CHAPTER 15:
Profile of Courage
Richmond Times Features @JenButler
Glenn Armstrong Shepard is the type of hero who quite literally runs toward danger to help others. See how he has turned personal tragedy into advantage, and uses it to help others. Our new multipart feature starts today, stream it now.
ChirpChat, May 2042
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Glenn told her. “All this fuss of whether I’m more machine than human. I’m a doctor and a military officer—at least, I was. Every fiber of my being told me I had to rescue that woman and her children. I mean how much more human could I be? But all the pundits talked about was how much it cost to build the prosthetics. Not once did they talk about what it all felt like; what it meant to me.”
“Right, so then, explain your prosthetics to me,” Jen replied. “How do they work? How do they feel. What does it mean to be you? I saw you in action and I have to admit that it was incredible, almost superhuman.”
“Not quite, I still have a purely biological body. According to the tests they’ve run me through, I’ve gained about twenty-five percent over an unaugmented person.”
“I’m pretty sure you were going faster than that.”
“Cycling, yes, I’m about fifty percent faster, but that’s done mostly with the bionics in my legs. I tried to see if the extra red-blood cell capacity of living above nine-thousand feet elevation would give me even more of a boost, but it’s mostly in cardiovascular endurance, which doesn’t really interact with my bionics other than keeping my heart and respiration rates down.”
“How was your swim time? I didn’t see you start, just the finish,”
Glenn made a face. “I made lousy time, about half as fast as the record.”
“What?” Jen was surprised by the admission. “Why?”
“He hasn’t been swimming for a year,” Nik said, and elbowed his friend in the ribs. “He thought it should just come naturally, instead of having to pay the price in training like he did with everything else.”
“‘No pain, no gain?’”
“Something like that,” Glenn said, morosely. “I had plenty of that in rehab. I admit it was stupid to think I could just swim a record without practice. I didn’t even think about the fact that I don’t float naturally, now.”
“Oh.” Jen thought about it for a moment. “So, how much heavier are the prosthetics?”
“Not much, but it’s enough to change my overall density. Artificial limbs don’t have any fat contributing to buoyancy. The weight’s not bad on land. About thirty years ago, a DARPA program started work on ‘wearable’ prosthetics, so they make them the same weight as flesh and blood.”
“Okay then, what hurts?”
Glenn and Nik exchanged a look and Jen worried that she may have ventured into forbidden territory.
“Oh. Should I not ask that question?”
“No, it’s okay.” Glenn answered. He looked again at Nik, who nodded in return. “Frankly, Ms. Butler, everything hurts.”
“Not surprising, considering the workout today.”
“No, not that. Everything hurts, all the time. There are times I regret doing this, but it was my idea. I have to see it through.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry about it. I’m a volunteer, and frankly, knowing what I know now, I’d still do it. But every step, every ‘revision’ surgery, takes a toll.”
“How many surgeries have you had?”
“Counting the original amputations?” Glenn looked at Nik. “Ten?” Receiving a nod, he continued, “Ten.”
“Wow! That many, what were they?”
“Amputate the legs, amputate the arm, implant the artificial thigh bones, implant a shoulder socket. Then there’s the implants of eye and ear, skin grafts, repair of the eye and ear, replace the bionic controller in my hip . . . I think that’s it.”
“You forgot the LVAD,” Nik said.
“Oh yeah, the LVAD. How could I forget the deal-breaker for the Space Force?”
“I got most of that, but what’s an LVAD, and why is it a deal-breaker?”
“Left Ventricular Assist Device. It’s a pump.”
“Wait, isn’t that an artificial heart?”
“Not really, and not really ‘left ventricular’ in my case, it’s attached in-parallel with my heart and helps redistribute fluid—lymph and blood—to assist with heat dissipation. Most of the medical field and public know them as LVADs, so I’m stuck with the name. Still, it’s a deal-breaker; Space Force was coming around on the subject of prosthetics, but anything to do with the heart . . .”
“Damned short-sighted,” Nik grumped. “He’s stronger than any astronaut, and able to endure way more,”
“But at the cost of pain?” Jen asked.
Both men nodded.
“Got it, but you still haven’t told me where it hurts.”
“Well, my hips are constantly straining, because of the imbalance in strength between the bionics and my natural bone and muscle. The small of my back and my ribs hurt because no matter how I try, I can feel the weight difference on my left side. My right arm tries to do the same as the left, and it can’t. The left arm isn’t as coordinated as the right, so I unconsciously put even more strain on my right side. The eye and ear inputs can often have me at the edge of a headache, every single one of the scars itches, and even after three years we’re still adjusting the sensitivity of the artificial tactile sensors in the bionics.”
“How are you still upright, given what you did today?”
Glenn jerked a thumb in Nik’s direction. “I have my own doc.”
* * *
It was late, and the wait staff were clearly hovering, waiting to clean tables.
“Okay, one last, strange question. It’s—okay, it’s weird, but please understand, I’m a woman, and I notice these things . . . Shepard, you don’t smell different. I can tell you were exercising and have showered since then. You’re not wearing cologne that I can tell. You smell . . . normal.”
The two men sat in shock for a moment, then Nik started to laugh. Glenn looked indignant. “What did you expect me to smell like? Machine oil and ozone? Hot electronics?”
“Well, no, but half of your body is artificial . . .”
“. . . and half of me is natural. I assure you, my adrenal glands and sweat glands work just fine. The bionics don’t emit any odors.”
“Hormonally, he’s just fine. Fully functional in every way.”
“Shut up, Nik.” Glenn said, but there was no anger in his voice or expression, just exasperation. Instead of responding to Jen, he signaled the server for the check, and then protested when he learned that she had pre-paid it.
He went over to the bar to speak with the manager, and there was some exchange going on. She’d have to check her account to see if he’d had her charges reversed and paid the bill himself.
The trio moved to an area with benches outside the front of the restaurant. It was time to go their separate ways—but Jen felt that she didn’t want the evening to end. She wanted to tell this story, but it wasn’t just the story—she wanted to know more.
“I have to go back up to PTC in the morning. I was supposed to be on leave, but my next assignment came through today and MarsX wants me to collect my stuff and pack up. I’m still not due in D.C. for another four weeks, but PTC has a battalion coming in for an exercise and They need the space.”
“I thought you were going to Maui?” Nik asked.
“Yeah, I need to work on my tan.” Glenn said it with a straight face, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he did so.
Inside jokes, Jen thought. These two have been through a lot together.
“I would really like to follow up with some specifics for the article. Can we talk later?”
“My good lady, you can ask me anything!” Pillarisetty winked at her.
“I will take you up on that, Doctor—and please, call me Jennifer. I can’t imagine the tales Shepard’s headshrinker can tell.”
“And you, Ms. Butler? Are you heading directly back to Richmond to write your expose?”
Jen looked at Shepard. There didn’t seem to be any malice in his comments. In fact, there was that same twinkle in his eyes . . .
Wait, one of those eyes is artificial—how can it twinkle? But she liked the twinkle.
“No, Mr. Shepard, I will likely just dictate and edit on my tablet from the hotel room. Besides, I really do need to follow up—” She thought about it for a moment. “—with each of you, I think. I will be here for at least another week up at the Waikoloa resort. I’ll give you both my card. Please call me.”
“Glad to!” Pillarisetty stood up and placed his canes to one side. He looked at his wristcomm. “Well, Shep, it’s already tomorrow, so if you’re going up the mountain while it’s still morning, we’d better get going.” He stepped over to Jen to shake hands, and surprised her when he took hers in both of his hands. “A pleasure, Ms. Butler. I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a time.”
As he stepped away, Shepard also rose and took her hand. She was even more surprised when he held it for a few moments before letting go. He smiled at her . . . and she smiled, too. “Later this week or next, Jennifer?”
She gulped. “Why, yes, Colonel—I mean Mister—Shepard.”
“Please, call me Shep.”
It was going to take a few weeks for Jen to write her article. She needed to get more perspective on Shepard, as well as try to fill in several gaps in the public record regarding his accident. She started with Nik. Glenn—Shep—would be up at PTC for the next couple of days, and Nik needed to head back to Texas, but he had an evening flight, and plenty of time for a long lunch.
After getting some background on Nik—former boxer, injured his back in an automobile accident, studied medicine with an eye toward emergency medicine, but gravitated to psychiatry after working with injured kids—the conversation turned to his friendship with Shepard.
“He doesn’t make friends easily. Too many losses,” Nik told her. “Before me, his last really close friend had been a doc on Asimov Station.”
“‘ . . . had been . . . ’ Oh! You mean . . .”
“Yeah, that one. The one who died when some rich, old S.O.B. locked the escape pod hatch with only himself in it. Anyway, he and I are a lot alike. We’re not letting our injuries stop us from what we want to do. He was my patient, but now he’s my friend.”
“How about girlfriends? Any romantic involvement?”
Nik gave her a concerned look. “He’s . . . delicate. From what I know of him, I’d say he had one great love, and that ended badly. Even worse, she took his place on the Mars mission. He’s convinced it was her plan all along.”
“The accident, too?”
“No, not like that. More that she was looking for any opening. He says that her going to Mars is just to spite him for events in their past.”
“Is that what you think? Did she do it to spite him?”
“She’s not my patient, so I really can’t say—and couldn’t say even if she was my patient. But I don’t think that’s a factor. It scarred him, though, and recent events haven’t helped.”
“The accident.”
“More like the aftermath. He’s tried a few dates, and they ended . . . well, not so much that they ended badly, just . . . they were the wrong women.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Nik turned looked straight at her, and it was somewhat disturbing to see such a stern look in his otherwise friendly face. “Let me put it this way. Glenn Shepard does not need a mother, an angel, a guardian, or a fangirl. He needs a friend. If anything else develops, fine. Otherwise, it’s best to leave it at that.”
“Oh, okay. Message received loud and clear. You don’t have to worry, I’m writing a profile, not looking for a conquest.”
He gave her that look again. “Uh huh. Listen to me, Jennifer. Shep is fragile. Promise me you won’t break him, with your story or otherwise.”
“I promise, Nik.”
“Good, now let me tell you the story about Shep and the HR lady . . .”
* * *
Shep was more reserved, less spontaneous. She supposed it was unsurprising that he would be clinically detached when he discussed his injuries and bionic components. He seldom talked about the eye and ear—they were mostly invisible to the casual observer—and he was still hurt by the negative press from more than a year ago.
She interviewed him twice over comm, but then asked to meet him for more “off-the-record” conversation.
He told her that he was well aware that there was no such thing as truly “off-the-record.” Nevertheless, he spoke a bit about his life, experiences, and the accident. He was right, the journalist in her was always listening—but not for tricks and traps, rather, she listened for hints of who Glenn Shepard was as a person. It was more than just the story; these sessions truly shaped what she would write.
She returned to the subject of how he had dealt with the pain of the long recovery. He was silent for a long time. This was one of those times when the recorder was off, so she waited patiently. His face fell. He was usually so expressive—from his pleasant smile during small talk to a more serious face when recounting details of the tornado. He grimaced, and the lower eyelid of his right eye twitched.
“Badly, I suppose,” he said finally. “I was a whiny brat for a while, but Aunt Sally came in one day when I was throwing a temper tantrum. She brought me up short. Marty—that’s Doctor Spruce—and Nik also helped me understand that what I was going through was no more, nor less, than any other injured vet in that hospital. Moreover, I was going to be able to walk and function normally, not all of those soldiers would get the same chance. I had to be an example and pave the way to improve the quality of life for amputees.”
Their next meeting was over dinner, then drinks on the beach watching the waves. During those meetings, she caught him a few times looking at her with a strange expression. Is it attraction? Curiosity? Uncertainty? she asked herself. For that matter, she was not entirely sure she knew her own feelings.
Shepard had instituted a quid pro quo as the interviews continued. He would answer her questions, but then had questions for her . . . and some were silly, “Would you choose mint chocolate chip or rocky road ice cream?” “Is white chocolate really chocolate?” or “Biscuits or corn muffins?” Other questions were more serious, about her own background and experiences.
He’s probing for the same type of character background I am, she thought. He just doesn’t know how to phrase the questions. So, she told him of growing up south of Atlanta, of moving out at eighteen to enter a journalism program, of her internship at the Dallas Morning News after graduation, how her skin color had influenced what stories the editors would allow her to write in the early days. She described the down-and-dirty world of investigative journalism, and how the nasty business had cost her several relationships—including an almost-marriage where police took the groom from the church, minutes before the ceremony.
“I became disillusioned with always looking for the worst in people, so I quit the paper and moved from Dallas to Richmond. Leo—my publisher, these days—was an old college classmate. I now get to write about unsung heroes and ordinary people accomplishing extraordinary tasks. Commissioner Garner? That was an accident. He did good things, but he was using money and applying it in ways his constituents wouldn’t approve.”
All trace of sun was gone from the sky; the hotel staff were lighting tiki torches along the paths. Shep walked her out to her car, then took her hand and held it way longer than a simple handshake.
She didn’t know why she did it. It wasn’t like her to be so impulsive, but after pulling out so much of his inner self, he’d cracked her own carefully maintained shell. She pulled his arm, reached up and wrapped her arms around him, and lifted up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
His arms fluttered. She’d caught him off-guard.
Good.
She let go quickly. There was no sense in making it any more awkward. Shepard was heading to the neighboring island of Maui in the morning. She was mostly done with her writing and would probably only need a couple more details to finish off the article. They would probably do that over comm—and she knew that it simply wouldn’t feel the same.
Face it, girl. You’ve fallen—hard, she thought to herself. Glenn Armstrong Shepard was a man who thought of others nearly to the point of ignoring his own needs. More than that, he was a hero—even if he was uncomfortable with the label and denied his own heroism. That was the story she needed to tell, and she was honored that he—and the general—had decided to trust her with it. But it was more than that. She’d discovered the man inside and decided that she wanted more.
The Times contacted the Kailua-Kona and Honolulu news outlets, and they’d been proud to run the story as a wire-service feature on the front page, since it featured local sights and businesses. Jen had been sure to mention the places where she, Pillarisetty and Shepard had met, even to the point of praising the local food and drink specialties. She knew that it was these “local color” details that made a story real to the readers, and established the sense of trust that was so important to getting both a wide readership, and access to the subjects of her interviews.
She’d asked the Big Island News to run a promotion flexi copy of the issue. While most readers used comms or tablets to get their “newspapers,” some still liked the anachronistic feel of a hardcopy in their hands. Programmable polymer “paper” was a far cry from newsprint, but physical news copy was still available in major markets. This one had to be flown over from Honolulu, but Jen waited patiently at the airport for the delivery, before boarding her own flight to the neighboring island of Maui.
Shepard was finishing out his leave at one of the resorts in Ka’anapali, just north of the old whaling village of Lahaina. A commercial flight would have taken her to the main airport at Kahului, but that would have left her dependent on a rental or expensive autocab ride to Lahaina. While less than 25 miles distance, the combination of heavy traffic, narrow roads, and the relaxed attitude of Island Time meant a long, expensive commute to the resort area on the western lobe of the dumbbell-shaped island. Her charter took her instead to the Kapalua-West Maui Airport, only five miles from Lahaina, and even closer to the Ka’anapali resorts. Despite the proximity to Shepard’s hotel, she had commed him to meet her at the banyan tree in the center of Lahaina. A short autocab ride delivered her to the iconic plaza, home of the oldest living tree in Hawaii. She grabbed a shave ice from a vendor at the near permanent arts-and-crafts market under the limbs of the tree which covered over 2 acres, and walked down toward one of the corners of the plaza adjacent to the old courthouse for Maui County. There was a low rock wall, and she sat, ate her shave ice—still getting syrup on her hand—and waited.
Shepard rode up on a rented bicycle. Given both the short distance from the resort, and the tourist crowds, it made sense—especially since she knew he could keep pace with the vehicular traffic. He noticed her, then took note of the rock wall and her shave ice, and grinned.
She held up a water bottle, glistening with condensation. “That looks like hard work. I’ve got an extra bottle of water here. It’s cold, do you want one?”
His grin got even wider, and Jen felt that funny feeling in her stomach again.
“Why, thank you, ma’am, don’t mind if I do.” This time he accepted the offered water, got off of the bike and leaned it against the wall.
As he sat down, Jen pulled the flexi copy of the Big Island News out of her bag. “The article.”
He accepted it with a slight nod. Their fingers touched as he took the flexi and it felt almost as if a spark jumped between them. “Thank you for this. I’ve read it, but Momma will want a copy to keep. She’s probably bought out all the flexi in Lexington by now to give to her friends. She never thinks to get her own.”
“So . . . you like it?”
“Yes, Ms. Butler, I do. General Boatright called to tell me he likes it, too, and the Top Brass is quite pleased. I imagine your publisher and editor have gotten a few calls from Very Important People. More importantly, Momma wants to know when I’m bringing you home to meet her.”
Jen blushed. “Is that . . . Is that in our future?”
“Well, I’m going to be in Greenbelt, Maryland, you’re based in Richmond, Virginia. That’s only an hour on the National Capital hyperloop and Lexington’s only two—two-and-a-half hours by car from either one.”
“Oh,” she said. Then the implications hit her. “Oh!”
“Yeah. Oh. C’mon, let me turn this bike in and get us a pair of electrics. I promise not to override the motor, that way you can keep up.”
“Where are we going?”
“Hula Grill—it’s a nice restaurant up at Whaler’s Village, near the resorts. You can get a table practically on the beach and watch the sunset.”
“That’s quite a few hours off.”
“I know. In the meantime, let me show you some of the sights of West Maui.”