"Of that, I'm confident. We were lucky the injuries were burns, I can handle that kind of reconstructive surgery in-house. I had to bump some clandestine plastic surgeries, but we can regrow and culture what he lost. Besides, we've had an uptick in cancellations from Socialites to Curacao, can't imagine why."
"How bad was it?"
"The cancellations?"
"The man."
"Burns over 50% of the body, a lot of them third degree. He was concussed and knocked out by an explosion. Someone threw him in a pod while he was still on fire. My guess is had they waited to put him out, he wouldn't have made it."
"Seems about right, I don't think he would have left the Breezewood had he still been conscious. Speaking of which..."
"Medically induced coma. For his own sanity. I'm not a trauma surgeon, but we had to cut out the pieces of his uniform that had burned to what remained of his flesh. The med-stasis band put him under and I saw no reason to override it until I can get new skin in place. Wake him now and he'll be screaming and begging for death."
"So he's pain free at the moment?"
"If ours is a merciful god, then yes. Otherwise he has no mouth but he must scream."
"So... will he be ok? Interspace wants to know for insurance purposes."
"Your concern is touching."
"They need to investigate the matter, but he was a face of the company, a good source of publicity."
"That face... should be fine. I am good at hiding my scars, especially once he gets some sun and evens out the tan. He'll still have his smile, but as to whether he'll have something to smile about, well, I'm a plastic surgeon, not a psychiatrist."
"He lost his ship, I imagine that weighs heavy on any captain."
"I wouldn't know. I'll keep monitoring him."
"Let me know of any developments, the board wants to stay informed. Speaking of which, the other officer?"
"Much worse shape, critical but stable. I think we'll have to send off for Cambridge for that one."
"And any sign of anything... unusual? In either of them?"
"I'm not a xenobiologist. And after seeing what happened, I'm happy giving the purple bastards their space. I didn't notice anything in him that wasn't supposed to be there, but I was busy with the dermal layers compared to exploring around his organs."
"I was hoping to report more progress to the board."
"These things take time."
"The surgeons regenerated his burns in a day."
"The brain is much more complex than a simple tissue graft. With all due respect to my surgical colleagues, psychiatry is a very different beast, always has been. There are no shortcuts or gizmos when it comes to rebuilding a mind, you have to take the scenic route. In this case, you're dealing with unpacking a tremendous about of PTSD on top of what was, let's be honest, not the most stable base to begin with."
"Our shareholders would not like to hear the captain described that way."
"Doctor-patient confidentiality is still a thing. The only reason I can even talk to you is because he's a bridge officer for Orbital. The corporation has access to his psych evaluations anyway. He is still a captain, even if he lacks a ship."
"How bad is it?"
"You have the physical trauma, of course. He was concussed badly in the explosion or the escape or both, so there is some physical damage. His scans don't reveal any permanent damage but his physical hardware is not at 100%. He's not in pain but is still experiencing a lot of discomfort from the grafts, think the equivalent of phantom limb but for his skin. It will go away as those nerves regenerate, but only time can deal with that. Psychologically, he was already flirting with a bona fide personality disorder were it not for the 'interferes with daily life and causes personal distress' criteria. Turns out being a starliner captain is a great fit for narcissism or borderline personality disorders. Don't look shocked, he wasn't medically diagnosable, but he checked a lot of boxes for someone entrusted with over 3,000 lives. Throw in survivor's guilt and mourning for the Breezewood and he's just north of catatonic."
"Mourning?"
"The ship was his life, and in a very real way, an extension of himself. He talks about it extensively in his previous evaluations and I can't imagine he felt differently before the attack."
"Accident"
"As you wish. To use the professional term, he's a hot mess. He's eating and drinking, but he's going through the motions, more out of habit than anything else. He perks up a bit for Orbital House Blend coffee, but that might just be an attempt to stave off caffeine withdrawal. I had hoped the odors would trigger something, but alas."
"You still think it's a bad idea for visitors? The Chairwoman is quite anxious to see him."
"Quite sure. The man has an ego, for better or worse, and I think that pride is all that's holding him together at this point. To let those he respects and cares about see him like this... it would be risky. I'd like more time to see if I can build him up without having to tear everything apart first."
"Is anything else getting a rise out of him?"
"We brought in some Gaian Service Wildlife. He seemed to enjoy stroking the avians, though again it was absent mindedly while he stared out the window. The ship had a menagerie of them. I slipped "Auld Lang Syne" into his playlist and that seemed to agitate him. I honestly don't know if that's good or bad."
"Why that song?"
"Traditional farewell sung the last night of each Breezewood journey. The pamphlets talked about saying goodbye to all the lifelong friends you made along the way that you would never see again or some such marketing nonsense. He didn't like it, but I'll keep it in my back pocket if I think he needs more of a prod."
"Fair enough, keep me posted so I can relay a report to the board."
"There was one... curiosity."
"Oh?"
"I had an attendant read some of his mail to him. Printed it out on actual paper and everything. He didn't react to any of it. But once he was left alone, he did pick up one of the letters, and I'm pretty sure he smiled."
"Which letter?"
"A thank you note from the Temporary Autonomous Zoners."
"It's the holy book for the Temporary Autonomous Zoners, though given what I understand about them "holy" and "the" are both very nuanced in their usage in this case. Given the state of the pages in front of him, "book" is also currently up for debate."
"Why'd you give it to him?"
"I didn't. No one knows how he got it. It just sort of... appeared. Were I a more spiritual man, I'd ascribe it to a miracle."
"Have we tried giving him something more orthodox to read?"
"He expresses no interest in anything other than that binder and the collection of odds and ends within. For a while I entertained the possibility that it was something he had written himself, the ravings of a madman. But he's on sharps restriction so there's nothing to write with, let alone the assorted writing implements used to make whatever it is in front of him. For example, one of the chapters alternates between crayon and ink calligraphy, and he has access to neither."
"So you don't think he wrote it?"
"No, even conceding the logistics of it all, the style and voice doesn't match his work in Wanderlust at all. Besides, the text is a word for word copy of what online sources I can track down."
"He might have remembered it from his time shuttling pilgrims to Baffin."
"He's not an idiot savant. That level of recall would be impossible for him. Someone gave it to him or it somehow got in the room, we just have no idea how."
"That doesn't concern you?"
"The security of this facility is your problem, not mine. I see a formerly catatonic patient finally engaging with the world. If he starts talking, we can start trying to unpack things and figure out next steps. Anything that nudges him closer to that is welcome."
"What if it nudges him over the edge into full blown madness? You don't have any idea what you're nudging him closer to!"
"Well, as the captain liked to say, if you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there."
"Only under Orbital's criteria. These Zoner pilgrims have more interesting standards it seems."
"He's not sane!"
"Apparently that's not a barrier for employment for them. Look, our treatments aren't going anywhere. The only thing he responds to is that book. The only thing he's ever loved is having a ship full of adoring passengers. Put the two of them together and maybe that gets us somewhere."
"No house space would let him fly."
"Good thing Baffin's not house space."
"Alright, so flying these pilgrims seems to free us from a lot of liability issues. But what if he goes up there, flies around, and we don't see any change? What if he does donuts around that geode of theirs and hears nothing from their goddess thing or whatever?"
"Oh I wouldn't be afraid of that."
"Why not?"
"Three reasons. First, if we try it and it doesn't work, we're really no worse off than we currently are now. Second, apparently MFE are currently guests of Baffin and they are far more qualified to deal with this than I am."
"And third?"
"I'm not afraid of him shouting to the void and hearing nothing back. I'm much more afraid of him calling out and getting a response."
"He's somewhere between freeport 11 and Baffin. Probably."
"I thought we were tracking him!"
"We were tracking PuddleJumper. It's currently parked in Curacao's refurbishing lot next to a space that should contain a used Democritus-class Yacht."
"He stole a yacht?"
"Don't be ridiculous. He purchased it with Breezewood's discretionary account."
"He can do that?"
"Just because he can't do it doesn't mean he didn't do it. I'm a therapist, not an accountant. Take it up with your bean counters."
"Has he been in contact at least?"
"Oh yes, he seems to have snapped out of the catatonic phase quite nicely. He sent a letter to essentially everyone at Orbital he had some kind of connection with. I'm surprised you didn't get it."
"Must have hit my spam. What did he say?"
"He asked if orange tastes like orange or is it the other way around."
"...what the hell does that mean?"
"It means he's probably with the right people for now. In any event, I consider the case closed on our end. He'll show up sooner or later. Until then, I imagine we all have plenty to keep ourselves busy."
