Three Days Later
Dr. Wessinger’s office on the station
A chime sounds and Dr. Wessinger looks up from her computer. Annoyance fills her voice and is written all over her face.
“Enter!” Wessinger yells.
The double doors slide open and a tall man in a dark uniform enters. Dr. Wessinger sits up straighter in her chair.
“General Weyland? We weren’t expecting you for another two days,” the doctor says.
She climbs hurriedly to her feet and extends her hand. The general does not take the offered hand. Instead, he simply sits down at the chair on the opposite side of the table. Dr. Wessinger retracts her hand and sits back down.
“As I said, General. We weren’t expecting you,” Dr. Wessinger says again.
General Erik Weyland assesses the aging doctor and finds her wanting. There had been a time, in Weyland history, when only the best of the best were allowed within the ranks. Several costly tech wars had encouraged Weyland Industries to branch out—to accept even the most mediocre of scientific minds. The present doctor included in such company.
Now, Dr. Teresa Boyd. That was quite a different story. She’d been one of the most brilliant minds in recent scientific history. Too bad she’d lost it in the ass-end of space. Or so, she’d like them all to believe. Whatever she knew, it had to be good. Why else would she go to such lengths to conceal it?
“We have reason to believe there are hostiles approaching the Alterran sector,” General Weyland explains. “Our troops are being recalled to Celstus Prime for a defensive operation. Which means…I don’t have time to babysit you, Doctor!”
General Weyland leans over the desk. His eyes are filled with pure malice as he addresses Dr. Wessinger.
“Now…Since my superiors are breathing down my neck…I figured it’s time I breathe down yours!” General Weyland growls. “What information have you been able to extract from the good doctor?”
Dr. Wessinger is momentarily taken aback. Considering the General’s connections, and his high rank, she cannot imagine who could possibly be breathing down his neck. However, simply remembering who they work for cures her of that confusion.
“As of right now…Nothing,” Dr. Wessinger admits somewhat sheepishly. “She’s as tight-lipped as ever. Keeps claiming it’s some kind of Judas from a contaminated sample. But there’s no way that’s pos—.”
General Weyland does not allow the older scientist to finish. He slams a meaty fist on the wooden desk and climbs to his feet. He leans over the table, so that he is inches from Dr. Wessinger’s face.
“Then…You are not trying hard enough, Doctor!” General Weyland bellows.
The general’s face takes on a deep red shade and his breathing is heavy and labored. Dr. Wessinger is sure he wishes to strike her. Strike her hard.
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“We want that information, Doctor!” General Weyland says in a slightly lower voice. “However…You have to get it! Do you understand? Find out what she knows!”
Standing erect and pivoting away, General Erik Weyland storms from Dr. Wessinger’s office. Shock, and then anger, dances across the scientist’s face. The man did say: ‘However, she had to get it.’
Dr. Wessinger leans across her extremely overpriced Earth Oak desk, and taps the touch interface of her computer. There is a low chime and the youthful face of a male technician floats onto the screen.
“Yes, Dr. Wessinger,” the young man says in an artificially sweet voice.
“Shelton…I want you to find someone for me,” Dr. Wessinger orders. “His name is Frank Buederson. He’s a dream specialist. Send him a communique; stating I need him here ASAP.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Shelton says.
Before he can say anything more, Dr. Wessinger ends the transmission. Why pay extra credits for the tech to simply run his mouth asking stupid questions. The doctor steeples her hands and braces her elbows on the desk. All that is left to do—is to wait.
-
-
“Good morning, Dr. Boyd,” Brian says, peeking childishly around the door.
The shy orderly smiles kindly and enters the cell with Teresa’s tray of food. He sets it down on the table and backs away. He looks around as if expecting her sparse furnishings to have changed. Or improved.
“I…I’m sorry about your son…Dr. Boyd!” Brian stammers.
Teresa halts her hand in front of her mouth, a piece of toast almost pressed against her lips. She lowers the bread back onto the tray and offers Brian a thin smile.
“How do you know about my son? Wouldn’t something like that be classified?” Teresa questions.
“Well…Normally…Yes,” Brian admits. “But the salvage crew that found you couldn’t keep their mouths shut. They kind of mentioned the condition they found you in…And people started connecting the dots. So—”
Brian’s voice trails off and he backs away another step, intending to leave. Teresa raises a hand in the air to stop him.
“Don’t leave,” Teresa says. “Please. I need to talk to someone. Anyone. Besides those damn doctors. Do you know where they are holding my son, Brian? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know where they have your son, Dr. Boyd. I’m sorry,” Brian replies.
“I didn’t really think you would,” Teresa says. “But it was worth a try.”
Brian nods and bites on his lower lip.
“Well…I’ve got other trays to deliver,” the young man says. “See you at lunchtime…I guess.”
“Sure, Brian,” Teresa says.
Brian turns and leaves the room with his serving tray. Teresa’s heart sinks as the door’s locking mechanism slams into place. Forcing herself to eat the lukewarm food, and drink the bitter black coffee, Teresa laments her present situation. So much for her Nobel Prize.
-
-
N-Vorl lightly traces a finger along the flesh of Teresa’s right arm. With a faint smile, she turns over on her right side—in order to face him. The yautja warrior offers her a smile in return.
“I believed you had fallen asleep,” N-Vorl says. “I would not wake you…But the others will be returning at any time.”
Teresa nods and moves to sit up. N-Vorl quickly follows her lead, gripping Dr. Boyd’s shoulders and forcing eye contact. He considers telling Teresa all that he knows, but is wary of destroying the blossoming emotions they have only just begun to explore.
“Why are you here, Teresa?” N-Vorl questions, his eyes riveted to the ooman scientist’s face.
Teresa bites her lower lip and turns partially away. She is quite sure she knows what N-Vorl is driving at, but has no desire to indulge him. When she turns back, her eyes have hardened. N-Vorl places a hand under Teresa’s chin and tilts her head upward.
“It is not my wish to start a fight,” N-Vorl reassures Teresa. “I simply want to know…Why we are here.…Together? Did you believe I would divulge what I knew to Elder Glandis? You needn’t have worried. I had no such intention.”
Teresa once again averts her eyes, but N-Vorl gently flicks the end of her nose with a finger. Teresa’s mouth gapes open and she emits a soft gasp.
“What the hell?” Teresa exclaims, giving N-Vorl a dirty look.
The yautja simply smiles his usual awkward smile, green eyes narrowing to tiny slits. Teresa returns his smile with a cruel smirk, one brow rising sharply—as she contemplates how to get even.
-
-
Dr. Boyd turns over on the bed, her eyes flutter open and she glances up at the ceiling. N-Vorl.