2059
A
full Moon.
Bright enough on this occasion to light up the surrounding ocean
as though it were daylight. Yet, that was hardly the appreciation being felt by
the occupant of the dinghy, adrift in the calm sea. His preoccupation was not
with anything around him, but with things and happenings within him.
Pain.
A searing angry pain.
A pain in his back,
head, neck and arms. A pain he likened to having a hundred razor blades cut into
him. A pain so excruciating that it had caused him to black out several times.
It was also a pain
so intense that whenever consciousness returned, albeit briefly, it would cause
him to hallucinate.
More than once he
would see a man sitting on the edge of the dinghy. The man, long haired, aged
and in a white robe would gesture with his hands as if trying to communicate
with him in some way.
Then, nothing.
In addition to the
pain, there was the other extreme.
A loss of feeling, a
numbness in his legs, a numbness slowly spreading, threatening to engulf his
whole body. A numbness so frightening he felt almost glad when the blackouts
came.
At least when
asleep, there was quiet.
There was peace.
There was no pain
There was no
numbness.
And a part of him
would be glad to stay in this place of darkness and peace, for eternity if
necessary.
Besides, Elaine
might be there.
His escape was peaceful, yet no one was there.
The noisy swirling of water woke the man from his slumber, but
only momentarily. Enough though to see that it was daylight, and that the
outlines of two people were looking over him. He then fell back into the slumber
he had so not wanted to leave, yet this time he had a feeling that if
consciousness were to reclaim him, it would have a good reason to now.
He had been found.
Elaine would have to wait.
By Nigel Preece
Based on and with
reference to
Fireball XL5, Stingray,
Thunderbirds and Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.
©1962, 1964, 1965, 1967 Carlton
International Media
1.Diagnosis
“In here, Ted.” The man gestured holding the door open, motioning
with his hand, beckoning the other individual into the side ward.
The man answering to the name Ted walked briskly in. threw off
his overcoat, to reveal a dinner suit, and as he did so, he was handed a
stethoscope by an errant attendee. The patient had not yet been wired up to the
monitor screen above the bed.
Ted was not the tallest of individuals, but certainly thin. About five feet,
seven inches tall, with dark short hair, and piercing eyes that at once conveyed
a mixture of concern, yet at the same time seemed also to express a detachment
very much in keeping with his profession. Quickly he checked the heartbeat of
the man on the bed. It was quick, and his skin was pale.
His prospects were
not a great cause for optimism.
“When did he come in, Carlos?” Ted asked in an urgent no nonsense
Australian accent, seated on the side of bed, checking the patient’s eyes as he
lay there.
Carlos, grey-haired, moustachioed and in possession of a
waistline that betrayed an appreciation of the finer culinary arts, divested
himself of his overcoat to reveal a less than well fitting dinner suit put the
other man in the picture.
“Got in about half
an hour ago, Ted,” he replied. “His condition unchanged since arrival.”
“Fine. Let’s try and
stabilize him, he’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s holding on.” Ted looked up at
the attendee, standing on the other side of the bed, “Keep with the blood, check
the bandages every hour. It looks as though the emergency surgery he had on the
helijet to stop the bleeding has held.”
He then got up from
the bed and turned to face Carlos.
“I take it you did
the tracheotomy, Carlos?” he enquired.
“Yes, Ted. If and or
when he is able to come around, he can at least talk to us and the authorities
and explain what happened to him. I think that wreckage of a Guard Patrol Sub
that’s been found off the coast might have our answers. He was in a naval
uniform after all.”
Carlos walked over
to the end of the bed and picked up the clipboard to take a glance at the chart.
As he looked at it he spoke again.
“What are his
chances?” he asked.
Ted stood up and
handed the stethoscope back to the attendee.
“He took a beating,
Carlos; if he’s got the strength to get through the next 24 hours, there might
be something I can do.”
There was a knock at
the door.
“Come in”, commanded
Carlos.
A hospital
administrator put her head around the door and quietly motioned the two doctors
out into the corridor, and into a windowless side office. She took a seat behind
her desk and gestured for the two men to sit down opposite. Petite, and with
long straight dark hair, which every so often she would try and brush away from
her eyes with a toss back of the head, she addressed the doctors.
“The remains of his
dog tags have been found embedded in his clothing, to add to those fragments the
field surgeons found impacted in his chest. Evidently they were shattered by a
considerable explosion of some sort. They’ve been pieced together and we’ve been
able to do a trace.” She paused, having herself not read all the info on her
screen, to just digest a little of the data, then she continued, “He’s an
American, serving as a captain in the World Navy. He has been on guard patrol
duty for the last few weeks, and his vessel, a small one man sub was reported
missing only two days ago.”
Ted interrupted,
“Does this fellow have a name? We can talk about his guard patrol sub later.”
Feeling just a
little admonished, she replied, “Yes, his name is Shore. Captain Sam Shore.”
She paused in case
of any questions from the two men. There were none. Carlos merely nodded slowly,
while Ted stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought, only to look up and ask
of the clerk, “Any next of kin?”
“Yes. He has one
daughter who is also enlisted in the submarine service. She’s a cadet, at
present stationed at the World Navy America’s Zone, training camp at San Diego,
California.”
2.Competition
The assault course
was slowly being tamed, she thought. Yes, tamed was the word. “I’m used to it
now,” she said out loud, as she ran for the ropes, nearer and nearer they came
until she yelled out loud the same numbers she always called out. The same
routine used each time to get the mounting of the ropes down to a fine art.
Thirty feet away,
eyes fixed on the spot.
Twenty feet away, a
deep breath is drawn.
Ten feet away,
almost at the spot. Wait for it. Wait for it. NOW!
“One, two, three!”
she yelled out loud, and on the count of three she jumped and rose effortlessly
onto the bottom of the rope. She ascended with probably no more effort than that
used to climb a ladder.
The top of the wall
was reached, the decent down the other side on more ropes was done with the
minimum of fuss.
Now the water; plain
sailing, she thought, and sure enough this was the one that would not catch her
out this time.
Once again she began
the count, “One, two, and three!”
Once again she had the leap of faith. Again the water started racing
toward her.
Not this time, she
thought. We will not fail.
Both hands reached
out. “We will not fail because of me.”
Both hands clasped
the rail.
“We will most
definitely not fail because of me.”
The hands held firm,
the water was of a chill that made the very breath that kept her alive, escape
from her body as though never to return, yet she held firm.
“Shore!” The yell
was so loud it could be heard in Oregon.
Ah yes, she thought,
the voice of master drill sergeant Cox. The man who’d made her life a misery for
longer than she could care to recall.
“Shore, do my eyes
deceive me or are you actually going to win this one?”
Don’t rise to the
bait, she thought. Just think of the look on his face if you were to actually
win the team race. After all the abuse she’d taken from him simply because she
was a woman, now it would seem, at the moment when it mattered more than any
other time during her basic training, she’d shown what she could do in a World
Navy trainee cadet uniform.
Every last ounce of
strength would now be needed to deliver the goods. She could hear the other
three competitors closing in on her runaway lead. Olymbie, the athletic Kenyan,
running the last leg for her team, Team Thornback, was clear second. Not far
behind, though, was Thadquist, the Danish anchor leg runner for Team Barracuda,
in a neck and neck race to avoid the wooden spoon with tall lean Uruguayan
Francescoli of Team Spearfish.
No. Today would be
that victory day for Team Stingray.
With every reserve of strength available to her, she pulled
herself up from the water, and as she did, she could see out of the corner of
her eye the other three competitors closing in.
No surrender.
The tape beckoned, and her sheer resolve was not going to be
broken. The clothes she was in had absorbed the water and as a result her
fatigues felt ten times heavier.
Still no surrender.
She could feel lactic acid building up in her legs as she fought
the weight of her clothing. The burning pain bit hard, but suddenly, the tape
was not only there, it was close enough for her to touch it. She didn’t touch
it; she practically tore it apart with her bare hands. Anger at all the
humiliation she’d endured from Cox, and the countless times she had been made to
feel as thought there had been no hope for her to ever prove herself at the
academy, anger at the constant feeling of helplessness, an anger born of all
this and much more had driven her to the line.
Never any surrender.
As she crossed it, all this pent up frustration had exploded from
her on a moment of rage that alarmed even Cox himself, and could probably be
heard not in Oregon, but British Columbia.
3.Response
“OK, let’s see how he is.” And with a hint of curiosity, Ted,
with Carlos by his side, commanded the attendee to place a small stimulant
needle against Captain Shore’s neck. Carefully, the attendee pressed a small
lever on the side of the syringe-type instrument, and a small dose of stimulant
entered through the base of the cerebral cortex.
Two eyelids began to flicker, and then slowly open. There was at
first a hint of protest at the light, bright as it was. Then once the eyes were
accustomed to the brightness of the ward, the second emotion, curiosity. It was
clear the captain was not sure where he was. Then it came clear to him that he
was in some sort of hospital, but only now did the realisation dawn on him of
his condition.
His voice was soft, quiet, and clearly the voice of a man very
weak, but distinct in his speech.
“I can’t feel my legs, my arms, I can’t,” he sighed, and drifted
back into slumber.
Ted nodded to the attendee, who this time administered a much
larger dose of stimulant.
He woke again, his voice weak. “My legs, arms.” He looked around,
still confused but slowly getting stronger. He focused on Carlos, standing to
his left and looking down at him.
“Who are you?” He paused. “And why can’t I feel anything?” he
demanded, his voice now much stronger.
“Captain Shore, I’m Doctor Carlos Alzamendi. You’re in the Don
Diego Sosa de Monumental Hospital in the city of Tumbes, southern Ecuador.” He
nodded in the direction of Ted, looking down from the opposite side of the bed.
“And this gentleman has been helping me keep an eye on you.
He is Doctor Edward Wilkie.”
“Hello, Captain Shore,” he said.
“You don’t sound local to these parts. What’s an Australian doing
in Ecuador?” Shore said, before pausing, eyes wide with disbelief and voice loud
in equal disbelief, “ECUADOR! What in blue blazes am I doing in blasted Equador
of all places, and for the second time why can’t I feel anything?”
“I know,” Ted said as with a small smile, he raised a reassuring
hand. “More questions than answers. We’ll explain everything in due course.
Right now though. I’d like to ask the others to leave us while we have a chat.”
With that, Carlos and the attendee both left the side ward.
Carlos was only too aware of what was going to be told to the patient. The door
closed softly shut and Ted Wilkie turned to face Sam Shore.
“Captain Shore, what’s the last thing you remember, before you
were rescued?”
Sam Shore stared at the ceiling, and spoke.
“I was on guard patrol duty just away from the drill site.
There’s a company with a permit to prospect out in the Eastern Pacific for
Cobalt One-Five. It’s a much sought after mineral. Anyway, the drill platform
reported they were under attack by an unidentified sub. I moved in to try and
ward off the attack, but to no avail. By the time I got there, the rig was
destroyed, the crew all killed, and the enemy was making a getaway.”
“I assume you gave chase?” Ted asked.
Shore’s reply was decisive.
“You bet. I caught
up with him and fired several shots, but he could out run me and more
importantly, out gun me. I took a hit just in front of my port nacelle, causing
me to dive to the bottom. I hit the bed full on, but I had no intention of
letting this bastard go. I diverted all reserve power to the starboard nacelle,
and rammed the throttle forward. I managed to get off the bed just as he was
coming in close, thinking I’d bought it. I’d been playing dead up to this point.
I guess I caught him unawares. He wasn’t expecting the ship I was in to burst
back into life. Before he could do anything, I rammed him.”
A small smile suddenly came to Sam’s face.
“He never stood a chance.”
“What’s the next thing that happened?” the doctor enquired.
“The force of the impact threw my ship back against a rock face,
just a few feet above the sea bed. The ship turned over, I was thrown from my
seat, my console then blew up, and I blacked out.”
“Then you woke up here,” Ted said.
“No,” Shore stated, and his eyes narrowed and a frown now came
over the captain’s face.
“I woke up on a life raft, it was night. I hadn’t got in there myself; someone
had to have put me there. Sure enough, I looked at the end of the boat and I
thought I saw the figure of what looked like an elderly man. Long grey hair, a
long robe, and an oar in his hand. He appeared to be rowing the raft towards the
mainland. I fell asleep and when I woke up again, I could see the land was much
nearer, and this person had gone. The next thing I saw was the coastguard
helijet, being lifted aboard, and then being given anaesthetic. It looked as
though they were going to perform some sort of surgery on me while I was on the
helijet. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“That’s right,” Ted stated. “You needed emergency surgery on the
helijet to stop some internal bleeding, and to remove some fragments that were
embedded in your neck, back and legs. That was twelve hours ago. We’ve had to
keep you asleep so as to let the wounds heal and the pains subside.”
“Twelve hours,”
Shore whispered.
It was at this point
that Ted drew a deep breath.
“It was during this surgery that we found out the extent of your
injuries.”
Shore shot Ted an anxious stare. “What do you mean?”
Ted drew another deep breath.
“Captain Shore, you
have received terrible injuries to your spine. Fragments were found embedded in
your back and legs. They have been removed, but I’m afraid to say the damage has
been done.”
Shore had initially looked the doctor straight in the eye, but as
the enormity of what he was being told began to sink in, his gaze drifted back
to the ceiling and the lights, as though he could not accept the news.
His wife had died only five years ago. He had been forced to
bring up his only child, Atlanta, be a father to her, and still pursue a career
in the Submarine wing of the World Navy.
He was proud of his roots, proud of his Kansas heritage, proud to
be of the same state that had given the world two great men of history, Dwight
Eisenhower, and Jeff Tracy. The former was president of the United States a
century ago not to mention a great soldier. The latter was a man whose identity
and legacy were only made known six years after his death.
He was also proud to have a connection with the British Isles
both through his own family past, the Shores were of Irish stock after all, and
with his wife, who was from a small village just to the north of the capital of
the Highlands of Scotland, Inverness. She too, was proud of her links to the
great clan MacDonald, no less.
Elaine had been everything to him.
Atlanta was now all he had, and now he needed her more than ever.
He continued to listen to the man standing and looking over him.
“Captain Shore, at this time, you are paralysed from the neck
down. You have a tracheotomy tube in your throat that is helping you to breathe.
It is linked to the breathing apparatus that is placed at your bedside. I’m
sorry. The injuries you received were quite, quite terrible.”
4.Coming to Terms
In the dorm, Atlanta Shore was the toast of her team. When girls
get together, the can behave anything but girl-like, and so it showed.
Especially the following day, when all in Team Stingray had a hangover apiece
that would make their heads felt every bit as heavy as the water laden fatigues
they had worn the previous day.
No matter, victory was sweet.
It was a sweetness she felt sure she would love to share with her
father, and when a call came in to her dorm com-board for her to report to the
office of the base commander, Captain Roche, she felt sure it was a surprise
visit from Dad.
She got to the adjoining office where the captain’s secretary,
Lieutenant Hayes, awaited her. The look on her face was not one of happiness at
Atlanta’s achievement, but one of concern.
Atlanta stood before her, expecting to be admonished for the
letting down of hair from the night before. Before she drew breath to speak,
Hayes got up from her seat and opened the door into Roche’s office, beckoning
Atlanta to go straight in.
“Commodore Denver.” Atlanta’s face lit up as she saw an old
friend of her father. He stood behind Roche’s desk, with Roche himself standing
next to him. Yet when she saw the look on Denver’s face, her smile dropped.
“Atlanta, you’d better sit down,” Denver began. “We’ve had some
bad news.
It’s about your dad. There’s been a serious incident out at sea.”
Paralysis.
It was the end.
Not just of his
career, but of everything. How could he go on if this was the result? Just a
lifeless body with a head that could not even breathe on its own. He suddenly
realised that air had not been passing his lips, but had instead been inhaled
and exhaled through this tube protruding from below his throat.
It was hideous; it was something he could not bare to let his
daughter see.
Ted has returned to the ward to look in on Sam; just as he sat
down beside him, Shore was shook out of his reverie by a terrible thought.
“Atlanta?”
Ted interrupted, “Yes, she’s flying down from California. We’ve
arranged a helijet to collect her from the capital, and she should be here by
late tonight. That was what I’d come in here personally to tell you about.”
“No,” Shore replied. “I don’t want her seeing me like this. It
must not happen. It mustn’t.”
“How else is she going to see you?” Ted asked. “Your reaction is
understandable for someone having to accept the news you’ve just been told. She
has to see you, Captain Shore. You can’t forbid her from seeing you ever again.
She is all you have. I understand your wife died back in ’54. So now you need
Atlanta by your side more than ever.”
Shore looked at Ted and immediately realised that the doctor was
right.
Ted continued, “There is however, something else I need to
explain to you.”
Flight Delta Tango 274 from Palm Springs to Mariscal Sucre
international airport in the Ecuadorian capital Quito arrived on time in the
evening. The five hour flight had seemed like ten hours to Atlanta. Yet she
walked off the plane having glanced at her watch just as the aircraft touched
down. It was just after midnight, nine in the evening back in California. Her
body clock would not be an issue here, she was wide awake, and if need be, she
would stay awake for the next twenty hours.
Ten hours had passed since Jack Denver had told her the news, and
while the flight seemed to have taken an age, the ten hours since the bad news
seemed like ten minutes.
It had made a great difference having Denver fly down with her.
He and Sam had known each other from Naval College days, twenty years to be
precise. He was every bit as anxious as Atlanta about the friend he’d seen
suffers so much already. Little chat had passed between the two, both were aware
of what was awaiting them, and both had been lost in their thoughts during most
of the flight. Now the unavoidable was staring them both in the face, and it
would not be pleasant.
Barely had their passports been stamped when Denver noticed
someone in the waiting crowds.
“Look, Atlanta,
there’s our escort.”
Standing, waiting for them in the arrivals area was a man dressed
in a pilot’s uniform of the Ecuadorian Air Police. He held a small board in his
hand with the two large printed words “SHORE/DENVER” on it.
“Good, let’s get out of here,” Atlanta said quietly. She hated
all these people around her at a time like this. More than ever she wanted to be
alone with her thoughts, if nothing else to help her prepare for what she might
see when she arrived at the hospital.
The two of them made a bee-line for the pilot, who was
accompanied by an airport security officer. They were ushered under the security
ropes and through a side exit, down several flights of stairs, through another
door and back out onto the airport tarmac. This time down the side of the main
arrivals building. Away from prying eyes.
A small passenger helijet in police livery of blue, white, and
black stood on a designated helipad. Just off the main apron. The pilot and two
travellers boarded and once all were secured and hatches were closed, the
security guard stood well away from the helijet, raised his hand in
acknowledgement and the pilot gunned up the motors.
The helijet rose slowly and was soon out of the reach of the
floodlights of the airport. Only its port and starboard lights were visible, and
they too slowly grew faint as it turned to head for the provincial capital of
Tumbes, 270 miles to the south west of Quito.
It must have been the lull of the Helijet, its quiet cabin
interior being such a contrast to the hum of conversation on the passenger liner
that had brought them here, and the din of noise of the hundreds of travellers
trying to get in and out of the terminal back at Mariscal Sucre, but barely had
the small craft settled into a cruise on its route, than Atlanta was overcome by
a slumber both deep, and yet disturbed.
For all her resolve
to stay awake, in the end fatigue had prevailed.
Yet it was a fatigue
that seemed to last but a few moments. Just forty-five minutes had passed when
she was gently nudged awake by the jolt of the craft touching down.
“Atlanta,” Denver
quietly whispered. “We’re here. We’ve landed on the helipad at the hospital.”
Sure enough, Atlanta could make out the hospital building through
tired eyes as she yawned and stretched. An orderly walked up to the door and
opened it. A cool coastal breeze filtered through the cabin.
“Miss Shore, Commodore Denver, if you’ll accompany me please.” He
gestured in the direction of the building.
Quickly, they exited the helijet, and having thanked the pilot,
made for the reception area. There, they were met by an attendee, who escorted
them to the sideward.
Not a word was spoken by anyone, either because of any language
barrier that might still exist between English and Hispanic speakers, or out of
simple hospital protocol. Nevertheless, the door to her father’s ward now
beckoned.
By now, her heart was pounding as though it was about to explode.
Visibly shaking, she pushed open the door.
5.Reunion
“Atlanta, Jack.” Her father’s voice was as clear as it had always
been, belying his obvious condition.
Sam Shore was seated upright in bed. This same bed having been
adjusted to allow him to see his daughter in a more dignified position. To the
left as she looked, Atlanta could see the two men she assumed were the
physicians that had been treating her dad.
“DAD!” she yelled, as she raced for the bed, and put her arms
around her father.
Both Carlos and Ted, together with the attendee and Denver,
quietly exited the ward, giving the Shores their own space for the moment.
She started to sob, and gradually, the sobbing turned into
uncontrolled crying.
Her father, unable even to turn his head toward her, spoke softly
to her.
“Easy, honey, I’m okay. Come on now. I’m still here. Come on.
These two docs have taken good care of me.”
Atlanta lifted her face from Sam’s shoulder.
Her father was smiling.
Atlanta’s grief suddenly turned to curiosity and more to the
point, mild annoyance.
“Why Father, what’s there to smile about? Look at you!” She
gestured with her hands to the rest of his body, “How can you lie there and
smile as though there is nothing wrong?” Slowly, anger began to take over her
mind. “You can see me in the state I’m in and you don’t seem even bothered!”
By now the hours of uncertainty, coupled with the trauma of what
she had heard happen to her dad, the grief, the pain, the worry, the waiting,
the travelling, all of which had been bottled up, now were being poured out.
Anger, very much one of the emotions all people go through during
times of great trauma, and in this case one born of frustration as well as the
“why me” feeling, was being turned on the one person who deep down needed to be
cared for, not treated as a villain. Yet Atlanta was looking down at a man who
for a moment seemed to even look as though he was carefree even to the point of
revelling in his new disability.
It was all too much for her to understand.
“Stop smiling, Dad, you don’t have anything to smile about!” she yelled.
The smile dropped from Sam’s face. He realised that this however
well intentioned attempt to ease the situation, was not working.
At this point, Carlos, Ted, and Denver came back in, having heard
the raised voice of the young girl.
“Is everything alright?” asked Ted.
“NO!” shouted a now angry Atlanta. “My father is lying here
paralysed from the neck down, with a smile on his face telling me everything is
okay.”
“But Atlanta,” her father calmly and quietly interrupted,
“Everything’s going to be, if not okay, then a damn site better than they are at
this moment. There’s a reason why I’m smiling.”
She looked down at her dad.
“What do you mean?”
she asked, wiping tears away, and with a furrowed brow born of sheer
bewilderment.
“Doctor Wilkie,” the smile returned to Sam’s face, “will explain
things.”
6.Questions and Answers
“Robot doctor?” Atlanta asked.
“That’s right,” was the reply. “It is capable of monitoring all
vital signs, as well as diagnostics. The device is as good an aid in diagnosing
injuries as any exploratory operation. And the monitor you see behind your
father’s head displays all the required information to help me. I’m actually
demonstrating these devices here in Tumbes. I’m on a lecture tour across South
America on behalf of the World Medical Organisation. When your father was
admitted here, I immediately had him linked up to the machine. Here was a
genuine opportunity to prove the worth of the robot doctor, and more
importantly, from your own perspective, attempt to make a substantial
improvement in your father’s condition.”
Atlanta stood before her father’s bed, and looked up at the
screen in amazement. All she could see was the screen, which appeared to be
divided into a series of columns. Each column represented an aspect of Sam’s
vital signs. Heartbeat, blood pressure, breathing rate, and internal organ
activity were all monitored and their information all displayed.
From several points on the wall, just above the top of the
monitor, a row of sensor devices, each one shaped like a small shower head,
protruded downwards. These clearly were what analysed the patient’s vital signs,
and the information then translated into figures, was displayed on the screen.
In addition to this, there was a small monitor at the far end of
the ward, on a desk which Carlos now sat at. This was clearly showing a diagram
of the body of the man from Kansas, and it showed quite clearly in a 3D effect,
the location of any injuries and other physical trauma.
Evidently the rest of the device was built into the wall behind
the bed, she thought. It was amazing.
“How accurate is all this?” She gestured with her hand toward the
display.
“Accurate enough to tell me exactly what surgery is required and
in what places. This is the reason why your father has a smile on his face.”
Atlanta turned to face Ted, her face a picture of curiosity.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“It gives me the exact location of the damaged nerves that are
the cause of your father’s paralysis, and as a result, it will help me in the
operation I plan to do tomorrow.”
“Operation?” Atlanta asked.
“That’s right, honey,” Sam interrupted. “Doctor Wilkie here
plans to operate on the nerve cells just under the base of my skull. He hopes to
repair them.”
Having listened to her father, Atlanta turned to speak to Ted,
but the medic raised his hand as if to interrupt her.
“I need you to sit down, Atlanta.”
She sat on the side of the bed, next to Sam.
“I must point out, and I’ve already mentioned this to your dad,
that the operation is not a cast iron guarantee that he will get the use of all
his limbs back. It depends on several factors.”
With understandable concern written on her face, Atlanta asked,
“What factors?”
Ted came and sat beside her.
“Like with all remedial surgery, there is always a risk of
infection. The nerves may not heal, simply because they are too badly damaged,
or your father may not be genetically predisposed to respond to the medicines I
will used in order to stimulate the healing process.”
With understandable concern still written on her face, Atlanta
bit her lip, and glanced over at her father.
Sam Shore looked at his daughter, and for the first time, a tear
began to well in his eye. It was enough for Atlanta to understand, that for all
the smiles when she arrived, there was at the back of Sam’s mind, the
realisation that all may not be well. Yet having said that, the fact that Ted
was going to operate was evidence enough that something could be done, and this
was all due to the device on the wall above Sam’s head. It had given Ted the
indication that not all was beyond salvation.
Atlanta thrust the thoughts of failure from her mind, and turned
once again to face Ted.
With a calm that suddenly belied her understandable concern she
asked, “When to you operate?”
“Tomorrow Morning,” said Ted. “Carlos will assist, and the
procedure is expected to last around six hours. We’ll take your father down to
theatre at around 11am. Carlos and I’ll leave you now. As it’s late, I suggest
you get some sleep soon. We’ve had accommodation put up for you in a hotel
adjacent to the hospital site.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Atlanta said, smiling for the first time in
what seemed like ages.
She looked across at Denver, who had quietly sat at the other end
of the ward, keeping a discreet distance from the Shores, mindful that at the
end of the day, this was a family matter first and foremost, and although Jack
had known Sam for so long, he knew that in this instance, it was Atlanta who
should be by his side, and that he would get his moment to have a private word
with his old friend in good time.
Yet Atlanta felt that Jack had been ever so slightly pushed aside
somewhat, even if his slightly craggy features had not given this impression in
any way.
She stood, and spoke, “Commodore, I’m going to go outside with
the doctors for a few minutes, I’m sure you and Dad will have some catching up
to do.”
Denver’s face produced a small smile.
“Thank you, Atlanta,” he responded in his Alabama accent.
The doctors and Atlanta filed out, and the door quietly swung
shut.
Jack Denver walked over to Sam’s bed, and sat down on the
bedside.
He was not normally a man who’d be lost for words, yet on this
occasion, this was exactly the case. He looked down at the man he’d known for
twenty years, bit his lip, and averted his gaze, staring down at his lap
instead. He then drew breath.
“Sam, I just don’t... ”
“Jack,” Sam interrupted, “you don’t have to try and say anything.
If our roles were reversed, I’d feel exactly the same.”
Tears began to well in Jack Denver’s eyes.
“Damn it Sam!” Jack was almost sounding angry. “You were always
the one to take risks, you always wanted to be in the thick of things,
especially after Elaine died, much so in fact after Elaine died. You buried
yourself in your work, became totally committed to your job, only making time
for Atlanta. Now look what it’s done to you.”
He paused, shook his head, almost in desperation at what he was
seeing, but before the could draw breath again, he was cut off.
“Jack, you can lecture me to your hearts content once I’m out of
this. In the meantime I want you to do one thing for me, something I thought I
would only ever have to say to the man who I’d end up giving Atlanta away to at
the altar of a church. I know I just said once I’m out of this. However, if anything was to go wrong in the operating theatre tomorrow, you are to do one
thing for me.”
“What’s that?” Denver shot his friend a quizzical look as he
spoke, sounding just a little peeved at being cut off, but equally sounding a
little perturbed at the attitude Sam was taking with him.
“Atlanta,” he replied. “Please take good care of her, Jack, she’s
all I’ve got.”
7.Hoping and Waiting
“Doctor Wilkie, Doctor Alzamendi, thank you both for all you’ve
done for my father.”
Atlanta’s thanks were quietly acknowledged by the two physicians.
Ted motioned her into a side office, with Carlos.
She sat down at the desk in the office, opposite her sat the two
doctors. Their faces were as impassive as they had been when they were
explaining about the robot doctors.
It was Ted who spoke: “Miss Shore, there is something we need to
explain to you. It is vitally important that you understand that we are making
no promises about your father’s treatment. Do you understand?”
“I understand. I appreciate you have to tell me this, but I’m
aware of the possible problems anyway. Goodness knows I’ve been through a lot
with losing my mother five years ago. Father couldn’t accept it. He took it very
bad, and for me, it felt like I was losing him as well. His behaviour was
completely out of character, and I felt I was walking on eggshells around him.
It was horrible.”
She paused, and stared at the floor for a moment, as the memories
came; memories of a strong man suddenly broken, and a mother taken from her
loving daughter, not to mention a daughter suddenly having to grow up a lot
quicker than normal.
Ted took this as the opportunity to interject.
“Miss Shore.” He paused and leaned forward, hands clasped
together. “Atlanta, we have to consider the possibility that your father may not
regain the use of any of his limbs. Sam may feel confident of the success of the
operation, but, at the end of the day, you have to be prepared for the worst.”
He paused again, allowing Atlanta to take in what he was saying.
“Doctor Wilkie,” Atlanta replied, “I appreciate what you have
just said, and I realise that although tomorrow’s operation has given Dad
renewed hope, nothing is cut and dried.” She paused and then, looking Ted
straight in the eye, she continued: “When you lose your mother before you leave
school, then feel your going to lose your father only days and weeks afterwards,
when you have to learn to stand on your own two feet long before you were meant
to, and when you look ahead to the future and think of all the things that your
mother is not going to witness, you learn to take things on the chin. You learn
to develop very broad shoulders. Trust me. I know what’s could well be in store
for me after tomorrow, but at least he will still be with me. He is still my
father and still will be my father after tomorrow.”
She got up from her seat. “I assure you, Doctor, I’m ready.”
Ted got up from his. “Miss Shore, I assure you, we’ll do
absolutely everything we can for him.”
The trolley was pushed gently down the corridor, until a set of
double doors were reached.
Atlanta leaned over to look at her father. He was already heavily
sedated, and unable to even open his eyes.
She kissed him on the forehead, before being led away by Jack.
She took one last look at the trolley as it was pushed through the doors.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
By now, Denver had his arm around Atlanta. He could not help but
feel how frail she suddenly looked. At the academy when he had to give her the
bad news, she had looked a strong, confident young woman as she walked into
Captain Roche’s office. Now the girl in his arm was a pale shadow of the Atlanta
Shore he had known since she was a small tot. A confident, strong and very
ambitious woman, spurred on by the death of her mother, determined to honour her
memory in the only way she felt possible, by following in Sam’s footsteps into
the navy. She was honouring her late mother and her still very much alive and
dear father.
It was not just a case of honouring her parents that drove her;
it was a genuine desire to serve in the navy that was the catalyst. She was her
own woman, and to prove the point, her interest in music would also be nurtured
and developed. It was a passion that was second only to her love of the sea.
From being a small girl, she had wanted to learn the piano. Little did she
realise that by the age of fifteen she’d be having lessons from no less an
individual as the former pilot of the craft that for twenty years was known to the world as
Thunderbird Two.
Virgil Tracy.
She counted herself lucky. Her father had served as first officer
under Gordon Tracy following his departure from International Rescue, and his
appointment as captain of the Submarine W.N.S.Sarajevo following the invocation
of a reserve activation clause in his World Navy commission. They had become
friends, and this friendship led to he and Atlanta meeting up with the rest of
the Tracy family.
To have lessons from a man who together with his brothers became
anonymous heroes for two decades and more, and who had finally become a concert
pianist in his own right following the disbanding of the “family business” was
the icing on the cake for her.
She found herself identifying with him as well.
Here was a man following in the footsteps of a deceased and much
missed parent, someone very much his own man, yet also honouring this same
mother who had, herself, been a well known English concert pianist. Jack had, at
the time, summed up the irony in eight simple words. Words that came back into
his mind as he and Atlanta walked slowly down the corridor.
“Like parent, like child,” he mumbled to himself.
Atlanta had already enjoyed such a full life, so full of
achievement. It had evolved into a life of individual accomplishment and a life
that had become such a tribute to her late mother. Yet would her father now have
to bare witness to his daughter’s achievements and accomplishments as a
quadriplegic?
Or worse still, not at all?
They walked to the waiting room, which was practically deserted,
save for an elderly couple sat at the far end of the room, both staring ahead at
the floor, both lost in their thoughts.
Denver wondered if they were going through the same trauma as he
and Atlanta. Whatever it was that was preoccupying them, it was, at the end of
the day, their business and not his. Yet it reminded him that although it had
seemed that he and Atlanta were the only ones going through the distress that
they were with Sam, it was all too clear that somewhere else, were people with
far more on their plates than he and Atlanta.
Barely had Atlanta sat down next to Jack than she fell asleep.
She’d had barely a wink of shut-eye since arriving in Tumbes. What sleep she had
got since leaving San Diego had been on the helijet out of Mariscal Sucre.
Just as well for her to sleep now, Jack thought. These next hours
would be the worst of all for her.
He rolled up his jacket and made it into a temporary cushion. He
placed it under Atlanta’s head. As he did so, he glanced down at her young,
lovely face, and whispered to himself, “Atlanta, so help me, the young man that
wins your heart one day in the future will be luckiest man on Earth, and I hope
the good Lord will give your father the strength to recover so that he can be
the one to give you away to him.”
He paused as tears again began to well in his eyes, for what felt
like the umpteenth time.
“You could just about cope with the loss of your mom, but I don’t
think you could stand to lose your dad.”
Now the tears came for his friend, a comrade in arms, a fellow
who was more than just a friend, but a good and dear companion.
“Hang in there, Sam.”
8.Small Mercies
“Miss Shore,” an Australian voice called.
“Atlanta,” a more familiar voice said in turn.
“Commodore,” the young girl answered.
The eyes opened slowly, and a hand brushed away the auburn hair
from her eyes. Those same eyes now were focused on Jack who looked down at the
still sleepy face but with a smile on his.
“Atlanta, the operation’s over,” he said, and with a start she
suddenly bolted upright and turned to see if she could see either Ted or Carlos.
It was the man whose voice she heard first who now came toward
her, having kept a discreet distance from Jack as he gently woke the young girl.
Ted had Carlos with him, and both were still in their gowns and caps, their
masks now hanging round their necks.
“Doctor Wilkie.” She was scared to even say his name, let alone
ask how the surgery had gone. Before another word was spoken however, she and
Jack were quietly ushered back into the office.
“Miss Shore,” the physician began once seated, “we were able to
treat the damaged nerves in the lower part of your father’s neck and lower back.
Now by “treat” I mean we were able to apply the stimulant in the correct places
in the nervous system, as identified by the robot doctor.”
Atlanta’s face remained expressionless, as if knowing what was
going to be said next.
“Only time will tell,” Ted continued, “if the damage was too
severe for the nerves to respond or not. As soon as your father awakes, we’ll
know.”
At that point, a knock came at the door and an attendee peered
round.
“It’s Captain Shore, Doctor, he’s coming through.”
“Thank goodness, today’s anaesthetics wear off a lot quicker than
those of yesteryear,” Carlos said, no doubt as anxious as the others to see the
result.
Atlanta took a deep breath, and made for the ward. The point
between getting up and walking next door into the ward seemed like an eternity,
and yet there she was, pushing the door open, and walking in.
The sight that greeted her was of her father, face covered by an
oxygen mask, with another attendee lifting the blankets off the foot of the bed
to reveal the captain’s feet.
Instinctively,
Atlanta looked straight at the robot nurse display, hoping for some indication
of her father’s condition.
The two doctors filed in along with Jack. Immediately, Carlos
walked over to Atlanta and put his arm on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Miss Shore, but not even this device can tell us if
your father is cured. All it can do is identify areas of damage and trauma. It
can tell us that all the damaged nerves are repaired, but a repaired nerve is
not necessarily going to be a nerve that will respond. No, I’m sorry, but the
only person who can tell us if the nerves are going to work and respond anymore
will be your father.”
“I understand,” nodded the girl.
Ted stood at the foot of the bed, and called out.
“Captain Shore.
Captain Shore, can you hear me?”
Two very tired eyes flickered open, and once again they
protested against the light of the ward. His eyes took everything in, and then
he looked at the young girl at his left.
“Atlanta,” he
quietly called out.
“Yes, Father,” she
replied with still some trepidation in her young voice.
What followed suddenly took away all the trepidation she
had let show. The last two days of anxiety and hell suddenly began to melt away.
Sam Shore held out
his left hand, and touched his daughter’s face.
Atlanta, Jack, and
even the two doctors, two gentlemen who were meant to be completely
dispassionate about medicine and their patients, suddenly jumped with joy.
Then as the four
onlookers were celebrating, Sam, this time with this right hand, took off his
mask, and then said something that sent their celebration into a nosedive.
“I can’t feel my
legs.”
Instinctively, Ted
bent down and with his index finger touched the base of Sam’s left foot.
No response.
Carlos then did the
same with the right.
Nothing.
Jack walked over to
Sam’s right hand side, and took hold of his right hand.
“Squeeze it, Sam.
Squeeze my hand.”
Sam did just that, and Jack responded with three telling
words, words that would cut through the emotion, and make more sense than any
lecture from a doctor, even one as dedicated as Ted Wilkie.
“Sam,” Jack quietly
uttered, “you’re alive.”
To her eternal
credit, Jack thought, Atlanta having heard the commodore’s words, walked over to
the two doctors, and held out her own hand.
“Thank you for all
you did for my dad, and you both did your best. Now the rest is up to us.”
As they both took
turns to shake Atlanta’s hand, Carlos was at pains to point out one thing.
“I only assisted,
this was Doctor Wilkie’s work, and I will say this now, with all of you as
witnesses, had this been any other doctor working with me in that theatre today,
all hope would have gone before we even started.”
He then turned to
face Ted.
“It was a privilege
working with you, Doctor Wilkie.”
Atlanta then stared
at her father, who returned her gaze with a look of resignation, tinged with the
realisation of the life that was to come for him. Yet there was also one very
clear and very palatable truth.
Sam Shore was in a
far better state of health than he was just seven hours or so earlier. Quietly,
she then exited the room, walked slowly down the corridor, and when she came
upon the door at the end, pushed it open, and took in a gulp of fresh air.
It was late
afternoon, the sun was setting over the south western Pacific, but Atlanta knew
that the sun was not about to set on her father’s life. She took in the sunset,
and then did something she resolved to do for the very last time.
She sobbed, for what
seemed like an age.
Then she turned, and
with the last tear wiped from her face, she quietly muttered to herself,
“Father, whatever happens now, I will always be here for you. I owe it to you,
and to you, Mother, wherever you are.”
2066
“Right, gentlemen, I
think we are clear about our choice. I’m sure we need not delay things any
further. His record stands for itself.”
The man sat at the
head of the table was clear in his analysis, grey-haired and in a white tunic
with black collar and sleeves, he saw no other candidate as being anywhere near
suitable.
He continued,
“Indeed the written recommendations from all of you leave me with no
alternative. He is the perfect choice.”
At the opposite end
of the table, a man, seated in a hover chair, and wearing the uniform of a
commander in the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, nodded in agreement.
“Although I can
speak for personal reasons, I believe this man has a history of achievement and
accomplishment. Inventions of his have been incorporated into the medical wing
of the WASP.”
He leaned forward,
hands clasped together.
“Yes, I’ve seen this man at work from a personal
perspective. His dedication and commitment to his job came across to me when he
treated me seven years ago in Ecuador.”
He looked the
grey-haired man at the opposite end of the table in the eye.
“If it were not for
this man, I would not be sitting here, I would not be in the position of command
I hold now at the WASP, and I would not be able to recommend this man to his new
employer, and for a reward he richly deserves. I grant you, it’s not going to be
an easy ride for him. As chief medical officer for your new organisation, he
will carry immense responsibility. Yet, making him your CMO will genuinely be a
well earned reward.”
The grey-haired man
stood up.
“Thank you,
Commander Shore. There is one other task I’d like to ask of you, I’d like you to
come with me on a journey.”
“To where?” Shore
asked.
“Australia,” came
the reply.
The small executive
jet touched down with barely a jolt at Sydney’s Kingsford Smith International
Airport. Shore and his guest alighted at the far end of the apron, away from
prying eyes, and the two individuals were escorted into a waiting limousine.
The limo exited the
airport via a gate at this same far end of the apron, and turned straight on to
Highway 64, where they made for the rendezvous point in the nearby suburb of
Brighton le Sands.
The car pulled up
outside an empty office block. Both Shore and his co-passenger left the vehicle
and made for the concierge.
It was deserted, and
silent.
The chauffeur having
ushered the two men in, returned to the limo. Alongside him, in the front of the
car, was a plain clothed security guard. Both now sat impassive.
In the concierge,
neither man spoke.
The silence was
broken by the sound of a lift coming down an elevator shaft. As it neared the
bottom both men advanced slowly toward it.
The doors opened, to
reveal a tall, dark-haired man, wearing a trench coat. He moved out of the
elevator, and immediately recognised one of the men.
“Commander Shore,”
he held out a hand.
“Good to see you
again,” Shore shook him warmly by the hand. “This is the gentleman you have
spoken to in “voice only” up to this point. He will be your commanding officer.
I should just say that I wanted to be here today, for reasons that I will let
this gentleman explain.”
The grey-haired man
walked forward.
“Good Afternoon. You
were recommended for this position based on a number of positive references, but
the most glowing and most detailed tribute, if I can call it that, came from
Commander Shore. I can honestly say that following his detailed testimony of
your treatment of him, and the dedication you showed to your job, our decision
was virtually made for us, and needless to say, we are delighted that you have
accepted our offer, and have agreed to meet us here.”
Ted Wilkie greeted
his new commanding officer with a courteous nod.
“I’m only too
delighted to accept your offer, sir.”
“About time I took
my leave of this place,” said Shore. “I’ll leave you two to get on with things.”
He turned and began to leave, only to turn again and face Ted.
“Y’know, I don’t know if all those long years ago I ever
really said thank you. I hope the recommendations I made that have helped you
get this assignment go some way to making up for that.”
Ted bent over and
put a hand on Shore’s shoulder.
“Commander, just
seeing you today, head of one of the main world security organisations, compared
with how you were, when you were brought in to that hospital in Ecuador, is
thanks enough for me.”
The men shook hands.
The WASP commander
turned his chair around and made for the exit. With his back now turned to the
two others, he spoke, “No doubt
I’ll see you again in the future. I’m sure your new governor here will invite
the likes of me, Bill Zero from the WSP, and one or two other desk jockeys along
to take a look at what our taxes are paying for.”
“I’ll look forward
to that,” Ted replied.
Sam Shore pulled a
cigar from his top pocket, lit it, blew a long puff of smoke into the cool air
of the concierge, and as his chair propelled him out of the door, he raised a
hand.
“See ya round, Ted.”
Shore glided into
the limo and was whisked away back to Kingsford Smith, where a waiting WASP jet
would be on hand to ferry him back to California and Marineville.
Ted’s new commanding
officer turned to face his new chief medical officer.
“I’m sorry we had to
meet here. I appreciate its some distance away from your home town of Yalumba.
You will appreciate though that in the Spectrum agency as our new
organisation will be called, we have to observe maximum security at all times.
There will be another car along in a moment to collect us. Now, allow me to
properly introduce myself. I’m Charles Grey, my colour code is white and I hold
the rank of Colonel. Unless you are otherwise ordered, from now on you will
address both me and all your other colleagues by their rank and colour. Is that
understood?”
“Yes, Colonel
White,” Ted replied.
The car drew up, and the two men got in.
White
continued, “Obviously you will retain the title of doctor, and your colour code
will be Fawn.”
“Thank you,
Colonel,” said Ted, as the limousine pulled away, taking with it the newest
recruit to an organisation still some months away from reaching full strength.
Deep down in his
heart of hearts, Edward Wilkie knew this would be a challenging assignment.
A part of him viewed
this with a little trepidation. Another part, a much larger part, looked at the
future with optimism, and excitement.
There was just one more duty for Colonel White to
perform, he held out a hand to Ted.
“Doctor Fawn,
welcome to Spectrum.”
The End
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