#9 - Late in the book: A significant plot change for Taylor

Jest in the infirmary recovering from her ordeal with the help of Ensign Friday. In the final version, she’s dead at this point in the story.

Right now, the one person aboard the ship with whom Captain Sparks could talk, the one with the most intimate knowledge of the alien, was Taylor Jest. They had just brought her out of hyperbaric decompression—an attempt to reduce her trauma. The crewwoman responsible for the gravity slip-up was very affected by the results of her error and was receiving counseling.

As he entered the infirmary, housed in the spin-ring, he observed much-subdued activity as stunned hospital staff hovered around the incubators and monitored the stasis readouts. No one paid him too much attention as he scanned the long and narrow triage. After a moment he spotted Chris Friday twenty meters off, up the curve, partially hidden behind the coffin-like incubators. As he moved in that direction, he could tell that the ensign was speaking softly to someone who reclined below the captain’s view. He came up behind Chris to see the patient had ahold of his hand. Stepping up next to his crewman, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, he finally got a view to Taylor Jest’s face. It was not the face that he had seen in a half-a-dozen ship vid monitor logs, as he had reviewed her shipboard antics on the ride out, repeatedly instructing security to be lenient with the young woman.

Gone was the entrancing beauty; her eyes, so dark and mysterious, now squeezed tightly shut, in hollow, recessed eye sockets. Her brow drew down, forehead furrowed as if beset by a life-threatening migraine. Her face was pallid, so drained of color that even her tanned skin could not disguise it. As he looked on, her entire body shook with a violent shudder.

The IV set-up administered the standard nutrients, as well as an epinephrine supplement.

“What’s her status, Ensign? Are there any encouraging signs?”

“Yessir, she has spoken in her sleep, mostly apologizing.”

“Apologizing? Can you let her know somehow that I’m not going to punish the insubordination?”

“I don’t think that’s it, sir. From how she is making her plea, I think she is asking to be forgiven for what happened in the tube between her and Clemmens.”

It altered Captain Sparks’ appreciation for the girl’s struggle. “Did you review the vid?”

“Yessir, I just finished it. I quite understand why she is making her plea. I wish I could somehow make it clear that it truly was not her fault. Just before you got here I tried to see if she would respond to my voice; we’ve developed a close counseling relationship, I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, Chris,” he informalized his interaction, “I seriously appreciate the role that you have unofficially taken on aboard my ship. Don’t think it has gone unnoticed. If there’s anyone who I feel is the most qualified for helping our mischievous Miss Jest right now, it is you. I need badly to talk with her as soon as she is able. She may have something helpful to say about these things we’re dealing with.”

“Yessir, I understand. I will let you know directly when she coherent.”

Jon Sparks nodded and turned his attention to the patient on the table; her muscles looked rigid. He glanced back at the ensign’s hand; it appeared she squeezed it in a painful grip, though the man made no complaint.

He leaned over, moving his face close to hers, and said softly, “Taylor? It’s Captain Sparks. I’m sorry we haven’t had the opportunity to meet until now. I need your help, Taylor, please. I want you to let go of the pain of what happened; everyone’s fine, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I need you to be strong; come back to us, TJ.” He couldn’t be sure—he thought maybe she relaxed for a fraction of a second. Then she seemed just as tense as before.