FIC: The Struggles Make You Stronger (Part 1)
Title: The Struggles Make You Stronger (Part 1)
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Summary: A diagnosis is usually a bad thing. For Louis Hoshi, it was worse than he ever would have imagined.
Author's Note: I've always meant to write Hoshi's backstory from A Lot to Live Up To. tin_o_biscuits wanted distraction, so I figured I'd post part 1 tonight. This will be updated irregularly, I'm afraid, although maybe once I finish with Not Where I Belong it will take over a Friday slot. If you have not read A Lot to Live Up To, it's plenty easy to follow this, but it's HUGE spoilers for A Lot to Live Up To, which is Dee-centric and follows but expands on canon. If there are BSG spoilers, they go up to the Pegasus arc.
"Louis. Louis!"
The voice sounded very far away. Louis tried to ignore it, until something noxious was shoved under his nose, jerking him back to consciousness. Alison was sitting over him. "You okay?" she asked, and then turned over her shoulder. "Brandon! I told you to get Mom and Dad! Go!"
"What happened?" he asked, trying to sit up.
Alison helped him. "You fainted again. Louis, you know that you should drink-"
"I did!" he protested.
"You must not have!" she countered. "Or you wouldn't have fainted. Again!"
Louis wanted to snap back at her, but he was still feeling dizzy, and besides, their father was coming towards them now and he wasn't going to be in a good mood. He groaned.
But to his surprise, his father didn't snap at him, didn't order him to get to his feet. All he said was, "Get into the house, Louis, and make yourself some tea. We're going to the priests later today."
"All right, Dad." His father extended his hand and pulled him to his feet in one smooth motion and then steadied him.
"Can you make it?"
"I think so," Louis said, not willing to say no.
"Good."
Louis trudged into the house, gnawing on a fingernail and worrying about what his father would say that night. If he'd turned around, he would have seen his father watching him with a worried expression on his face.
***
He looked out the window. The fields were dark, and he could see the stars. Somewhere out there was Tauron. Louis looked down at the brochure in his hand. If he could just convince his parents, maybe they'd be willing to send him to Persopholis University. He knew he'd never get into Delphi University- not as a Sagittaron- but Persopholis might take him. He'd get a job, help pay the tuition and the books. He looked back out the window and sighed. His parents hadn't needed a university education, and he was pretty sure they didn't think that he did, either.
He was hungry. The priests had recommended a cleansing ritual, complete with a fasting regime, and he'd been all right with that at dinner, when he still hadn't been hungry. But now his stomach was rumbling, and he thought his parents would have no idea if he snuck down to the refrigerator for a sandwich.
The light was still on in the kitchen.
"No," he heard his mother saying. "Thomas, if the neighbors ever found out… if our priests ever found out…"
"They won't. We could take him to Edessa, Charlotte. It's far enough away that no one would find out, and if it's something simple-"
"But the Gods would condemn us for it. The idea of taking my child to one of those butchers…" Louis peered around the corner and saw his parents sitting at the kitchen table, bent towards each other in the kind of discussion that was usually reserved for the bills. His mother angrily yanked a tissue out of the box that sat between them and wiped her eyes. "I can't do it. If this is what the Gods are asking of us, we have to accept it."
"I don't want to accept it!" he snapped. "Something's not right with Louis, and it might be serious! I looked on the network, and-"
"You looked on the network?"
"Just to see! He's lost some weight, but he eats normally. He's been fainting. And did you see that bruise on his ribcage?" Louis looked down at his torso, where the bruise in question was hidden under his t-shirt, but blooming in spectacular greens and purples. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."
"We've taken him to the priests. We've prayed…."
"But doctors get results. Please, Charlotte. We've got to try."
His mother shook her head. "I feel the same way that you do, Thomas. You know I do. But the scriptures are very explicit about-"
"I know," Thomas sighed.
"Then why are you talking this way?"
Louis shrank back, deciding he didn't really want to hear any more. His appetite was gone, and he crept back to his room.
A doctor. Louis shivered at that thought. He'd never in his life been seen by a doctor, and he'd never even really seen one up close. There was one nearby in Sikyon, but every time they walked past his office his mother made them avert their eyes. He didn't really want to see a doctor, especially after hearing some of the stories of what doctors were willing to do. Dumping poison into people, killing unborn babies, taking organs from one person and putting them into another…
But then, a traitorous voice said, it did work.
He shook his head and climbed into bed. It didn't matter. His father was overreacting and he was fine. Much more important was convincing his parents to let him apply to Perspholis. He tucked his hands behind his head, his mind turning over plans to make that happen until he fell asleep.
***
"Louis, where are you?"
"I'm still in here." Louis sat on the closed toilet, staring at the washcloth covered in red stains. Three others lay on the floor beside him.
"How long does it take to clean out a cut?" his mother demanded. "Your father's waiting. He needs help with the transplanting." She opened the bathroom door and he looked up at her desperately. She stared down at the discarded towels and washcloths for a long moment.
"I didn't think it was that big," she said finally. She came over and took his hand, lifting the washcloth and checking. Then she sighed at how small the cut really was. "Give it here," she ordered, and deftly bandaged his hand. "Now go," she ordered him. "Your father has to go to the bank today, and the transplanting needs to be done by then."
"Yes, Mom."
"And pick up the towels on your way out."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom."
***
Four of Louis's siblings had left the house, but the van still felt oddly empty when they all piled in. It felt even stranger tonight, when Alison and Brandon were being left home, and it was only him and his parents. It was also a golden opportunity.
"No," his father said sharply, after he'd pleaded his case. "We can't even afford to send you to college here, much less off-world."
"But I could get a job," Louis said.
"Doing what?"
"Anything. Waiting tables. Picking up trash. Anything that would let me go to University. I could do it. You know I could."
His father sighed. "Maybe… maybe we could talk about Edessa Community."
Edessa Community is a small day college meant for training workers, not a University to educate thinkers. At least, that was Louis's impression. But that was more than he'd ever gotten out of his father before. "Thank you, sir."
"I said we'll talk about it," his father cautioned.
Louis nodded and looked out the window again. "Where are we going, anyway?" he asked.
"Edessa."
The conversation in the kitchen came back to him, and he looked down at his bandaged hand. After a week, it still hadn't stopped bleeding. And he knew exactly where they were taking him.
***
Edessa was a crowded place, dirty with mining dust, packed with people. The hospital was small and dingy, and mainly served the guards and merchants who came in from other worlds.
A graying man with gimlet eyes listened to Louis's symptoms and story, and then sighed. "I'm going to need to do some tests," he said. "Can you stay a few days?"
"We can," Louis's father said, before Louis's mother could answer.
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "And it's going to cost you. We can work something out, but it will cost you."
Louis thought of the farm and the mortgage and the taxes, and all those other things he heard his parents discussing late at night. And he thought of Edessa Community, and imagined he could see even that slim hope floating away. His father nodded.
"We'll pay."
The tests were uncomfortable, from drawing blood to lying in some strange tube to an extremely painful procedure where they stuck a needle deep into his hip. His mother had to leave the room for that one, and even his father looked sick. The bed was uncomfortable and the nurses were stony, and during the night the sound of sirens and gunfire woke him.
There was no way this could be good.
***
"Mr. and Mrs. Hoshi, I'm afraid that your son has acute myeloid leukemia."
That pronouncement was greeted with a grave silence. And then, in a hushed whisper, Louis's mother asked, "What's that?"
"Cancer."
Louis's blood froze. He sat at the desk, eyes stuck open wide, unsure of what to say.
"So, is it a tumor?" his father asked. "Something that can be removed by surgery?"
"Leukemia is a cancer of the bone marrow," the doctor explained. "It has to be treated by chemotherapy."
"Is there any chance it will just… go away?"
"No. Your son's cancer has progressed to stage four. It's bad, Mr. Hoshi. If we throw everything we've got at it right now, I estimate he's got maybe a forty to sixty percent chance of survival. If we do nothing…" the doctor trailed off, shrugging and tapping his pen against a pad.
Louis's mother began to cry.
"Look," the doctor said, leaning in. "I know this is difficult. But I think we've got a chance, and we can apply for a charity case. If we get really lucky, we might even be able approval for stem cell therapy, and that would increase Louis's chances even more. In fact-"
"No." Charlotte wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "You think we would consent to stem cell therapy? I know what that is, Doctor, and there is no way I'm going to let you use the parts of aborted babies to cure my son. I won't… I can't do that to him."
"Stem cell therapy doesn't work like that," he began, with the hopeless expression that testified he already knew how this conversation was going to end. "Louis. What do you think?"
"I want to hear more about treatment," Louis said.
"He's a minor. Eighteen is the age of consent on Sagittaron," Thomas interrupted. "We'll make the decision."
"Fine. Well, let me tell you about how chemotherapy works."
"There's no need." Thomas looked at his wife. "We know."
"Well then-"
Thomas stood up, grabbing Louis by the arm and yanking him to his feet. "We'll call you later, Doctor."
"Dad, I want-"
"Now, Louis."
"Mr. Hoshi, I know what you're thinking. I've lived on this rock for twenty years, and I know how the Sagittaron belief system works. But let me be clear about this." He leaned over his desk. "If you do not consent to the chemotherapy, Louis will be dead by the end of the year. I promise you that."
***
It was a half day drive home from Edessa. The van was silent, except for the occasional sound of someone sniffling.
Louis stared out the window, watching the world go by in all its glory and color.
***
When they arrived at the farm, Charlotte retreated inside immediately. Louis wanted to follow her, but his father caught his arm. "Walk with me," he said.
"All right."
They walked over the fields, the scent of soil baking in the sun hanging heavy in the air. There was a slight breeze, rustling the plants and occasionally their hair. They walked over the dirt, through the corn and towards the pumpkins.
"The priests say that the afterlife is a beautiful place," his father said softly. "That there's always enough to eat, that you sit with the Gods and that you rest on silk pillows and drink from a golden chalice. That there are no guards, no stones, and no orders, no masters and no slaves. Everyone is equal, be they Caprican or Tauron or Sagittaron. If they could make it into the afterlife, they're equal.
"You're a good boy, Louis. You always have been, right from the start. Of my seven children, you've been the easiest, and the hardest to deny anything because you so rarely ask. We don't have the money, but I so wanted to send you to that University that you want, and to see you graduate. I so wanted you to marry, to have babies, to be the man I know you could be. But the Gods have other plans for you. They're calling you to their side."
Louis stared at him, open mouthed.
"We all have our destiny, and it's not given to us to know it until it happens. We all have our time, and when it comes we should not defy the will of the Gods and fight it. We must go, accepting, into their arms."
"And if it was you with the cancer?" Louis asked bitterly. The word even tasted bad in his mouth.
"I would be scared," Thomas acknowledged. "But I would let the thought of the afterlife comfort me, and I would go."
Louis closed his eyes. "You're not going to treat me, are you?"
"Medicine is a plague on our society, you know that. It's a direct defiance of the will of the Gods." His father reached out and took his arm. "Louis, if we tried to treat you, it would destroy your soul. You would not be fit for a seat by the gods, but would descend into the underworld of hell. The mind is a myth, and your body is nothing more than a container. Your essence, your you, is your soul, and medical treatment would defile that. We can't let that happen to you.
"The Gods lent you to us for a time. It was too short, but we've treasured it. And now they're calling you home."
His father was not a physical man. Louis knew this. So when his father reached out and hugged him tight, cradling him against his chest, that was when it finally hit Louis that this was all real, and he was going to die.
***
The Persopholis University booklet was still lying on his desk, along with his math books and his identification papers. Louis abandoned the first two and grabbed the third.
Clothing. He'd need that, and he shoved some into his bag. He grabbed two books, and then his tracker and his laptop. They might raise a little money if he was desperate. He looked around the room for anything else of value. There wasn't much.
He zipped the bag closed angrily, and crept downstairs. Tonight the house was dark, but he could still hear his mother crying, like she'd done for the past three nights. She'd cry about his death, but she wouldn't lift a finger to stop it.
He'd never been this furious at his parents in his life.
He crept into his father's desk, rooting through the drawers until he found the safe key. He found the envelope marked with his name. It was his travel chit, and his share of the money from his grandfather. He shoved it into his pocket. He hesitated as he looked at the envelopes for Alison and Brandon. After all, if he was condemning his soul to hell, what was a little theft? But he sighed and closed the safe.
He thought about leaving a note, and then decided not to. They'd guess where he'd gone, and once they did that, they wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore. He'd be condemned, he'd be damned, and he'd be outcast from Sagittaron. But if this worked, he'd be alive, and he could start someplace else again.
He steeled his shoulders and opened the door.
***
"Destination?"
"Ephyra, Gemenon."
The guard studied his papers, and then studied him. "You're underage."
"I'm going to school there."
"There's no school there. Just a military base."
"It's a big city. Of course there's a school." Louis held up his computer as evidence. "My parents couldn't get away from the farm. They've got an order they have to fill today. I can handle getting back to my university myself."
The guard was skeptical, but apparently it was more trouble than it was worth to him to argue. "Go," he said, in an annoyed tone of voice.
Louis stepped through the sensors, heading towards the ship. He looked back over his shoulder one more time. No one came running after him.
Not that he expected they would, anyway. But he had hoped.
***
"Please," he begged the receptionist. "I need to see a doctor."
"I'm sorry, but unless you've got forms AU562 and TP389 and a referral from your primary physician, we can't grant you an appointment."
"But I'm Sagittaron! We don't have primary physicians!"
"Then how do you know you have leukemia?" the receptionist asked condescendingly.
"Please. I've tried seven hospitals already. I need to see someone."
"I'm sorry, but without the forms and the referral, I can't help you."
He sighed. "Where can I get the forms?"
"Your insurance company."
"I don't have insurance."
She shook her head. "Then we most definitely can not help you," she said firmly. "I'm sorry. Now please leave before I call security."
He left.
***
The youth hostel was listed as one of the least expensive places to stay in Ephyra, but even at that Louis was running out of money fast. He sat on his cot, looking back and forth between the small pile of cubits and the numbers. If he stayed a fourth week, it would break him. If he slept warm nights under a bridge or on the streets, he might be able to buy food for another two weeks, if he ate sparingly.
The girl in the next cot over was named Trina, and she wore a lot of black kohl around her eyes, and her hair was dyed fire red. Louis didn't talk to her much, because the truth was she scared him. She sat on her cot now, smoking a cigarette that he was pretty sure wasn't tobacco and watching him count his money.
"If you're broke, you can always earn a little extra, you know."
"Like with a job?" he asked cautiously. "I've been trying to get one. No one will hire a Sagittaron," he said bitterly.
"They will for a twenty minute one," Trina said, leering. "They won't even ask to see your papers."
He stared at her blankly for a long moment.
"Oh Gods," she said, rolling her eyes, "are Sagittarons really this dumb? Find a guy or a girl, charge them five or ten cubits, and let them frak you into next week. You don't even have to do anything, and you get paid right away in cash."
"Forget it," he said disgustedly.
"You ever even had sex before, Louis?" she asked with idle curiosity.
"It's not your business."
"That's a no then." She blew a plume of smoke. "Wouldn't help you with the girls, but you pick up a guy, and you could probably charge more. Not that you'd get that much anyway, but some of the johns get off on the virgin act."
"Shut up," he told her, and scooped his money back up and put it away. "I'm going out."
He had to get out of there before she said any more.
***
"I came to see about the busboy's job," he told the manager, clinging to the paper.
The manager looked him over, taking in his dirty clothes, his earth-stained hands, and the haircut that Louis had learned was completely unfashionable. "The job's been filled," the manager said.
"Please, I need to work."
"And I need staff that doesn't scare off the diners. Now get!"
The streets were crowded with cars, people, and vendors. He smelled food cooking, and the scent actually turned his stomach. He wondered if it was depression, or if it was the cancer.
That, of course, was the other option he had left to him. He could go home. He had just enough for the fare back to Sagittaron, and he could go home. His parents would be furious, but in the end they'd relent and then…
And then he could die at home.
He scrubbed at his face with his hands. The idea of just lying down and dying- just accepting it- stirred something deep within him. He couldn't do it. Even if he ended up starving to death here on the streets in Gemenon… well, at least he tried. At least he fought.
What would he give to go on living? Louis stood on the edge of the street, watching the cars go by. People were shouting, he heard a child screaming, horns were honking and the air smelled strongly. He was hungry, he hadn't shaved in a few days, and the hole in the knee of his jeans was getting bigger. It wasn't much of a life, but it was his, and he knew he'd cling to it with everything he had.
Trina made it sound so easy. He was starting to wonder if he could do it.
***
Louis stood on the corner for an hour, just trying to work up the courage to speak.
When he finally did, the first three men he accosted shook him off, glaring at him like he was dirt. He thought he should be offended, but the truth was he was relieved.
Maybe he'd chosen the wrong area. This was right near the military base. Louis had figured that they'd have the money, and they were godless anyway, so a little prostitution would fit right in. He really didn't want to do this, and he knew it. But then, no one ever started off life saying, "Mommy, I want to be a prostitute."
A man in a tailored black trench coat was hurrying towards him. Louis took a deep breath.
"Excuse me, mister…"
The man dug in his pocket and pulled out a cubit. "Here," he said, burying his face deeper into the collar. "Gods bless and keep you."
"I'm not on my knees to the gods, mister. But I could be to you."
The man stopped in his tracks, and Louis found out that yes, it was possible for his heart to beat in his throat. He glanced back over his shoulder, turned back around, walked two more steps, and then turned back around again. "Frak it," he swore, and approached. Louis steeled himself and did his best not to run away.
"What's your name, son?" The man was probably in his late twenties. He was extremely good-looking, with short dark hair and a straight bearing.
Louis blinked in surprise. "Louis Hoshi."
"Right. How long have you been on the streets, Louis?"
"Excuse me?"
"Not very long, is it?" It took about that long for Louis to realize that the man's eyes were kind. "Listen- no, don't flinch like that. I didn't stop to, erm, take you up on your offer, all right? But I know this temple. They're very compassionate and helpful. They specialize in helping troubled youth. They'll get you fed, get you some new clothes, get you off whatever you're taking, maybe even help work with you to get back to your family-"
"No!" The word was involuntary and Louis recoiled back. "No, I don't want to go back to Sagittaron!"
The man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You're Sagittaron?"
"Yes. I don't want to go back there."
"I don't blame you."
"No! Not for the reason you're thinking. I mean yeah, I wanted to leave Sagittaron before this, but not… I can't go back. I'll die if I go back."
"You won't die. It will just feel that way."
"I'm not going back," Louis insisted.
It began to rain, angry, spitting, and cold. The man looked around frantically. "Frak," he swore again. "Listen," he said. "There's a coffee shop right over there on the corner. Let's go there, I'll get you something to eat, and we'll talk about this where it's dry. Okay? Can we at least talk about this?"
Louis nodded.
"All right then. Follow me."
***
"It's child abuse," his benefactor insisted.
Louis cringed. "It's not," he said lamely. "They truly believe-"
"I know what they truly believe. But you're over the age of consent on half the Colonies. You're certainly old enough to understand what the doctor tells you and what the priest tells you and make your own decisions. And you agree with me, because otherwise you wouldn't have run away."
"But it's not abuse," Louis insisted. "They've never lifted a hand to me, they've never been anything but supportive… it's not like they lock me in the closet and starve me!"
"And still, you ran away. And you refuse to go home. Because they will sentence you to death. Louis, in my book- and in most legal systems in the Colonies- that qualifies as abuse."
Louis dropped his head to the table.
"Look," the man said after a long moment of awkward silence, "it's late. If you're telling the truth, and I think you are, you're extremely sick. I live right around the corner, and I have a guest room. Come stay the night, and we'll see what we can make of this mess tomorrow."
"I can't-"
"It will be all right. You're probably safer at my place than you are at a youth hostel. I promise," the man said, smiling, "I'm not going to do anything."
"But… but why?" Louis asked.
"Because sometimes people help each other out. That's what believing in the gods is meant to be about. You need help, Louis. Let me give it to you."
Part of him said that he should run, get away, and go back to the youth hostel. But as he looked out at the dark rainy night, he couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't the miracle he'd been praying for.
"All right," he said humbly. "Thank you." He looked helplessly at the man sitting across from him. "I don't even know your name."
The man smiled. "I'm Jurgen Belzen."
***
Jurgen Belzen was clearly not a married man. Louis could tell that the second he walked in. The apartment was decorated in sleek black vinyl and clear lucite, with tasteful art featuring naked women on the walls. There was a large television, shelves of mystery books, and an extremely well-stocked liquor cabinet. There were also takeout menus hanging on the refrigerator and several empty containers by the garbage.
A Colonial flag hung in corner of the room, and as Louis looked around, he spotted other little touches that made him realize exactly what this man was. A pair of shined boots by the door, an official certificate on the wall, framed photos of officers and pilots, and a pair of dogtags in a little box by a lamp, where Jurgen also deposited his keys and his wallet.
"You're military," Louis said, moving over to look at the pictures.
"Yes," Jurgen said cautiously. "Is that a problem?"
Louis shrugged. "I'm in no position to argue, I guess," he said.
"I know the military hasn't exactly been…"
"I did well in history classes," Louis said. "But right now, you're the only one that's offered to help me."
Jurgen looked sad at that statement. "Right," he finally said. He snapped on a light. "Let me show you the room."
The guest room was furnished minimally. There was a bed with a blue quilt, a table, and a small bookshelf. "Bathroom's through there," Jurgen said, pointing to an open door. "Do you want some tea or some warm milk before you go to sleep?"
"Some milk," Louis admitted.
"Go take a shower," Jurgen suggested. "I'll heat some up."
He obeyed, and when he came out of the shower there was a t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts on the bed. The shirt was too large and the shorts were an odd combination of too short and too big in the waist, but they'd do. Louis slipped them on and padded out towards the kitchen.
"I'm telling you," he heard Jurgen saying, "this kid is telling the truth." He paused, listening. "I know. I know. Yes. I know. But Helena, I can't just walk away now. He seems like a good kid. I know." Another long pause. "Right, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." He turned and saw Louis hesitating in the doorway. "It's all right," he said. "Come on in."
There was a mug on the table. Jurgen gestured, and Louis picked up and drank. It was warm and it was soothing.
"I have a friend coming over tomorrow morning," Jurgen told him. "She'll help us think of something to do."
"You don't have to do this."
Jurgen smiled. "Actually, something tells me that I do."
***
Helena Cain was skeptical, brusque, and cut right to the chase. Louis found her less terrifying in her way, because he at least had no illusions about her motivations. She was here to make sure her friend wasn't getting into some ridiculous mess, and she didn't like the situation at all. Louis felt like he could trust anything Helena Cain said.
She asked him question after question, all in rapid fire. Questions about his home, his family, his diagnosis, and the weeks he'd spent on Gemenon. He answered them truthfully. He would have anyway, but something about her gimlet eyes told him not to lie.
When she finished, she studied him with an even expression that told him nothing about what she was really thinking. "Do you still have things at the youth hostel?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Yes, sir," she corrected. "Go get them. Be back in an hour."
For a moment his heart jumped, but then he looked at her again, and at Jurgen's watchful, wary expression. She might be willing to help out, to come up with a solution, but Louis figured she might also already be planning how to forcibly transport him to that outreach temple Jurgen had told him about. But he nodded and hustled off, out into the streets towards the hostel.
It took forty five minutes to retrieve his scant possessions. He'd already sold the computer and the tracker, so all he had was his clothing and a few toiletries. He waited idly in the stairwell, uncertain of when Helena wanted him to enter.
When he had five minutes left, he opened the door and slunk back into Jurgen's apartment.
The first thing he noticed was a sheaf of papers on the table. Jurgen was staring out the window, and Helena was sitting at the table, studying a paper and tapping a pen.
"Well," she said, glancing at the clock as he entered, "you obey orders. That's good."
"Good for what, ma- sir?" he corrected himself.
A smile flicked over her face. "I'm still not convinced you're telling the truth," she said, "but only because it would be unwise to believe you are. I don't think you're a good enough liar to pull off a story in that sort of detail, but then, good liars generally don't look like they're lying. I do think Jurgen's already gotten himself too deep into this mess to think clearly." She shot him a stern look. He ignored her. "But it will be easy enough to find out the truth once we get you to the hospital. But I promise you, if you are lying, I'll make sure you're right back on Sagittaron, and you never get off again."
"I'm not lying, sir."
"I hope not. We've made a few phone calls, and what happens in the next few hours will determine just what we can do for you." Helena pushed the chair out with her foot and indicated for Louis to sit. "This," she continued, tapping the papers in front of him, "is the Colonial Military Aptitude Test. You have two hours. Begin."
Louis looked at her in confusion for a long moment, and then looked down at the papers in front of him. He shrugged, picked up the pen, and obeyed.
The minutes ticked by. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen, and an occasional murmured conversation between Helena and Jurgen. The questions started out easy enough, but as he progressed they got more and more challenging. But he was confident he answered most, if not all, of them correctly.
When he was done he slid his paper over to Helena.
She went over it, her brow furrowing. Louis watched, unable to hear anything over the beating of his heart. Then she looked over at Jurgen. "Check this?" she asked.
He did, and then he nodded. "I'll call my uncle and tell him we're on our way."
***
Admiral Belzen looked nothing like Jurgen. He was short, skinny, and had hair that was blond in spots but mainly streaked through with gray. And his house was nothing like Louis had ever even seen on Sagittaron, much less been in. Louis sat in a leather chair in a study lined with books and military pictures. Jurgen stood at the side of his chair, posture stiff like the soldiers that Louis had seen occupying Sagittaron, and Helena sat in the chair next to him. The study was quiet as Admiral Belzen stared out the window.
"You had to bring this to me, didn't you, Jurgen?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You got involved."
"Yes, sir."
"I keep telling you not to do that."
"Yes, sir."
The Admiral sighed, and then looked at the papers Helena had given him again. He shook his head, and turned to face Louis. "You still haven't completed high school?"
"I had a few more months to go, sir."
"Did they tell you how you did on this thing?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you did well. Extremely well. But I'm guessing that you're smart enough to know that." Louis flushed. The Admiral pulled out his desk chair and sat down. "If you could do anything with your life, Louis, what would you do?" Louis glanced towards Helena. "No, don't look at her for answers," the Admiral said. "Tell me."
"Long term? I don't know, sir. But I was trying to convince my parents to let me apply to Persopholis University. I wanted to get a degree in math or science or engineering."
"Did you want to return to Sagittaron after?"
Louis had to think about that. "I don't know," he admitted, "but only because my family is there." He pushed his thoughts away from his family. "If they weren't, I would never go back."
"That's what I figured. Ever considered the military?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you're going to. In fact, you're not going to consider it, it's what you're going to do, at least for a while. Because here's what we're going to do.
"I've got a lawyer friend who will get you made my ward. Your parents denying you medical treatment when you want it is grounds enough to make that happen in just about any Gemenon court, and because it's me, he'll make it happen even faster. As my ward, you'll be entitled to medical care in the military hospitals. Your legal address will be with me and my wife, but you'll remain with Jurgen when you're not in the hospital. That's for my own protection. Unlike my nephew, I'm not ready to let this get personal, or to have my wife get attached." He fixed Louis with a firm glance, and Louis nodded.
"Of course, I'm not doing this for nothing. You're something of a unique case, Louis, a Sagittaron that actually wants to accept medical care. So what I want you to do is join the Colonial Fleet afterwards, and I want you to stay in for at least four years. And yes, I fully intend to make a PR symbol out of you. That if Sagittarons play nice with us, we can play nicely with Sagittarons. You're willing to live by the rules of civilized society, we'll treat you just as well as anyone else. Got that?"
"I… I guess so, sir." Louis tried to imagine it. But the truth was, he knew he wasn't in much of a position to argue.
"This won't be an official arrangement through the military, of course," the Admiral continued, "but my friend will draw up a contract, and it will be legally binding. I help you get treatment. Once you're out, you've got a year before you can enter the military, during which you will finish your high school diploma with top grades, and you will get a job. When the doctors give you the go ahead, you will enlist in the military. I will make certain you're not denied based on your medical history. And then you serve for four years, and I make an example of you. After that, your life is your own. You do what you will with it, with my blessing."
"And if I die?" Louis asked.
"That's the chance all enlisted personnel have to take."
"No. If I die during the treatment, if I don't make it. The doctors only gave me a forty to sixty percent chance. What then?"
The Admiral nodded. "Then that's the military's concern, not yours." The edge of his mouth quirked up. "I assure you, we won't hold a seance to give your soul a collections call."
Louis looked at Jurgen. Jurgen met his eyes, mutely pleading with him to take this offer. The odd thing was, he didn't have to plead. Because really, when it came down to life or death, the choice was simple. And he'd have several months to wrap his mind around the implications and get used to the idea that he was turning into what his parents termed a godless killer. But he'd be alive to do it.
"All right," he said. "I'll do it."
***
They moved fast. They had to, Jurgen told him, because they'd be leaving soon. Both Helena and Jurgen had been stationed on the Battlestar Ares. "Will I be stationed to a battlestar as well?" Louis asked, because he really had no idea what he'd agreed to.
"No. A new recruit generally goes through basic training first, and then is stationed… well, it will depend on what your aptitude is," Jurgen answered.
Louis nodded. It occurred to him that he should ask more, but the truth was that he was tired and scared. The hospital loomed in front of them, and Jurgen guided the car into the parking lot. "You ready?" Jurgen asked.
Louis looked at the building. It was large, made of white stone, and the objective part of his mind admitted it looked like any other building he'd ever seen, and nicer than most of those on Sagittaron. He realized he'd half-been expecting dark clouds to surround it, barbed wire fences, and guards with guns, dumpsters oozing blood and body parts, and evil-looking men in white coats. What he'd been expecting was ridiculous. He shook himself. "I'm ready," he said, lifting his chin.
***
"Louis?" He was half asleep when there was a knock on the door of the hospital room he'd been occupying for the past week and a half.
Louis opened his eyes, and then forced a smile. "Hi, Jurgen." He swallowed hard. "Come on in."
Jurgen had a book in one hand and a paper bag in the other. "How are you today?" he asked. "I brought you the next Strachey novel, and I picked us up some dinner."
"Thanks." Louis struggled to sit up for a moment, and then gave up. "Sorry," he said. "I can't…"
"No, that's okay." Jurgen was easy about it. "Are you hungry?"
Louis shook his head, and then regretted it as the motion made his stomach lurch.
"So, any new and exciting tortures today?" Jurgen asked. He sat down in the chair he'd claimed as his- not that anyone else came to visit- and opened up the paper bag, pulling out a burger for himself. Even the sight of it was making Louis's stomach queasy, so he looked away as discreetly as possible.
"No, nothing new. Just more of this." He pointed to the IV drip bag. "I think-"
And then it happened, before he could stop it. His stomach completely rebelled, and he threw up without warning. It was painful, disgusting, and humiliating, and to increase his shame, he found himself crying.
But Jurgen was next to him, ignoring of the repulsiveness of it. "It's okay," he kept reassuring him, rubbing his back until he was done. Louis couldn't even look at him. "Hey, these things happen," Jurgen kept saying.
A nurse entered and immediately took in the situation. "It's all right, Louis," she said briskly. "It's a very common side effect to the chemotherapy, and almost every single patient has at least one episode where they don't get the bin in time." She disconnected the IV line from the port they'd put in his arm a week ago, and helped him out of bed. Louis was aware that he must look ridiculous, wearing a hospital gown covered in vomit and crying. But Jurgen just looked sympathetic, and the nurse- Rika, he finally remembered- just looked like it happened all the time. She glanced at him, saw something in his face, and lunged for the bin, getting it under him just in time.
It felt like hours later, but in reality it was less than ten minutes later when all he could produce was dry heaves, and then even those began to quiet. Rika gently took the hospital gown off him. "Do you need help getting cleaned up?" she asked, pointing towards the bathroom that was in his room. He shook his head, because there was no way he was going to admit to how exhausted and sick he felt. She smiled at him, and gave him a little shove. "Go clean up. I'll get your bed back together."
Louis nodded and stumbled towards the bathroom. He'd managed to get his socks off and get into the shower when he realized he could hear Jurgen and Rika talking out in his room.
"This is normal?" Jurgen was asking.
"Very normal," Rika assured him. "Cancer's one of those diseases where the cure often feels worse than the disease itself. I saw his test results. He's got a long, hard road ahead of him if he's going to make it."
"How's he doing now?"
"I can't really answer that, I'm afraid," Rika said. "You'll have to talk to Dr. Graves."
"All right. But how's he holding up?"
"What do you mean?"
"Spirits-wise. Look, Rika, I know you've seen his history. This kid is all alone without a soul on world that gives a shit."
"That's not true. He's got you. You're very sweet, you know, to come visit him every day."
For some reason, hearing her say that made Louis want to throw up again. He leaned out of the shower, glancing through the crack in the open door. Jurgen was smiling at Rika, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't respond to the compliment, but Louis could tell it pleased him.
"Be that as it may," he finally said, "my shore leave ends in two days, and it will be at least a month, if not longer, before I can get back to see him. I can write, but it's not the same."
"Why are you doing it?" Rika asked. Louis leaned farther out, because this was a question he desperately wanted to know the answer to as well.
Jurgen shrugged. "It started out just… well, I met him on the street and I couldn't walk by. You know how street kids usually have that hard, violent look about them?" Rika nodded. "Well, Louis didn't. I was just going to get him to a temple, and then be done with it. But…" he smiled sheepishly. "It's funny, isn't it? He left his home because of the gods- because his people insist that medicine is a slight to the will of the gods. And I took him in because of the gods, because the god I worship commands compassion and healing as well as war on our enemies."
She looked at him with a new respect. "You really are a true follower, aren't you?"
"I am. And my cousin… he died of cancer when he was twenty."
That made sense, Louis realized, and made the Admiral's willingness to help him- and his desire to keep his distance- all fall into place.
"But at this point…" Jurgen shrugged. "I like the kid, Rika. I really do. And he's got a lot of courage."
Rika nodded agreement, and Louis ducked back in the shower, wondering why hearing that made him so happy.
***
Helena didn't come often, and when she did, she gave Louis the feeling of checking up on an investment. But she came the day before she and Jurgen left for the Ares.
"What happens after basic?" he asked her, partly curious and partly like a child asking for a favorite fairy tale. "Jurgen wasn't quite clear."
"He wasn't clear because it really depends on how you do in basic, and where your strengths are," Helena answered. "You might be sent to the motor pool, or the deck gangs, or the galley on a battlestar. It's impossible to predict at this point." She smirked. "You might even join the Marines."
They both laughed at that.
"You're taking this all very calmly," Helena said, settling back into the chair. "I was expecting more dramatics."
"I don't have the energy for dramatics," Louis said. "Besides, doctors aren't anything like what I was told on Sagittaron. Why should the military be?"
"Good point," Helena said. To Louis's utter surprise, she reached out and ruffled his hair. But when she pulled her hand away, it was covered with hair. They both stared in horror for a long moment.
"Great," Louis finally said. "I shed." He said it as dryly as he could, trying to hide the horror and the fact he was about to cry, and Helena just looked at him.
Then she began to laugh.
"You're going to be okay," she ordered him, when she left. "And when we come back, you'll be here."
"Yes, sir."
***
He almost wasn't.
He got the results of the first biopsy back. The chemo had worked, but not as well as they hoped. There would have to be at least another round, this time with something a little different.
That in itself had been hard to hear, but then he'd gotten some sort of infection that lingered for a week. They said it wasn't bad, but at the same time, it kept them from beginning the second round of chemo.
The second round was worse than the first, and there were days he was ready to die, right then and there, and just let it all go. Rika told him later that he'd begged for his mother and father, and that she'd almost written to his home. The only thing that stopped her was that when he was conscious of what he was saying, he was adamant about not wanting them. But she had written Jurgen.
Jurgen couldn't leave the Ares, but Helena was able to come, and by the time she did, he'd contracted another infection. This one was far worse, and he wasn't even aware that Helena had visited. Rika told him that she stood outside his room for two hours, staring in, her jaw clenched.
But he was young, and he fought his way through it, and in the end he won.
Seven months after he was admitted into the Colonial Fleet Hospital on Gemenon, Louis Hoshi was discharged. He was too thin, he had scars from a bone marrow transplant surgery, and he was secretly fearing his hair would never grow back, but the word "remission" was written on his discharge papers, and that was all he needed to know.
***
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Summary: A diagnosis is usually a bad thing. For Louis Hoshi, it was worse than he ever would have imagined.
Author's Note: I've always meant to write Hoshi's backstory from A Lot to Live Up To. tin_o_biscuits wanted distraction, so I figured I'd post part 1 tonight. This will be updated irregularly, I'm afraid, although maybe once I finish with Not Where I Belong it will take over a Friday slot. If you have not read A Lot to Live Up To, it's plenty easy to follow this, but it's HUGE spoilers for A Lot to Live Up To, which is Dee-centric and follows but expands on canon. If there are BSG spoilers, they go up to the Pegasus arc.
"Louis. Louis!"
The voice sounded very far away. Louis tried to ignore it, until something noxious was shoved under his nose, jerking him back to consciousness. Alison was sitting over him. "You okay?" she asked, and then turned over her shoulder. "Brandon! I told you to get Mom and Dad! Go!"
"What happened?" he asked, trying to sit up.
Alison helped him. "You fainted again. Louis, you know that you should drink-"
"I did!" he protested.
"You must not have!" she countered. "Or you wouldn't have fainted. Again!"
Louis wanted to snap back at her, but he was still feeling dizzy, and besides, their father was coming towards them now and he wasn't going to be in a good mood. He groaned.
But to his surprise, his father didn't snap at him, didn't order him to get to his feet. All he said was, "Get into the house, Louis, and make yourself some tea. We're going to the priests later today."
"All right, Dad." His father extended his hand and pulled him to his feet in one smooth motion and then steadied him.
"Can you make it?"
"I think so," Louis said, not willing to say no.
"Good."
Louis trudged into the house, gnawing on a fingernail and worrying about what his father would say that night. If he'd turned around, he would have seen his father watching him with a worried expression on his face.
***
He looked out the window. The fields were dark, and he could see the stars. Somewhere out there was Tauron. Louis looked down at the brochure in his hand. If he could just convince his parents, maybe they'd be willing to send him to Persopholis University. He knew he'd never get into Delphi University- not as a Sagittaron- but Persopholis might take him. He'd get a job, help pay the tuition and the books. He looked back out the window and sighed. His parents hadn't needed a university education, and he was pretty sure they didn't think that he did, either.
He was hungry. The priests had recommended a cleansing ritual, complete with a fasting regime, and he'd been all right with that at dinner, when he still hadn't been hungry. But now his stomach was rumbling, and he thought his parents would have no idea if he snuck down to the refrigerator for a sandwich.
The light was still on in the kitchen.
"No," he heard his mother saying. "Thomas, if the neighbors ever found out… if our priests ever found out…"
"They won't. We could take him to Edessa, Charlotte. It's far enough away that no one would find out, and if it's something simple-"
"But the Gods would condemn us for it. The idea of taking my child to one of those butchers…" Louis peered around the corner and saw his parents sitting at the kitchen table, bent towards each other in the kind of discussion that was usually reserved for the bills. His mother angrily yanked a tissue out of the box that sat between them and wiped her eyes. "I can't do it. If this is what the Gods are asking of us, we have to accept it."
"I don't want to accept it!" he snapped. "Something's not right with Louis, and it might be serious! I looked on the network, and-"
"You looked on the network?"
"Just to see! He's lost some weight, but he eats normally. He's been fainting. And did you see that bruise on his ribcage?" Louis looked down at his torso, where the bruise in question was hidden under his t-shirt, but blooming in spectacular greens and purples. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."
"We've taken him to the priests. We've prayed…."
"But doctors get results. Please, Charlotte. We've got to try."
His mother shook her head. "I feel the same way that you do, Thomas. You know I do. But the scriptures are very explicit about-"
"I know," Thomas sighed.
"Then why are you talking this way?"
Louis shrank back, deciding he didn't really want to hear any more. His appetite was gone, and he crept back to his room.
A doctor. Louis shivered at that thought. He'd never in his life been seen by a doctor, and he'd never even really seen one up close. There was one nearby in Sikyon, but every time they walked past his office his mother made them avert their eyes. He didn't really want to see a doctor, especially after hearing some of the stories of what doctors were willing to do. Dumping poison into people, killing unborn babies, taking organs from one person and putting them into another…
But then, a traitorous voice said, it did work.
He shook his head and climbed into bed. It didn't matter. His father was overreacting and he was fine. Much more important was convincing his parents to let him apply to Perspholis. He tucked his hands behind his head, his mind turning over plans to make that happen until he fell asleep.
***
"Louis, where are you?"
"I'm still in here." Louis sat on the closed toilet, staring at the washcloth covered in red stains. Three others lay on the floor beside him.
"How long does it take to clean out a cut?" his mother demanded. "Your father's waiting. He needs help with the transplanting." She opened the bathroom door and he looked up at her desperately. She stared down at the discarded towels and washcloths for a long moment.
"I didn't think it was that big," she said finally. She came over and took his hand, lifting the washcloth and checking. Then she sighed at how small the cut really was. "Give it here," she ordered, and deftly bandaged his hand. "Now go," she ordered him. "Your father has to go to the bank today, and the transplanting needs to be done by then."
"Yes, Mom."
"And pick up the towels on your way out."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom."
***
Four of Louis's siblings had left the house, but the van still felt oddly empty when they all piled in. It felt even stranger tonight, when Alison and Brandon were being left home, and it was only him and his parents. It was also a golden opportunity.
"No," his father said sharply, after he'd pleaded his case. "We can't even afford to send you to college here, much less off-world."
"But I could get a job," Louis said.
"Doing what?"
"Anything. Waiting tables. Picking up trash. Anything that would let me go to University. I could do it. You know I could."
His father sighed. "Maybe… maybe we could talk about Edessa Community."
Edessa Community is a small day college meant for training workers, not a University to educate thinkers. At least, that was Louis's impression. But that was more than he'd ever gotten out of his father before. "Thank you, sir."
"I said we'll talk about it," his father cautioned.
Louis nodded and looked out the window again. "Where are we going, anyway?" he asked.
"Edessa."
The conversation in the kitchen came back to him, and he looked down at his bandaged hand. After a week, it still hadn't stopped bleeding. And he knew exactly where they were taking him.
***
Edessa was a crowded place, dirty with mining dust, packed with people. The hospital was small and dingy, and mainly served the guards and merchants who came in from other worlds.
A graying man with gimlet eyes listened to Louis's symptoms and story, and then sighed. "I'm going to need to do some tests," he said. "Can you stay a few days?"
"We can," Louis's father said, before Louis's mother could answer.
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "And it's going to cost you. We can work something out, but it will cost you."
Louis thought of the farm and the mortgage and the taxes, and all those other things he heard his parents discussing late at night. And he thought of Edessa Community, and imagined he could see even that slim hope floating away. His father nodded.
"We'll pay."
The tests were uncomfortable, from drawing blood to lying in some strange tube to an extremely painful procedure where they stuck a needle deep into his hip. His mother had to leave the room for that one, and even his father looked sick. The bed was uncomfortable and the nurses were stony, and during the night the sound of sirens and gunfire woke him.
There was no way this could be good.
***
"Mr. and Mrs. Hoshi, I'm afraid that your son has acute myeloid leukemia."
That pronouncement was greeted with a grave silence. And then, in a hushed whisper, Louis's mother asked, "What's that?"
"Cancer."
Louis's blood froze. He sat at the desk, eyes stuck open wide, unsure of what to say.
"So, is it a tumor?" his father asked. "Something that can be removed by surgery?"
"Leukemia is a cancer of the bone marrow," the doctor explained. "It has to be treated by chemotherapy."
"Is there any chance it will just… go away?"
"No. Your son's cancer has progressed to stage four. It's bad, Mr. Hoshi. If we throw everything we've got at it right now, I estimate he's got maybe a forty to sixty percent chance of survival. If we do nothing…" the doctor trailed off, shrugging and tapping his pen against a pad.
Louis's mother began to cry.
"Look," the doctor said, leaning in. "I know this is difficult. But I think we've got a chance, and we can apply for a charity case. If we get really lucky, we might even be able approval for stem cell therapy, and that would increase Louis's chances even more. In fact-"
"No." Charlotte wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "You think we would consent to stem cell therapy? I know what that is, Doctor, and there is no way I'm going to let you use the parts of aborted babies to cure my son. I won't… I can't do that to him."
"Stem cell therapy doesn't work like that," he began, with the hopeless expression that testified he already knew how this conversation was going to end. "Louis. What do you think?"
"I want to hear more about treatment," Louis said.
"He's a minor. Eighteen is the age of consent on Sagittaron," Thomas interrupted. "We'll make the decision."
"Fine. Well, let me tell you about how chemotherapy works."
"There's no need." Thomas looked at his wife. "We know."
"Well then-"
Thomas stood up, grabbing Louis by the arm and yanking him to his feet. "We'll call you later, Doctor."
"Dad, I want-"
"Now, Louis."
"Mr. Hoshi, I know what you're thinking. I've lived on this rock for twenty years, and I know how the Sagittaron belief system works. But let me be clear about this." He leaned over his desk. "If you do not consent to the chemotherapy, Louis will be dead by the end of the year. I promise you that."
***
It was a half day drive home from Edessa. The van was silent, except for the occasional sound of someone sniffling.
Louis stared out the window, watching the world go by in all its glory and color.
***
When they arrived at the farm, Charlotte retreated inside immediately. Louis wanted to follow her, but his father caught his arm. "Walk with me," he said.
"All right."
They walked over the fields, the scent of soil baking in the sun hanging heavy in the air. There was a slight breeze, rustling the plants and occasionally their hair. They walked over the dirt, through the corn and towards the pumpkins.
"The priests say that the afterlife is a beautiful place," his father said softly. "That there's always enough to eat, that you sit with the Gods and that you rest on silk pillows and drink from a golden chalice. That there are no guards, no stones, and no orders, no masters and no slaves. Everyone is equal, be they Caprican or Tauron or Sagittaron. If they could make it into the afterlife, they're equal.
"You're a good boy, Louis. You always have been, right from the start. Of my seven children, you've been the easiest, and the hardest to deny anything because you so rarely ask. We don't have the money, but I so wanted to send you to that University that you want, and to see you graduate. I so wanted you to marry, to have babies, to be the man I know you could be. But the Gods have other plans for you. They're calling you to their side."
Louis stared at him, open mouthed.
"We all have our destiny, and it's not given to us to know it until it happens. We all have our time, and when it comes we should not defy the will of the Gods and fight it. We must go, accepting, into their arms."
"And if it was you with the cancer?" Louis asked bitterly. The word even tasted bad in his mouth.
"I would be scared," Thomas acknowledged. "But I would let the thought of the afterlife comfort me, and I would go."
Louis closed his eyes. "You're not going to treat me, are you?"
"Medicine is a plague on our society, you know that. It's a direct defiance of the will of the Gods." His father reached out and took his arm. "Louis, if we tried to treat you, it would destroy your soul. You would not be fit for a seat by the gods, but would descend into the underworld of hell. The mind is a myth, and your body is nothing more than a container. Your essence, your you, is your soul, and medical treatment would defile that. We can't let that happen to you.
"The Gods lent you to us for a time. It was too short, but we've treasured it. And now they're calling you home."
His father was not a physical man. Louis knew this. So when his father reached out and hugged him tight, cradling him against his chest, that was when it finally hit Louis that this was all real, and he was going to die.
***
The Persopholis University booklet was still lying on his desk, along with his math books and his identification papers. Louis abandoned the first two and grabbed the third.
Clothing. He'd need that, and he shoved some into his bag. He grabbed two books, and then his tracker and his laptop. They might raise a little money if he was desperate. He looked around the room for anything else of value. There wasn't much.
He zipped the bag closed angrily, and crept downstairs. Tonight the house was dark, but he could still hear his mother crying, like she'd done for the past three nights. She'd cry about his death, but she wouldn't lift a finger to stop it.
He'd never been this furious at his parents in his life.
He crept into his father's desk, rooting through the drawers until he found the safe key. He found the envelope marked with his name. It was his travel chit, and his share of the money from his grandfather. He shoved it into his pocket. He hesitated as he looked at the envelopes for Alison and Brandon. After all, if he was condemning his soul to hell, what was a little theft? But he sighed and closed the safe.
He thought about leaving a note, and then decided not to. They'd guess where he'd gone, and once they did that, they wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore. He'd be condemned, he'd be damned, and he'd be outcast from Sagittaron. But if this worked, he'd be alive, and he could start someplace else again.
He steeled his shoulders and opened the door.
***
"Destination?"
"Ephyra, Gemenon."
The guard studied his papers, and then studied him. "You're underage."
"I'm going to school there."
"There's no school there. Just a military base."
"It's a big city. Of course there's a school." Louis held up his computer as evidence. "My parents couldn't get away from the farm. They've got an order they have to fill today. I can handle getting back to my university myself."
The guard was skeptical, but apparently it was more trouble than it was worth to him to argue. "Go," he said, in an annoyed tone of voice.
Louis stepped through the sensors, heading towards the ship. He looked back over his shoulder one more time. No one came running after him.
Not that he expected they would, anyway. But he had hoped.
***
"Please," he begged the receptionist. "I need to see a doctor."
"I'm sorry, but unless you've got forms AU562 and TP389 and a referral from your primary physician, we can't grant you an appointment."
"But I'm Sagittaron! We don't have primary physicians!"
"Then how do you know you have leukemia?" the receptionist asked condescendingly.
"Please. I've tried seven hospitals already. I need to see someone."
"I'm sorry, but without the forms and the referral, I can't help you."
He sighed. "Where can I get the forms?"
"Your insurance company."
"I don't have insurance."
She shook her head. "Then we most definitely can not help you," she said firmly. "I'm sorry. Now please leave before I call security."
He left.
***
The youth hostel was listed as one of the least expensive places to stay in Ephyra, but even at that Louis was running out of money fast. He sat on his cot, looking back and forth between the small pile of cubits and the numbers. If he stayed a fourth week, it would break him. If he slept warm nights under a bridge or on the streets, he might be able to buy food for another two weeks, if he ate sparingly.
The girl in the next cot over was named Trina, and she wore a lot of black kohl around her eyes, and her hair was dyed fire red. Louis didn't talk to her much, because the truth was she scared him. She sat on her cot now, smoking a cigarette that he was pretty sure wasn't tobacco and watching him count his money.
"If you're broke, you can always earn a little extra, you know."
"Like with a job?" he asked cautiously. "I've been trying to get one. No one will hire a Sagittaron," he said bitterly.
"They will for a twenty minute one," Trina said, leering. "They won't even ask to see your papers."
He stared at her blankly for a long moment.
"Oh Gods," she said, rolling her eyes, "are Sagittarons really this dumb? Find a guy or a girl, charge them five or ten cubits, and let them frak you into next week. You don't even have to do anything, and you get paid right away in cash."
"Forget it," he said disgustedly.
"You ever even had sex before, Louis?" she asked with idle curiosity.
"It's not your business."
"That's a no then." She blew a plume of smoke. "Wouldn't help you with the girls, but you pick up a guy, and you could probably charge more. Not that you'd get that much anyway, but some of the johns get off on the virgin act."
"Shut up," he told her, and scooped his money back up and put it away. "I'm going out."
He had to get out of there before she said any more.
***
"I came to see about the busboy's job," he told the manager, clinging to the paper.
The manager looked him over, taking in his dirty clothes, his earth-stained hands, and the haircut that Louis had learned was completely unfashionable. "The job's been filled," the manager said.
"Please, I need to work."
"And I need staff that doesn't scare off the diners. Now get!"
The streets were crowded with cars, people, and vendors. He smelled food cooking, and the scent actually turned his stomach. He wondered if it was depression, or if it was the cancer.
That, of course, was the other option he had left to him. He could go home. He had just enough for the fare back to Sagittaron, and he could go home. His parents would be furious, but in the end they'd relent and then…
And then he could die at home.
He scrubbed at his face with his hands. The idea of just lying down and dying- just accepting it- stirred something deep within him. He couldn't do it. Even if he ended up starving to death here on the streets in Gemenon… well, at least he tried. At least he fought.
What would he give to go on living? Louis stood on the edge of the street, watching the cars go by. People were shouting, he heard a child screaming, horns were honking and the air smelled strongly. He was hungry, he hadn't shaved in a few days, and the hole in the knee of his jeans was getting bigger. It wasn't much of a life, but it was his, and he knew he'd cling to it with everything he had.
Trina made it sound so easy. He was starting to wonder if he could do it.
***
Louis stood on the corner for an hour, just trying to work up the courage to speak.
When he finally did, the first three men he accosted shook him off, glaring at him like he was dirt. He thought he should be offended, but the truth was he was relieved.
Maybe he'd chosen the wrong area. This was right near the military base. Louis had figured that they'd have the money, and they were godless anyway, so a little prostitution would fit right in. He really didn't want to do this, and he knew it. But then, no one ever started off life saying, "Mommy, I want to be a prostitute."
A man in a tailored black trench coat was hurrying towards him. Louis took a deep breath.
"Excuse me, mister…"
The man dug in his pocket and pulled out a cubit. "Here," he said, burying his face deeper into the collar. "Gods bless and keep you."
"I'm not on my knees to the gods, mister. But I could be to you."
The man stopped in his tracks, and Louis found out that yes, it was possible for his heart to beat in his throat. He glanced back over his shoulder, turned back around, walked two more steps, and then turned back around again. "Frak it," he swore, and approached. Louis steeled himself and did his best not to run away.
"What's your name, son?" The man was probably in his late twenties. He was extremely good-looking, with short dark hair and a straight bearing.
Louis blinked in surprise. "Louis Hoshi."
"Right. How long have you been on the streets, Louis?"
"Excuse me?"
"Not very long, is it?" It took about that long for Louis to realize that the man's eyes were kind. "Listen- no, don't flinch like that. I didn't stop to, erm, take you up on your offer, all right? But I know this temple. They're very compassionate and helpful. They specialize in helping troubled youth. They'll get you fed, get you some new clothes, get you off whatever you're taking, maybe even help work with you to get back to your family-"
"No!" The word was involuntary and Louis recoiled back. "No, I don't want to go back to Sagittaron!"
The man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You're Sagittaron?"
"Yes. I don't want to go back there."
"I don't blame you."
"No! Not for the reason you're thinking. I mean yeah, I wanted to leave Sagittaron before this, but not… I can't go back. I'll die if I go back."
"You won't die. It will just feel that way."
"I'm not going back," Louis insisted.
It began to rain, angry, spitting, and cold. The man looked around frantically. "Frak," he swore again. "Listen," he said. "There's a coffee shop right over there on the corner. Let's go there, I'll get you something to eat, and we'll talk about this where it's dry. Okay? Can we at least talk about this?"
Louis nodded.
"All right then. Follow me."
***
"It's child abuse," his benefactor insisted.
Louis cringed. "It's not," he said lamely. "They truly believe-"
"I know what they truly believe. But you're over the age of consent on half the Colonies. You're certainly old enough to understand what the doctor tells you and what the priest tells you and make your own decisions. And you agree with me, because otherwise you wouldn't have run away."
"But it's not abuse," Louis insisted. "They've never lifted a hand to me, they've never been anything but supportive… it's not like they lock me in the closet and starve me!"
"And still, you ran away. And you refuse to go home. Because they will sentence you to death. Louis, in my book- and in most legal systems in the Colonies- that qualifies as abuse."
Louis dropped his head to the table.
"Look," the man said after a long moment of awkward silence, "it's late. If you're telling the truth, and I think you are, you're extremely sick. I live right around the corner, and I have a guest room. Come stay the night, and we'll see what we can make of this mess tomorrow."
"I can't-"
"It will be all right. You're probably safer at my place than you are at a youth hostel. I promise," the man said, smiling, "I'm not going to do anything."
"But… but why?" Louis asked.
"Because sometimes people help each other out. That's what believing in the gods is meant to be about. You need help, Louis. Let me give it to you."
Part of him said that he should run, get away, and go back to the youth hostel. But as he looked out at the dark rainy night, he couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't the miracle he'd been praying for.
"All right," he said humbly. "Thank you." He looked helplessly at the man sitting across from him. "I don't even know your name."
The man smiled. "I'm Jurgen Belzen."
***
Jurgen Belzen was clearly not a married man. Louis could tell that the second he walked in. The apartment was decorated in sleek black vinyl and clear lucite, with tasteful art featuring naked women on the walls. There was a large television, shelves of mystery books, and an extremely well-stocked liquor cabinet. There were also takeout menus hanging on the refrigerator and several empty containers by the garbage.
A Colonial flag hung in corner of the room, and as Louis looked around, he spotted other little touches that made him realize exactly what this man was. A pair of shined boots by the door, an official certificate on the wall, framed photos of officers and pilots, and a pair of dogtags in a little box by a lamp, where Jurgen also deposited his keys and his wallet.
"You're military," Louis said, moving over to look at the pictures.
"Yes," Jurgen said cautiously. "Is that a problem?"
Louis shrugged. "I'm in no position to argue, I guess," he said.
"I know the military hasn't exactly been…"
"I did well in history classes," Louis said. "But right now, you're the only one that's offered to help me."
Jurgen looked sad at that statement. "Right," he finally said. He snapped on a light. "Let me show you the room."
The guest room was furnished minimally. There was a bed with a blue quilt, a table, and a small bookshelf. "Bathroom's through there," Jurgen said, pointing to an open door. "Do you want some tea or some warm milk before you go to sleep?"
"Some milk," Louis admitted.
"Go take a shower," Jurgen suggested. "I'll heat some up."
He obeyed, and when he came out of the shower there was a t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts on the bed. The shirt was too large and the shorts were an odd combination of too short and too big in the waist, but they'd do. Louis slipped them on and padded out towards the kitchen.
"I'm telling you," he heard Jurgen saying, "this kid is telling the truth." He paused, listening. "I know. I know. Yes. I know. But Helena, I can't just walk away now. He seems like a good kid. I know." Another long pause. "Right, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." He turned and saw Louis hesitating in the doorway. "It's all right," he said. "Come on in."
There was a mug on the table. Jurgen gestured, and Louis picked up and drank. It was warm and it was soothing.
"I have a friend coming over tomorrow morning," Jurgen told him. "She'll help us think of something to do."
"You don't have to do this."
Jurgen smiled. "Actually, something tells me that I do."
***
Helena Cain was skeptical, brusque, and cut right to the chase. Louis found her less terrifying in her way, because he at least had no illusions about her motivations. She was here to make sure her friend wasn't getting into some ridiculous mess, and she didn't like the situation at all. Louis felt like he could trust anything Helena Cain said.
She asked him question after question, all in rapid fire. Questions about his home, his family, his diagnosis, and the weeks he'd spent on Gemenon. He answered them truthfully. He would have anyway, but something about her gimlet eyes told him not to lie.
When she finished, she studied him with an even expression that told him nothing about what she was really thinking. "Do you still have things at the youth hostel?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Yes, sir," she corrected. "Go get them. Be back in an hour."
For a moment his heart jumped, but then he looked at her again, and at Jurgen's watchful, wary expression. She might be willing to help out, to come up with a solution, but Louis figured she might also already be planning how to forcibly transport him to that outreach temple Jurgen had told him about. But he nodded and hustled off, out into the streets towards the hostel.
It took forty five minutes to retrieve his scant possessions. He'd already sold the computer and the tracker, so all he had was his clothing and a few toiletries. He waited idly in the stairwell, uncertain of when Helena wanted him to enter.
When he had five minutes left, he opened the door and slunk back into Jurgen's apartment.
The first thing he noticed was a sheaf of papers on the table. Jurgen was staring out the window, and Helena was sitting at the table, studying a paper and tapping a pen.
"Well," she said, glancing at the clock as he entered, "you obey orders. That's good."
"Good for what, ma- sir?" he corrected himself.
A smile flicked over her face. "I'm still not convinced you're telling the truth," she said, "but only because it would be unwise to believe you are. I don't think you're a good enough liar to pull off a story in that sort of detail, but then, good liars generally don't look like they're lying. I do think Jurgen's already gotten himself too deep into this mess to think clearly." She shot him a stern look. He ignored her. "But it will be easy enough to find out the truth once we get you to the hospital. But I promise you, if you are lying, I'll make sure you're right back on Sagittaron, and you never get off again."
"I'm not lying, sir."
"I hope not. We've made a few phone calls, and what happens in the next few hours will determine just what we can do for you." Helena pushed the chair out with her foot and indicated for Louis to sit. "This," she continued, tapping the papers in front of him, "is the Colonial Military Aptitude Test. You have two hours. Begin."
Louis looked at her in confusion for a long moment, and then looked down at the papers in front of him. He shrugged, picked up the pen, and obeyed.
The minutes ticked by. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen, and an occasional murmured conversation between Helena and Jurgen. The questions started out easy enough, but as he progressed they got more and more challenging. But he was confident he answered most, if not all, of them correctly.
When he was done he slid his paper over to Helena.
She went over it, her brow furrowing. Louis watched, unable to hear anything over the beating of his heart. Then she looked over at Jurgen. "Check this?" she asked.
He did, and then he nodded. "I'll call my uncle and tell him we're on our way."
***
Admiral Belzen looked nothing like Jurgen. He was short, skinny, and had hair that was blond in spots but mainly streaked through with gray. And his house was nothing like Louis had ever even seen on Sagittaron, much less been in. Louis sat in a leather chair in a study lined with books and military pictures. Jurgen stood at the side of his chair, posture stiff like the soldiers that Louis had seen occupying Sagittaron, and Helena sat in the chair next to him. The study was quiet as Admiral Belzen stared out the window.
"You had to bring this to me, didn't you, Jurgen?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You got involved."
"Yes, sir."
"I keep telling you not to do that."
"Yes, sir."
The Admiral sighed, and then looked at the papers Helena had given him again. He shook his head, and turned to face Louis. "You still haven't completed high school?"
"I had a few more months to go, sir."
"Did they tell you how you did on this thing?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you did well. Extremely well. But I'm guessing that you're smart enough to know that." Louis flushed. The Admiral pulled out his desk chair and sat down. "If you could do anything with your life, Louis, what would you do?" Louis glanced towards Helena. "No, don't look at her for answers," the Admiral said. "Tell me."
"Long term? I don't know, sir. But I was trying to convince my parents to let me apply to Persopholis University. I wanted to get a degree in math or science or engineering."
"Did you want to return to Sagittaron after?"
Louis had to think about that. "I don't know," he admitted, "but only because my family is there." He pushed his thoughts away from his family. "If they weren't, I would never go back."
"That's what I figured. Ever considered the military?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you're going to. In fact, you're not going to consider it, it's what you're going to do, at least for a while. Because here's what we're going to do.
"I've got a lawyer friend who will get you made my ward. Your parents denying you medical treatment when you want it is grounds enough to make that happen in just about any Gemenon court, and because it's me, he'll make it happen even faster. As my ward, you'll be entitled to medical care in the military hospitals. Your legal address will be with me and my wife, but you'll remain with Jurgen when you're not in the hospital. That's for my own protection. Unlike my nephew, I'm not ready to let this get personal, or to have my wife get attached." He fixed Louis with a firm glance, and Louis nodded.
"Of course, I'm not doing this for nothing. You're something of a unique case, Louis, a Sagittaron that actually wants to accept medical care. So what I want you to do is join the Colonial Fleet afterwards, and I want you to stay in for at least four years. And yes, I fully intend to make a PR symbol out of you. That if Sagittarons play nice with us, we can play nicely with Sagittarons. You're willing to live by the rules of civilized society, we'll treat you just as well as anyone else. Got that?"
"I… I guess so, sir." Louis tried to imagine it. But the truth was, he knew he wasn't in much of a position to argue.
"This won't be an official arrangement through the military, of course," the Admiral continued, "but my friend will draw up a contract, and it will be legally binding. I help you get treatment. Once you're out, you've got a year before you can enter the military, during which you will finish your high school diploma with top grades, and you will get a job. When the doctors give you the go ahead, you will enlist in the military. I will make certain you're not denied based on your medical history. And then you serve for four years, and I make an example of you. After that, your life is your own. You do what you will with it, with my blessing."
"And if I die?" Louis asked.
"That's the chance all enlisted personnel have to take."
"No. If I die during the treatment, if I don't make it. The doctors only gave me a forty to sixty percent chance. What then?"
The Admiral nodded. "Then that's the military's concern, not yours." The edge of his mouth quirked up. "I assure you, we won't hold a seance to give your soul a collections call."
Louis looked at Jurgen. Jurgen met his eyes, mutely pleading with him to take this offer. The odd thing was, he didn't have to plead. Because really, when it came down to life or death, the choice was simple. And he'd have several months to wrap his mind around the implications and get used to the idea that he was turning into what his parents termed a godless killer. But he'd be alive to do it.
"All right," he said. "I'll do it."
***
They moved fast. They had to, Jurgen told him, because they'd be leaving soon. Both Helena and Jurgen had been stationed on the Battlestar Ares. "Will I be stationed to a battlestar as well?" Louis asked, because he really had no idea what he'd agreed to.
"No. A new recruit generally goes through basic training first, and then is stationed… well, it will depend on what your aptitude is," Jurgen answered.
Louis nodded. It occurred to him that he should ask more, but the truth was that he was tired and scared. The hospital loomed in front of them, and Jurgen guided the car into the parking lot. "You ready?" Jurgen asked.
Louis looked at the building. It was large, made of white stone, and the objective part of his mind admitted it looked like any other building he'd ever seen, and nicer than most of those on Sagittaron. He realized he'd half-been expecting dark clouds to surround it, barbed wire fences, and guards with guns, dumpsters oozing blood and body parts, and evil-looking men in white coats. What he'd been expecting was ridiculous. He shook himself. "I'm ready," he said, lifting his chin.
***
"Louis?" He was half asleep when there was a knock on the door of the hospital room he'd been occupying for the past week and a half.
Louis opened his eyes, and then forced a smile. "Hi, Jurgen." He swallowed hard. "Come on in."
Jurgen had a book in one hand and a paper bag in the other. "How are you today?" he asked. "I brought you the next Strachey novel, and I picked us up some dinner."
"Thanks." Louis struggled to sit up for a moment, and then gave up. "Sorry," he said. "I can't…"
"No, that's okay." Jurgen was easy about it. "Are you hungry?"
Louis shook his head, and then regretted it as the motion made his stomach lurch.
"So, any new and exciting tortures today?" Jurgen asked. He sat down in the chair he'd claimed as his- not that anyone else came to visit- and opened up the paper bag, pulling out a burger for himself. Even the sight of it was making Louis's stomach queasy, so he looked away as discreetly as possible.
"No, nothing new. Just more of this." He pointed to the IV drip bag. "I think-"
And then it happened, before he could stop it. His stomach completely rebelled, and he threw up without warning. It was painful, disgusting, and humiliating, and to increase his shame, he found himself crying.
But Jurgen was next to him, ignoring of the repulsiveness of it. "It's okay," he kept reassuring him, rubbing his back until he was done. Louis couldn't even look at him. "Hey, these things happen," Jurgen kept saying.
A nurse entered and immediately took in the situation. "It's all right, Louis," she said briskly. "It's a very common side effect to the chemotherapy, and almost every single patient has at least one episode where they don't get the bin in time." She disconnected the IV line from the port they'd put in his arm a week ago, and helped him out of bed. Louis was aware that he must look ridiculous, wearing a hospital gown covered in vomit and crying. But Jurgen just looked sympathetic, and the nurse- Rika, he finally remembered- just looked like it happened all the time. She glanced at him, saw something in his face, and lunged for the bin, getting it under him just in time.
It felt like hours later, but in reality it was less than ten minutes later when all he could produce was dry heaves, and then even those began to quiet. Rika gently took the hospital gown off him. "Do you need help getting cleaned up?" she asked, pointing towards the bathroom that was in his room. He shook his head, because there was no way he was going to admit to how exhausted and sick he felt. She smiled at him, and gave him a little shove. "Go clean up. I'll get your bed back together."
Louis nodded and stumbled towards the bathroom. He'd managed to get his socks off and get into the shower when he realized he could hear Jurgen and Rika talking out in his room.
"This is normal?" Jurgen was asking.
"Very normal," Rika assured him. "Cancer's one of those diseases where the cure often feels worse than the disease itself. I saw his test results. He's got a long, hard road ahead of him if he's going to make it."
"How's he doing now?"
"I can't really answer that, I'm afraid," Rika said. "You'll have to talk to Dr. Graves."
"All right. But how's he holding up?"
"What do you mean?"
"Spirits-wise. Look, Rika, I know you've seen his history. This kid is all alone without a soul on world that gives a shit."
"That's not true. He's got you. You're very sweet, you know, to come visit him every day."
For some reason, hearing her say that made Louis want to throw up again. He leaned out of the shower, glancing through the crack in the open door. Jurgen was smiling at Rika, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't respond to the compliment, but Louis could tell it pleased him.
"Be that as it may," he finally said, "my shore leave ends in two days, and it will be at least a month, if not longer, before I can get back to see him. I can write, but it's not the same."
"Why are you doing it?" Rika asked. Louis leaned farther out, because this was a question he desperately wanted to know the answer to as well.
Jurgen shrugged. "It started out just… well, I met him on the street and I couldn't walk by. You know how street kids usually have that hard, violent look about them?" Rika nodded. "Well, Louis didn't. I was just going to get him to a temple, and then be done with it. But…" he smiled sheepishly. "It's funny, isn't it? He left his home because of the gods- because his people insist that medicine is a slight to the will of the gods. And I took him in because of the gods, because the god I worship commands compassion and healing as well as war on our enemies."
She looked at him with a new respect. "You really are a true follower, aren't you?"
"I am. And my cousin… he died of cancer when he was twenty."
That made sense, Louis realized, and made the Admiral's willingness to help him- and his desire to keep his distance- all fall into place.
"But at this point…" Jurgen shrugged. "I like the kid, Rika. I really do. And he's got a lot of courage."
Rika nodded agreement, and Louis ducked back in the shower, wondering why hearing that made him so happy.
***
Helena didn't come often, and when she did, she gave Louis the feeling of checking up on an investment. But she came the day before she and Jurgen left for the Ares.
"What happens after basic?" he asked her, partly curious and partly like a child asking for a favorite fairy tale. "Jurgen wasn't quite clear."
"He wasn't clear because it really depends on how you do in basic, and where your strengths are," Helena answered. "You might be sent to the motor pool, or the deck gangs, or the galley on a battlestar. It's impossible to predict at this point." She smirked. "You might even join the Marines."
They both laughed at that.
"You're taking this all very calmly," Helena said, settling back into the chair. "I was expecting more dramatics."
"I don't have the energy for dramatics," Louis said. "Besides, doctors aren't anything like what I was told on Sagittaron. Why should the military be?"
"Good point," Helena said. To Louis's utter surprise, she reached out and ruffled his hair. But when she pulled her hand away, it was covered with hair. They both stared in horror for a long moment.
"Great," Louis finally said. "I shed." He said it as dryly as he could, trying to hide the horror and the fact he was about to cry, and Helena just looked at him.
Then she began to laugh.
"You're going to be okay," she ordered him, when she left. "And when we come back, you'll be here."
"Yes, sir."
***
He almost wasn't.
He got the results of the first biopsy back. The chemo had worked, but not as well as they hoped. There would have to be at least another round, this time with something a little different.
That in itself had been hard to hear, but then he'd gotten some sort of infection that lingered for a week. They said it wasn't bad, but at the same time, it kept them from beginning the second round of chemo.
The second round was worse than the first, and there were days he was ready to die, right then and there, and just let it all go. Rika told him later that he'd begged for his mother and father, and that she'd almost written to his home. The only thing that stopped her was that when he was conscious of what he was saying, he was adamant about not wanting them. But she had written Jurgen.
Jurgen couldn't leave the Ares, but Helena was able to come, and by the time she did, he'd contracted another infection. This one was far worse, and he wasn't even aware that Helena had visited. Rika told him that she stood outside his room for two hours, staring in, her jaw clenched.
But he was young, and he fought his way through it, and in the end he won.
Seven months after he was admitted into the Colonial Fleet Hospital on Gemenon, Louis Hoshi was discharged. He was too thin, he had scars from a bone marrow transplant surgery, and he was secretly fearing his hair would never grow back, but the word "remission" was written on his discharge papers, and that was all he needed to know.
***