“Please state your name for the record.”

The sluggishness hadn’t worn off yet. “Er… Asher… Derek Asher.”

“Confirmed. You are Derek Asher, grade: Delta, rank: Strider, member of the Union Xenoguard? Please confirm.”

Her request prompted the urge to vomit. Or it was a poorly timed coincidence. Derek lunged for the bowl beside him, heaving up a clear, viscous liquid that tasted like metal.

“…Confirmed,” he answered miserably. “Dash is fine. Or Dasher.”

“I apologize, sir. The fuzziness will pass shortly. For now, please do your best to make it through the screening.”

Derek nodded. The doctor smiled. Rarely were her patients so cooperative after waking from quarantine.

“If you can recall your most recent account of the incident that marooned you would you please state it for the record… to the best of your ability.”

“My memory is still pretty hazy, doc.”

“On Zulu day 8-8-4-8-3, the Olympian recovered you and one other castaway on a Saturnian satellite. The remains of six Union space station modules and its remnants were discovered within immediate proximity of extraction, evidence of a high-casualty distress event. Can you confirm?” 

“Yes.”

“The Biohazard Limiter in your suit indicated you had been on the moon site for a total of thirty-six Earth days. However, measuring the proliferation of Night Rash in your system before your detoxification suggests you were there for nearly three times as long. Are you able to confirm which is the more accurate reading?”

“I was stranded for forty-two days, seventeen hours, fourteen minutes.”

“Excellent, sir. Are you perhaps able to recall the events that occurred those forty-two days prior to your rescue?”

He took a deep breath to steel his nerves. If he weren’t so numb already the memory would’ve petrified him.

“Starbase Exodus where I was stationed came under attack by a Qorid armada. It was a dark zone ambush. We weren’t alerted of the invasion until the base was already under attack. The station was torn to shreds before Command could mount a defense. My unit had been deployed to Astrid 7‑Delta to establish a communications tower that would improve the SS signal trajectory. But the Qorid obviously counted on us being in the dark zone.”

“That is an apt inference. About twenty-six hours following the assault on Exodus, a UXG Armadalus intercepted a Qorid warship just sixty-eight klicks from the wreckage.”

“Yeah. We’d gotten word that an Armadalus was on its way to dock for resupply before they forwarded. Actually, I think it’s when Exodus lost communication with them that we realized all of our comm signals were down.”

“It seems your memory has held up well,” the nurse said with a pleasant smile.

“…It’s hard to forget that day.”

“Your physical health has maintained also. It’s a testament to the power of companionship. Most people forced to endure isolation don’t fare so well alone. Once the mind deteriorates, the body goes soon after.”

“There are worse people to be stranded with, I guess.”

“What happened to the rest of your unit?”

“…They were killed by the wreckage that crashed into the moon surface. I was thrown into a rift.”

“It must have been a deep opening. Debris that massive should’ve sent shockwaves a mile beneath the surface.”

“At the time of the attack I was working in the cabin of one of our constructor dolls.”

“A mech unit, you mean?”

“That’s right, a tall-frame. I’m a mech mech—a, uh, crew chief.”

“I see. And so… you strapped yourself in.”

“It’s the only reason I survived, as far as I can tell. Constructors are rated for high impact. I figured I stood a better chance inside.”

“This Constructor is the… MT3 ‘Hercules’ frame, yes? You’re maintenance qualified for that spec?”

“Took four and a half years to get my first deployment with a frame. It’s the reason I volunteered for the Exodus assignment.”

“Not the ideal first deployment, I take it?”

Dash appreciated the humor and his smile was notice that he could move his face again.

“How did you return to the surface?”

“I got the frame patched up and climbed out.”

“You were able to pilot the frame? I wasn’t aware maintenance technicians had the capability.”

“We practically make them do yoga in depot,” he chuckled. “We know them in and out, better than some pilots. I admit, I’d never walked one outside of a simulation, but it was a… sink or swim situation.”

“Absolutely. Your efforts were entirely commendable, especially considering you salvaged a military asset worth nearly a billion Lincs. That MT3 frame is currently undergoing depot repair and will likely be operational within the month.”

“That’s good. That Constructor is as good as any Armanaut frame as far as I’m concerned, even if it is only half the size.”

“After your ordeal no one would argue,” the nurse said. “However, my curiosity persists, Dash. With your only counterpart being a trained pilot, wouldn’t she have been a better candidate to operate the frame?”

He heaved again, but nothing came of it. “Ugh. Her… She’s a rookie pilot, for one. Secondly, she’s sort of a pain in my ass, like every other Jovian I’ve ever come across.”

“Is that so? Well, perhaps you’ll be delighted to hear that she’s eagerly awaiting your full recovery. She has asked me to mention ‘gelato’ since your memory has sustained.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as much as his stiff neck would allow. “I’m sure she did.”

“Well then, it appears the remainder of your diagnostic tests have returned with favorable results. All normal, with the exception of some remnant pollution in your blood—nothing a few weeks of medication can’t nix. Still, on a molecular level, your charts are wholesome. Your antibiotics are being filled at the Medical Sector dispensary. We expect you back here in a couple of weeks for a follow-up. Until that time, you are not cleared for duty. You are not permitted to operate any heavy machinery or perform any strenuous activity.”

“What’s considered strenuous?”

“…If you think it’s strenuous, you should abstain from doing it,” she replied with a smirk. “The medication cocktail we’re giving you will have side effects. Surprise. If you experience any nausea, vomiting, discolored spots on your skin or in your vision, severe headaches, bloody stool, consecutive diarrhea for more than forty-eight hours, mild or severe paralysis, temporary or permanent loss of any of your senses or motor functions—”

“I think I get it, doc. If I start coming apart, report back.”

She smiled, “That’s the gist of it, yes.”

“Understood.”

“In the meantime, I encourage you to take a look around Olympus. You have been given a per diem by Commodore Corran of the 54th Armadalus as well as a catalog of coupons for the Pantheon sectors, courtesy of the Olympus Directorate. If you’re interested in any fine dining, may I suggest The Mistress in the Athenian sector?”

“Thanks. But, sorry, did you say Commodore Corran? As in, Commodore Corran of the Red Raven?”

“The one and the same. In fact, the Commodore plans to meet with you at some point during your sabbatical. In light of recent events, her squadron will gain you.”

“I’ve been reassigned to an Armada squadron?” Dash squawked in terror.

The doctor replied calmly. “You have, indeed. I believe you are to begin training at the end of your recuperation period.”

Dash groaned, “Should’ve known it was too good to be true.”

“Don’t be so down. I believe you’re due for a rather prestigious commendation. As far as everyone here is concerned, you’re very much a hero.” Her enthusiasm was comforting, especially considering how flush her cheeks had become.

He was grateful to have survived and was more than curious to see what Olympus had to offer. He was even piqued by the opportunity to learn how to really fight, if it meant he could one day hand-deliver justice to the Qorid. The only thing he wasn’t all too thrilled about was going back to bootcamp. It was a misery he dreaded the first go-around. And Armadas were the tip of the spear—some of the elite. Their training would be hardcore to say the least. What would happen if he washed out? Would they just throw him back into maintenance?

“Mister Asher, you’re cleared for release. Feel free to leave whenever you’re ready. We’ve given you a steroid to assist your motor functions, but it will wear off shortly.”

The nurses rolled him to his room in a glider. It was more of a sterile, bleach-white closet than actual lodging, but it did have a bed. On it was a dark, neatly stacked parcel. His recreational attire was an Olympus-brand one-suit, complete with soles and a perforated waistline. Hanging on the door of his wall locker, however, was his fresh new uniform, also a one-suit. In maintenance he was only ever expected to wear grungy coveralls stained with oils and plasma. It was more uncommon to wear the UXG uniform like the rest of the servicemembers. But as he examined the freshly pressed one-suit and the slate-colored Midnight Blue beret he remembered his fondness of the formal attire. It was complete with his name, rank and the squadron patch of the Red Raven Armadalus. It felt cool, but he dreaded what that feeling would cost him.