Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  “And why don’t you think it would be a good idea?” Jeffrey Nestor asked, tipping his head to the side while his smile began to slip from his face.

  “I never get involved with senior medical staff,” Grace blurted out. “It is one of my cardinal rules and one I never break.”

  It was the truth. Grace had always kept her distance, to ensure she never was involved in any difficult entanglements. She had seen what had happened to her colleagues in the past and had vowed it would not happen to her.

  “Seems rather severe, Grace. Why don’t you make an exception, just this once, for me?” the psychiatrist said and flashed his enticing smile. Grace almost capitulated.

  Almost.

  Her heart was now booming, as she looked into Jeffrey Nestor’s large, deep brown eyes. It was almost deafening. But Nestor, as if sensing her indecision, moved towards her again, into her personal space. She had to back away a second time, and this suddenly made her feel annoyed. What did he think crowding her was going to do? Was he trying to intimidate her?

  “I truly am sorry, Dr. Nestor. I am extremely flattered . . . but there is still so much for me to learn on this medical station, and I do not think Dr. Al-Fadi would approve.” The little voice in her head was having a full-blown, supernova tantrum.

  “I am not used to being turned down, Grace,” the handsome man said, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, with perhaps a touch of outrage.

  “I will send you the room number for Captain Damien Lamont to your wrist-comp, Dr. Nestor. Thank you so much for agreeing to see him,” Grace said, backing further away.

  “I hope you will reconsider, Grace,” Jeffrey Nestor said, reaching out to take her hand.

  Grace felt a shock go through her at the contact. How did he do that? Did he shuffle his feet on a carpet every morning? She gently withdrew her hand and looked at the psychiatrist with regret on her face.

  “As Dr. Al-Fadi’s new surgical fellow, I don’t think it’d be in my best interest to pursue this course, Dr. Nestor. Dr. Al-Fadi keeps me very busy and he is very demanding. I really have no time to socialize. I thank you for your kind invitation, though. Good day,” Grace babbled, and turned away. She was hot and embarrassed and upset and conflicted. The little voice in her head was hurling nasty abuse at her.

  Grace decided the best thing to do was go back to her quarters and have a cold shower.

  Chapter Twelve: Lockdown

  It was Dr. Al-Fadi’s turn, again, to do his Triage shift in the Medical Receiving Bay. He had switched dates with someone, because of a conflict he had had, and was stuck doing two shifts almost back to back. Grace was not looking forward to spending the shift with him. He was going to be a bear.

  Grace was heading down towards the Supply Office to pick up her own custom-made, personal containment suit. The one that she had worn before had been a ‘loaner’. Presumably, the one she was picking up would fit much better and be much more comfortable, which was desirable when one had to wear it for long hours at a time. She was surprised that they were able to manufacture one for her so quickly.

  Grace wondered if they had done the same for Dr. Al-Fadi. He seemed so uncomfortable and unhappy in his containment suit. She hoped they could custom fit a better suit for him. Maybe that would put him in a better mood. It would certainly make working with him a little easier. She would have bet, confidently, that Triage was his least favorite job on the Station, but every surgeon on the Nelson Mandela was required to take his or her turn.

  As Grace neared the Supply Office, a blur shot out of the doorway with what looked like a containment suit flapping in the breeze. Suddenly, Grace was grabbed around the waist by what felt like an encircling bar of steel and she was lifted off her feet and flipped sideways. To her complete astonishment, she found herself being carried headfirst, back down the corridor along which she had just walked, as if she were a briefcase being held under someone’s arm.

  She felt like a wayward one year old, being scooped up by a parent, but the speed at which she was traveling was beyond comprehension . . . and they were rapidly accelerating! The wind blew into her face so strongly, Grace could not keep her eyes open. She struggled to suck in a breath. The squeezing grip around her waist and the wind prevented her from making any sound at all. She struggled futilely against the restraint around her waist, scrabbling at it with her only free hand—the right one—wondering what sort of machine had accidentally picked her up. Where, on the station, was it taking her, and how in space could it be moving so fast?

  It seemed impossible.

  Then Grace’s ears came under assault. Deafening, clanging alarms howled and pealed stridently through the corridors. The noise was also coming from her wrist-comp. Ear-piercing sirens went on and on and on. She had never heard this alarm before and, amidst being carried along like a battering ram, her mind spun, wondering what the emergency could be.

  If Grace could have raised her left arm up to her face, so that she could read her wrist-comp—which she could not because it was trapped by whatever had wrapped her up in its clutches—she could have read the message there. She struggled futilely, while yelling repeatedly at whatever was carrying her, “Put me down!”

  Up ahead, she noticed huge metal doors starting to close. She realized, in that moment, that the station was undergoing an emergency lockdown. Perhaps there had been damage to the outer surface of the station, due to some meteor impact. The station AI was probably acting quickly, to seal off any atmospheric leakage from the station, and to normalize pressure to areas at risk. She was in the outermost ring.

  Grace saw how quickly the lockdown doors were closing. They were irising shut. She feared there was no way the machine carrying her was going to make it through those closing doors in time. If it did not stop immediately, Grace was going to end up as mush on the surface of those lockdown doors.

  She started to scream. She couldn’t help it. She was sure she was going to die, being stampeded headfirst like a battering ram right into the closing metal barriers. She wanted this insane machine to put her down. She wanted to cover her head with both of her arms but the left one was trapped. She could not take her eyes off the shrinking opening that looked like a diamond shrinking in size. What was this machine doing? There was no way it was going to fit through that contracting hole.

  “Stop!” Grace shrieked. “Please, stop!”

  Then Grace was airborne. She was heading straight for the shrinking opening, like a spiraling arrow fired through a small ring. She had to shut her eyes tight as her voice rose in terror. She was convinced she was going to end up as mere splatter on those huge, closing metal barriers.

  Incredulously, she whisked cleanly through the narrow opening and landed on her back, sliding along the smooth floor, facing back towards the closing doors. Whatever had thrown her through the closing shock doors, now dove through the very small opening that was all that was left of the doorway, with what looked like a containment suit helmet held out in front. It came through like a diver threading a hole in a needle.

  Grace stared, gaping in indignant amazement, as her snatcher jumped up and rapidly approached her.

  “SAMM-E 777?” Grace gasped, her entire body shaking with outrage, her mind spinning with confusion. The android was dressed in a Supplies uniform. It said nothing, its face blank, while clangors continued to ring loudly around them. It held a containment suit.

  “What . . . what is going on?” Grace demanded, in complete bewilderment. So many questions warred in her mind, she could hardly decide what to ask the android first.

  By the time the android had said, “No time,” Grace was back under its arm and they were accelerating.

  “Put me down, SAMM-E 777!” Grace shouted, as firmly as one could, when one was being carried under the arm, like a valise. Grace felt so humiliated and angry and horrified, she wanted to punch the android. “Right now! I order you to put me down!”

  “Sorry. Not yet,” she thought she heard the android say, above the soun
d of the gale, as he began to approach an impossible velocity again. Things whipped by so quickly, everything became a blur and Grace was forced to close her eyes. The rapid passage of air that howled around them, as SAMM-E 777 ran, was sucking the moisture from her corneas.

  “Why are you doing this?” Grace tried to ask, above the cyclone that was solely being created by SAMM-E’s acceleration. The words were torn from her lips and were left far behind them. Anything she tried to say was borne away by the blast of air careening passed. Grace could hardly suck in enough air to breathe. She doubted SAMM-E 777 could hear her.

  “Emergency!” answered the android, as it kept on accelerating to a speed that entirely shocked Grace. She had no idea SAMM-E’s could move so fast. She expected to hear a sonic boom any second now, to go along with all the alarms ringing throughout the station. Whenever she peeked, she squeezed her eyes shut again, because she could not face looking at all of the people and obstacles the android was swerving and avoiding at close to super-sonic speeds.

  What an ignominious way to die, Grace thought.

  They passed through more and more closing lockdown doors. Twice more, SAMM-E had to hurl Grace through closing doorways and dive through after her. Each time, he instantly picked her up, without a word, before she had any time to scramble up and get away from him. Then he would start accelerating again, carrying her along like a log under his arm.

  Grace tried to make him let go of her, but it was like wrestling with a thick, steel bar. This time around, her arms were not trapped, but she found pounding on the android’s arms only bruised her own hands. She got nowhere.

  “Put me down!” she bellowed into the whistling wind, whipping past.

  Did she hear the android say: “Soon”, or was that just wishful thinking?

  The number of closing lockdown doors seemed fewer, now. Grace was not getting tossed or thrown nearly as much. She thought they might have been getting closer to the surgical wards. Finally, the android came to an abrupt halt and placed Grace upon her feet. She swayed. The clangors were still pealing loudly. He handed her the containment suit and said, in a very flat voice, “You need to put this on.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  “What . . .?” Grace stammered, to the retreating android’s back. She stood there weaving, trembling, wrestling with the urge to run after the android and pound on its back. She wanted to demand an apology for . . . for what?

  What had that all been about? What had the android been thinking? Did it just go berserk for a few seconds and then come to its senses?

  Grace could not believe it had only taken a few seconds for that SAMM-E to carry her across half the station. That, in itself, was an incredible feat. Perhaps she was dreaming? Was this all just a nightmare?

  Grace shook her frazzle-haired head, in bewilderment. Obviously, the android did not believe there was any need to explain to her what was going on. He had immediately vanished from sight. She had no idea why there were alarms going off. She would have to find out for herself.

  As she scrambled into her containment suit, her mind puzzled over what had just transpired. Had the android tried to save her? Had he known what was happening, before the alarms had gone off? Had it been SAMM-E 777?

  Dr. Al-Fadi had said there was only one SAMM-E 777, but how could she have been seeing the same SAMM-E 777 all over the station? Had the android been following her everywhere? Why did he pick her up, throw her through all those closing doors, drop her here, and then just walk away, without any explanation? If he was a man, she would have confronted him, demanding an explanation. But androids just took orders, didn’t they? She shook her head in disbelief. If she had not experienced it herself, she would not have believed it.

  The entire episode had been unbelievable . . . and confusing . . . and humiliating . . . and, dare she admit it to herself, even a little exciting?

  ‘Yes,’ said her little voice, but in a very bizarre, confusing, and humiliating sort of way.

  The deafening alarms were still blaring. Something was going on and she decided she had better find out what it was.

  Perhaps SAMM-E 777 needed an overhaul?

  On second thought, any android that could move like that, did not have a malfunction. It was a miracle.

  Grace felt embarrassed, walking into the doctors’ lounge in her containment suit, until she saw Doctors Cech, Weisman, Ivanovich, and many others, all wearing theirs. Dr. Darwin was there as well, dressed in an enormous containment suit. Grace was impressed that Supplies had managed to make a suit that large.

  Dr. Cech looked up at her and Grace saw, through both of their faceplates, that he smiled in relief.

  “Oh, good. You are here, Grace. We were worried about you.” Grace heard Dr. Cech’s voice through the speaker inside her helmet.

  “Would anyone please tell me what is going on?” Grace asked.

  “Shh!” someone said and pointed towards the wallscreen.

  Grace turned and looked up to see Dr. Al-Fadi’s face projected on the wallscreen, larger than life. He was wearing his containment suit, helmet on, and his worried-looking face was peering out at them, through the transparent visor.

  “Oh, good. I see Dr. Grace there. I was worried. For once, Dr. Grace, I am glad that you were slacking off and were not where you were supposed to be,” Dr. Al-Fadi’s voice said, coming through on her helmet’s speaker.

  Grace’s jaw dropped open. She wanted to explain to Dr. Al-Fadi about what had just happened to her, but the words would not come out of her mouth. Her shoulders slumped. Who would believe her, anyway? She could hardly credit what had happened to her, herself, and she had been there!

  Had she imagined it all? She still did not know what the alarms were all about, what the emergency was, and so she asked Dr. Al-Fadi if he would explain the situation.

  He looked at her with a ravaged expression. “It is my belief that something extremely hazardous to humans may have entered the medical station, Dr. Grace. The Med-Evac ship, the Valiant, arrived and docked completely on autopilot with no recorded message . . . nothing. It had the correct passcodes, so it was allowed to dock.

  “But Dr. Grace, there are no living crew aboard the Valiant. There are just unusual puddles of oily slime, within which lie uniforms, hair, bits of metal, like jewelry, wrist-comps, augmentation units, the remains of brittle bones and teeth. These oily puddles are located where one would expect human bodies to be found, like on chairs, beds, at workstations, in showers. There are some cryopods with frozen bodies on board, but no life registers from any of their monitors. What the surveillance videos show, from the ship’s records, are people just . . . dissolving away. The scenes are horrific. They just look like they gradually melt down to a puddle, except for the bones, teeth and hair. The bones and teeth take a lot longer to dissolve but eventually they, too, seem to dissolve.

  “There is no one alive on the Med-Evac ship, not even in the cryopods. If I had known this was the case before the ship had docked, I would have ordered it destroyed, before it ever came near the Nelson Mandela. I take full responsibility, as I was the one who gave the authorization to allow the ship to dock,” Dr. Al-Fadi said, shaking his head.

  “For now, I have ordered a complete lockdown of the entire area around the Medical Receiving Bay and any regions of the medical station that might have been exposed through personnel, through machinery and droids, or through air circulation with this Receiving Bay. That entire, segregated area of the station will be quarantined. There will be no congress between the quarantine region and the rest of the medical station. Whatever the pathogen or toxin or chemical is, we cannot risk it spreading throughout the station.

  “At this time, there is no air flow or any other contact coming through from the quarantined area to the rest of the station. That is the way it will stay, until an answer is found to what we are dealing with. We are on separate energy generators. There will be no sharing of air, food, water, material goods, personnel, droids, or robots from our
side of the containment area to your side of the station. All personnel are advised to stay in their containment suits, regardless of which side of the containment barrier they are on, at least until we have isolated whatever it is that has caused the destruction of all the people aboard the Valiant.

  “No ships will be allowed to land or depart while we are in Quarantine. Any ship attempting to leave will be shot out of space and destroyed. We cannot let this agent—whatever it is—to spread any further, to other planets or ships.

  “The Nelson Mandela is sending out a warning to the Conglomerate, the Union of Solar Systems, and all of its planets, about what we believe we are dealing with and that we are not taking in any patients until this emergency is solved. We are also warning them about the system from which the Valiant came. I only pray we were quick enough in establishing the quarantine perimeter and isolating this area off, so there is no spread to the rest of the station.”

  “Is there anything we can do from this end, Hiro?” Dr. Weisman asked, tears in her eyes.

  “Pray for us,” he whispered, and shut off the live feed.

  There was silence in the doctors’ lounge for what seemed a long time, as everyone just stood, staring aghast at the wallscreen. Grace tried to fight back tears, as she focused on the last three words Dr. Al-Fadi had said to them: “Pray for us.” She could hear someone, over her helmet speaker, doing just that.

  Dr. Cech fled the room without looking at anyone, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched.

  Dr. Weisman was in frantic conversation with Morris Ivanovich, her research fellow, and Grace could not help but overhear words like “clone him” and “his memprint”. She walked over to them, to listen to what they were discussing.

  Dr. Octavia Weisman looked up at Grace, a serious expression on her round, pretty face.