I called Kruùgh today for a status report on his condition. SPC Kruùgh lives in Abundance, a dying mining town way up north in Icicle Land. He says the weather up there is tolerable, and if that's his opinion, he's welcome to it. Yes, I realize that Abundance isn't much farther north than the Middlelands, where the species first evolved, and that physiologically we're well-suited to the cold weather. And there's something to be said for summer days that don't boil your blood. But when it comes to spending half the year trudging through snow, no thanks - I'll take a pass.
"How are you?" I asked my apprentice, hoping for the gung-ho energy he'd exhibited on the flight home.
"I'm all right," he sighed.
"Are you healing?" I asked. "Are you growing back like the Ren promised?"
"No, sir," said Kruùgh. "Not exactly."
"What?!" I was a little angry to hear that. "Why the hell not? Ambassador Cheng made a big point of how the salve stuff they spread all over your injuries would make your flesh regenerate to the way it was. Why isn't it? Can the doctors tell you?"
"No, sir. All they tell me is that they need an explanation of the treatment the aliens gave me. I refuse to say a word, as ordered, but they keep insisting. We end up going around in circles. They took a thousand tissue samples, but then they come back and tell me there's no reason to believe my eye and fur will grow back. They say I've been lied to."
"That could be the case," I remarked. I hate to believe it. Cheng may be an alien, but I found him very convincing. "I'm sorry to hold you to confidence if it interferes with your treatment, but there's nothing I can do. The order comes straight from the top."
(And the top brass don't care if my apprentice loses an eye because of those orders of confidence! What's one kid's health compared to national security? Fuck 'em.)
"My skin grew back," Kruùgh added. "It's uncanny. It's not like burn scars at all. It's more like normal skin, as if my fur fell out and that's it."
"Well, that's good," I said.
Kruùgh hesitated. "I guess, sir. It's just that... well... I look like my fur fell out. People keep asking me if I'm diseased or something. And that's not the worst part."
"What's the worst part?" I asked.
"You know the eye I lost?"
"Yes, Nav; what of it? Is it growing back at all?"
"No, sir," Kruùgh said. "It's gone. There's just smooth skin where it used to be."
I couldn't begin to imagine what Kruùgh's self-description looked like, and I was too disturbed by the prospect to try. His tone of voice indicated he did not like his new appearance, and that was enough for me. "Still," I said, "it's better than being dead, right?"
"I guess, sir," he sighed, sounding unconvinced.
"It's not?"
"Well, sir, I was really hoping for my eye back, but I understand that was too much to hope for. I just wish my injuries weren't so weird. Sir, I look really, really weird."
"So what? Nobody's going to look at you anyway," I assured him. "You smell the same, right? You can function well? The only important question is whether you can serve. I spoke to a medical officer and she said that as long as you pass the physical, you're cleared to serve. The military doesn't count your sensory organs as long as what you've got works."
"They issued me a mask," Kruùgh informed me. "I'm required to wear it at all times while on duty, for my own protection. I guess that's a good sign. My doctors expect me to pass."
"Yeah!" I agreed. "It's all going to work out. We'll have you aboard before you know it. Just a momentary setback."
"Yes, sir," Kruùgh said.
"You know," I remarked, "I don't understand this new attitude of yours. When it looked like you were going to die, you were obsessed about continuing your career. Now that your career is a sure thing, you're moaning and groaning like you're having second thoughts. What gives, Nav?"
"It's... hard."
"Hard?" I exclaimed. "What, getting half your upper body blown off in a blast of chemical coolant, surviving an alien infirmary, and recovering just enough to function again is hard? Who woulda thunk? Kid, military service is hard. Some have it harder than others. I know you were a prodigy when you enlisted - my buddies at the academy just about exploded when they learned you were looking to serve on a gunship when you could've had any assignment you wanted. I know all about your shining reputation - we higher-ups talk to each other, you know. You haven't lost any of that talent. You're not going to fucking throw it all away because suddenly you're ugly - are you?"
Kruùgh laughed. "No sir! Thank you, sir. I'm not just ugly - you have to see me to really get it, I think, sir - but it's ridiculous for me to dwell on it. I deserved a good mocking. I won't let you down anymore, Captain."
I wish I were that clever. If I'd said the right thing to get the kid thinking positively again, it was pure random chance.
"Good," I said. "Besides, the military is the perfect path for funny-looking people. There aren't a lot of romantic prospects in space, no matter what you look like."
"Good point, sir," Kruùgh replied.
"Now you take care of yourself and stay focused," I ordered him. "Contact me any time for any reason; got it? And keep me updated on your progress. I need to know how my navigator's doing."
"Yes, sir!" he said, and we broke the connection.
Now I wonder what he looks like. It's been bugging me all day. Normally, a person's visual appearance never concerns me. If he's fit, he serves. If he's competent, I keep him. If he's ugly, who cares? Hell, Maihi looks like a caveman and I've never thought much of it. If he smells bad, that's different, but visual appearance is inconsequential as a rule.
But Kruùgh seems to think his condition transcends that. It's a very big deal to him. How weird does one have to look in order to get so upset about it?
|
