Astrid flew her hoverbike to the Maxxim Industries infirmary the next morning just before noon. The small but ultramodern medical facility serviced the emergency needs of the airfield, the spaceport, and the rest of the 180,000-acre campus. Dr. Crawford was waiting for her. She was just as Astrid remembered her, thin with straight red hair. She guided Astrid through an x-ray and CAT scan before meeting with her in an office borrowed from the infirmary’s regular doctor, Dr. Martinez.
“So what’s going on?” asked the neurosurgeon.
“I think that is for you to tell me,” replied Astrid.
“I don’t see anything medically to be concerned about. How is your memory?”
“Pretty good, I guess,” said Astrid. “I have found a few things that I couldn’t remember.”
“That’s to be expected. Your mother says you’ve been a bit cranky.”
“Only when people are annoying me, or you know… being dumb.”
Dr. Crawford smiled.
“Next to you, I’m dumb, and I was at the top of my class at Johns Hopkins. I suspect your irritability has less to do with your injury and more to do with the everyday stress you put on yourself. I only know what I read in the papers, but you might be pushing yourself too hard. You have a lot going on between high school and running one of the largest corporations in the world.”
“I don’t really run it,” said Astrid.
“Plus, you’re a teenager and teenagers are notoriously moody. I imagine your mom has not had much experience with teenage rebellion. You don’t strike me as a particularly rebellious young lady.”
“That’s not true,” said Astrid. “Two months ago, I went into space without asking anybody. I got grounded too.”