Raised voices smeared the air orange. Jem bolted upright in the chair and opened his eyes.
"You're in no condition to leave," his father said.
"And you have no right to make me stay."
It was Gutierrez. Her voice was a rusty blade sawing through his father's practiced reasonableness. He backed out from her curtained cubicle, in full-on Dr. Kristoff Durbin mode, his shoulders squared, his jaw set, his expression firm, but kind.
Gutierrez, dressed in a white clinic gown, stood in front of him. Without her arm prosthesis, she looked off-balance, as if she would tilt to the right and Jem jumped up, but he didn't think she would accept his help even if he knew how to offer it.
There was nothing off-balance about her anger and her determination to leave.
"My uniform and my sidearm, Doctor."
The asteroid and the tractor beam. While he'd seen both of his parents stare down actively hostile and dangerous patients, this asteroid was Lieutenant Commander Emmaline Gutierrez and his father didn't stand a chance of pulling her off course.
He just didn't know that yet.
Jem stood against the wall and watched as he first tried to be logical. "You're not cleared for duty, Lieutenant Commander. I'm the one who will do that assessment. The sooner you get back to my telemetry, the sooner we can return you to full health."
"You've done all you can. I know my body far better than you ever will and what it needs is time. Time I will not waste sleeping in Medical."
Then he tried empathy. "It must be frustrating and difficult to be without your arm. As soon as you're stronger, we can send you off-planet for a new limb."
"I managed one handed long before you were learning to crawl, Doctor." Her dark eyes narrowed. If it had been Jem standing beneath their gaze, he would have flinched. His father didn't move. Good for him. "Besides, you don't have the skills or tools here to rebuild my prosthesis."
"I don't think it can be salvaged." He put his hands in the pockets of his labcoat. "Be reasonable. Your burns are still healing. Your right arm doesn't have its full strength back."
"No."
"No?" His father was begining to lose his temper. Jem could see it in the rigidity of his shoulders and in the way his words were tinged with red.
"I wish to sign out AMA. You can try to keep me here against my will, but I wouldn't recommend it."
Even one-armed, with her face drawn and her skin sallow, swaying slightly in bare feet and barely covered by a thin knee-length gown, Gutierrez was an intimidating force. If Barre hadn't exaggerated, she'd been half-dead and still managed to pilot Dev to safety.
"I don't advise it, Lieutenant Commander."
"Does it look like I'm asking for your advice?"
She looked exhausted and if this standoff didn't end soon, Jem was worried she'd end up on the floor. But surely his father could see it, too.
"I could declare you a risk to yourself."
She spoke so quietly, Jem had to strain to hear her reply. "You have no idea, Kristoff."
His father's face paled and he shook his head. "Fine. You're right. I can't force you to stay. I can only ask you to reconsider."
They stood barely a half meter apart in strained silence. Jem held his breath. Gutierrez kept her dark gaze steady.
His father swore softly. "Fine. At least give me a few minutes to get you a fresh uniform."
"Fine," Gutierrez answered and staggered back to her bed.
"And you'll need to sign releases," he called over his shoulder.
Muttering to himself, his father stomped toward the chief tech. Jem knew he would delay the discharge process as long as he could in the hopes that Gutierrez would either change her mind or be too weary to leave today.
"Good luck with that," he whispered and slipped behind the scrim and into Gutierrez's cubicle.
"Are you here to reason with me too?" She had collapsed back into the bed and the telemetry was decidely unhappy about her vitals.
"You think?"
She laughed harshly. "No. I suppose not."
He forced himself to study the residual limb and it's trailing artificial nerves. "My father is right in one thing."
The look she gave him lit up his brain in harsh, bright colors.
"It's going to be hard to fix your arm one-handed."
"I'll manage."
"You could go off-station. There are dozens of places that could patch you up. She would see to that."
"I'm sure she would." Gutierrez's reply was subdued and her gaze shifted to something only she could see.
Jem sighed. "I could help you."
Now it was her turn to sigh.
"I'm good with machines. I mean, software is more fun, but I can fix anything. Ask Ro."
She turned to stare at him with unblinking, dark eyes. Maybe invoking Ro's name had been a mistake.
"Look, I'm not here to convince you of anything. What you do next? It's your choice. Not hers. Not mine. But you need help and I'm a steady set of hands."
"When you aren't reeling with dizziness or disabled by headaches."
"How do you know about all that?"
"I'm the station's second in command. I know about all Daedalus's inhabitants. Besides, I went through some of that, too." She shrugged her shoulder. The artificial nerves twitched against the bed.
So she did have a first-gen neural! "I'm much better now. I've figured out ways to damp down the vestibular activation."
"Huh. It took me almost a year."
Was that a compliment? Jem looked directly at the LC and gave one last try. The worst that could happen is she would throw him out. "So, will you let me help you? Please? At least until you get your arm working."
She returned his stare. Her expression was eerily blank, as if there was no human emotion behind the mask of her face.
Jem squirmed on the hard chair at her bedside. Even his new synesthesia gave him nothing useful. He was aware of the moments flowing by and that his father or the tech would return any time now with a uniform for Gutierrez and her discharge authorizations. It would be hard to justify his presence here.
Her silence made him want to say something. Anything. Gutierrez would make a hell of an interogator. Even without the sharp claw hand, she radiated strength and danger.
She wasn't going to answer.
