Three days after the Spectran warehouse disaster, 7-Zark-7 gave Center Neptune an all clear. Chief Anderson took the injured members of G-Force home aboard a Rigan freighter, accompanied by a massive military entourage. Darien piloted the Phoenix back to Center Neptune, flanked by the Red Rangers, in case Zoltar tried another offensive. Fortunately, none came.
Once at Center Neptune, the team remained on inactive status. One week off turned into two. Keyop recovered from his concussion quickly enough, and Tiny’s shoulder strain healed rapidly as well. But Jason and Princess were relegated to the infirmary. Princess underwent another round of surgery, her injured leg muscle swollen and tender even with the benefit of numbing drops. Jason continued to have trouble recovering from the damage to his lungs. Despite the enforced rest, he had developed pneumonia.
Chief Anderson ordered all six members of G-Force to stand down, stay on the station, and take it easy. But it wasn’t easy, for any of them, knowing that Zoltar had escaped once more.
***
Mark knocked on the Chief’s door.
“Come.” The Chief was working at his desk, spreadsheets in an arc before him. He had an anxious look on his face. The wrinkles around his eyes didn’t relax when he saw Mark. The man simply nodded and went on with his work.
“Chief, I need to talk to you,” Mark said. “I want you to place me on active status.”
At this, the Chief did look up. His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses. “Do you think you’re ready, Mark?”
Mark placed both hands on the Chief’s desk for emphasis. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Chief Anderson frowned. “I’ve not seen you attempt any acrobatic or footwork sequences since your surgery. Have you practiced them? Are you sure that you’re ready for combat?”
Mark looked away. He didn’t need to answer to reveal that, no, he hadn’t practiced everything, no, he didn’t know for sure.
Chief Anderson chewed the tip of his pen. Taking it out of his mouth, he said, “I don’t want to rush your recovery. We do need you out there, Mark, but we need you whole and in one piece. Once I clear you medically, the Security Council will want you in the field immediately.”
The Chief’s gaze hit the wall and an immovable veil passed across his face. Mark read between the cracks in his armor and heard the words left unspoken: I don’t want to see what happened to Jason happen to you.
“Chief, I’ve made up my mind,” Mark said. “I’m going to do this.”
Chief Anderson looked at Mark, his face impassive. “There’s no reason medically for you not to go on active status now. You just need to pass the fitness exam. But …” The man stood up and walked to the great window, watching the wall of fish, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t want you to rush this or push yourself too hard. Jason …” and here the Chief broke off again.
Mark waited for a moment. When he realized that the Chief wasn’t going to finish his thought, Mark spoke into the silence. “Chief, I want to do this for Jason.” His voice was soft but insistent.
Chief Anderson turned away from the window to face Mark. His face held a question.
“If I go active now, I can convince Jason to take some time off,” Mark said. “He’s already on medical leave. No one outside of the team will have to know the real reason. He’s not well. He needs some time off.”
The Chief walked past Mark and stood behind his desk. No comment.
“He’s never going to get any better if he keeps going at this rate.” Mark’s frustration crept out, his voice growing louder and more insistent. “You know it and I know it.”
The Chief’s gaze dropped to the papers covering his desk. Mark belatedly realized that they were Jason’s medical status reports.
More forcefully, Mark added, “This time, you give Jason enough time to recover from everything, including his implant surgery.” He tried not to yell, but it was hard to control his rage. “Don’t keep using me as an excuse to send him back into battle before he’s ready!” Mark thundered.
At the Chief’s surprised look, Mark tried to blunt the tip of his anger. He forced himself to speak more calmly, working his way into the icy tone of a determined but furious Eagle.
“He’s not well and we both know it,” Mark spoke with authority. “You’re risking his life to spare mine.”
Chief Anderson didn’t respond.
Mark shook his head. “Not any more. I’m in better shape than he is. I want to go active status.” He stared down the older man until the Chief dropped his gaze. Only then did Mark soften his tone. “Chief, Jason took care of the team for me when I was sick. I may not be as ready as you or I would like, but I can do this. I want to do this for him.”
Chief Anderson sat with a thud, defeated. He sighed heavily. There was a long silence. The older man took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and replaced his eyewear. Finally, the Chief spoke.
“I’ll schedule your fitness exam.”
Mark nodded grimly, leaning across the Chief’s desk, mouth set in a determined line.
Chief Anderson looked up at Mark, worry etched across his brow. “You know I’m concerned that you’re rushing things, Mark.” He sighed deeply. “But you make a very good point about the Condor. If you go active, I’ll pull him to reserve status.” The Chief gave Mark a wry smile. “He’s going to hate me for it.”
Mark smiled back. “Then he’s just going to have to hate both of us.”
***
The pain spiked into his right eye as if a dagger had been thrust there. Mark removed his reading glasses, massaged his right temple, and winced. Ignoring the pain hadn't helped. Nor had repeatedly downing ibuprofen at four hour intervals. The headache had only worsened, the knife slicing deeper through his head to pierce the base of his skull. He was starting to lose sensation around his right eyebrow, as if parts of his face had gone permanently numb.
Damn. The stack of paperwork in front of him loomed like a death threat. Since his reinstatement to the team three weeks ago, it only seemed to grow larger. Spectra had resumed their near-daily offensive, resulting in reams of paperwork. Mark could deny it all he liked, but he knew he was failing in the administrative side of his job, falling further and further behind. Sooner or later, Chief Anderson would notice, would ask him what was wrong.
And what, Mark thought, am I going to say to that? That I can't keep up with my old job any longer? Exactly how's that going to work? With Jason back out on Medical leave, there was no one left to fill in, no one to take Mark's place. The Falcon had graciously agreed to stay on the team until Jason’s return. And with extended enforced rest, the Condor’s health was finally improving. Mark had to take up the slack caused by Jason’s absence if he wanted to see his gunner healthy. He had to endure.
He pushed his chair back from the table in the ready room. The resultant loud scrape ricocheted through his head. Mark instantly regretted the action - the last thing he needed to do was to call attention to himself at this hour. He glanced at the clock on the wall with weary eyes.
2 a.m. Again.
He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer, and took out a pack of frozen peas. At least Zark hasn't asked why I suddenly want the ready room stocked with vegetables at all times, Mark thought, as he opened a drawer and wrapped a linen towel around the bag. The little robot's probably convinced that his endless lectures on healthy eating have finally taken hold.
Walking back to the table, Mark sat down gingerly and propped his head up on his right arm so that his face was cradled by the bag of peas. The cold numbed his nerve endings, temporarily derailing their pain signals. Relief.
With that accomplished, he picked up the nearest surveillance report with his left hand and started to read again. He hadn't gotten far before the type began to blur and sway beneath his eyes. Cursing, he dropped the peas and reached across the table to where he had left his reading glasses.
I'm never going to get used to needing these things, he thought, miserably. I thought my implant surgery fixed this. He put the glasses on and raked his fingers through his hair. What else didn't surgery fix?
Mark tried not to wince as his head throbbed in response. He picked up the frozen peas again and buried his right temple into the bag. Unfortunately, this also had the effect of digging the right stem of his glasses into his face. Mark released the pressure slightly and tried to resume reading. But now he found that he had the opposite problem - with the aid of lenses, he found the print so crisp and bright that it hurt to look at the paperwork.
Oh, who am I kidding? Mark whipped off his glasses a second time. Screw it. Requisition forms, proposed changes in procedure, expense reports, training requests ... All of this can wait another night. I've got to get some sleep.
Mark shoved his reading glasses into the pocket of his jeans, gathered up his armful of paperwork, and headed for the door. But before heading to his quarters, he abruptly turned back to the table and snatched up the bag of frozen peas.