Turnabout: 7/7
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Someone was touching him and Alan felt the cold prick of a needle on his burning skin. Voices speaking, far away; a background murmur. His whole body felt light and airy and he was floating leisurely through space, turning over and over.
"Alan?" Soft lips touched his forehead. "Alan, open your eyes."
He tried to obey. His eyelids felt creaky and old, like door hinges that have not been used in ages. A face was floating somewhere above him and slowly his vision cleared. It was Lyn and she was smiling at him. "Alan, do you see me?"
He tried to reach a hand toward her but the hand wouldn't move. In sudden panic he wrenched at the bindings.
"Just a minute," Lyn said. "You're tied down. You kept pulling out the tubing." Her fingers fumbled at his wrists and his hands came free. Lyn held them both tightly. "How do you feel?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound emerged. Lyn squeezed his hands. "Don't try to talk. It's okay. You were awfully sick."
He tried to will his lips to move. "Mark?"
She understood. "He's going to be fine. He's better than you are, now."
"Good." Alan closed his eyes and then opened them again. "Wolly?"
"Wolly? Oh, you mean Strike Commander Wolenski. He's still out cold and looks pretty bad, but the doctor says he's going to be all right."
Alan managed to stretch his lips into a smile. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was and how glad he was to be with her again, but the effort was too much.
But she was his psychic partner. She understood without the need for speech. Her lips touched his forehead again and then his lips. He fell asleep during the kiss.
**********
When Alan opened his eyes sometime later, all was still. He blinked and turned his head, looking around. A bag of fluid was suspended above him and drops fell rhythmically into a small, clear chamber. The room was dim, and dark curtains had been drawn over the windows. On one wall, a tiny, reddish light glowed.
He turned his head the other way. There was another bed a few meters to the right of the one in which he lay and upon the other bed was a familiar, blond figure. Mark Linley lay flat on his back, one leg swathed in some kind of sheath and suspended high in the air. Weights hung from the foot of the bed and Linley's right arm, also encased in a smooth, seamless sheath, was attached to a hook above the bed.
Alan tried to sit up and a figure appeared instantly, leaning over him, restraining him without effort. "Uh uh, Colonel Westover. You lie still, sir."
"Jase! What are you doing here?"
"Taking care of you." The former corpsman from the "Patton" grinned down at him. "In case you don't know it, sir, I've graduated. I'm a full-fledged medical technician now. They figured it would be better to have psychics taking care of you, so, since I was already pretty close -- on Landersteel, actually -- they sent me here. How are you feeling?"
"A lot better. Could I have a drink?"
"Sure." Jason Llwelling poured a cup of water from the flask on the table and held it for Alan. "Go slow. You haven't had anything by mouth since they found you -- six days ago."
Alan sputtered. "Six days!"
"Six days," Llwelling confirmed. "You were real sick. Had us pretty worried for a while."
"How's Mark?"
"Oh, he's just about over the bug, but he has a broken arm and leg, plus cracked ribs and a broken collarbone. He was a mess. He's in traction until we've got all his bones back in position. Then we'll regenerate 'em and he'll be as good as new."
"You're sure he's going to be all right?"
"Oh, sure. Hates staying in bed, though. We've had an awful time with him. He's worse than a Jil -- or so Captain Bronson says -- when it comes to finding things to gripe about."
"Do I hear my name bein' mentioned in vain?" a drowsy voice said from the right. Alan turned his head to see Mark looking at them. His partner grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the dimness. "Hi there, kiddo. You look like hell."
"He's real tactful, too," Llwelling said in an undertone.
Alan returned the grin. "Hi, Mark. You look a *lot* better."
"I'm fine," Mark said.
"Of course you are, Colonel," Llwelling said. "Except that most of the bones in your body are in pieces." He glanced at Alan. "He also had a hairline skull fracture."
"Good grief!" Alan said.
"Shut up, squirt," Mark said, glaring at Llwelling. "What's a few bones, anyway? I hear you talked ol' Wolly into defectin'," he said to Alan. "Did you use your usual Strike Commander technique or did you try somethin' new?"
Alan laughed.
"Took you long enough, though. Seemed like I was ridin' on that damned litter for years. How did you --"
Jason interrupted him. "You can talk about it in the morning, Colonel," he said firmly. "Right now, Colonel Westover needs his sleep and so do you, whether you want to admit it or not."
"Okay, okay." Mark grinned, surrendering as gracefully as possible. "Take it easy, kid. You scared me the way you were ravin' when I woke up. I thought you were dyin'."
"And I thought *you* were," Alan said. "Wolly saved us both."
"So I hear. Oh well, I guess the poor guy didn't really have a chance with you around. When I was escortin' you through the jungle --"
"Quiet!" Llwelling said.
Alan looked back at him. "How's Strike Commander Wolenski, Jase? Was he as sick as Mark?"
"Just about. He still hasn't waked up, and he was hallucinating this evening, but don't worry. He's going to be fine. We know how to treat this thing. It's only fatal if untreated -- or if someone that's already in bad shape catches it." He raised an eyebrow at Mark. "It's a good thing you're tough, Colonel Linley."
Mark took a swing at him, which Llwelling dodged. "It's *Mark*, dammit!"
"Okay -- Mark. Now go to sleep."
**********
10
Someone touched his shoulder and Alan came wide awake. The room was flooded with light and he could see sunshine in patches on the floor and walls. Lyn was standing beside him, smiling.
"Hi, Alan. How do you feel?"
Alan gazed dreamily up at her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. "I'm fine," he said.
"Good. Feel like some lunch?"
He considered. "I'm not very hungry but I could sure drink something."
"Good. That's exactly what Robbie had in mind." She went briskly from the room.
"Hi, kid!"
Alan turned his head to see Mark, grinning at him from the other bed. His partner sported no bag of intravenous fluids, like the one that hung over his bed, and Linley's cheeks were bulging. He swallowed. "Man! This is a good steak!"
"Hi, Mark!" Alan grinned at him in sheer relief. "Gosh, you look great!"
"He does?" Julia Austell had appeared in the doorway, a slender, ornate bottle covered with frost held carefully in both hands. "Here's the wine you ordered, Mark." She crossed the room, set the bottle on the tray and glanced back at Alan. "I think he looks awful. I hate that mustache."
Mark twitched it at her. "I kind of like it. I was thinkin' about keepin' it for a while."
"It tickles," Julia said.
Mark's grin broadened. "Your wish is my command, gorgeous one. Get the razor."
"After you're finished with your lunch, Don Juan." Julia poured a glass of wine for him and set the bottle back on the tray. "I'm sorry, Alan, but Robbie says you can't have any, today. Lyn will be here in a minute with yours."
"That's okay," Alan said. "Can I have a drink of water while I'm waiting?"
"Sure." Julia poured a glass and slipped a hand under his shoulders while he drank. Alan gulped and then sank back on the pillows, trying not to breathe hard. The effort exhausted him. Wow! He'd never felt so weak in his life!
Mark was watching him, frowning. "Kid? You okay?" He started to push himself into a sitting position and the suspended leg swung dangerously. Julia pushed him back down.
"Lie still, darn it!"
"Get the doc, Jul! Dammit, kid, are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Alan opened his eyes. "Kind of wiped out, that's all."
Julia frowned. "Maybe I'd better get Robbie, anyway --"
Alan grabbed for her as she started to turn. "No, Julia, I'm okay. Honest."
Mark was still watching him. Alan looked past Julia at his partner and gave him a reassuring grin. "I'm all right. Don't look so scared."
"Shut up an' lie still, kid. Jul, get that damned doc or, by God, I'll go get him myself --"
Robbie Benson stuck his head in the door. "What's all the shouting about?"
"Ah, there you are!" Mark started to sit up a second time and once more the traction swayed. Julia pushed him down again. "Come over here and check Alan out, willya, Doc? He took a drink of water an' went whiter'n a trenchcrawler's underside!"
"Gosh, thanks a lot, pal," Alan said softly.
Robbie came over and lifted one of Alan's wrists, feeling his pulse. "A little fast. You take it easy, Alan. You were sicker than these two 'trols were. The less body mass you have, the harder this bug is on you." He glanced at Mark. "He's all right, Colonel. Don't look so scared." He turned toward the door. "Ah; there you are, Lyn."
Lyn entered, a tray in her hands. "Hi, Robbie. Just leaving?"
"Checking on our VIP. Remember what I said, now." He went out.
Lyn set the tray on the table beside Alan. He glanced without emotion at the tea, broth and gelatin. Mark was still watching him, wine glass in hand. Alan reached for the spoon.
Lyn brushed his hand aside. "Lie still. No unnecessary expenditure of energy. Doctor's orders." She picked up the spoon and scooped up a bite of gelatin. "Drink your wine, Mark, and stop staring at him. You're making him nervous."
Mark growled something and took a swallow of wine.
"Wine?" It was a weak voice from a spot somewhere beyond Mark. Alan turned his head.
"Is that Wolly?"
"Yes," Lyn said. "He's in the bed over there, next to Mark's. Open your mouth."
Alan obeyed. Again the voice came. "Wine? Who's got wine around here?"
"Me," Mark said.
"What kind?"
"Riskellian moonwine," Linley replied, glancing at the label. "It's only about six years old."
"Mmmm," Wolenski said.
A young, very pretty woman appeared at the door. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Sir, the Strike Commander's awake."
Robbie reappeared and crossed the room. Alan heard him speaking and Wolly's reply. Lyn was busy shoveling broth into his mouth, and, at last, Alan turned his face away. "Wolly?" he called.
"That you, kid?"
"Yes. How are you?"
"He's okay, Alan." Robbie stood up. "But he'll be off his feet another week, just like you will." He turned back to the Strike Commander. "Feel like having something to eat, sir?"
"Not really," Wolenski's voice said, "but I could sure use some of that moonwine."
Robbie grinned. "Not today, I'm afraid, but we'll try to find you something else." He went to the door and a moment later the young woman reappeared, a tray held carefully in both hands. She crossed the room and Alan heard the soft click as she set the tray down.
"Here you are, sir," she said. "I did the best I could. Do you like chicken soup?"
"I like you a lot better, honey," Wolenski said.
Her voice became embarrassed. "Here, sir, I'm going to feed you. Just open your mouth ..."
"What's your name?" Wolenski asked.
Alan could sense her embarrassment and pleasure even across the room. "I'm Margie, sir."
"Margie. I like that name." There was a pause. "I'm Andrei Wolenski. You can call me Wolly."
"Watch it, honey," Mark said.
A weak chuckle. "Don't pay any attention to him, Margie. He's just jealous."
Mark laughed, glancing at Julia. "Man, this is terrific wine, Jul."
"Oh, shut up," Wolenski said.
Kevin Bronson stepped through the door, accompanied by Fred Wylie.
"Hi, folks," Bronson said heartily. "It's great t'see all your smilin' faces. Heard Alan was awake so we thought we'd come say hi."
"Hi, Kev," Alan said.
"Hi, kid!" Bronson strode over beside him, towering over Lyn, and grinned down at him. "Man, you scared us. You looked like hell when they carried you in." His grin widened. "You still look like hell, but at least you look alive, now."
"When did you get here?" Alan asked.
"That was us holdin' off the Patrol cars while Fred and company picked you up. We'd just arrived. Which reminds me -- 'Scuse me. I gotta say thanks to somebody." He turned and went past Mark's bed to look down at Wolenski. "Howdy, Strike Commander. Thanks for your help. We'd never o' been in time if you hadn't decided to lend a hand."
Wolenski's voice sounded slightly awed. "I remember you -- now, who the hell --Weren't you here when they brought us in?"
"Yeah," Kevin said. "Didn't get much of a chance t'say anythin', though. An' you musta gone out right after that, 'cause the next time I saw you, you was talkin' to some gal named Polly."
Alan laughed and Wolenski joined in. "Dammit, I know who you are, now! Kevin Bronson -- The Crazy Subcommander!"
Kevin burst out laughing and made a bow. "That's right."
"Are you really Mark's brother?"
"Half brother," Bronson said. He turned his profile to Wolenski. "Can you doubt it with this ugly mug?"
The Strike Commander laughed weakly. "You're welcome, anyway."
Lyn stood up. "Excuse me a minute, Alan." She went past Mark's bed, disappearing from his view behind Mark's leg. "Thank you, sir." He heard her voice and realized it was shaking slightly. "Thank you very much."
Alan heard a smacking sound and then Wolenski's voice. "So you're the one Alan kept hallucinating about. He was right. You *are* pretty." He raised his voice slightly. "You got good taste, kid."
"Thank you," Alan said, a little smugly.
Julia stood up too and went around Mark's bed. Alan heard another smack. Mark laughed. "Hey, Wol, you look like you're enjoyin' yourself. I seem t'remember you sayin' somethin' about swearin' off women. Or was I dreamin'?"
"He said it, all right," Alan said.
Lyn appeared beside him again, her cheeks flushed. *My goodness!* He heard her voice clearly in his mind. *He kissed back!*
Alan laughed. "You have to watch out for these 'trols, honey."
"They're discussin' you, Wol," Mark said.
"What?" Wolenski said. "I only heard Alan."
"Lyn didn't say hers out loud," Mark said. "You'll get usta psychics in the Underground, but it'll take a while. Kinda shakes you up when you realize they ain't all two meters plus. In fact, in the Underground, none of 'em are."
"What did she say about me?" Wolenski asked, curiously.
"Dunno," Mark said. "I only knew she said somethin' 'cause I heard Alan answer her, but I can guess what it was."
"What did she say, kid?" Wolenski asked.
"Nothing bad," Alan said.
Fred Wylie bent over Wolenski's bed. "Let me add my thanks to the rest, Strike Commander." He extended a hand. "Do you remember me?"
"Sure. You're the 'trol that showed up and scooped us out of the fiery furnace. Fred something, wasn't it?"
"Wylie," Fred answered. "C.O. of the station. Thank you very much. You certainly saved the situation back there."
Wolenski cleared his throat. "Aw, hell. At least I'm in good company."
Mark laughed. "First time I ever heard somebody call me good company. But I gotta question, Wol."
"Yeah?"
"Well, I know why Kev an' me changed sides, and Ron did it to save his skin -- but why'd you decide to join the club?"
"Well --" Wolenski cleared his throat again and spoke to Margie. "Man, that stuff's putrid, honey. Thanks anyway, but I think I've had enough." He addressed Mark again. "Well -- I guess you figured out that Alan was putting up a helluva fight, in spite of all the odds. He's kind of an enigma, you know -- a nice kid, but harder than nails to people he doesn't like. Kind of a mixture of Attila the Hun and Johnny Appleseed. I couldn't help but admire him -- but I hadn't really made up my mind until Hague finally got the jump on him. Then, all of a sudden it occurred to me that I was beating my brains out for a bunch of people that didn't give a damn about me." He paused and his voice became even more embarrassed. "Besides, I didn't like old Hague -- and I *did* like Alan."
Mark glanced at his partner and back at Wolenski. "Are we talkin' about the same guy? Alan ain't hard. I'm always jumpin' on him for bein' too soft."
"Well, he sure wasn't soft on Hague," Wolenski said.
Alan felt a flush creeping into his cheeks. "Cut it out, guys."
"Okay," Mark said. He laughed. "Anyway, the rest of it is pretty familiar. Alan's awful good at recruitin' 'trols, and he don't even try."
Wolenski also chuckled. "I guess so. How many Strike Commanders does this make now -- three?"
"Four," Mark said. "Only Alan didn't recruit the other one. Lyn did."
"Four?" Wolenski sounded confused. "I only know about you and Griffen. Who's the other one?"
"Can't tell you that," Bronson said. "Not 'til you're conditioned. He's still in command of his battlecruiser."
Wolenski coughed. "*What*? You mean one of the Strike Commanders in the Fleet is an Underground agent?"
"Yep," Mark said.
"Holy space!" Wolenski sounded completely stunned. "You guys are a lot more organized than I thought!"
"Oh sure," Mark said casually. "Terra's gonna win. I figured that out a long time ago. An' I always like to be a winner."
There was a short pause and then Wolenski laughed. "Me, too," he said.
The End
