The Medusa Chronicles Read Online Free

me.”
    The woman stood alone in the gloom of the gallery: soberly dressed, dark, she looked to be in her mid-thirties. Falcon, at seven feet, toweredover her by a good foot and a half. Not surprisingly perhaps, she seemed nervous.
    Webster snapped his fingers. “I remember you. Nurse Dhoni, right? You were at the military hospital, Luke Air Force Base, Arizona, when we—”
    â€œWhen Commander Falcon was brought in from the Queen Elizabeth , yes.”
    Those days—those years —of recovery still lived in Falcon’s nightmares. He did his best not to recoil. “I don’t remember you, Nurse, I’m sorry.”
    â€œActually, it’s Doctor now. I cross-trained. I specialised in neurosurgery at—”
    â€œWhy are you here?” Falcon snapped.
    She seemed taken aback, and Webster glared at him.
    Dhoni said, “Well, because of you, Commander. Once the President’s staff had invited you, they looked around for friends, family and such to make you welcome. And of your medical team from back then, I’m the only one still working in the field. The rest have retired, moved on, or in one case died—Doctor Bignall, if you remember him.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to come.”
    Webster growled, “For God’s sake, Howard.”
    â€œNo, Administrator Webster, it’s okay.” She sounded as if it was anything but okay, but she held her nerve. “I needed to see you, Commander. After your exploits on Jupiter made the news, I did some investigating. It’s been an awfully long time since you had a proper check-up, let alone an overhaul.”
    Suddenly Falcon was suspicious. He glared at Webster. “Did you set this up, you old coot?”
    Webster looked as if he was going to try to bluff his way out, but gave in with good grace. “Well, now, Howard, I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.” He rapped his knuckles on the shell of toughened alloy where Falcon’s chest should have been. “The outside stuff is doing fine. We can switch components in and out with no trouble. But what’s inside was pretty beatup to start with, and isn’t getting any younger. How old are you now, fifty-­five, fifty-six . . . ?”
    Dhoni reached out uncertainly to Falcon, then dropped her hand. “Let me help you. How do you sleep?”
    Falcon set his jaw. “As little as I can.”
    â€œThere are new treatments now, things we can offer you—”
    â€œIs that why you’re here? To use me as a lab rat, again?”
    That got through the last of her defences. Her mouth worked, and she swallowed. “No. I’m here because I care. Just as I cared then.” She turned and stalked away.
    Falcon watched her go. “She nearly burst into tears.”
    â€œNo, she didn’t, you ass. She nearly knocked your block off, and you would have deserved it. I saw you back then, Howard. I know it was a nightmare. But she was there all the way through, Hope Dhoni. Just a kid. There all the way through.” He seemed to struggle for words. “ She wiped your brow. Oh, the hell with you. I need a drink.” He walked off, calling back, “Enjoy Springer’s ego trip. I’ve had enough heroes for now. But when you find that woman again you apologise, you hear?”

3
    In the USS Sam Shore ’s Sea Lounge, Matt Springer stood at a lectern beside an empty, dimly lit stage.
    The room itself was extraordinary, Falcon thought, as he rolled in and discreetly took a place at the back. The Sea Lounge was probably the single most famous, or notorious, feature of the cruise ship this huge carrier had become. It was a place of curves and tangles and sweeping panels, no straight lines, all in the colours of the sea: green and blue and with a mother-of-pearl sheen. The stage itself stood under an apex where sweeping ribs joined, and the audience before Springer was cupped in a shallow basin. Captain