Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
October 21, 1977
“You know, he was never really suited for field work.”
“No,” Dr. Karl Straussen agreed, “he wasn’t.”
The subject of their discussion made no comment; the many monitors around him equally silent save for the persistent sigh of the respirator. Almost two months since his initial injury and there was still no response from Cadmium’s inert body.
“Poor kid,” Rick went on, “he always seems to get hit the hardest.”
Karl nodded. “A result, I believe, of being both the smallest member of the team as well as the only one to hold down the defensive. Without his shields and first-aid, the other two are easier to deal with.” It was grim logic, but Rick found he couldn’t argue with it.
“He never should have gone active duty, but he wanted to help, wanted to be down in the trenches with his buddies…”
It was a frequent lament too often applied to supers gifted with non-offensive abilities. Cadmium had an amazing power, to be sure, but Clairvoyance wasn’t much good in the face of high-impact crises such as improvised explosives, runaway trains, giant robots, and nemesis three times his height, strength, and weight. He lacked the strength and invulnerability of his teammates and was therefore a frequent visitor at the “SER”. Too many supers had the same problem and NSA Agent Rick Dicker felt bad for them, but there were few ways to change the mind of a determined super. Not enough of them understood that day-saving didn’t necessarily involve running around in a mask and tights. Despite Edna’s designing brilliance, for the less sturdy supers, simple body armor often just wasn’t enough.
“…and look where it got him.”
Out cold for forty-eight days and counting, with a laundry list of injuries and broken bones, that’s where it had gotten him. Lost deep in unconsciousness, Cadmium had lain in the little hospital room unable to even breathe on his own, half a dozen machines doing the work for him. Though his bones were slowly yet steadily knitting themselves back together and the surface wounds were beginning to fade, the young super had yet to open his eyes. Rick had been half afraid the order might be given to pull the plug, but so far no instructions had been given. The remaining two-thirds of Trinity Prime had sustained damage of their own, though both boys had been able to return home after a few days. Cadmium, however, seemed unlikely to leave his bed any time soon.
While his family had been notified by both a formal letter from the NSA as well as several telephone calls; the receiver had never been picked up and no reply sent through the mail. Friends came to sit with him in shifts when his teammates were unable to be with him. Nearly every member of the small church he attended took a turn sitting with him and bestowed casserole after casserole on his housemates. Both pastor and mentor came and laid hands on him as they prayed. As autumn faded and winter settled in, the weather and landscape outside the small single window changing cold and damp while the young man on the bed lay still and unmoving. Despite this a steady stream of visitors trickled in on an almost daily basis, many reading books to him in hopes that he might be able to hear. Recovery was not expected, but that didn’t mean anyone stopped hoping that at any time he might open his eyes.
Ray, as a Clairvoyant with an original life-expectancy of his already exceeded twenty years, had had the foresight to leave a will. However, the document was vague and did not take into account his current circumstances. Clairvoyants, with so far this single exception, tended to drop dead at an early age from an aneurysm. Ray had expected such would happen to him and so had not made any other arrangements upon his untimely demise. If he had indeed been killed in action; that would have been manageable. However, he lay drifting in the empty limbo between consciousness and oblivion. Though his heart still beat and his brain appeared active, the monitor keeping track of his visions buzzed blankly with static. There lights were not on, though someone was home in there somewhere. Unfortunately, there was no power of attorney, no appointment of someone outside his immediate family to make the decision for him. To compound the confusion, there was also the fact that his family had disowned him several years ago, and were therefore unwilling to intercede one way or the other on their son’s behalf. Nobody knew what to do, though everyone had an opinion, and so he continued to lie there, receiving every care and comfort the NSA could provide, completely unaware.
“You know, he was never really suited for field work.”
“No,” Dr. Karl Straussen agreed, “he wasn’t.”
The subject of their discussion made no comment; the many monitors around him equally silent save for the persistent sigh of the respirator. Almost two months since his initial injury and there was still no response from Cadmium’s inert body.
“Poor kid,” Rick went on, “he always seems to get hit the hardest.”
Karl nodded. “A result, I believe, of being both the smallest member of the team as well as the only one to hold down the defensive. Without his shields and first-aid, the other two are easier to deal with.” It was grim logic, but Rick found he couldn’t argue with it.
“He never should have gone active duty, but he wanted to help, wanted to be down in the trenches with his buddies…”
It was a frequent lament too often applied to supers gifted with non-offensive abilities. Cadmium had an amazing power, to be sure, but Clairvoyance wasn’t much good in the face of high-impact crises such as improvised explosives, runaway trains, giant robots, and nemesis three times his height, strength, and weight. He lacked the strength and invulnerability of his teammates and was therefore a frequent visitor at the “SER”. Too many supers had the same problem and NSA Agent Rick Dicker felt bad for them, but there were few ways to change the mind of a determined super. Not enough of them understood that day-saving didn’t necessarily involve running around in a mask and tights. Despite Edna’s designing brilliance, for the less sturdy supers, simple body armor often just wasn’t enough.
“…and look where it got him.”
Out cold for forty-eight days and counting, with a laundry list of injuries and broken bones, that’s where it had gotten him. Lost deep in unconsciousness, Cadmium had lain in the little hospital room unable to even breathe on his own, half a dozen machines doing the work for him. Though his bones were slowly yet steadily knitting themselves back together and the surface wounds were beginning to fade, the young super had yet to open his eyes. Rick had been half afraid the order might be given to pull the plug, but so far no instructions had been given. The remaining two-thirds of Trinity Prime had sustained damage of their own, though both boys had been able to return home after a few days. Cadmium, however, seemed unlikely to leave his bed any time soon.
While his family had been notified by both a formal letter from the NSA as well as several telephone calls; the receiver had never been picked up and no reply sent through the mail. Friends came to sit with him in shifts when his teammates were unable to be with him. Nearly every member of the small church he attended took a turn sitting with him and bestowed casserole after casserole on his housemates. Both pastor and mentor came and laid hands on him as they prayed. As autumn faded and winter settled in, the weather and landscape outside the small single window changing cold and damp while the young man on the bed lay still and unmoving. Despite this a steady stream of visitors trickled in on an almost daily basis, many reading books to him in hopes that he might be able to hear. Recovery was not expected, but that didn’t mean anyone stopped hoping that at any time he might open his eyes.
Ray, as a Clairvoyant with an original life-expectancy of his already exceeded twenty years, had had the foresight to leave a will. However, the document was vague and did not take into account his current circumstances. Clairvoyants, with so far this single exception, tended to drop dead at an early age from an aneurysm. Ray had expected such would happen to him and so had not made any other arrangements upon his untimely demise. If he had indeed been killed in action; that would have been manageable. However, he lay drifting in the empty limbo between consciousness and oblivion. Though his heart still beat and his brain appeared active, the monitor keeping track of his visions buzzed blankly with static. There lights were not on, though someone was home in there somewhere. Unfortunately, there was no power of attorney, no appointment of someone outside his immediate family to make the decision for him. To compound the confusion, there was also the fact that his family had disowned him several years ago, and were therefore unwilling to intercede one way or the other on their son’s behalf. Nobody knew what to do, though everyone had an opinion, and so he continued to lie there, receiving every care and comfort the NSA could provide, completely unaware.
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