James woke up and the first thing he saw was Dave. This was not pleasant, to the eye or to the intellect. Dave was not someone to wake up and see, and Dave was not someone to be associated with. It was for this reason that James jerked violently upright, accidentally ripped out the breathing tube they’d inserted (along with some of the stitching), started bleeding again, and promptly passed out. When he woke up the next day Dave wasn’t there anymore, and that made everything go a little more smoothly. The doctor saw him open his eyes and crouched into a battle stance, ready for whatever this deranged patient happened to be planning. He motioned for his nurse, actually a small repurposed mechanic robot, to hold James down. He then got on the phone and called the captain. James watched all of this occur in a bemused haze, unaware that he was under the influence of some very heavy drugs that some very heavy people would pay a very heavy price to be able to get their hands on, and for which Jeliah and her crew had once done a fair amount of gunfiring. The idea that he was enjoying the fruits of the very same kind of thing which had resulted in him lying there probably would have been lost on James even in the soberest of times and it certainly didn’t dawn on him now.
The captain arrived with Gareth, and James thought to them ‘Hey guys, how’s it going? I’m fine, thanks for getting Dave out of here’ but because he was drugged and had a pipe down his throat all that happened is he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whistle and then nodded. The doctor looked at him, looked at the captain and Gareth, and realized what had happened.
“Hey. Idiot. Shut up and calm down.”
James breathed indignantly. The doctor handed him a marker board and some kind of liquid crayon, which James resented because he wasn’t a child but which was not nearly as offensive as the toy rocketships someone was flying around his head over and over and in and out of the stars because he hated spaceships and besides they couldn’t-
“James!” That one was Gareth. James’ vision cleared, and while he didn’t know where the ships had gone he was glad they weren’t there anymore. “Write i’ down buddy.” James nodded, and scribbled on his whiteboard. Then he handed it to Gareth, who read the note aloud.
“Thanks making ships die. And Dave.”
Galactically speaking, medical science has come a long way since the days of compulsory amputations and prayer. Many medical stations have even advanced to the point at which amputation of an affected limb is only the third-best treatment and prayer has become almost entirely optional. Of course, there still exists a hierarchy among the planets and between individual stations. Resources are scarce after all, and not every doctor can be recruited from a medical school. Still, in general things have come a long way indeed. It was in this advanced climate that James’ gunshot-ridden throat was- as is often the case with bullet wounds- dropped so rudely and with such great urgency. The doctor successfully determined that the greatest damage was to the throat region, and between swigs of rum had managed to repair enough of the damage that it could conceivably be said James was kind of almost as good as he would have been a few years from then, all else being equal and if he’d taken up smoking.
Everything considered it was a pretty ok job of doctoring which, considering this particular doctor was the resident medic aboard a second-rate pirate ship, was just about the best anyone could hope for. There would, of course, be a large and gruesome scar which would stand James in good stead should he choose to continue the pirate life and which had in no way been improved by his violent reaction to Dave’s presence upon first awakening. Two days after the initial wound the breathing tube was removed and James was cleared for light duty, since they weren’t running a charity or anything, though it being a pirate ship the only light duty present was to sit with Dave in the medic’s office while the doctor slept one off in the surgery room.
“And so I was like….why’d you do that to my wrist, man? I have to use that.”
“I know. I was there.”
“Oh. Well why didn’t you say that?”
“I did. Seven times.”
“Oh. Well were you there when he was ‘explaining’ business to me, like I don’t already know?”
“Yes. Again. I was there both before and after you. How long is the doctor going to be asleep?”
“Well, it’s heroin, so probably like, until we wake him up?”
“Are you asking me?”
“No?”
“Then why does your voice keep going up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your voice keeps going up at the end like you’re asking me stuff.”
“It is not.”
“I promise it is.”
“Oh- you promise. And how likely is that promise to be true?”
“Are you asking me?”
“That time I was.”
“Then pretty likely, given that it’s accurate. When should we wake him up?”
Dave shrugged.
“I dunno.” It was drawn out, mixed with a sigh, and delivered as though Dave had just thrown a very small rock into the pond of a recently harvested apple orchard. “I just kind of sit here and wait. I guess if someone got hurt and came by I’d go get him but no one has. Seems like it’s been a real lucky week so far.”
James had very little doubt that no one was coming by, but he was painfully, personally aware that they were certainly not having a lucky week. Everyone was simply going to Grant instead of the doctor because they didn’t want to talk to Dave. A smart strategy, and one that James couldn’t really argue with after having sat with Dave for two days. He’d considered waking the doctor up himself just so he’d clear him for stronger work but then figured if he had a lifetime of hard work ahead of him he might as well take it easy when he had a hole ripped in his neck. Dave did make him want to end it all though.
“…so then he like, grabbed my hand to shake it, right, and-“
“Dave!” Dave looked up, startled.
“What?”
“I was there.”
Crestfallen, but at least not questioning it this time, Dave stopped talking for a blissful five seconds. Then: “So where you from?” James sighed harder than anyone has ever sighed. His throat itched from the strain.
“Malyria.”
“Oooh, sounds nice.”
“It sounds like a disease.”
“Ok well how do I know that, I’ve never been.”
“So you think the planet sounds nice because of its name?”
“I…well…I’m just trying to be polite, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I’m not asking!”
“Then stop making your mouth put out question sounds.”
“Whatever. Yes. I was being polite.”
“You should stop then.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s moronic. You don’t want to know where I’m from, you just want to talk.”
“Why is that so bad?”
“Because it requires effort from me.”
“No it doesn’t. Listening is passive.”
“Listening is active. And for that matter, with your voice, so is ignoring. Please: just shut up.”
Dave grumpily looked down at the metal grating beneath his feet and James sat back with a satisfied smile. His neck hurt, which was a reminder that, in all, he was probably more useful than Dave, whose main contribution as far as James’ could see was to be the sacrificial lamb that got shot before robb-ees could be calmed down. James may have gotten shot, and he may have almost also been shot by his own captain, but at least before that he’d crushed expectations. And it was his first trip, so there was nowhere to go but up…especially considering the lucky shot that shattered his larynx.
James breathed a sigh of relief, enjoying for once the blissful envelopment of silence. Then he glanced over at Dave’s feet again and saw the floor studded with tear drops. He hit him in the back of the head and lurched off the bench, sure there must be something better going on somewhere.
