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“I know I felt a tingle, doctor!  Are you sure that I wasn’t irradiated?”

Pirra recognized Tred’s voice immediately, and seeing Dr. Y towering over him – gangly and somehow lacking menace, despite his great height – listening patiently.

Her system had led her to the doctor’s exact position, which . . . given it had been in Engineering, had immediately made her suspect that Tred was having some sort of crisis, real or imagined.

“While I will run further tests,” Y told the man, “I feel quite confident that there was no radiation leak, as there is no evidence of it.”

“If it was intense enough, it could have killed the sensors!” Tred protested, as Pirra approached.  “I checked them, and they seem fine, but there is a small chance that they still register as functioning by-“

“If such an event did occur,” Y said smoothly, “then the amount of radiation involved would have been far above human tolerances, yes?”

Which even Pirra knew was true.  The kind of thing that only a serious reactor malfunction or an astronomical phenomenon could produce.  Not the sort of thing that could have happened personally to Tred without anyone else knowing.

She stopped a few feet away, making her own presence at least a little imposing by dint of her stare, though unfortunately Tred had yet to notice her.

“If such a burst occurred, then you almost certainly would not be conscious,” Y continued.  “Or many of your cells would be dying.  There is no sign of any of that, I am pleased to say!”

“But the tingle!” Tred said desperately.

He finally noticed Pirra, and turned in his chair, asking her quickly; “Does it look like my hair is falling out?”

Pirra did not take her eyes off his face.  Her crest rose and spread slightly; a look that any Dessei would have known was the equivalent of a sharp glare.

Tred did not recognize that, however, and she tried to force her best approximation of a human scowl.

“No,” she said.

“I know I felt it,” he quickly replied.

“On your head specifically?” Y asked.

“Yes!  I think it could have been a collimated stream of-“

“Or,” Pirra interrupted, “Have you perhaps used some Dessei feather wash by mistake?  Alexander did once, and his head tingled quite severely afterwards.  He even lost his hair for several months.”

Tred’s eyes widened and he stood.  “I . . . I’m not sure,” he said in alarm.

“Well it’s not dangerous beyond that,” Pirra said.  “But perhaps you should go check to be sure?  Run a spectrographic analysis on your shampoo.  Make sure it is what it appears to be.”

The man nodded, pale now, and ran from the reactor room.

Dr. Y seemed to be side-eyeing her.  “I have checked all requisition logs, and Boniface Tred has not even gotten new shampoo recently.  Nor was his last batch anything but normal human hair wash.”

“Doctor, I need to talk to you,” Pirra said, ignoring his words.  “About Iago Caraval.”

Y hesitated, and she knew that he took the confidentiality of medical cases extremely rigidly.

“As you are head of Response Team One and personnel for all teams falls under your purview, I suppose I may discuss some limited details of his status,” he finally said.

“Acting head,” Pirra insisted.  “He’ll be back in command eventually.  I’m only keeping his seat warm.”  Loyalty compelled her to say it.

Dr. Y did not comment on her clear lie, only waiting and watching.

“He’s hiding something,” she said.  “I think he’s using a Blank Box to spoof nearby sensor readings.”

“. . . I am aware,” Y told her.  “I have been monitoring his situation.  And while the devices are restricted for good reason, his . . . current rank status is somewhat in flux, and we hesitated to confiscate it.”

“. . . and?” Pirra said, irritated.  “Why did you not tell me?  Why haven’t we done anything like talk to him?  He’s clearly having a very difficult time!  We should bring this to the Captain and Commander Kai!”

“They are aware,” Y told her.

“Why haven’t they done anything?”

“I am not at liberty to tell you that,” Dr. Y said.  “Though I admit – I am not clear of their motivations in this.  Your concern for your former commander is admirable, but-“

“He needs help,” Pirra insisted.

“I agree,” Y said.  His voice had a somber quality that she rarely heard from him.  There was no light-hearted joke to be made or deflection to be attempted.  “However, our psychologist is not currently available.  The Captain, therefore, has the right to make decisions on his behalf until there is a clear medical need for me to intervene.”

She knew Dr. Logus was injured, and that Y was close friends with him.  But she was friends with Iago, and she was not about to let this go.

“I’m going to bring this up to the Captain,” she said.  “Will you go with me?”

Y hesitated.  “I have already spoken with him, Commander Pirra.  I have been instructed to drop this line of inquiry, and therefore – I cannot.  However, I wish you greater luck than I have had with finding a satisfactory answer.”

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The door pinged for her to enter, but Pirra paused a moment, trying to calm herself before going into Captain Brooks’s study.

She had run here, nearly knocking over two people, and causing no small amount of alarm.  Seeing the head of Response in a hurry rarely boded well.

But she hadn’t wanted to waste a moment.  Every bit of time wasted was one where she could be helping Iago out of whatever pit of despair he’d fallen into.

Smoothing her feathers as best she could, she opened the door and entered.

Brooks looked up from his desk at her, barely lifting his head, only his eyes.

“Lieutenant Commander,” he said with a slight nod.

“Captain, I need to talk to you about Iago.  He’s using a Blank Box – I figured that out just a little bit ago, and I think that he needs more help.”

Brooks was watching her calmly, and she felt compelled to continue.

“With your permission, I’d like to stage a medical intervention and bring him in for a full scan-up, full psych – the works.  He’s . . . he’s not acting right, sir, and I think that we have to do something!”

Brooks’s expression had not changed, and he looked down.  “I’m afraid not,” he said.  “I’d like you to drop this topic.”

“What?” she demanded, shocked.

“We are aware of the Blank Box and Iago’s aberrant behavior,” Brooks said.

“Aren’t you alarmed, sir?”

“I am concerned,” he admitted.  “But Iago’s condition is . . . very special.  Dr. Y has run every medical test he can and finds nothing wrong with him.  He has refused to talk to the doctor further, and our only psychiatrist is currently barely alive.”

“All the more reason to let me help him.  I’m close to him, Captain, he trusts me-“

“I’m sorry, Pirra, but I think that’s a bad idea,” Brooks said.  “I ask that you trust me on this.”

Pirra felt anger surging, wanting to tell the Captain to go to hell, that she was going to help her friend no matter what . . .

But she was an officer.  She had taken an oath of loyalty.

Her hands clenched, trembling.

“Request to know your reasoning, sir?” she asked.  “To . . . to better understand the orders.” 

Or argue them.

Brooks sighed and leaned back, watching her.  His brow was furrowed, and it was clear just how concerned he was about this.

“Right now, Iago has withdrawn into himself.  He underwent several traumas, and one of them is something about which we understand very little.  While all tests come back normal, people affected by Leviathans often appear that way – yet it doesn’t mean they’re fine.

“If we should push him, right now, then he may feel trapped – and worsen his condition.  We are all stuck here on this ship until she reaches Gohhi.  Once we get there, there are psychiatrists in the medical facility that may have a better time helping him than we would.”

He raised a hand to forestall her arguments.  “We are continuing to monitor him, however.  He has no access to weapons, and I do not believe that he is any danger – to himself or to others.”

He shook his head.  “So all I can think to do is wait just a little longer.”

His eyes met hers again.  “Do you understand now?”

Pirra hated his reasons, wanted to argue against them.  But she would not win that argument.

“I understand, sir,” she said.

He hesitated, studying her, and she knew he was wondering if he’d have to make it an order.

But he said nothing else, and neither did she.

Feeling numb, Pirra left his study.

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