me. I started tosit up. A mask was pushed on to my face …
The thread of memory ended there. I awoke inDr. Rannor’s office on his couch. He was sitting at his desk with asyringe ready to use, watching me with a look of concern on hisface.
“So you’ve finally decided to return to theland of the living,” he said.
“How long was I out?” I asked, still tryingto regain my senses.
“Which time? I guess in total around thirtyminutes,” he replied.
“Um, Doc, what do you mean ‘which time’?Perhaps it would be best if you told me what happened,” was myreply.
“Well, I am hoping you can answer that betterthan I can. Shortly after you arrived your med alert patchbroadcasted an emergency message. According to your vital signs,you were dead. No heart rate, no brainwaves, no sign of life atall. You had been dead for about eight seconds when I came out ofmy office and saw the resurrection team scrambling to get theirequipment and reach you. After you had been dead about ten secondsyou stood up and started to walk towards me. All your vitals werestill below detectable levels. Then at about fifteen seconds one byone your vitals came back slowly; by about thirty seconds yourpatch was reporting all was normal.” He paused here as if he didnot believe his own words. “After that your vitals spiked off thechart: heart rate, respiration, all at extreme levels. You startedto collapse in front of me, but I managed to catch you. I heard yousay something, but I couldn’t make it out. It sounded like a chant.Then according to your patch you died again. This time however, Iwas close enough to see you were not really dead. Your breathingand pulse were much weaker than normal, but functioning. I removedyour patch and laid you on the couch to recover. That was aboutthirty minutes ago.” A big, friendly grin broke out on his face ashe said, “Now, I think you have some explaining to do. The abilityto die and come back is something you really should let your doctorknow about.”
The medical alert patch was something thatall officers and mission-critical staff were required to wear. Itconstantly monitored their health and reported back to the medicalpersonnel. The idea behind it was that those most critical to thesurvival of the fleet needed to be monitored constantly to ensurethe fleet’s safety. For example, if one of the navigators collapsedwhile on duty, he would need to be replaced immediately in order toassure the fleet stayed on a safe path.
“Well, Doc, obviously I was not dead. Iassume it happened because of how focused I was on what I wasdoing,” I replied.
“Let’s go through what happened together andsee if we can make sense of it. You checked in with thereceptionist, and then …?” he prompted.
“He said you were with a patient and I toldhim I would wait. I found a comfortable chair to sit in and waitfor you.” I did not want to go into too much detail until I had hada chance to work it out myself.
“Look, Vydor, this room is secured andnothing we say is being recorded. Patient-doctor confidentiality isparamount here. If you are randomly dying and coming back I cannotallow you to return to duty, never mind lead a critical mission. Soyou have to open up a bit more,” he said.
I had to admit he was right. “Well, Doc, as Isaid I was not dead. I did not realize that the medical alert patchwould react the way it did. In fact, the reason I am reluctant toexplain is that I don not fully understand it.” How could I explainthis without sounding like a nutcase? “After I sat down, knowing Ihad to wait a while, I began mentally working on all the data Ihave related to the Magi problem. When I work on a complex problemwith a lot of interrelated information that seems to lead nowhere,I often drop into a deep focus. My father called it ‘puzzle- solvingmode;’ he was a computer man, so everything had names like that.While in this mode, I cut off most outside stimuli that mightdistract me, leaving just enough awareness to recognize and reactto possible danger — in this case, alarms going off.”
“Okay, it sounds like some kind of deepmeditation. That might explain the alert going off, so let’s setthat aside for a moment. After the alarms went off, you stood andwalked towards me, then your vitals spiked off the charts. Whathappened there?” he asked.
“As I walked towards you a memory wastriggered, and I decided to follow that trigger and see where itwent. As soon as I did I felt an extreme pain, like someone hadpoured ice-cold acid in my veins and was pumping it through mysystem. I am sure that is when you recorded the spike in my vitals…”
“A memory block?” he interrupted.
A memory block was something the Empirenormally used only when people retired from key positions. Theyblocked out all sensitive information that the person might have sothat in their older, weaker state there would be no risk of themreleasing critical secrets. Typically people who had one did noteven know it, and never searched for those memories again. But ifthey did, they would be discouraged with extreme, though harmless,pain. If they did get through that they would find the memory wassecured behind a psychological barrier.
“Yes, Doc, but I was able to get a grip onthe pain and continue to follow the memory through to itscompletion. But why would there be a block in my mind?” Iasked.
“I have some suspicions. But first, whatmemory was blocked?” he asked.
“Well, nothing too exciting, but I guess thishappened once before. Basically it was the same as this event,without the memory block. I was a young ensign in the academywaiting for my annual physical, and to pass the time I was workingon decrypting some messages I had brought. The alarms went off thattime too, but before I could bring myself out of it, they had me ona stretcher and put me out through a mask on my face. It’s a memorythat would have been useful today, but I do not see what … oh … themessage.” I just trailed off as I remembered something.
“Go on, what about the message?” Dr. Rannorprompted.
“The message I was decrypting I had acquiredfrom a contact who assured me it was from the highest level ofImperial communications. I did not finish decoding it, but I didget a phrase and some numbers. But it cannot be, can it?” I grabbedmy pad off the end table where I assume he had placed it. I jotteddown the numbers and could not believe what I saw.
“Vydor, do you plan to let me in on yourdiscovery?” he asked.
“Well, I am not sure I believe this. But Iremember the two pieces of data that I was able to get out of thecode before getting hauled away, a phrase and some numbers. Thephrase was ‘The Black Adders have hatched’ and the numbers … arethe stellar coordinates of the colony we are en route to.” I justlet that last statement hang in the air for a bit.
He sighed and after a pause said, “I wasafraid of this.”
“Afraid of what?” I asked.
“Well, in your file are orders that if youever hit a memory block I am to inject you with 35ccs of CrystalineBetazene before you succeed in breaking it. Apparently they did nottrust their blocks to hold against you, and it seems with goodreason.”
“Forgive me if I am off-base here, Doc, but35ccs seems far too high,” I said.
“Indeed, it would be for a normal personunder normal conditions. You were not under normal conditions. Youwere fighting extreme pain, and the normal dose would have onlystabilized you. Their goal was to push you into a coma to preventyou from discovering whatever it was they had blocked. My orderswere to keep you in the coma until someone could come andreestablish the block.” He then stood, picked up the hypodermicsyringe from his desk and tossed it into my lap. When I picked itup I saw it was completely full.
I leveled my gaze at him and said, “This isfull, Doctor.”
“Yes, instead my official report will saythat your medical alert patch malfunctioned, and that we need toorder a replacement. I will also record that you passed out due tooverexertion, and lack of rest. Your official treatment will berest and a good meal, and to leave your medical alert patch offuntil we can replace it,” was his answer.
“Why, Doc?” I asked. “You are not the type todisobey an order and get involved in a cover-up.”
“Vydor, you will learn in time that you haveto weigh each order you get against the situation at hand. In mostcases orders come down the chain of command, and often from peoplefar removed from the situation. Sometimes, as in this case, theorders were placed long before the situation came about and need tobe adjusted in light of new information and events that arose sincethe order was given. Beyond that, though, you need to use your ownmoral compass to judge whether an order is something you shouldfollow or not. In this case, it was that moral
