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“Ms. Fox…”
“…Ms. Fox, you asked me to alert you when we were getting closer to the exoplanet,” Professor Tweads is saying, jostling her arm with a furred claw. Belle snaps to attention in the jump seat, tearing herself away from the analytics scrolling across her tablet computer.
“Yes, thank you,” she says, rousing herself further, already feeling the thrum of excitement in her belly at the prospect of spending five whole hours down on EXO 5250, studying the native life with her graduate studies professor, Mr. Tweads. She’s been cramming like mad for weeks in preparation, and now finally, they’ve arrived.
“The initial readings look promising,” Tweads says, shuffling past her up to the shuttle’s cockpit, where their university-employed pilot is occupied at the controls.
Out of the shuttle’s main viewing window, EXO 5250 glows like an electric yellow marble swirled with white streaks due to clouds in the atmosphere. Belle simply observes it for a few moments as the shuttle circles, drawing closer.
“I’ll start getting everything ready,” Belle says, tearing her eyes away, running through checklists in her mind of all the equipment they’ll need, from scanners and the portable radar to soil sampling gear. She heads to the rear of the shuttle, leaving the pilot and Mr. Tweads in the cockpit.
“Beginning our descent now,” the pilot announces, loud enough for Belle to hear. Half a second later alarms blare, drowning out everything.
Someone or something has Belle Fox’s head in a vice. There is no up or down, wherever she’s at, only a black endless stretch of nothing at all.
But the noise.
There is so much of it. Creaking, grinding, smashing.
Screaming.
The vice tightens further.
“Let’s get another neuro exam on record since the left leg’s been stabilized. We’ll need to start fluids too; she’s showing signs of dehydration.”
“Right away, doctor.”
“Where’s Rainsford? We’ll need his help–”
“Cleaning up the patient in bay four.”
“It can wait then.”
Belle catches the conversation happening around her in snatches, and understands nothing. She’s not sure her brain is even working anymore. Or if she has one.
She can hear her inhales and exhales, she believes, underneath the voices. In…out…in…out. She can't see though. Her eyes are closed. Are her eyes closed?
She thinks to test the theory, blinking her eyes open to the assault of bright, white light hitting her eyeballs. To her surprise, her whole body shudders and she makes a sound that might be a moan, she’s not sure. She slams her eyes shut.
“Belle? Ms. Fox? I think she’s coming out of it, doctor.”
“Ms. Fox, can you hear me? My name’s Dr. Dawkins. My nurse and I are taking care of the injuries you sustained when your shuttle crashed. Could you try opening your eyes again?”
The man’s voice sounds nice, and yes, Belle finds that opening her eyes a second time is much easier than the first. It takes a few seconds to process what she’s seeing. She’s laying on a padded sea-green medical cot with two humanoids working over her. The man on her left is all blonde hair and limbs, glancing between her and what seems like the bed’s monitor by her hip. The woman on her right is all dark skin and curls. She looks tired, but smiles at Belle when Belle notices her.
“Welcome back,” she says. “How do you feel after being spit out of a wormhole?” In response, Belle vomits violently over the side of the bed, splattering sick all over the blonde man’s trousers.
“No, no, don’t pass out again on us, Belle. Keep your eyes open if you can,” the blonde Dr. Dawkins is saying, propping her up with an arm around her shoulders as she breathes heavily in between retching. The curly-haired woman has produced a small pink basin for her from somewhere, but Belle is too weak to even hold it herself. She doubts whether she’ll have much say in whether or not she loses consciousness again. Nevertheless, she attempts to focus on following the doctor’s instructions.
“Finished?” he asks, when a few moments have passed without Belle heaving. Belle nods, slumping in relief that her stomach is no longer churning quite so angrily. The doctor lowers her back onto the cot.
“Sorry about your trousers,” Belle mumbles, glancing down at his sky blue uniform, and grimacing when the action disturbs her stomach.
“Just another perk of working in the hospital at the armpit of the universe,” Dr. Dawkins replies, looking unbothered in the extreme. He’s already moved away to tap with what seems like unnecessary force on the control panel of the bone knitter.
“Jack, try not to scare the patient,” the woman says, shooting the doctor a look. Belle is grateful to see she’s got a cup of water in her hands, which she holds to Belle’s lips. Belle is able to take a few sips before it is pulled away. “You can have more in a few minutes, if you keep that down.”
“What happened to me?” Belle asks, looking from humanoid to humanoid. Her head still feels like it's being crushed slowly into gravel, her left leg looks like it's now in a bone knitter up to her thigh, and the rest of her body feels abused. “What did you mean. About the wormhole?”
“That’s what the rescue crew thinks happened to you, anyway,” Dr. Dawkins says, now talking and running some sort of scanner over her head at the same time. “You were inside the shuttlecraft that crashed outside the town limits. Then Fagin came on the radio, shouting about a wormhole opening and closing about a lightyear away from here, and the crew put two and two together.”
Belle can only blink in amazement. “You mean, my shuttle went through a wormhole, and this–where is this? Where am I? Where’s Mr. Tweads and the pilot? How could I have forgotten for goddesses sake! They were on the ship too.” Jack and the nurse both stop what they’re doing, silent for too long. Finally the woman speaks, sounding apologetic.
“The crew only found you, Belle. I’m sorry.”
Belle remembers the next few days in bits and pieces. After breaking the news, Jack, the doctor, and his nurse, who he calls Hetty, run more tests and have her drink more water. Appallingly, the doctor sticks her hand with an actual needle, made of metal, to deliver fluids intravenously. She’s only seen such archaic equipment on display for educational purposes when she was an undergrad.
She doesn’t watch as he does it, too afraid of her touchy stomach and honestly, too afraid it will hurt. It does, but only for an instant before Jack is telling her she can look.
The bone knitter is removed not long after, though before it’s completed the healing process. Belle’s brow scrunches in confusion when Hetty explains it’s because the equipment is so old it's only partially effective.
“Why not get a new bone knitter, then?” Belle asks, feeling even more confused when Hetty lets out an amused snort at such an obvious fix.
“You really aren’t from around here, Ms. Fox. As much as this hospital would like the latest and greatest tech, the powers that be think little of us out here at the edge of the quadrant,” she explains, wrapping Belle’s still healing leg with bandages, and then an extremely bulky splint. At least Belle’s fairly sure it's a splint. Her archaeological medicine courses feel about a million lightyears ago.
“Don’t worry though, your leg should be all healed up in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? Really?” Belle bites back whatever else she might say, sensing this might not be the best moment.
She dozes for indeterminate amounts of time, and feels slightly more human after Jack’s intravenous drip, barbaric though it is. Sleep feels impossible however, because Belle seems to have also woken up in a sort of controlled chaos.
The cot she’s laying on is separated from others by curtains, but whatever kind of ward she must be in seems large and constantly bustling with patients and employees. She sees Dr. Dawkins briefly as he checks on her progress, but he’s also absent for long stretches, busy with other patients. Every so often his voice will drift over to her from other parts of the ward, though what he’s saying is rarely intelligible.
Eventually, a pair of strangers also in blue uniform move her out of the ward. They travel up in a lift, landing on a quieter floor of the hospital. The room she’s settled into is private and quiet, bless the goddesses, and Belle falls deeply asleep in minutes.
She wakes sweating through unfamiliar, stiff sheets with her whole field of vision slipping sideways.
It’s like she’s in that other place again, where there is no down or up or right or left. Is the shuttle crashing with her inside it? Or is it a wormhole, pulling her inexorably closer like water down a plughole? She pants for breath, stubbornly fighting the inevitable until hands are grabbing at her wrists, holding them still, and something cold is attached to her neck.
She wakes again, and the room is right side up. Dr. Dawkins is sitting in a chair pulled up to her bedside reading on a tablet computer. Belle props herself up against her pillows, her weak arms protesting. There’s something sticky on Belle’s neck; she peels it off carefully, examining it. She guesses it's some sort of dermal delivery system, but for what medication exactly, there is no indication.
“What did you give me? She asks without preamble, fingering the small hexagonal patch. “A sedative?”
“Ah good, you’re awake,” Dr. Dawkins looks up. “Yes, I gave you a sedative. Well, a sedative combined with a strong antiemetic. Is that a problem?” Other doctors might be offended at Belle’s accusing tone at first waking up, but not this one. He simply sounds curious about what she’ll say next.
“What for?” Belle asks.
“Traveling through a wormhole like you did comes with a very long list of side effects. One of which is, frankly, the worst case of space sickness I’ve ever seen,” Dr. Dawkins raises an eyebrow, setting aside the tablet.
“Space sickness? That’s a made-up diagnosis.” Belle snorts a laugh.
Jack replies, looking amused. “What would you call it, then?”
Belle will never back down from a challenge. “I would call it by its proper name, doctor. ‘Space sickness’ is simply too generic a classification. Specifically, my severe vertigo and nausea, coupled with–”
“Dr. Dawkins, please report to Surgical Bay One, Dr. Dawkins to Surgical One,” a robotic voice sounds over hidden speakers, interrupting their discussion.
“My apologies, it looks like we’ll have to cut this argument short, Ms. Fox,” Dr. Dawkins sounds like he’d quite like to laugh as he takes his leave. Belle huffs when he’s gone, sinking back into her pillow.
She hadn’t even gotten to hear what his retort was going to be. Or tell him thank you.
“Where were you going, in that shuttle?” Dr. Dawkins asks a day later. Belle had looked up from her breakfast to see him in her room again. He looked similar to how he did the day previous, a fresh uniform on, his hair combed to the side. She sat patiently as he examined her, pleasantly surprised when he declared her well enough to take some exercise around the floor with assistance.
“We were headed down to an exoplanet,” Belle replies, looking more at her splinted foot than him. Belle’s taking her first cautious steps down the hall outside her room, the doctor keeping a steady hand around her waist. “We were going to study it for a few hours, my professor and I. I was in charge of the gear. I’d waited all semester for the time to go.” Belle trails off, thinking about her professor and the pilot. Do their families know they are gone? Does hers?
Goddess, they must assume she’s dead too. She swallows with difficulty, taking another few steps with the doctor’s arm securely around her waist.
“So you’re a scientist, then. What field?” Dr. Dawkins asks, sounding interested. Belle’s grateful for the distraction.
“Exobiology. But I’ve taken several undergraduate courses at the medical college as well.”
“That explains your medical knowledge, albeit incomplete medical knowledge.” The remark brings Belle up short, and she wobbles a second before Jack steadies her.
“Incomplete! You’re the one using equipment better suited to museums.”
“I use what is available, Ms. Fox. I can only assume where you’re from, medical technology is more advanced than it is here in good old Port Victory,” Dr. Dawkins says, sounding a tad rueful.
The thought had never occurred to Belle. Too late, she remembers what Hetty said when she questioned the bone knitter.
“That could be very well true, doctor,” she admits, nodding her head. “I apologize. I realize you are simply doing your best.” They’ve made it maybe three quarters around the floor, but Belle’s feeling the exertion. Dr. Dawkins must notice and brings them to a halt. He catches her eye.
“Thank you, Ms. Fox,” he says sincerely. “Now, let’s get you back to your room, shall we?”
The details of Belle’s situation trickle in over the next few days. As Jack and Hetty first explained to her when she awoke, her shuttle did enter a wormhole during what Belle assumes was their descent into EXO 5250. She runs model after model on the tablet computer she borrows from a member of the hospital staff, finally concluding she’s not sure when or how her professor and pilot died, but that they were most certainly crushed by the force of entry or reentry on the other side of the quadrant. Belle’s decision to gather their equipment at the rear of the shuttle saved her life in all likelihood.
Belle also learns she’s traveled most of a quadrant away from where she started. She’s traveled farther than she’s ever traveled before in the blink of an eye. Worse still, she now has no ship, no possessions, no way of leaving the little outpost called Port Victory.
And even if she could return home, it will take her upwards of 70 years, and that’s on a ship capable of high warp speeds. Belle has only the clothes she was wearing when she crashed and the ID badge the rescue crew found intact in her chest pocket, which is how Dr. Dawkins and Hetty knew her name.
Belle sets the tablet aside then, and begins wandering the hospital.
She’s clumsy on her crutches still, but gets more confident as she traverses the hallways of her floor before taking the lift to other floors of the hospital. She’s careful to avoid the staff when she can, afraid they’ll insist she return to her room, tell her to leave. She takes breaks sitting in waiting rooms or squeezed into supply areas until she catches her breath. She can’t think, doesn’t want to think, so she doesn’t.
She walks and walks and rides the lifts and thinks of nothing.
“Miss, hey miss. I could use some help here,” a voice is saying. Belle looks up, finding herself back in the large ward she first awoke in. Where is that voice coming from? Her brow creases, and she takes a hesitant step toward the person on the cot to her right.
He’s a youngish humanoid with vibrant orange spots running down his arms. Belle looks to the right and left of her, but no one is around.
“Yes, what’s the matter?” she says, clearing her throat from long disuse. The humanoid looks relieved.
“Oh thank you, I’ve been waiting for the nurse to come back, but it's taking ages. It usually does, in this place. Could you find her and let her know the burning’s getting worse.”
“Yes, I–wait, may I?” Belle asks, gesturing to the orange spots, which when she looks closer, aren’t actually a part of his physiology at all but some type of rash.
“I guess?” The humanoid looks skeptical, but Belle’s already coming closer to examine the spots.
“You haven’t been working with absoluerim lately, have you?” she asks. The patient nods a yes, looking confused. The burning is a sign the rash is worsening and needs immediate treatment. Otherwise, it will begin to spread and become irreversible. She doesn’t share this with the patient, but balances on her crutches and exits the cubicle in search of the nearest supply closet.
“There we are, how does that feel?” Belle asks, applying the last of the ointment-soaked bandages to Charlie’s spots. Charlie sighs in relief.
“Much better, thank you.”
“Alright, Charlie, I’m– Belle, I mean Ms. Fox, what are you doing here?” Dr. Dawkins stops short when he enters the cubicle. Belle looks up with a smile, clearing up her workstation.
“Good evening, doctor. I happened to be passing through and Charlie’s rash couldn’t wait, so I stepped in.”
“Hold on, how did you know it was a rash?” Jack questions, coming over to inspect her work. Belle knows he approves of everything because he returns to looking at her after a few moments.
“It’s obvious, I thought,” Belle shrugs, which is uncomfortable given the crutches. “The patient complained of burning and there’s the distinct color and pattern of the rash itself. There’s really only a few things it could be, the most common being prolonged contact with absoluerim, which the patient confirmed.”
“Yes, of course,” Jack says slowly. “What else, indeed.” Belle’s not entirely sure why he’s continuing to look at her so. She tears her gaze away, and takes her leave of the patient. She feels quite ready for bed suddenly.
“Your leg is healing well,” Dr. Dawkins says, manipulating the limb carefully. He’s kneeling in front of where Belle sits on the edge of her bed. “And no more bouts of space sickness, either. Though there is a chance you’ll have a recurrence every so often for the next six months. That’s not unheard of.”
“I’m aware, thank you doctor,” Belle nods. “I shall keep you informed.”
“That seems to be all, then,” Dr. Dawkins stands, recording the last few details in Belle’s chart. Belle’s recovered well enough to be discharged today. She’s been given temporary lodgings at one of Port Victory’s boarding houses, but she has no idea where to go from there.
Rather than take his leave right away as Belle expects, Dr. Dawkins lingers, seeming very much to want to ask her something but circling around it.
“Ms. Fox, there is one thing I’m still curious about,” Jack begins at last, holding his hands behind his back. “Somehow you diagnosed Charlie’s rash in the ED a few nights ago.”
“Yes, of course. It was not particularly difficult, doctor,” Belle says, surprised at Jack’s line of questioning. “I have no doubt you reached the same diagnosis.” Jack nods in agreement, but continues.
“I did, but you see, you were missing a few important parts of the puzzle. Logically, there’s no way you should have been able to correctly make such a leap, yet you did.” He pauses, expectant.
“Doctor, what I did was not extraordinary,” Belle says slowly. She’s never seen the doctor act like this in the short time she's known him.
“What are your plans, Ms. Fox, now that you’re well enough to leave this place?” Jack asks, changing the subject.
“I'm not entirely sure,” Belle hedges.
“How about a job then?” Jack proposes. “I would like to train you as my assistant, at least to begin with. I see untapped potential in you.” He looks hopeful, but like he’s trying to suppress it for her sake. A smile plays at the edges of his mouth.
“Untapped potential?” Belle smiles at the phrase. “Really?”
She may never be able to return home, and if she tried, she’d return an old woman. Belle can’t imagine spending so many decades, the best years of her life really, on a spaceship, not when there’s so much more useful and interesting work she could be doing.
Besides, she rather likes this lanky, blonde, brilliant doctor working at the edge of the quadrant. This doctor who healed her and cared for her just as skillfully, but with about half as much technology as Belle is used to.
“When can we start?”