A Captain Scarlet Short Story
By
Marion Woods
The subdued lighting of Cloudbase’s medical bay at night, coupled with the muffled noise of the sleeping invalids, could be unnerving unless you were used to it, but to Edward Wilkie it was merely an indication that everything was normal and satisfactory. He walked along the main corridor of his domain and congratulated himself on another successful day. He pressed the key on his hand-held computer to record the completion of his round, and handed it to the nurse on night duty at the desk. Then he walked
through to the intensive care ward and the room set aside for Captain Scarlet. He looked in
through the observation port on his most frequent patient with a furrowed brow.
It was taking far longer than he’d expected for Scarlet to regain consciousness.
Of course, the head trauma had been substantial: the occipital lobe and
the left optical nerve had been crushed, the whole left side of the skull
fractured right across and the jaw broken in several places. Any normal man would have died
instantly. He sniffed
meditatively. Well, Scarlet had
died, of course; in that he was perfectly normal.
Shoot him, blow him up, crush him - and he died, it was only by the
miracle of retrometabolism that he always recovered; a phenomenon that still baffled, intrigued and perplexed the
experienced head of Spectrum’s medical services. Test after test
proved inconclusive; theory after theory withered in the glare of the undeniable
proof of a living Captain Scarlet.
One day, Fawn reassured himself, he would decipher the puzzle – if only
for his own intellectual satisfaction – for he knew he would never dare reveal
the truth about Spectrum’s premier agent to a populace that would be initially
sceptical, progressively more incredulous and, possibly after that, fearful of
the ‘alien’ entity in their midst. His gaze left
his patient and roamed the room.
Captain Blue was still there in the armchair, his long legs stretched out
– his arm in a sling, his head lolling back against his seat at an uncomfortable
angle as he dozed. The book on his
knee slipped down and Fawn heard the thud through the intercom as it fell onto
the floor. Blue stirred and sat up,
running a hand over his face. He leaned
forwards to stare at Scarlet. “Paul, you with
us yet, buddy? You’re sure taking
your time this time. What’s wrong? You’re back in sick bay and, what’s
more, Doc Fawn isn’t even doing any tests on you – so you should count yourself
lucky. You know…you’re starting to
worry me, buddy. But I don’t suppose you’re doing it on purpose though; can’t
accuse you of that. I wish I knew
what goes on in your head when you’re like this.
Can you even hear me? I will
tell you this - if you don’t wake up soon, Paul, you’re going to miss all the
excitement. The Angels are doing the Amber Room decorations today – Rhapsody’s
got the job of crowning the tree with the star. She’ll want you there.”
There was no response. Blue
sighed and shook his head. “Listen to me; I must be going mental,” he muttered
to himself. He stood and
stretched as best as he could.
Standing by the bed looking down on his unconscious partner he said,
“It’s no good, I gotta take a leak, but I bet you good money you’ll wake up
while I’m away – you ornery guy, you.” Fawn met him as
he came through the door and asked, “No change?” Blue shook his head. Fawn
realised his other patient was also looking the worse for wear – there were dark
rings under his pale-blue eyes and stubble on his chin. “How’re you doing? You’re due another painkiller shot. I’ll fetch it and administer it when you
come back.” Blue grimaced,
but nodded again and went into the closest bathroom. Fawn ambled away to the pharmacy.
Captain Scarlet
stirred and tried to open his eyes.
The one eye that opened sent excruciating brilliant flashes of light
stabbing into his brain. He was
transfixed by the pain as his injured brain throbbed in protest. He groaned, and closed his eyes again,
sighing with relief as the pain slowly ebbed away. He swallowed. “Adam?” he
croaked.
Moving his head
was agony, so after the tiniest twitch had taken his breath away with the pain,
he gave it up and waited. He could feel
the retrometabolism flowing through his veins like an adrenalin rush. He knew it would work its magic and he’d
be okay, but right now, as every nerve-ending screamed its protest into his
thudding brain – he wished he was dead – for good. He heard the
door crash open and heavy footsteps stomping across the uncarpeted floor. He groaned. “Scarlet?”
Fawn’s whisper reverberated through his head. He struggled to open his eyes
again, but all the effort resulted in was a mere fluttering of the long, black
lashes, as the eye refused to open. Fawn moistened
his patient’s lips with water and was relieved to see his tongue lick the lips
thirstily. He glanced back
at the door as Blue came in. “He’s awake?”
the American asked. Fawn nodded. “Thank God, he had me worried.” “Me too,” the
doctor confessed. This time
Scarlet’s good eye slowly opened.
“Adam?” “I’m here,
buddy. I told you you’d wake while
I was away. But none the less, it’s good to have you back.” “Adam, I can’t
see.” “Your left eye
was very badly damaged,” Fawn explained trying to allay the panic he heard in
Scarlet’s voice. “The whole of your
head was, if I’m honest. It may
take awhile for your sight to recover – your eyes and the nerves are probably
badly swollen. Your head is
bandaged,” he added as Scarlet’s hand reached up to explore his damaged face. “I know whatever medical treatment I
give never seems to make a difference to your recovery, but it makes me feel
better – like I’m not entirely redundant -
yet
- so you’ll have to bear with it.”
He glanced at his notes and frowned; Scarlet generally woke fully recovered,
except this time, although he
seemed to have recovered from the broken bones much as expected, his visible eye
was still in a mess – heaven alone knew what state the other was in beneath the
bandages – and the fact that he was blind was worrying. Fawn didn’t expect it to last – once the
retrometabolism had cured the faults – everything should work again – but
Scarlet was obviously distressed by the loss of his vision. “I’m thirsty,”
Scarlet muttered. Blue stepped in
and started slowly to give the water to his partner, while Fawn watched warily,
only starting to regain his confidence that his patient was recovering his
strength as he saw Scarlet drinking thirstily. The Englishman
opened his right eye – still bloodshot and puffy. “Boy, do you
look a picture,” Blue teased, seeing his friend glancing up at him. “I can’t see
you,” Scarlet wailed and reached a hand up, grasping at air until Blue caught it
and held fast in his good hand.
“Are you okay, Adam?” Scarlet asked. “Sure; I
fractured my arm, but the doc says I’ll be fit for light duties over Christmas –
if I’m lucky – or should that be unlucky?” Scarlet gave a
weak smile. “For a workaholic like
you – that’s classed as lucky,” he croaked. Blue grinned in
response, then realised his expression couldn’t be seen and squeezed the hand
that clung to his. Fawn
interrupted them with some brisk orders. “You need to get some rest, Scarlet,
give your body time to do its stuff.
And you too, Blue, in fact, you can go back to your quarters if you
promise to go straight to bed and rest – that way there’ll be less temptation
for you two to tire each other out talking. Talking of temptation, I’ll give you
a mild sedative, Blue, and there are to be positively no visitors – not even angelic ones, do I make myself clear?” “As crystal.”
Blue blushed. “See you tomorrow,
Paul. Sleep well.” “You too,”
Scarlet murmured, already drifting away to sleep as his partner laid his hand
back on the bed.
The Amber Room
had been set up with its Christmas decorations and lights some days ago, but
today a new banner was being strung across the room by Captains Grey and Ochre.
Melody was supervising, while Symphony and Harmony were putting the finishing
touches to a table groaning under the weight of party food and soft drinks. Rhapsody sat on the sofa, wearing a pretty,
electric-blue evening dress, her red hair twisted into a complex arrangement on
her head and her slender neck sporting a pearl choker. “I’m sure it
won’t work,” she said glumly.
Melody shook her head and Symphony went over to pat the younger girl’s arm. “I bet you it
will.” “I spoke to
Doctor Fawn and he said Paul’s sight still hasn’t returned but he doesn’t know
why. Physically, everything’s working, but Paul complains the light hurts his
eyes and he can’t see anything.
Paul’s so miserable; he won’t even talk to
me. ” Rhapsody explained sadly.
“Every time I go down there, he just refuses to see me.” “Adam said…” “He’s not a
doctor.” “He said,”
Symphony continued ignoring the comment, “that Paul was starting to talk to him
now. He spent today with him and he told me when we were having lunch – I saw
him, just by chance, when I went to get my lunch after finishing in Angel one –
anyway, Paul told Adam that he’s tired; that’s what Adam told me. He reckons that it might just be that
Paul’s been in so many ‘accidents’ recently, he’s just fed up with it all? I
think it’s what Fawn reckons too – psychosomatic – that’s what Adam called it. So, Dianne, all we have to do is cheer
him up and he’ll be fine – you’ll see.” “We believe
you,” Melody remarked. “That it was
‘just by chance’, I mean.” Symphony
grinned across at her. “But it isn’t like Paul to be like this – so defeatist. He’s always been such an optimist,” Rhapsody reasoned. “Not always,”
Symphony said thoughtfully. “He had
a bad time after the London Car-Vu, don’t forget.” “Yes, but he
got over that, Karen, and he’s reconciled to his Mysteronisation now.” “Everyone’s
entitled to an off-day,” the moody American reasoned. “No one can be a Pollyanna all the time and stay sane.” “Well, you
should know,” Melody chipped in. “I wish I
hadn’t wasted so much time getting ready.
It won’t work,” Rhapsody repeated, before the volatile Symphony could
respond to that quip. Diverted from
arguing with Melody, Symphony said, “Dianne – I bet you a month’s salary it
will.” “Don’t be
silly, Karen, you don’t have enough money to bet a month’s salary. You told me you were broke after doing
your Christmas shopping.” “I have that
much confidence in Paul’s ability to recover, if he wants to, that I’m willing to take the risk,” Symphony
responded. “And besides, I am broke, so your money’ll come in handy.” She winked at Melody whose face was
wreathed in smiles. Captain Ochre
clambered down from the stepladder and walked across. “Hey, Scarlet wouldn’t miss this sight for the world,” he
said, taking the English Angel pilot’s hand and giving her an encouraging smile.
“I’m telling you, no red-blooded man would.” “You haven’t
told him about the party, have you?” she asked with a frown. “It was meant to be
a surprise.” “Me? My lips are sealed – I never reveal
secrets.” “Unless someone
makes it worth his while, financially,” Grey interjected, coming to join the
others. Ochre chuckled. “What
time does this shindig start?” Grey
continued. “Do I have time to go
and change into my party clothes?”
He smiled at the young women; Symphony was wearing a fetching green dress,
although Harmony and Melody were in Uniform. “You have party
clothes?” Harmony asked her dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Grey grimaced.
“Is that such a surprise?” he asked a little forlornly. “I do not
recall seeing you without your uniform on,” Harmony said, “and I am sure I would
remember.” She gave Ochre a puzzled
glance as that irrepressible individual gave a burst of laughter. “You go and get
smartened up, Brad,” Melody said.
“Ochre here can finish off the jobs that need doing.” Captain Grey
left them and the others glanced at the clock.
“P-time minus
ten,” Symphony said. “I hope Blue’s
arm is good enough to allow him to do some dancing…he needs the practise before
the Christmas Party.” “Are you
wearing protective shoes under that dress, Symph?” Ochre asked with an air of
innocence. “200lbs of prancing Bostonian landing on your toes must be painful,
or so I’d imagine, not having danced with Blue myself.” “He’s not that bad a dancer,” she protested and,
still squabbling, the pair of them wandered off to the buffet table, Symphony
vainly trying to stop Ochre picking at the spread before it was time. “You look very
nice, Rhapsody,” Harmony reassured her friend. “Symphony made a fine job of your
hair style.” “What’s the
point if it can’t be seen?” “Everyone else
can see you,” Melody protested, “and we’ll take pictures, if you like.” “That is no
consolation, Nolie.” The door opened
and Lieutenant Green sauntered in, a square parcel under his arm. Soon after that the colonel put in an
appearance and an elegant Captain Grey and Captain Magenta arrived as the hands
of the clock swept round to 1900 hrs. Melody turned
from watching the security screen she’d trained on the approach corridor. “They’re coming,” she hissed in a stage
whisper. “Places everyone.” People stepped
back against walls and behind cover.
Melody switched the speaker onto ‘conference’ and the tinny sound of the
conversation was heard over the tannoy.
Blue was doing the talking, in the annoyingly, ‘determined to be
cheerful’ tone used to motivate moody children and invalids. That was guaranteed to get on
anyone’s nerves and accordingly Captain Scarlet was looking fractious. “…Fawn thought you’d enjoy a little trip out,
Paul. Cheer up, buddy. We’re almost there, can’t you smell the
flowers?” “No, I can’t and if I can’t see them either
what’s the point of dragging me to the Promenade Deck? I don’t want to go and sit in the
sunshine, Adam. I’m not a frigging
invalid, I just can’t see anything. Why do I have to sit in this wheelchair?” “So you don’t fall over obstacles, of course.
You ought to be grateful – you’re being pushed along after all – you don’t have
to do anything. You look the
picture of
cool in those black-out shades. Doc Fawn’s expecting the orders to flood
in from the guys. They suit you.” “I wouldn’t wear them if the light
didn’t hurt my eyes, you flaming great burke; they’re a medical necessity not a
fashion accessory.” “Magenta says they’re much cooler than
the ones he’s got,” Blue continued relentlessly,
“he’s going to see about acquiring a pair.” “What’s he got planned? Asking Ochre to punch his eyes out?” “Tsk,tsk – don’t be such a misery,
Paul.” “Stop treating me like an imbecile then. I can still hold an adult conversation,
Adam.” “Sure you can…. And here we are!” The Amber Room
door slid open.
Captain
Scarlet’s frown deepened. “I still
don’t smell any flowers and didn’t you say the gardenia was out?” he asked
suspiciously. There was
silence. “Adam? Where are you? Adam? This is a
fine time to play hide and seek. Where are you?” Scarlet squirmed round in
the wheelchair. Doctor Fawn,
who had been pushing the chair while Blue walked beside him, his arm still in
the sling, looked at the people in the room and nodded. The colonel
stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Adam?” “Surprise!”
everyone shouted and immediately broke into a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to you!” “What the f…”
Scarlet stammered. “Get me out of
here. Adam?” They could see a faint blush
spreading over his pallid cheeks. As the singing
came to a ragged halt, Colonel White stepped forward. “Captain Scarlet, your friends had been planning a surprise
birthday party for you in the Amber Room before your last mission took place.
Doctor Fawn thought it a reasonable request to allow it to take place anyway. They’ve put a great deal of effort into the event and I hope
it will lift your spirits as a consequence. Let the party begin!” As the party
went on around him, Scarlet stubbornly remained in his wheelchair, which Fawn
had placed in the middle of the room beneath the banner which read, ‘Happy
Birthday Captain Scarlet’. He was
miserable; sulky and irritable by turns when anyone came to talk to him and
everyone tried. He refused to open
any of the presents they’d bought him or partake of the excellent refreshments.
Gradually people drifted away from him – although, Symphony had to literally
drag Captain Blue towards the buffet table - and left him alone with his
self-pity. Doctor Fawn
began to think his diagnosis was wrong and this idea might not work after all.
He stood by the colonel and the pair of them looked despairingly at Captain
Scarlet, who was sitting in moody isolation, his head propped in his hand, away
from the social interaction. At his own insistence his chair
had been moved in front of the Amber Room’s large windows, with their stunning
outlook over Cloudbase’s decks and the vast sky beyond, although Scarlet had his
back to the view, as if he was rejecting the very light itself. Finally,
Rhapsody went back to him and reached down to place a hand on his shoulder.
Her familiar, delicate perfume identified her to her fiancé before she spoke. “Happy
birthday, Paul.” She leant down and kissed his cheek. “Dianne, I
didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me.” “Like what?
In need of a shave? That’s not unusual,” she teased. “Dianne, this
isn’t funny. I can’t see anything - I can’t see you… and I want to,” he confessed. “Then try, Paul
– all your friends are here – look at them, my dear.” She reached out
to slip the glasses from his eyes.
They were still red and puffy, but the sapphire-blue irises were crystal
clear. Scarlet raised a hand to shield them – from the light or her inspection
she wasn’t sure. She caught his
hand and held it. “Fawn thinks
you can do it, Paul – he thinks your mind is just refusing to allow you to,
maybe because it hurt so much when you tried before. Look at me, Paul.
Look, my love.” He turned his
head towards her voice and stared, the frown deepening between his dark brows.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he strained desperately, willing his mind to
accept the images from his eyes.
Rhapsody kept hold of his hand, squeezing the strong fingers and whispering
encouragement. Slowly, dimly,
a shape formed before his eyes. A
beautiful face, red-hair piled around it, large, gentle eyes smiling into his. “Dianne…” he
breathed and reached out his other hand to touch her cheek. “If you aren’t the most beautiful sight
a man could see, I don’t know what is. I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful
birthday present.” The tears that
had pooled in her eyes tipped down her cheeks and he wiped them away with gentle
fingers. The music had
started up at a signal from Doctor Fawn and Symphony was cajoling Blue out onto
the small area that had been designated as the dance-floor, when Dianne pleaded: “Dance with me,
Paul.” He rose
unsteadily to his feet; his legs were numb from being sat still for so long –
not something his powerful body was wont to do – and swept into his arms and out
into the select group of dancers. Captain Blue,
concentrating on leading Symphony round the dance-floor, backed into them. Scarlet turned
and said with a beaming smile, “Watch where you’re going, Blue-boy.” Blue’s laugh
was tinged with genuine relief.
“I’m sorry, Paul; you know me and my two left feet, I shouldn’t be allowed on a
dance-floor, but you can’t gainsay Karen when she’s determined. Happy Birthday, by the way, it’s a
great party! Oh, and like I always say – it’s good to have you back.”
Author’s Notes:
Another
(unplanned - in that it came to me rather suddenly.) birthday story for ‘The Man
in Red’, Chris has warned me that two of anything makes a tradition! My
thanks go to Hazel Köhler for an emergency-speed beta-read, and to Chris Bishop
and Mary J Rudy for their inspirational help in finding a suitable title at the
eleventh hour. The characters from
the classic TV series ‘Captain Scarlet & The Mysterons™’ who appear in this
story, belong to the companies that own the rights to the series. They were
originally devised in the 1960s by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and their talented
team. I have only borrowed
them, so I hope they don’t mind.
Happy
Birthday, Mr Metcalfe!
Marion
Woods
December 2006
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