by CW Johnson
They continued down the hall, made a quick right and Todd found himself back at his old unit. They stopped at a desk in front of the door. “Riley,” the guard said.
The guard sitting at the door spoke without looking up. “You got a new bunk: number eighteen.” He reached under his desk and the double doors slid open.
Todd slowly walked into his old barracks. In all the excitement of being released from isolation, he had completely forgotten about Hector and his thugs. He walked gingerly down the hall till he came to bunk eighteen deliberately trying not to look in Hector’s direction.
After a moment of silence, he lay down, slowly, carefully looking around. It didn’t take him long to notice something was different, more subdued. The constant chatter emanating from Hector’s area seemed to be all but gone. He sat up slowly, trying to look over a shelf, hoping to see if Hector was still there.
Tacoma noticed him. He reached, punched Hector in the arm and pointed at Todd. Hector quickly turned and grinned.
Todd fell back on his bunk waiting for the inevitable confrontation, but it never came. After a time, he casually stood and looked around the cell. Within moments, it became clear why Hector and his cohorts were so sullen.
In the back of the cell, near Todd’s old bunk, a new group of convicts were ominously milling around. They were obviously a prison gang, all African American. Todd counted six in all. In the center of the group sat a terrifying looking man. The most terrifying man Todd had ever seen. He was massive. His arms looked big around as Todd’s waist. Reflection from the overhead lights glistened off his pitch-black, wraparound sunglasses. His head had been recently shaved, revealing gang graffiti tattoos up and down both sides of his neck. Tattoo-laden muscles bulged in his tight t-shirt. They were all quietly playing cards.
The giant in the middle looked up and fixed his eyes on Todd. Todd slowly looked away and sat down on his bunk. If only he could disappear. How could he survive in this God-forsaken place? he asked himself. Panic overwhelmed him.
To his horror, Tacoma appeared at the foot of his bunk. He looked up and Madrid was standing at the top. Around the corner, Hector swaggered threateningly, until he was standing in front of Todd’s bed. He sat on the bunk across the aisle from Todd’s. “Hey Guero,” he said. “You finally come back to us.”
Tacoma sat on Todd’s bunk and wrapped a heavy arm around Todd’s shoulders. “We missed you, bro. We missed our friend, didn’t we?”
Madrid laughed and nodded. “Yeah, we missed our friend.”
“Hey look,” Todd said, quietly, “I just got out of the go-slow.”
“The go-slow!” Hector howled. “He said the go-slow! The Guero’s been schooled. Watch out for him. He’s very hard now.”
“Why don’t you dudes leave me alone?” Todd said. “I didn’t rat. I went to the go-slow for you. Why you clockin’ me now?”
The three convicts roared with laughter.
“Clockin’ him!” Hector said laughing. “The ding learned a lotta’ new words.” finally Hector quieted. “Hey Guero, you got us all wrong. We want to be your friend.”
“I ain’t gonna’ hold your drugs,” Todd said.
Hector’s grin melted into an ominous frown. “Who said anything about drugs, ding?”
“I’m not gonna’ hold your drugs,” Todd repeated.
“I guess you don’t want to be our friend now, huh Guero?”
“Guess not,” Todd said, his face red and bristling.
Hector glared at Todd and pulled a small bag from his left shoe. He pushed it forward. “You’ll take what we give you, Guero.”
Todd stared at the bag and took it from Hector.
Hector grinned a slow wide grin.
Todd tossed the bag into the trash.
Hector jumped to his feet. “Hey Guero, that’s disrespect!”
Tacoma and Madrid stood to their feet.
“You’re a dead man!” Tacoma said through his teeth.
Todd stood up from his bunk. “Bring it!”
Hector pushed his face towards Todd. “You disrespect me, you die! I’m gonna’ kill you! Really… kill you my—”
A black hand the size of a catcher’s mitt wrapped around Hector’s shoulder cutting off his words mid-sentence. He turned to face the colossal black man with the sparkling sunglasses. Madrid and Tacoma jumped back and were immediately set upon by two other black men.
“Slow your roll vato,” the big man said softly. “Homeboy’s with me and the crew.”
Hector immediately backed off.
“Hey Rev,” Tacoma whined. “This Guero tried to steal our kits.”
Todd glanced at Tacoma and back at the giant, now ominously staring at him.
“He’s a wheeze,” Madrid said. “We were just talking’ to him, that’s all.”
Todd blinked, trying to control his terror.
The huge black man seemed to lean in his direction.
“No!” Todd shouted. “I’m not a rat, and I didn’t steal anything! I swear to God, man, I don’t know what they’re talkin’—”
“Bro,” the huge man said, still staring at Todd. “It’s me, Leland.”
Todd stared up at him. “Leland?”
~~~
Dr. Stalder sat up in his bed. “Are you certain?”
“Well, I can’t be positive,” the nurse said, “but it looks like she’s in labor.”
“How far along?”
“Five.”
“You called me at three A.M. and she’s only five?”
“I thought you’d want to know…considering who she is.”
“Five centimeters,” the doctor repeated, scratching his chin. “She could go either way at this point. She’s still a month away from her due date.”
“Dr. Rasmussen told me to let the team know if there were any changes,” the nurse said. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“Any other signs? Has her water broken?”
“No.”
“Keep an eye on her. Call me if anything happens.”
“OK, Doctor, will do.”
Stalder pushed the phone back onto the receiver and turned to see if the call had disturbed his wife.
“Wh—where ya’ going?” his wife muttered from her side of the bed.
“The hospital called. The baby may be coming.”
She rolled over and squinted against the light. “What baby?”
“The baby.”
She sat up in bed. “Really?”
“It looks like it.”
“The baby could be born today?” she asked. She held her hand up, shielding her eyes from the lamplight.
“She’s only five centimeters,” the doctor said as he pulled his pants on. “She’s almost a month early. I think there’s a good chance it’s a false alarm.”
“You’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Of course I will.”
“Has anyone else been notified?”
“I don’t know. They just called a few moments ago.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Why would you want to go with me?”
“I’m a nurse. I could help.”
“I’ll let you know if anything happens,” he said, pulling on his suit jacket.
“Can I tell my sister?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not? Her husband’s in the organization?”
“Because, you’re not supposed to know anything about this, remember? Besides, we don’t even know if it’s gonna’ happen or not. Go back to sleep. I promise I’ll call you if it looks like the baby will be born.”
“Right,” she said, “as if I could sleep now.”
Stalder smiled, sat on the bed and fumbled with his sleeve button. “It is exciting, isn’t it?”
“I can’t believe it might happen today,” his wife said quietly.
The doctor stood and began making his way out of the bedroom. “Well, that remains to be seen.”
He pulled out of the driveway, pointed his car east an
d began making his way towards Jackson Valley Memorial Hospital. All these people, he thought as he drove past a row of sprawling apartment complexes. If they only knew what was about to happen, who was about to be born.
He arrived at the hospital within half an hour, went straight to the women’s center on the sixth floor and stepped out of the elevator. Something was strange. The nurse’s station, directly in front of the elevator door, appeared to be completely abandoned. “Hello?” he called, as he approached the desk.
No answer.
“Anybody here?”
Still no answer.
A commotion down the hall caught his attention. He quickly walked around the corner. At the end of the hall, two familiar-looking doctors stood in front of room six-seventeen. Concerned-looking nurses darted in and out of the door. Dr. Stalder made his way down the hall towards them.
“She’s not doing very well,” Dr. Kimberly Harkee said as he approached.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s in full labor but isn’t dilating. She also appears to be suffering from Orthostatic hypotension…possibly dysautonomia….Has she been tested for diabetes?”
“Yes, of course she has,” Stalder said. “Why?”
“Diabetic neuropathy…possibly.”
“What symptoms?” Stalder asked.
“Numbness… pain in the hands, feet and legs…general weakness. She’s been in and out of consciousness.
“What?” Stalder said. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
“These symptoms only appeared within the last hour or so.”
“So, stop the labor.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“We have orders not to interfere with the labor process unless the fetus is in immediate danger.”
“You don’t think the fetus is in danger?” Stalder yelled.
“We’ve been watching the fetus closely. No sign of stress yet—”
“We need to do a cesarean immediately,” Stalder said, interrupting Harkee.
“No, not at this time. Management says it’s too early in the pregnancy.”
“Who’s in charge here?”
Harkee raised an eyebrow. “Are you thinking of making some sort of stand, Doctor?”
Stalder grunted and looked down the empty hospital corridor. “Where is everyone?”
“Everyone on the team is here,” Rasmussen said.
“No, I mean where are all the other patients?”
“Oh them, they’ve been diverted elsewhere.”
Stalder stared at Dr. Rasmussen. “They emptied the entire floor? They can do that?”
“If you have the clout, you can do anything.”
A long moan came from the room.
“She’s in a lot of pain,” Stalder said, dodging a nurse as she darted through the door.
“No drugs,” Harkee said. “We are not to take chances with any drugs that could threaten the fetus in any way.”
“What about the mother?”
“Our priorities are clear,” Harkee answered.
Dr. Stalder raised his eyebrows and stood for a moment staring. “Excuse me,” he said finally, moving around her. “I’d like to see my patient now.”
~~~
“I’m sorry to wake you at this hour, Mr. President, but you’re the only one who can stop the video feed.”
“What’s happening? Why do you want me to stop the video feed?”
“It’s the crew of the Douglas sir; they’ve deviated from the schedule.”
“What do you mean, ‘deviated from the schedule’?”
The aide gulped, looked down at a notebook and back at the president. “They appear to have an agenda of their own sir.”
“Damn it man, do you know how to speak English?”
“We’ve set up a videoconference with NASA, and the Trawler crew, sir,” the SECDEF said.
“Good,” the president said. “Maybe we can all get back to bed sometime soon.”
They moved to a conference room and took their places around a table. At the far end of the room, two high definition screens the size of small road signs took up a good part of the wall. One screen was filled with the crew of the Douglas. Carl Waddington’s face filled the other.
“What’s the problem, people?” the president said after sitting down.
“Sir,” Waddington began, “Commander Lange and the crew are in direct violation of orders. We need the video feed from MESSENGER shut down until we can resolve the problem.”
The president reached for his cup of de-caffeinated coffee. “What is the problem, Commander?”
“Sir,” Commander Lange said from aboard the Trawler. “The crew and I feel that it’s possible the propulsion unit will not have the power needed to get the job done.”
The president glanced at the SECDEF and back at the screen. “And?” “Well sir, we want to use the Trawler engines to add thrust to the propulsion unit.”
“Sir…” Carl Waddington said, pulling The President’s attention to the other monitor, “what they’re talking about is suicide. If they use the engines, they’ll use up the fuel they need to return to the station.”
“Everyone here disagrees with you commander.” the president said. “Everyone here thinks the main propulsion assembly will have more than enough power to move the asteroid.”
“With respect, sir,” Shipley said, “that’s a load of bull. We lost two boosters and nearly two weeks’ time just getting here. This is our one and only chance.”
Aubrey Clawson standing beside Shipley moved forward slightly. “We all agree. This is something we have to do.”
“Sir,” Waddington interrupted, “this is not necessary. The engines they’re talking about are used for steering. They won’t have enough thrust to make a difference.”
“That’s not true sir,” Commander Lange said. “We feel we can generate enough thrust to compensate for the loss of at least one of the missing boosters.”
“It’s simply not worth the sacrifice, Mr. President,” Waddington said.
The president pushed his palm out and nodded. “I agree Carl. Permission denied.”
“Sorry sir,” Commander Lange said softly. “We’re already rigged to go.”
“I just gave you a direct order, Commander!” the president barked.
“Sir, In all my time with the military, I have never disobeyed an order. But this time…I…we have no choice. Commander Shipley had it right; we only have one chance at this and we have to play all of the cards available to us.”
“Permission denied,” the president repeated.
“Sorry sir,” Lange said, “We’re scheduled to fire at 1800 tomorrow.” She reached to the top left of the monitor and the screen went blank.
“Sir,” Waddington said after a pause, “they’re grandstanding. We have to stop this.”
The president looked at the SECDEF and shook his head.
“Carl,” the president said, leaning back in his seat. He sat staring into his coffee cup for a time, looked back at the screen and continued. “Very soon this gallant crew is going to pull that asteroid out of the earth’s path, and…while all of us back home are dancing in the streets, they will be waiting in the lonely silence of space for their oxygen to deplete. They know this, and they have accepted it. They’re not grandstanding Carl. These men and women are the highest caliber of hero. There’s nothing we could say or do to change their minds now.”
“What about the video feed, sir?” the Secretary of Defense asked, “The way they’re set up, the ignition sequence might just blow them to hell. We can’t let the world see the Trawler crew die out there.”
The President sighed. “The whole world will be watching this thing,” he said finally. “They’ll have my head if I cut the video for no reason.”
“Imagine what would happen if the Trawler ignited right before their eyes,” the SECDEF said solemnly. “Remember how the world reacted the day of the Florida explosion?”
The President st
ared into his coffee. “I suppose that’s true.” He glanced up at the SECDEF. “Wait until we’re sure the asteroid is being moved, then kill the feed.”
~~~
“He wants to see you now.”
Dr. Stalder looked up and slowly put down his magazine. He had been sitting on a hard couch, just outside Santana’s office, listening to him scream at one staff member after another. Now it was his turn. He walked into the office and found Santana standing, his wide back towards him, in front of a spacious wall-to-wall picture window, forty-eight floors above downtown Manhattan. Stalder approached and timidly took a seat in front of Santana’s sprawling oak desk. Santana made no attempt to acknowledge Stalder’s presence. Stalder considered clearing his throat loudly.
“What the hell happened?”
Santana’s sudden outburst made Stalder jump. “We don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Aren’t you a doctor?”
“We simply don’t know what happened, Ben.”
“You’re one of seven doctors brought in on this case, Stalder. The best medical team money can buy. The patient dies and not a single one of you knows what happened?”
“It was completely unexpected, Ben. Almost as if…almost as if it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I don’t want to hear mysticism from you, Doctor. I want the facts. Now I’ll ask you again: what happened?”
“Well, Ben the truth is, the mother’s body simply refused to respond properly. During the birthing process, certain physical things have to happen in sequence for the birth to be successful. Her body just didn’t want to participate. To put it in laymen’s terms, no sooner would one system kick in, another would go down. She just died. Her heart simply stopped beating. An autopsy is being performed as we speak, but at this moment, it’s all a complete mystery.”
“Why the hell couldn’t you have at least saved the fetus?” Santana bellowed.
“We were prepared to do just that, Ben. We performed a cesarean within minutes, but the fetus died with the mother. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.”
Santana seemed to soften. He moved his considerable bulk to the plush chair in front of his desk. “How did it look?”
“Excuse me?” Stalder asked.
“What did the baby look like? Was it normal? Anything… unusual.”
“A beautiful child,” Stalder said, “completely flawless, as far as I could see.”
Santana hardened. “Did you put it on ice?”
“Yes, it’s being preserved as you asked.”
Santana silently stared at his desk for a time. “That’ll be all!” he said finally.
