“It’s… squishy.”
“That’s soil, underneath the grass. That’s what most of the surface of a planet is like. That’s what plants grow out of.”
“Plants don’t grow in soil. Plants grow in water.”
“In hydroponics, yes. But this is how they do it on a planet. Come on, let’s go further…”
The sun was high and the centre’s shadow was cast only a short way into the garden. We crossed the border into sunlight. I noticed she was nervous, and when the sun hit her, she flinched and cried out.
“What is it, Elsbet?”
“It’s… hot…”
“Yes, direct sunlight. That’s what you get on a planet.”
“Aren’t we going to get burnt?”
“The atmosphere protects us. You’ll be fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. She was breathing hard, and hunched over, as though she expected something from the sky to hit her.
“Elsbet? Are you all right?”
“It’s so… big…”
Her eyes were wide, she was hyperventilating, her hands were shaking. She was having a panic attack.
“Okay, Elsbet, that’s enough for today, we need to get you back inside…”
She looked up at the sky, and gasped. Sun, a few scudding clouds, and endless blue. I knew the problem at once: she’d grown up on an asteroid, enclosed by walls, and had never stood exposed to an endless space without protection. Veofol had anticipated it. His people, living in orbital habitats, had the same problem. I summoned him and a medical team as Elsbet slumped to the ground, hiding her head.
“You were right. Agoraphobia,” I said as Veofol and the medics came running up.
“Let’s get her inside,” he said. The medics tranquillised her and we carried her back.
7. Olivia
Later that day, it was Olivia’s turn for a therapy session. She didn’t show up, so I pulled on some boots and went to her. She’d returned to the garden after the commotion with Elsbet, under a lower sun and the pleasant warmth of the afternoon. She wasn’t out there to rest, though. She was working hard, bent over and muttering at weeds as she yanked them out of the earth.
“Aliens and weeds trampling all over, this planet’s nothing but aliens and weeds…” Elsbet had trodden on some of the plants in her panic, so I thought it best to go over, apologise and see what we could do to help.
“Olivia?”
She started at the sound of my voice, grabbed a shovel, came up and spun round to bring it down on my skull. I staggered backwards and caught the shovel high on my left arm. I shrieked at the pain, fell to my knees and Olivia suddenly realised where she was and who she’d struck.
“Oh gods. You idiot. You bloody idiot!”
She knelt by me and ripped the arm of my shirt open. “Don’t move! You’ll make it worse.” A massive bruise was coming up. She pressed the skin around it and made me gasp.
“It’s not broken. You’re bruised, that’s all. What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that?”
I replied through gritted teeth, feeling queasy as the aftereffects kicked in. “Usually… the assailant… is the one who apologises…”
“I’m sorry. All right, I’m sorry. Happy now?”
“That’s… fine, Olivia. I thought… you weren’t… a doctor?”
“I can set a bone if I have to. Oh, look, here come the crows…”
A nurse came running out, along with a couple of security guards. “It’s all right!” I shouted at the guards. “It’s my fault. Olivia’s not to blame. I just need someone to take a look at my arm…”
“Sure?” he asked.
“Very sure,” I said. “You should never sneak up on someone with PTSD.”
“I do not have PTSD!” snarled Olivia as the nurse kneeled in the mud to take care of my arm.
“You can leave us,” I said to the guards. They holstered their stunsticks and left.
“Hold still,” said the nurse, administering an anaesthetic spray.
“Oooh, that’s better,” I said as the pain slid away.
“I don’t have PTSD, I bloody told you I don’t, it’s just reflexes,” muttered Olivia.
“I need to get you inside to take a better look,” said the nurse.
“Okay,” I said. “Olivia? Do you mind giving me a hand up?”
“Fine,” she said, and helped me to my feet. “I suppose you want help getting indoors now.”
“I’ll take care of it,” said the nurse.
“I hit her, I’ll bloody help her inside!”
“It’s okay,” I said to the nurse, and Olivia helped me indoors.
They scanned the arm and found no fractures, then gave me a dose of healing accelerant and put my arm in a sling. I’d be back to normal in a day or two. Olivia stuck with me — as much as she blamed me for provoking her, she still felt an obligation to ensure I was treated properly. And she didn’t mind the chance to spy on Elsbet, either.
“What’s up with her?” she sniffed. Elsbet was visible in her room, curled up on her bed, looking shell-shocked and occasionally nodding as Veofol explained things, which was as well as could be expected.
“She’s had a bit of a shock,” I said.
“I don’t understand her. How many of them are in there?”
“Just the two. As far as we know.”
“Is she dangerous?”
“Not if you treat her kindly and with respect.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “What, and you think I won’t?”
“I just think you should be careful.”
“Yeh, yeh. Not much chance of me being able to hurt her, is there? Wouldn’t have got far with a shovel on her…”
“There are other kinds of hurt. Aren’t there?”
“Huh.”
I caught the attention of a nurse, and indicated the curtains around the examination cubicle I was in. He drew them and left me alone with Olivia. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“What?”
“I mean for saying you had PTSD in front of other people.”
She shrugged. “Well, you weren’t yourself, were you…”
“I was rather lightheaded, I have to admit.”
“Stupid thing to do, creeping up on me like that.”
“Yes. You’d think I’d have learned by now.”
“Hah. Leave the crazy old bitch alone. Good lesson.”
“No, I mean I’ve had a lot of PTSD patients. I really should know better.”
That got her annoyed. “I’m telling you for the last time, I do not have PTSD!”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Everything I know leads me to think you do. So if you were in my position, why would you make the opposite diagnosis?”
“Because I’m not in your position and I know the difference. What I’ve got is a natural reaction to having revenants trying to kill me for thirty odd years. It’s why I’m still alive, for gods’ sake.”
“Hm. Actually…”
“What?”
“Well, you seem very opposed to the diagnosis. Was PTSD known in your world?”
“Because we’re primitive, of course…”
“A lot of species have trouble accepting it exists. You wouldn’t be alone in that.”
She sighed. “We knew about it.”
“What did you call it?”
“A gross moral failure.”
“That’s rather harsh.”
“I’m joking.” There wasn’t a trace of humour on her face. “The people who called it that were the ones who never saw revenants. Never had to put up a barricade and stay up all night in case they got in. Never had to kill their friends because they’d come back from the dead…”