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Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Jane Hartman - 06-27-2015
Visiting Hours_______Give me instead Lord what You have left.
_______Give me what others don’t want.
_______I want uncertainty and doubt.
_______I want torment and battle.
_______And I ask that You give them to me now and forever Lord,
_______so I can be sure to always have them,
_______because I won’t always have the strength to ask again.
___________- Andre Zirnheld, The Paratrooper’s Prayer
_______Give me what others don’t want.
_______I want uncertainty and doubt.
_______I want torment and battle.
_______And I ask that You give them to me now and forever Lord,
_______so I can be sure to always have them,
_______because I won’t always have the strength to ask again.
___________- Andre Zirnheld, The Paratrooper’s Prayer
Summary
Timeline
Half an hour’s flight from Stanford Docks and L.A’s major spaceport, Herbert Beeler Naval Hospital was not a sight that would stick in a passer-by’s memory. A six-story building sprawled across three Medford city blocks like a particularly squat mountain, HBNH’s whitewashed exterior was churned an unappealing slate gray by frequent rain. A faded Navy Silver Star decorated the chain-link fence surrounding the facility, optimistically oblivious to the tower apartments that had sprung up around the hospital since construction. HBNH was the sixth largest permanent naval medical facility in Liberty.
In more peaceful times, HBNH had shared patients with Medford’s civilian hospitals, but those times had long since passed. As the closest Republic-owned planet to the Gallic frontline, a mere two jumps from Leeds (a fact that Republic brass was mindful to avoid mentioning wherever possible), Los Angeles received the lion’s share of casualties from the Leeds offensive and HBNH the dominant share of those. The hospital facilities had been upgraded to cater to the influx, and all but the wealthiest civilian patients quickly found themselves looking for medical care elsewhere. Those that stayed were rapidly outnumbered by uniformed patients and staff; though HBNH, like most naval hospitals continued to employ a significant number of civilian staff.
For those not airlifted directly to the emergency room, entry to the hospital was via two manned guard posts, one on each side of the facility. Without a dedicated spaceport, most of HBNH’s extraplanetary patients arrived via the Stanford Spaceport. Modernisation was ongoing, and the facility was temporary home to a number of defence contractors in addition to its usual staff. HBNH was an old building, changing and adapting to its new purpose.
For now, at least, it was also Admiral Jane Hartman’s home.
In more peaceful times, HBNH had shared patients with Medford’s civilian hospitals, but those times had long since passed. As the closest Republic-owned planet to the Gallic frontline, a mere two jumps from Leeds (a fact that Republic brass was mindful to avoid mentioning wherever possible), Los Angeles received the lion’s share of casualties from the Leeds offensive and HBNH the dominant share of those. The hospital facilities had been upgraded to cater to the influx, and all but the wealthiest civilian patients quickly found themselves looking for medical care elsewhere. Those that stayed were rapidly outnumbered by uniformed patients and staff; though HBNH, like most naval hospitals continued to employ a significant number of civilian staff.
For those not airlifted directly to the emergency room, entry to the hospital was via two manned guard posts, one on each side of the facility. Without a dedicated spaceport, most of HBNH’s extraplanetary patients arrived via the Stanford Spaceport. Modernisation was ongoing, and the facility was temporary home to a number of defence contractors in addition to its usual staff. HBNH was an old building, changing and adapting to its new purpose.
For now, at least, it was also Admiral Jane Hartman’s home.
Timeline
• +34-45 Days Since Planetfall.
Unconscious, Hartman arrived at HBNH in a critical but stable condition after receiving basic care at the frontline. She spent the next eleven days in and out of surgery. No visitors were permitted during this time.
• +45-147 Days Since Planetfall.
Hartman’s coma slowly transitioned from a natural to medically-induced as her condition stabilised sufficiently to allow the use of more advanced neurosurgical techniques. Over days 140-147 medication was reduced resulting in increased responsiveness, but not true consciousness. Head shaved for surgical access, muscles weak from lack of use, with new scars dotting her right arm, left leg, and face, Hartman looked like a different individual to the Admiral that stood on the bridge of Glendale.
• +148-160 Days Since Planetfall.
Hartman woke up, confused and disoriented, with several gaps in her memory. Therapy at this point focused on neurological and psychological assessment, and limited bedridden exercises.
• +160-190 Days Since Planetfall.
Physical and psychological therapy continued. Hartman began walking again, with assistance. Mental health slowly improved, though confusion and memory gaps were not uncommon.
• +190-209 Days Since Planetfall.
Therapy continued, along with formal discussions of suitability to resume her duties. Hartman was walking and speaking unassisted again, albeit with difficulty.
• +210 Days Since Planetfall.
Discharge from HBNH.
Unconscious, Hartman arrived at HBNH in a critical but stable condition after receiving basic care at the frontline. She spent the next eleven days in and out of surgery. No visitors were permitted during this time.
• +45-147 Days Since Planetfall.
Hartman’s coma slowly transitioned from a natural to medically-induced as her condition stabilised sufficiently to allow the use of more advanced neurosurgical techniques. Over days 140-147 medication was reduced resulting in increased responsiveness, but not true consciousness. Head shaved for surgical access, muscles weak from lack of use, with new scars dotting her right arm, left leg, and face, Hartman looked like a different individual to the Admiral that stood on the bridge of Glendale.
• +148-160 Days Since Planetfall.
Hartman woke up, confused and disoriented, with several gaps in her memory. Therapy at this point focused on neurological and psychological assessment, and limited bedridden exercises.
• +160-190 Days Since Planetfall.
Physical and psychological therapy continued. Hartman began walking again, with assistance. Mental health slowly improved, though confusion and memory gaps were not uncommon.
• +190-209 Days Since Planetfall.
Therapy continued, along with formal discussions of suitability to resume her duties. Hartman was walking and speaking unassisted again, albeit with difficulty.
• +210 Days Since Planetfall.
Discharge from HBNH.
Out Of Character
This is the in-character thread for any visitors Hartman might have, running in parallel with Requiem. Any characters that have known Hartman and feasibly would have access to a navy-secured hospital are welcome to post. If you’re unsure, shoot this account a PM. Please no more than two visitors at a time. Not because I don’t love you, but because I’d like to be able to respond to people in a reasonably timely manner.
Finally, please note somewhere in your first post the point in time when your character is visiting. A timeline of Hartman’s hospital stay is listed above, in terms of days since the Royal Flush invasion force first landed on Leeds. Just a pick a point that works and go with it. Posts while Hartman was unconscious are also welcome but be aware that responses may not exactly be exciting.
Finally, please note somewhere in your first post the point in time when your character is visiting. A timeline of Hartman’s hospital stay is listed above, in terms of days since the Royal Flush invasion force first landed on Leeds. Just a pick a point that works and go with it. Posts while Hartman was unconscious are also welcome but be aware that responses may not exactly be exciting.
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Euca - 06-27-2015
Emma Lynch - 47 days after planetfall.
To Emma, it was like stepping onto a movie set.
The worn halls of the HBNH was the behind the scenes, frantic people dressed for late night shifts rather than a spotlight performance scurried around the building, all like interns having to gather the copious amounts of coffee required to construct a movie masterpiece. Tired faces, defeated people and the dying were all that Emma could focus on. That and the rumbling sense of guilt that she felt in her stomach. Nerves before going onstage, before facing the light.
"Hartman? Why yes, she is available for visitors, but she's not awake." The nurse's polite tone was stretched over the inner turmoil of having to care for hundreds of patients. She slid Emma the form to seek an audience with the women that was returning from death. Like filling out a theatrical acting form, I guess, Emma thought, but agreed she was looking into the situation too much. She was just here to see Hartman, not to analyse the lives of everyone around her. "Right this way... Emma", the nurse read her name off of the form, then led her down the halls, passing faceless soldiers, wrapped in their uniforms. A symbol of patriotism. A symbol of bravery.
The doors slid open to Hartman's room. The scene was set. The cameras were rolling. The pressure was on.
The nurse quickly walked off, leaving Emma to act her part. Bedside shot, the director would dictate, focus in on Lynch's face. Hold the emotion, one, two, three.. Emma's bottom lip quavered. Hartman, the admiral that once tolerated Emma, was torn and trampled, like a fragile rose, ironic considering her hardy nature. Outside shot, fly in through the window. Isolate on Lynch's face. Perfect, now slowly rotate to reveal the hero, Hartman.
Her pale skin was tattered with scarred skin, while her muscles were wasted away. Her hair that draped in a respectable fashion was now shaved to the skin and more scars were painted were hair once grew. She looked like an experiment gone wrong, a shred of what once was the professional Jane Hartman.
"Should have given y'all a stunt double, huh?" In her current state, Emma wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between the real and fake actors anyway. First steps, slowly. To Hartman's bedside table, pull up the chair. "Sorry," Emma sighes, "that was inappropriate."
Ceiling shot. Emma is close to Hartman, but yet so far... perfect. Hold it... excellent. Maybe Emma was expecting a response from Hartman, or a sound, a slap around the back of head. But instead an empty silence swallowed the room. Back to the ceiling, then Emma rises, reads the clipboard on the end of the bed. Move to Emma's shoulder, reveal the diagnosis.
"Subject Name: Jane Hartman.... entered 34 days after a Navy attack on Leeds... medically induced coma, 11 days after admittance." Emma returns the board to its clip. Rolls her eyes, softly chuckles. "Thought you'd be interested. You know, because it is your coma and all." Yet another ten seconds of time that rolled on for what felt like the 11 days that she was under the knife. "That was only two days ago, you know."
Move to the window sill, Lynch presses her back against the wall, descends to the floor. Side shot, zoom in on her face.
"I dunno if y'all will remember this, so here goes." Say it, she mutters in her mind, say it.
"I didn't go. To Leeds. I swapped into National Security at the last moment. I-...I'm so sorry, Hartman." Zoom out again, a horizontal shot of the two. The king and the coward. And there it was, the silence was released and instead was replaced by a sense of relaxation. In the brief release of words, Emma was suddenly peaceful. Finally, she thinks, no more director's voice.
"...I'll be waiting for you to wake up, Hartman. See you then." Emma left the room, then the hospital, walking towards her parked Guardian as she strolls away from the graveyard for the almost living, a small smudge against the expansive city of Los Angeles.
To Emma, it was like stepping onto a movie set.
The worn halls of the HBNH was the behind the scenes, frantic people dressed for late night shifts rather than a spotlight performance scurried around the building, all like interns having to gather the copious amounts of coffee required to construct a movie masterpiece. Tired faces, defeated people and the dying were all that Emma could focus on. That and the rumbling sense of guilt that she felt in her stomach. Nerves before going onstage, before facing the light.
"Hartman? Why yes, she is available for visitors, but she's not awake." The nurse's polite tone was stretched over the inner turmoil of having to care for hundreds of patients. She slid Emma the form to seek an audience with the women that was returning from death. Like filling out a theatrical acting form, I guess, Emma thought, but agreed she was looking into the situation too much. She was just here to see Hartman, not to analyse the lives of everyone around her. "Right this way... Emma", the nurse read her name off of the form, then led her down the halls, passing faceless soldiers, wrapped in their uniforms. A symbol of patriotism. A symbol of bravery.
The doors slid open to Hartman's room. The scene was set. The cameras were rolling. The pressure was on.
The nurse quickly walked off, leaving Emma to act her part. Bedside shot, the director would dictate, focus in on Lynch's face. Hold the emotion, one, two, three.. Emma's bottom lip quavered. Hartman, the admiral that once tolerated Emma, was torn and trampled, like a fragile rose, ironic considering her hardy nature. Outside shot, fly in through the window. Isolate on Lynch's face. Perfect, now slowly rotate to reveal the hero, Hartman.
Her pale skin was tattered with scarred skin, while her muscles were wasted away. Her hair that draped in a respectable fashion was now shaved to the skin and more scars were painted were hair once grew. She looked like an experiment gone wrong, a shred of what once was the professional Jane Hartman.
"Should have given y'all a stunt double, huh?" In her current state, Emma wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between the real and fake actors anyway. First steps, slowly. To Hartman's bedside table, pull up the chair. "Sorry," Emma sighes, "that was inappropriate."
Ceiling shot. Emma is close to Hartman, but yet so far... perfect. Hold it... excellent. Maybe Emma was expecting a response from Hartman, or a sound, a slap around the back of head. But instead an empty silence swallowed the room. Back to the ceiling, then Emma rises, reads the clipboard on the end of the bed. Move to Emma's shoulder, reveal the diagnosis.
"Subject Name: Jane Hartman.... entered 34 days after a Navy attack on Leeds... medically induced coma, 11 days after admittance." Emma returns the board to its clip. Rolls her eyes, softly chuckles. "Thought you'd be interested. You know, because it is your coma and all." Yet another ten seconds of time that rolled on for what felt like the 11 days that she was under the knife. "That was only two days ago, you know."
Move to the window sill, Lynch presses her back against the wall, descends to the floor. Side shot, zoom in on her face.
"I dunno if y'all will remember this, so here goes." Say it, she mutters in her mind, say it.
"I didn't go. To Leeds. I swapped into National Security at the last moment. I-...I'm so sorry, Hartman." Zoom out again, a horizontal shot of the two. The king and the coward. And there it was, the silence was released and instead was replaced by a sense of relaxation. In the brief release of words, Emma was suddenly peaceful. Finally, she thinks, no more director's voice.
"...I'll be waiting for you to wake up, Hartman. See you then." Emma left the room, then the hospital, walking towards her parked Guardian as she strolls away from the graveyard for the almost living, a small smudge against the expansive city of Los Angeles.
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Teerin - 07-01-2015
Rohj Teerin - 156 days after planetfall.
Teerin waited at the reception desk for the gentleman behind it to verify the appointment to see Admiral Hartman. When done, he was handed a hospital visitor's badge with which to pin onto his jacket. "I wonder if she'll recognize me without the uniform on," he thought to himself, humorously.
He peered down one of the old hallways connected to the check-in area to see if her room was in that direction, but it wasn't. The next one ... had the right series of room numbers. Rohj walked down the hall, and it wasn't long before he reached Jane's door. Through the small window slit above the handle, he saw his colleague and friend. Since no one else was presently visiting, nor was there a doctor attending to her, he knocked without worry of interrupting, then opened the sliding door and came in.
Her head was turned away, staring blankly out the window, but at the sound of someone entering, she slowly turned to face him. Teerin saw a chair in the corner behind him, then sat down in it, and greeted her, "It's good to see you again, old friend! I know things have been difficult for you, and I ... would've showed up sooner, but things have been quite busy."
He smiled warmly, then continued, "I mustn't bore you with such talk, though. Are the doctors treating you well enough here?"
Teerin waited at the reception desk for the gentleman behind it to verify the appointment to see Admiral Hartman. When done, he was handed a hospital visitor's badge with which to pin onto his jacket. "I wonder if she'll recognize me without the uniform on," he thought to himself, humorously.
He peered down one of the old hallways connected to the check-in area to see if her room was in that direction, but it wasn't. The next one ... had the right series of room numbers. Rohj walked down the hall, and it wasn't long before he reached Jane's door. Through the small window slit above the handle, he saw his colleague and friend. Since no one else was presently visiting, nor was there a doctor attending to her, he knocked without worry of interrupting, then opened the sliding door and came in.
Her head was turned away, staring blankly out the window, but at the sound of someone entering, she slowly turned to face him. Teerin saw a chair in the corner behind him, then sat down in it, and greeted her, "It's good to see you again, old friend! I know things have been difficult for you, and I ... would've showed up sooner, but things have been quite busy."
He smiled warmly, then continued, "I mustn't bore you with such talk, though. Are the doctors treating you well enough here?"
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Jane Hartman - 07-03-2015
Jane Hartman - 156 days after planetfall.
Hartman stared at the visitor for a long moment, struggling to put a name to the face. No uniform, but he looked military. Tall, hair buzzed short. He flopped into the room’s tiny plastic chair with a casual disregard that wouldn’t have been out of place in a carrier’s ready room. A little over a week since she’d drifted back to something approximating consciousness, and every day it felt like she stumbled across some new void in her memory. It was a pleasant surprise to find that this wasn’t one of them. She croaked out a greeting, slurring the words a little. ”Afternoon, Teerin. Nice of you to drop by.”
Hartman couldn’t recall the last time she’d spoken to Rohj Teerin in person. He’d served under her, a long time ago, when the Logistics Corps was still somewhere that attracted lost officers like a magnet pulled in iron. Back then, Logistics had been the Fleet’s bastard child. Without a need to fight beyond her own borders, and with the lion’s share of supplies hauled around by corporates, Hartman suspected that Logistics had been on-track for decommissioning. Then the wars in the Taus started up, roasted corporate transports started forming new planetary rings, and the Fleet suddenly realised that maybe they did have a use for the old birds after all. Stints in Logistics had become a fast-track for career officers ever since.
Teerin had climbed the chain faster than she had. Hartman didn’t begrudge him that. She’d never had a great appetite for flag rank and, in a peacetime navy, she doubted she’d have climbed above commander. She suspected it was mostly Teerin’s word that had put stars on her collar. He had pulled an assignment as aide to the Admiralty and, when half the brass threw in the towel, Admiral Teerin had been the one left holding the bag. He looked unassuming enough, with his civies and gentle smile, but here was a man whose will had bound the Navy together single-handed. That was no easy task for a nation fighting two wars. Hartman had to admire the iron in him. She tried to match his smile, halfway managed, right side of her mouth hanging a little off. ”They’re treating me better than the Gauls ever did. Chattier than they were too. Think I’ve answered the same questions half a dozen times today.”
Hartman glanced out the window, where a pair of nurses and a walking stick were helping a scarred young sailor gradually limp across the courtyard. Every few paces he would stop, clench his jaw and lean back heavily into the arms of the nurses. Strange, to imagine him sprinting along the passageways of a warship. Hartman felt a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature.
”Don’t mean to sound ungrateful, si-” She caught herself. Teerin had been a superior for so long that the honorific had become routine. ”Admiral. The staff are decent enough folks. But I’ve been awake a week, and I just want out.”
Hartman tried to raise a hand to forestall the objection she knew was coming, but only managed to send a weak shudder down her arm. She scowled, as though she could will the unresponsive limb into obedience. It wasn’t painful, but damned if it wasn’t frustrating. She’d lived her entire life with a body that responded at her will, but now it was like sending a signal down a faulty comms line. Sometimes it was incomplete, insufficient, and sometimes it just plain didn’t arrive. ”I know this is where I have to be. Already had that discussion with Lewis.” I think. ”But this bedridden questionfest isn’t who I am. I’m counting the days until I’m back with the Fleet.”
Or she would have been, if she could get a straight answer out of any of the doctors. Hartman tried not to let it get to her. A future in which she didn’t go back to line duty seemed as alien as a future in which the Gauls sued for peace. It bordered on incomprehensible. ”Surprising to see you on L.A. Is this an official visit, or are you here for the beaches?”
Hartman couldn’t recall the last time she’d spoken to Rohj Teerin in person. He’d served under her, a long time ago, when the Logistics Corps was still somewhere that attracted lost officers like a magnet pulled in iron. Back then, Logistics had been the Fleet’s bastard child. Without a need to fight beyond her own borders, and with the lion’s share of supplies hauled around by corporates, Hartman suspected that Logistics had been on-track for decommissioning. Then the wars in the Taus started up, roasted corporate transports started forming new planetary rings, and the Fleet suddenly realised that maybe they did have a use for the old birds after all. Stints in Logistics had become a fast-track for career officers ever since.
Teerin had climbed the chain faster than she had. Hartman didn’t begrudge him that. She’d never had a great appetite for flag rank and, in a peacetime navy, she doubted she’d have climbed above commander. She suspected it was mostly Teerin’s word that had put stars on her collar. He had pulled an assignment as aide to the Admiralty and, when half the brass threw in the towel, Admiral Teerin had been the one left holding the bag. He looked unassuming enough, with his civies and gentle smile, but here was a man whose will had bound the Navy together single-handed. That was no easy task for a nation fighting two wars. Hartman had to admire the iron in him. She tried to match his smile, halfway managed, right side of her mouth hanging a little off. ”They’re treating me better than the Gauls ever did. Chattier than they were too. Think I’ve answered the same questions half a dozen times today.”
Hartman glanced out the window, where a pair of nurses and a walking stick were helping a scarred young sailor gradually limp across the courtyard. Every few paces he would stop, clench his jaw and lean back heavily into the arms of the nurses. Strange, to imagine him sprinting along the passageways of a warship. Hartman felt a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature.
”Don’t mean to sound ungrateful, si-” She caught herself. Teerin had been a superior for so long that the honorific had become routine. ”Admiral. The staff are decent enough folks. But I’ve been awake a week, and I just want out.”
Hartman tried to raise a hand to forestall the objection she knew was coming, but only managed to send a weak shudder down her arm. She scowled, as though she could will the unresponsive limb into obedience. It wasn’t painful, but damned if it wasn’t frustrating. She’d lived her entire life with a body that responded at her will, but now it was like sending a signal down a faulty comms line. Sometimes it was incomplete, insufficient, and sometimes it just plain didn’t arrive. ”I know this is where I have to be. Already had that discussion with Lewis.” I think. ”But this bedridden questionfest isn’t who I am. I’m counting the days until I’m back with the Fleet.”
Or she would have been, if she could get a straight answer out of any of the doctors. Hartman tried not to let it get to her. A future in which she didn’t go back to line duty seemed as alien as a future in which the Gauls sued for peace. It bordered on incomprehensible. ”Surprising to see you on L.A. Is this an official visit, or are you here for the beaches?”
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Manticore - 07-04-2015
James Lambert – 155 Days after planetfall.
There was an immensely satisfying clack that the heels of his dress shoes made as he marched through the halls of the medical center. Lambert walked briskly, trusting the pressed dress blues and stars on his collar to dissuade any interruption from his mission.
He would get in, pay a brief visit, and then get back out again. Simple, short, and relatively painless. Maybe then his conscience would finally allow him some rest.
He paused outside the door bearing the proscribed room number. The room was quiet – the only noise being that of medical machinery and monitors softly working. Inching his head around the doorjamb, he peered into the room. Empty – that was good. He had called ahead to be certain that he wouldn’t be interrupting one of Lewis’s regular visits.
Hesitantly, Lambert stepped into the room. He was tense, the muscles around his shoulders and neck involuntarily tightening. He hated hospitals to the point that the clean smell of antiseptic made his stomach writhe. He’d made entirely too many visits like this over the years, and they never got any easier.
The patient – Admiral Hartman – was lying on the bed at the center of the room. Eyes closed, breathing easily. Asleep, then – though it was only in the early afternoon here on LA.
Moving his feet quietly so as not to disturb her, he crept across the room to stand at her bedside. She looked bad. The same puckering scar that had marred one half of her face ever since he’d met her was still there, of course – but now there were a couple of smaller new ones. Her head had been shaved as well – a fresh recruit’s cut.
Lambert shook his head involuntarily, turning his face away for a moment. He had a lot of respect for Jane Hartman – her devotion to duty was beyond reproach in a way that his own could never be. Yet he felt the stars on his collar and the fat rack of ribbons on his chest like they were weights dragging him down into the darkness.
“Sacrifice,” he whispered, still not wanting to wake her. “That’s not a word we use often enough.”
Letting a long breath of air out through his teeth, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small folded paper. It was a letter, folded carefully into a small square. “Admiral Jane Hartman” was written on the front. Despite the fact that this woman had made her disdain for him clear at several points in the past, Lambert had wanted to write to her. To tell her a few things about what had happened on Leeds after her departure. Last they’d spoken, she had been his direct superior, but now… he wasn’t sure where they stood. Since it didn’t seem that they would be talking today, it would have to do.
He placed the paper on her bedside table with quiet care, and turned to walk out of the room.
He would get in, pay a brief visit, and then get back out again. Simple, short, and relatively painless. Maybe then his conscience would finally allow him some rest.
He paused outside the door bearing the proscribed room number. The room was quiet – the only noise being that of medical machinery and monitors softly working. Inching his head around the doorjamb, he peered into the room. Empty – that was good. He had called ahead to be certain that he wouldn’t be interrupting one of Lewis’s regular visits.
Hesitantly, Lambert stepped into the room. He was tense, the muscles around his shoulders and neck involuntarily tightening. He hated hospitals to the point that the clean smell of antiseptic made his stomach writhe. He’d made entirely too many visits like this over the years, and they never got any easier.
The patient – Admiral Hartman – was lying on the bed at the center of the room. Eyes closed, breathing easily. Asleep, then – though it was only in the early afternoon here on LA.
Moving his feet quietly so as not to disturb her, he crept across the room to stand at her bedside. She looked bad. The same puckering scar that had marred one half of her face ever since he’d met her was still there, of course – but now there were a couple of smaller new ones. Her head had been shaved as well – a fresh recruit’s cut.
Lambert shook his head involuntarily, turning his face away for a moment. He had a lot of respect for Jane Hartman – her devotion to duty was beyond reproach in a way that his own could never be. Yet he felt the stars on his collar and the fat rack of ribbons on his chest like they were weights dragging him down into the darkness.
“Sacrifice,” he whispered, still not wanting to wake her. “That’s not a word we use often enough.”
Letting a long breath of air out through his teeth, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small folded paper. It was a letter, folded carefully into a small square. “Admiral Jane Hartman” was written on the front. Despite the fact that this woman had made her disdain for him clear at several points in the past, Lambert had wanted to write to her. To tell her a few things about what had happened on Leeds after her departure. Last they’d spoken, she had been his direct superior, but now… he wasn’t sure where they stood. Since it didn’t seem that they would be talking today, it would have to do.
He placed the paper on her bedside table with quiet care, and turned to walk out of the room.
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Teerin - 07-08-2015
Rohj Teerin - 156 days after planetfall.
She spoke softly, sounding almost as if she had a sore throat and didn't want to irritate it. Rohj had no trouble understanding her words, of course, but it was hard to tell when she had finished speaking. " ... I’ve been awake a week, and I just want out," she declared.
Teerin was a little perplexed by her statement, partially opening his mouth, but unsure what to say. Suddenly her right arm shuddered, but instead of wincing in pain, she looked at it were some disobedient lieutenant that refused to listen to a direct order. As she spoke more, mentioning the new commodore, he realized that there weren't any mirrors in the room, which explained part of why Hartman was so eager to leave. The two admirals looked at each other for a moment, and Teerin noticed that he had a sorrowful expression on his face. He changed it to a more neutral expression, thinking, "Of all the people, it had to be Jane. Why does she have to be in here while I'm outside instead?"
He didn't mean to create a silence, although she ignored it anyway by continuing along with a question, "Surprising to see you on L.A. Is this an official visit, or are you here for the beaches?"
"I'm checking in on you since I've managed to requisition a few off-duty hours," he explained with a grin. "Nothing official, no beaches ... just the visit and maybe some dinner downtown."
In the corner of his eye, he saw a folder paper with her name on it, written in messy handwriting. It sat on the nightstand between her bed and the medical equipment. It reminded him of something he brought for her. Teerin looked back at her, standing up as he spoke, "Oh, before I forget, I've got something for you."
He reached his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket. Rohj couldn't quite make out the intent of the expression on her face, but went on, pulling the item out. "I got all the Logistics Corps captains, commanders, and a few other officers to sign this postcard for you. The picture on the back is of the high peaks on Denver. Here," he said as he walked up to the side of her bed, then presented the gift to her.
She spoke softly, sounding almost as if she had a sore throat and didn't want to irritate it. Rohj had no trouble understanding her words, of course, but it was hard to tell when she had finished speaking. " ... I’ve been awake a week, and I just want out," she declared.
Teerin was a little perplexed by her statement, partially opening his mouth, but unsure what to say. Suddenly her right arm shuddered, but instead of wincing in pain, she looked at it were some disobedient lieutenant that refused to listen to a direct order. As she spoke more, mentioning the new commodore, he realized that there weren't any mirrors in the room, which explained part of why Hartman was so eager to leave. The two admirals looked at each other for a moment, and Teerin noticed that he had a sorrowful expression on his face. He changed it to a more neutral expression, thinking, "Of all the people, it had to be Jane. Why does she have to be in here while I'm outside instead?"
He didn't mean to create a silence, although she ignored it anyway by continuing along with a question, "Surprising to see you on L.A. Is this an official visit, or are you here for the beaches?"
"I'm checking in on you since I've managed to requisition a few off-duty hours," he explained with a grin. "Nothing official, no beaches ... just the visit and maybe some dinner downtown."
In the corner of his eye, he saw a folder paper with her name on it, written in messy handwriting. It sat on the nightstand between her bed and the medical equipment. It reminded him of something he brought for her. Teerin looked back at her, standing up as he spoke, "Oh, before I forget, I've got something for you."
He reached his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket. Rohj couldn't quite make out the intent of the expression on her face, but went on, pulling the item out. "I got all the Logistics Corps captains, commanders, and a few other officers to sign this postcard for you. The picture on the back is of the high peaks on Denver. Here," he said as he walked up to the side of her bed, then presented the gift to her.
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Jane Hartman - 07-09-2015
Jane Hartman - 155 days after planetfall.
”Admiral James Lambert.” The words were barely a whisper, but they cut through the silence like a blade through flesh. Disbelief draped the statement like a shroud.
Hartman flicked her eyes up the man’s collar as he turned, blinking sleep from her eyes, and hoped that this was just another waking nightmare. If it was, it was a convincing one. Admiral’s stars glinted on the collar of Lambert’s dress blues like the tiny brass jewel. The realisation hit her like an eighteen wheeler, and a scowl settled on her face. Lambert. A Flag Officer.
It had to have been a mistake.
Hartman had read his file. Lambert was a good man, and she respected him for that, but there was a world of difference between being a good man and being a good officer. Lambert was unreliable, uncommitted, and his loyalties were dangerously conflicted. A good soldier, yes. Lambert had fought in half a dozen offensives and carried more medals for it than some museums. But not one that justified the risk.
She had argued against his earlier promotions. Would have argued against his reinstatement too, if she’d been in a position for anyone to care about her opinion. The Admiralty had disagreed on both counts. Evidently, they’d continued to disagree on a third. She twisted, struggled to get her good arm under her, all the while keeping her right straight to avoid dislodging the IV buried in it. Dull, throbbing pain settled into it as she moved.
Slowly, painstakingly, she dragged her rebellious body into a sitting position. Her voice was a whisper, slow and slurred.
”We’re a long way from the front. What are you doing here, Admiral?” Why aren't you there? Hartman bit back the question.
Saying the rank felt strange, wrong. Lambert as an Admiral made about as much sense as Pittsburgh as a holiday destination. He’d been second in command of the Tenth Fleet in Leeds, a captain. The staff told her it had been months ago, but to her might as well have been a day. God knew she would be back there next time she closed her eyes.
She reached out with a shaky hand and picked up the envelope resting at her bedside on the second attempt. Grey eyes settled on Lambert.
”This isn’t a get-well card.” It wasn’t a question. Hartman thought she understood Lambert that well, at least. Whether she liked him or not, you didn’t serve alongside someone for years without learning something about them. Lambert wouldn’t have come in person without good reason. Wouldn’t have left a physical letter unless he didn’t expect a reply. Or didn’t want one. ”Do you want to tell me what it says?”
Hartman flicked her eyes up the man’s collar as he turned, blinking sleep from her eyes, and hoped that this was just another waking nightmare. If it was, it was a convincing one. Admiral’s stars glinted on the collar of Lambert’s dress blues like the tiny brass jewel. The realisation hit her like an eighteen wheeler, and a scowl settled on her face. Lambert. A Flag Officer.
It had to have been a mistake.
Hartman had read his file. Lambert was a good man, and she respected him for that, but there was a world of difference between being a good man and being a good officer. Lambert was unreliable, uncommitted, and his loyalties were dangerously conflicted. A good soldier, yes. Lambert had fought in half a dozen offensives and carried more medals for it than some museums. But not one that justified the risk.
She had argued against his earlier promotions. Would have argued against his reinstatement too, if she’d been in a position for anyone to care about her opinion. The Admiralty had disagreed on both counts. Evidently, they’d continued to disagree on a third. She twisted, struggled to get her good arm under her, all the while keeping her right straight to avoid dislodging the IV buried in it. Dull, throbbing pain settled into it as she moved.
Slowly, painstakingly, she dragged her rebellious body into a sitting position. Her voice was a whisper, slow and slurred.
”We’re a long way from the front. What are you doing here, Admiral?” Why aren't you there? Hartman bit back the question.
Saying the rank felt strange, wrong. Lambert as an Admiral made about as much sense as Pittsburgh as a holiday destination. He’d been second in command of the Tenth Fleet in Leeds, a captain. The staff told her it had been months ago, but to her might as well have been a day. God knew she would be back there next time she closed her eyes.
She reached out with a shaky hand and picked up the envelope resting at her bedside on the second attempt. Grey eyes settled on Lambert.
”This isn’t a get-well card.” It wasn’t a question. Hartman thought she understood Lambert that well, at least. Whether she liked him or not, you didn’t serve alongside someone for years without learning something about them. Lambert wouldn’t have come in person without good reason. Wouldn’t have left a physical letter unless he didn’t expect a reply. Or didn’t want one. ”Do you want to tell me what it says?”
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Jane Hartman - 07-09-2015
Jane Hartman - 156 days after planetfall.
”Sir, you didn’t need to do this.” Hartman took the card from Teerin, flipped it over. The back was a mess of signatures; most familiar names, some not. ”Rohj Teerin-” She glanced back up at the Admiral, then lowered her head and read on. ”Alan Jones, Sius… Reckon this card’s travelled further than I have.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips and Hartman lowered the card before she could drop it, placed it carefully on the nightstand next to Lambert’s letter. ”Never been to Denver. Not so sure I wouldn’t want to go now. Climb a few mountains.”
Postings on Denver had never been common. Too much natural beauty, too many wealthy tourists that didn’t want to see uniforms. Most of what opened up went to the well-connected and the natives. Hartman had never minded. Paradise was a poor place to send a military officer anyway, and the crime was a problem for the LPI. Still, it was nice to wonder. Hartman shifted a little in place. ”Thank you, Teerin. I appreciate it. In here, it’s easy to forget that there’s still a sector spinning by outside.”
Hartman glanced back at the nightstand and the letter perched on it, her smile fading.
”There’s something else we need to discuss. Admiral Lambert visited yesterday.” She spoke lightly enough, clipped professionalism. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the slur to her words. ”You know I respect you, Teerin, but whose bright idea was it to pin stars on Lambert?”
Her lip curled a little with distaste. ”You know that I was opposed to keeping him in service. I know about the synthetics, but the man’s an addict. Do you remember when he went AWOL?”
A navy officer, just gone. Middle of the Rheinland war, fighters being scrapped let and right, and Lambert had decided that he had more important things to do.
”Do you? Not a word, just upped and vanished. He’s a liability, Teerin. You can’t be dependent on cardamine and working for the Navy trying to stamp it out. What happens if one day he can’t get the synthetic? What if he decides it doesn’t do it for him anymore? You’ll ask him to choose between his duty and his life.” Hartman took a breath, tried to keep her voice steady. Damned difficult, when moving half her mouth felt like kissing a block of ice. ”You know as well as I do which way that decison’ll go. Might wave it off the first time, but the third, the eighth, the twelfth? It ain’t going away. It’ll just keep right on pushing until he breaks and we’re caught between him and it. They’re not doing anyone a favor keeping him in uniform, least of all him.
And they went and made him an Admiral.” She glanced up, fixed Teerin with an exhausted stare, dark rings piled beneath her eyes like sandbags. ”Christ, Teerin. The Admiralty went and made this decision while I’m lying in here on my arse, so I can’t object to it? Is that the game that’s being played? I know about the political mind games that go on in the secondaries, but I hoped the fleet was better than that.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips and Hartman lowered the card before she could drop it, placed it carefully on the nightstand next to Lambert’s letter. ”Never been to Denver. Not so sure I wouldn’t want to go now. Climb a few mountains.”
Postings on Denver had never been common. Too much natural beauty, too many wealthy tourists that didn’t want to see uniforms. Most of what opened up went to the well-connected and the natives. Hartman had never minded. Paradise was a poor place to send a military officer anyway, and the crime was a problem for the LPI. Still, it was nice to wonder. Hartman shifted a little in place. ”Thank you, Teerin. I appreciate it. In here, it’s easy to forget that there’s still a sector spinning by outside.”
Hartman glanced back at the nightstand and the letter perched on it, her smile fading.
”There’s something else we need to discuss. Admiral Lambert visited yesterday.” She spoke lightly enough, clipped professionalism. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the slur to her words. ”You know I respect you, Teerin, but whose bright idea was it to pin stars on Lambert?”
Her lip curled a little with distaste. ”You know that I was opposed to keeping him in service. I know about the synthetics, but the man’s an addict. Do you remember when he went AWOL?”
A navy officer, just gone. Middle of the Rheinland war, fighters being scrapped let and right, and Lambert had decided that he had more important things to do.
”Do you? Not a word, just upped and vanished. He’s a liability, Teerin. You can’t be dependent on cardamine and working for the Navy trying to stamp it out. What happens if one day he can’t get the synthetic? What if he decides it doesn’t do it for him anymore? You’ll ask him to choose between his duty and his life.” Hartman took a breath, tried to keep her voice steady. Damned difficult, when moving half her mouth felt like kissing a block of ice. ”You know as well as I do which way that decison’ll go. Might wave it off the first time, but the third, the eighth, the twelfth? It ain’t going away. It’ll just keep right on pushing until he breaks and we’re caught between him and it. They’re not doing anyone a favor keeping him in uniform, least of all him.
And they went and made him an Admiral.” She glanced up, fixed Teerin with an exhausted stare, dark rings piled beneath her eyes like sandbags. ”Christ, Teerin. The Admiralty went and made this decision while I’m lying in here on my arse, so I can’t object to it? Is that the game that’s being played? I know about the political mind games that go on in the secondaries, but I hoped the fleet was better than that.”
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Manticore - 07-13-2015
James Lambert – 155 Days after planetfall.
”Admiral James Lambert.”
The man in question froze in mid-step at the hissed statement, only a few measly feet from the door.
I almost made it…
Gritting his teeth slightly, he forced a small smile onto his face and pivoted – finishing his step and executing an about-face. Admiral Hartman was awake now, her eyes alert and steely. The eyes of a woman who was accustomed to unquestioned obedience from her subordinates.
Thank goodness he didn’t qualify on this specific day.
She struggled to sit up, so he took a few short steps back towards the bed, a placating smile still plastered across his face.
”We’re a long way from the front. What are you doing here, Admiral?” The way she let that last word twist and hang in the air told the entire story.
A strange mix of emotions welled up in Lambert’s chest. This woman had been a part of his career from the very beginning – always looking down her nose at him, challenging his every step. Today was clearly no different, yet today he felt a twinge of pity for her as well. Her fanatical devotion to duty had left her here, looking like a corpse on a hospital bed.
Those grey eyes were still very much alive, though. She stared at him, eyes judging. No – not judging. Hartman had judged him long ago, and she had found him wanting. Changing her mind now would be a feat akin to moving a mountain with his bare hands.
So he stood, silently, and listened. He felt a few prickles of sweat forming on his hands, held clasped tightly behind his back.
Hartman noticed the folded letter lying at her bedside. ”This isn’t a get-well card,” she stated, flatly, as she touched it. ”Do you want to tell me what it says?”
Her eyes demanded an answer. He was torn between the desire to either snap to attention or turn and run. Instead, he just looked her flatly in the eye. “It’s an… explanation. Call it an informal after-action report, if you will. It was the only thing that I could think of that you might want from me.”
Other than my head on a platter, that is, you crusty old c-…
Lambert bit his tongue slightly, though the words had only been in his mind. Professional courtesy had to be maintained, even though this woman seemed to be able to effortlessly get under his skin.
“I spent a fair bit of time on it – meant to drop it off weeks ago, actually. As you said yourself, though… most of my duties lie on the front lines. A lot has been happening – has happened, since Leeds…”
His smile had long since vanished, and he could no longer face down her eyes. “Look, about Leeds. It’s all there,” he said, gesturing to the letter. “But if you want to talk about anything else, I’m happy to.”
The man in question froze in mid-step at the hissed statement, only a few measly feet from the door.
I almost made it…
Gritting his teeth slightly, he forced a small smile onto his face and pivoted – finishing his step and executing an about-face. Admiral Hartman was awake now, her eyes alert and steely. The eyes of a woman who was accustomed to unquestioned obedience from her subordinates.
Thank goodness he didn’t qualify on this specific day.
She struggled to sit up, so he took a few short steps back towards the bed, a placating smile still plastered across his face.
”We’re a long way from the front. What are you doing here, Admiral?” The way she let that last word twist and hang in the air told the entire story.
A strange mix of emotions welled up in Lambert’s chest. This woman had been a part of his career from the very beginning – always looking down her nose at him, challenging his every step. Today was clearly no different, yet today he felt a twinge of pity for her as well. Her fanatical devotion to duty had left her here, looking like a corpse on a hospital bed.
Those grey eyes were still very much alive, though. She stared at him, eyes judging. No – not judging. Hartman had judged him long ago, and she had found him wanting. Changing her mind now would be a feat akin to moving a mountain with his bare hands.
So he stood, silently, and listened. He felt a few prickles of sweat forming on his hands, held clasped tightly behind his back.
Hartman noticed the folded letter lying at her bedside. ”This isn’t a get-well card,” she stated, flatly, as she touched it. ”Do you want to tell me what it says?”
Her eyes demanded an answer. He was torn between the desire to either snap to attention or turn and run. Instead, he just looked her flatly in the eye. “It’s an… explanation. Call it an informal after-action report, if you will. It was the only thing that I could think of that you might want from me.”
Other than my head on a platter, that is, you crusty old c-…
Lambert bit his tongue slightly, though the words had only been in his mind. Professional courtesy had to be maintained, even though this woman seemed to be able to effortlessly get under his skin.
“I spent a fair bit of time on it – meant to drop it off weeks ago, actually. As you said yourself, though… most of my duties lie on the front lines. A lot has been happening – has happened, since Leeds…”
His smile had long since vanished, and he could no longer face down her eyes. “Look, about Leeds. It’s all there,” he said, gesturing to the letter. “But if you want to talk about anything else, I’m happy to.”
RE: Visiting Hours (Semi-Open) - Jane Hartman - 07-18-2015
Jane Hartman - 155 days after planetfall.
“It’s an… explanation. Call it an informal after-action report, if you will. It was the only thing I could think of that you might want from me.” Lambert hovered halfway between the bed and the door wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Of course it is. Hartman kept her expression impassive as the silence drifted on, dragging implications from the molasses of sleep. Reports travelled infinitely better via official channels than they did on fragile paper. Physical messages had vanished from the navy centuries ago for that very reason. Whatever Lambert’s reasons for visiting, they didn’t have a damned thing to do with delivering a report.
”I see. Thank you, Admiral.” Hartman breathed. It wasn’t much, but standards had to be maintained and any news of Leeds was more than she had, whatever guise it came under. Lewis had been worryingly tight-lipped on the subject, and that alone had been enough to set off alarm bells. A part of her had done little else but speculate on the results of the campaign since she woke, each imagined scenario more horrific than the last. Evidently the Gauls hadn’t overrun California, but if Lambert was an admiral the implications were far from rosy.
God, had it really gone that badly?
“I spent a bit of time on it - meant to drop it off weeks ago, actually. As you said yourself, though… most of my duties lie on the front lines. A lot has been happening - has happened, since Leeds…” Lambert’s gaze dropped to the floor. Hartman lowered the envelope to the bedsheet next to her and let the silence drift between them. “Look, about Leeds. It’s all there, but if you want to talk about anything else, I’m happy to.”
”Doesn’t look like you report to me anymore, Lambert.” Hartman nodded towards the stars on his collar and fought to keep her tone as flat as she felt, but a whisper of bitterness crept into the words. ”There isn’t a question I can ask that you’re obligated to answer. Can’t say I see the point in wasting the time.”
Her eyes flicked shut. It was a struggle to open them again, but Hartman clenched a fist under the bedsheet until the siren song of sleep faded into the background. Damned if she was going to nod off in front of Lambert. ”I read your report on the incursion in Hudson.
“It wasn’t a complete mess, but it came close enough that you’d need a microscope to tell the difference. Nomads within three days of the capital.” She shook her head. It could have been less. Twenty years since the war and they still didn’t know if the nomads even obeyed the same physical laws the rest of the sector was bound to. Jumpgate connections were supposed to be locked to two points, and the Hudson gate wasn’t even active, but if the aliens could send ships through any connection the implications were chilling.
Every colonised system in Liberty was on the network, and local garrisons had been mobilised to fight on the Bretonian front. If the aliens could jump straight past the border worlds there wouldn’t be enough resistance waiting for them in core space to make a difference. Hartman didn’t need the simulators to see how that one would play out. ”Thought we’d seen the last of that when the war trailed off.”
Hartman exhaled, forced her thoughts into order. The next sentence was almost too quiet to hear.
”Baker and you did good work. It was bad, but it could have been a lot worse out there.” It didn’t hurt to admit it, but it came close. She turned her eyes to the window rather than look at Lambert. It was early evening, and the first stars were beginning to flicker into view over the skyscrapers. If she hadn’t been viewing it from a hospital bed it would have been beautiful. Instead, the scale just left her feeling hollow, insignificant.
Hartman forced her eyes back to Lambert and tried not to let it show. ”You were there. What’s your assessment? Some of them are -”
She paused. Hartman hated using the word. It felt too much like an admission of ignorance, but damned if she could come up with a better one. ”Telepathic. Did you get any idea what they were after? Where they’re going next?”
Of course it is. Hartman kept her expression impassive as the silence drifted on, dragging implications from the molasses of sleep. Reports travelled infinitely better via official channels than they did on fragile paper. Physical messages had vanished from the navy centuries ago for that very reason. Whatever Lambert’s reasons for visiting, they didn’t have a damned thing to do with delivering a report.
”I see. Thank you, Admiral.” Hartman breathed. It wasn’t much, but standards had to be maintained and any news of Leeds was more than she had, whatever guise it came under. Lewis had been worryingly tight-lipped on the subject, and that alone had been enough to set off alarm bells. A part of her had done little else but speculate on the results of the campaign since she woke, each imagined scenario more horrific than the last. Evidently the Gauls hadn’t overrun California, but if Lambert was an admiral the implications were far from rosy.
God, had it really gone that badly?
“I spent a bit of time on it - meant to drop it off weeks ago, actually. As you said yourself, though… most of my duties lie on the front lines. A lot has been happening - has happened, since Leeds…” Lambert’s gaze dropped to the floor. Hartman lowered the envelope to the bedsheet next to her and let the silence drift between them. “Look, about Leeds. It’s all there, but if you want to talk about anything else, I’m happy to.”
”Doesn’t look like you report to me anymore, Lambert.” Hartman nodded towards the stars on his collar and fought to keep her tone as flat as she felt, but a whisper of bitterness crept into the words. ”There isn’t a question I can ask that you’re obligated to answer. Can’t say I see the point in wasting the time.”
Her eyes flicked shut. It was a struggle to open them again, but Hartman clenched a fist under the bedsheet until the siren song of sleep faded into the background. Damned if she was going to nod off in front of Lambert. ”I read your report on the incursion in Hudson.
“It wasn’t a complete mess, but it came close enough that you’d need a microscope to tell the difference. Nomads within three days of the capital.” She shook her head. It could have been less. Twenty years since the war and they still didn’t know if the nomads even obeyed the same physical laws the rest of the sector was bound to. Jumpgate connections were supposed to be locked to two points, and the Hudson gate wasn’t even active, but if the aliens could send ships through any connection the implications were chilling.
Every colonised system in Liberty was on the network, and local garrisons had been mobilised to fight on the Bretonian front. If the aliens could jump straight past the border worlds there wouldn’t be enough resistance waiting for them in core space to make a difference. Hartman didn’t need the simulators to see how that one would play out. ”Thought we’d seen the last of that when the war trailed off.”
Hartman exhaled, forced her thoughts into order. The next sentence was almost too quiet to hear.
”Baker and you did good work. It was bad, but it could have been a lot worse out there.” It didn’t hurt to admit it, but it came close. She turned her eyes to the window rather than look at Lambert. It was early evening, and the first stars were beginning to flicker into view over the skyscrapers. If she hadn’t been viewing it from a hospital bed it would have been beautiful. Instead, the scale just left her feeling hollow, insignificant.
Hartman forced her eyes back to Lambert and tried not to let it show. ”You were there. What’s your assessment? Some of them are -”
She paused. Hartman hated using the word. It felt too much like an admission of ignorance, but damned if she could come up with a better one. ”Telepathic. Did you get any idea what they were after? Where they’re going next?”