Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  Dr. Al-Fadi had volunteered to be the first to try the water, but his offer had been overwhelmingly rejected. It was decided that he was far too important to risk. Volunteers had come forward, to try the treated water, and so far, all had survived. It therefore appeared that the agent might be susceptible to high intensity UV radiation or temperatures of one hundred degrees Celsius or was larger than the smallest viral particle.

  It was a start.

  Bud looked over at the industrious Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. He was worried about her. She had not gotten any sleep since the lockdown had started, over forty-eight hours ago. She had insisted on reviewing every bit of data that came from the quarantined side and she looked exhausted, at least, as far as Bud could tell.

  Grace was working in one of the virology labs on computer simulations, trying to figure out what kind of agent would produce the signs, symptoms, and physical findings they were seeing and how the agent worked. Then she was plugging in all the findings from the research data to see what fit. So far, she had an eighty-six per cent probability that it was a virus, but determining how the virus worked, how to isolate it, and how to inhibit its actions, before everyone died, seemed a daunting task, indeed.

  Bud wanted to tell the dedicated Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord to go to sleep. He was perfectly capable of loading all the data and he could do it a great deal faster than her, but he did not want to tell her so. He was afraid it would get her angry at him again. He did not want that.

  At the moment, it appeared as if the hard working Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord was fast asleep before her computer terminal. Her head was down on her crossed arms and her breathing seemed very slow and regular. Bud was not sure whether to suggest she go lie down or just pick the doctor up and take her to her quarters. He waffled for an entire microsecond or two, and then finally decided to make up a pallet in the lab, upon which to let her sleep. That way, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord would not fall out of her chair and injure herself, and Bud would be able to focus on the investigative work, without worrying about the good doctor coming to harm.

  Bud had a couple of robots bring him a cot and blankets and he set up the bed himself. Then he went and gently scooped up Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord from her console chair. Her head lolled back as he lifted her in his arms. As Bud was about to bend down and lay the young doctor down on the pallet, she briefly opened her eyes to look at him. She snuggled up against his neck, and then fell back to sleep. Bud was tempted just to stand there and hold the endearing Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord until she decided to wake up, but duty called. He stared down at her peaceful face, through her transparent faceplate, as he knelt down beside the cot. Inwardly, he let out a mental sigh. Then he gently laid her down on the pallet and covered her with the blankets.

  Bud began processing all the data, only at one hundred times the rate at which Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord had been analyzing the information. He wanted to hurry and get through all the studies, before she woke up again. He had numerous screens working at once, viewing all the data coming from multiple work-stations simultaneously. Even under such severe duress, the quarantined workers were meticulous and thorough in their investigations. There had to be an answer here, Bud thought. The life of his creator was on the line! At any moment, the agent could infect Dr. Al-Fadi and destroy him. With these thoughts, Bud worked even faster.

  There was no time to lose!

  Grace awoke, disoriented, not knowing where she was. She found herself lying close to the floor, on a pallet of some sort, and wondered how she had got there. The last thing she remembered was working at a computer terminal. She had been looking at all of the available data on the mysterious agent that was killing the medical station personnel in the quarantine area. Her memory flooded back and she felt a wave of despair wash over her.

  Over thirty people had died so far—melted away into pools of oily sludge—in just over two days! Dr. Al-Fadi and many of her colleagues were trapped on the quarantine side and at risk. She had no time for sleep. She had to get back to work!

  That was when she looked up and noticed Bud. She could only lie there, frozen in complete astonishment, as she watch in utter disbelief, at what the android was doing. She blinked a few times and shook her head, wondering if she was still dreaming or just seeing things. A wave of vertigo hit her and she had to lie back down on the cot and close her eyes for a second or two. Watching Bud had made her dizzy. She had to fight the nausea. When she felt better, she slowly sat up and looked over at the android again. She held her breath to prevent a gasp from escaping, in case Bud heard her.

  Could Bud really be doing what she thought he was doing?

  Twelve wall screens were running simultaneously. Different data were showing up on each screen and Bud was scrolling through the data on each screen at incredible speed. His hands, almost a complete blur, literally flew over the console before him. Bud was typing frantically and calling up screens rapidly, via touch-screen, while also giving verbal commands or discussing the design and formulation of experiments with—the station AI perhaps?—in a very soft, low voice.

  To Grace, it appeared as if Bud was analyzing fresh data, sending results to different files, researching the literature, studying toxicology data, reviewing the findings of the Valiant’s investigations and flight record, compiling lists of characteristics of the agent, narrowing down possible mechanisms of action of the agent, and devising experimental protocols to isolate the agent, all at lightning speed. As she watched and listened, she came to the realization that he was also setting up protocols for experiments on the agent, once it was isolated. These experiments would determine its nature and how to counteract it. Bud was also sending out requisitions to prepare laboratory space, access equipment, and obtain all the supplies, reagents, and other paraphernalia required to perform these experiments, once the agent was determined. From what Grace could hear, all tests and experiments on the agent would be exclusively android- and robot-driven.

  Grace was afraid to move, breathe, or speak, in case she interrupted Bud’s work. She did not realize, until now, just how superior and incredibly powerful Bud’s intellect truly was. It was extraordinary and jaw-dropping and extremely nauseating to watch the android work for any longer than a few seconds. Grace felt like her eyeballs were actually spinning in different directions. It was obvious Bud could do the work of at least ten people, and ten geniuses, at that.

  He was astonishing.

  Bud seemed to focus intently on an extremely high magnification projection of how infected cells in culture were actually dying. He had magnified the picture and had the video now playing on all twelve screens, stopping at various stages of cell decomposition. He kept slowing down the video feed, slower and slower, and playing it over and over. Grace watched the screens silently, as Bud focused on the progression of a normal-looking cell, affected by the agent, go through its stages toward total destruction.

  Grace got up slowly and moved quietly over to stand behind Bud, so that she could get a better look at the video feed.

  “Do you see it?” Bud asked softly, almost whispering.

  Grace felt a shiver sing through her nerves at Bud’s words. Her mouth went dry and she found she could not even swallow. She was afraid to speak, in case she broke the spell of Bud’s concentration. Could she dare hope that he saw something? Something that could save everyone on the Nelson Mandela?

  “What?” Grace whispered, just as softly, looking intently from frame to frame. She did not know what Bud was referring to. “What do you see, Bud?”

  Bud pointed at the top left screen first. “The cell’s protein synthesis machinery is suddenly kicked into overdrive, presumably making lots and lots of copies of the agent which, for the moment, let us say is a virus.”

  He pointed at the next screen over. “The cell becomes packed with packets of virus.”

  Bud indicated the third screen. “Then suddenly, the membrane surrounding these viruses dissolves away and the viruses are released into the cell.”

&n
bsp; Bud then pointed to the scene playing out on the fourth screen, magnified a thousand times. “Now watch. See how all the membranes within the cell seem to start to melt away?”

  In the ensuing screens, Grace could see the membranes of the lysosomes, the endoplasmic reticulum, the vacuoles, the mitochondria, the nucleus, and finally the outer cell membrane, all become completely disorganized and then completely dissolve away, as if they never existed. The viruses were then released into the extracellular fluid to infect more cells.

  “But what is interesting is the gamma-microscopic pictures, seen on this screen over here,” Bud said.

  By ten times, then one hundred times, then one thousand times, Bud magnified a series of shots taken of cells dissolving.

  “The invading agent invades into the inner space of the bi-lamellar phospholipid membrane and appears to force the two phospholipid layers, that make up the membrane, apart. At this stage of the game, it is too early to presume the mechanism by which this is achieved, but by forcing the two layers of phospholipids in the membrane apart, the membrane loses integrity and is therefore destroyed completely. The membrane dissolves away. The viruses are then released and go on to destabilize all membranes they come in contact with, including all the organelles within the cell, as well as the nuclear membrane and finally the outer cell membrane. Once all the membranes dissolve, the cell melts away because there are no intact membranes left to hold it together.

  “The viruses eventually melt away all the cells in the body and the body turns into a liquid slurry. The viruses are then released into the open air where, presumably, they can spread to other hosts via aerial transmission,” Bud said.

  “Can you isolate this agent, Bud?” asked Grace.

  “The experiments are already under way, Dr. Grace Alexander Lord. If we can isolate this agent, we perhaps can attack it in a number of different ways. If it is a virus, we could make a vaccine against it. We could try and create a receptor blocker that would prevent the cell from picking up the virus. We could try and prevent the virus from telling the cell to start making copies of itself.

  “There appears to be a step in which the virus suddenly becomes ‘activated’ and starts to destroy membranes. Prior to that, it seems pretty innocuous, wrapped up in membrane packets. If we could inhibit the ‘activation’ of the virus, that could be another way to stop the destruction of the cells. We could perhaps find some molecule large enough and bulky enough to bind to the agent, so it cannot penetrate into the centre of the membrane and disrupt the bi-lamellar phospholipid membrane. Another thing we could try, is to make antibodies to the virus directly, to inject into patients.”

  “Who is doing the isolation assays?” Grace asked.

  “It is all being done by androids, with robotic help. No organic beings allowed. The androids and robots are not at risk from the agent, because they contain no organic cells. Nelson Mandela and I are overseeing all the tests. All the assays are being done well away from any humans, within extensive, state-of-the-art laboratories that have just been built by Nelson Mandela within the Android Reservations. We should know, very soon, whether we have a working copy of the agent.”

  “Android Reservations? Where are they?” Grace asked. “I have never heard of them.”

  Bud turned to look up at Grace’s face. “Where do you think the androids and robots go, when they are not needed?” he asked her.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Grace said, blinking in surprise. “I have never really thought about it, Bud. Do they go to these Android Reservations, when they are off-duty?”

  “Yes, but androids and robots are never really off-duty, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. We all go to the Android Reservations to recharge. The Android Reservations are located at the outermost surface of the medical station. Out of the way of humans, out of their sight.”

  “I had no idea, Bud,” Grace said, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her. “Is that where you go, when we are not operating?”

  “When my tasks are all done, yes.”

  “I think I would like to see these Android Reservations,” Grace announced, feeling curious.

  “No, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord, you . . . would . . . not,” Bud said emphatically. “Besides, those areas are now totally off-limits to all humans, as the experiments on the infectious agent are being carried out there. Having humans around would just slow the process down, because of the risks to human life, and because of the precautions that would need to be taken. We androids and robots hope to find an answer to this crisis, as soon as possible.”

  “I hope so, Bud,” Grace whispered. “And thank you.”

  She squeezed his shoulder which was like squeezing solid metal. “Magnificent work. You know, you really should have pushed me out of the way sooner. If I’d have known how quickly you could analyze data, I would have handed it all over to you, right from the very start.”

  Bud turned and looked at Grace. “You should go and lie back down, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. You look like you need some rest.”

  “That bad, eh?” she asked, with a smirk.

  “There is nothing bad about you, at all, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord,” Bud said, staring at her, in puzzlement.

  “Never mind,” Grace said. “It was just a joke.”

  Bud continued to look perplexed. “I will let you know when the infectious agent is isolated, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord, and we can look at the results of the testing together, if you wish.”

  “I would like that, Bud. Please let me know as soon as possible.”

  “Certainly, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord.”

  “And I like all of your suggestions regarding how we attack this agent.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord.”

  “Please. Call me Grace. After all, you have insisted I call you ‘Bud’.”

  “I will try, Dr. Grace Ale . . . Grace,” Bud stuttered.

  “Thank you, Bud.”

  “Get some sleep . . . Grace.”

  Dr. Hiro Al-Fadi wanted to tear off his containment suit but he didn’t think he was going mad. He was just sticky, smelly, uncomfortable, and itchy, and he would have given anything to be able to take a shower. He tried not to let his irritability show. People were dying . . . his people were dying . . . no matter what precautions he had ordered and commands he had given. He had no right to complain about feeling itchy. It would have sounded petty, self-centered, and insensitive. And if there was anything Dr. Hiro Al-Fadi prided himself on, it was his sensitivity.

  Already, fifty-six people were dead from the contagion that had entered their space station. Seventy people had been injured in clashes with security, while trying to break out of the quarantined area. Five people had been killed in skirmishes at lockdown doors, three of them being security officers. Four spacecraft had been disabled, after security had fired on the vessels, to prevent them from escaping.

  Security had been forced to do whatever was required to prevent the contagion from spreading any further, right down to destroying ships and people. It was heartrending. These people, frantically trying to escape, were all people Hiro knew, had worked with, had treated over the years. How could he blame them? Self-preservation was one of the strongest human instincts.

  Reports just coming in from Grace suggested that the agent was a virus, which was in keeping with his observations. It was now a mad rush to isolate the virus, so they could study it and devise ways to stop its action. Hiro could not help but wonder whether this was just a chance mutation of a known virus or if they were dealing with a new biological weapon, created to tip the balance in some horrible and deadly inter-human conflict.

  The Valiant had come from a war zone. It was carrying wounded soldiers of the Conglomerate, who had been sent to the planet Soal, to help the planetary government deal with an intra-solar system war. If this contagion was biological warfare, then it had to be deemed genocide. Whichever side in the conflict was the creator and deliverer of this agent was going to face very harsh retribution from the Conglomera
te and the Union of Solar Systems. That was, if the planet and its people could survive the release of this agent, themselves.

  Dr. Al-Fadi wondered if the people had really known what they were releasing, or whether the bug had mutated into a more lethal agent, after its release. The lethality index on this agent was 1.00 or one hundred percent so far, meaning anyone who had been infected by the agent had died.

  No infected survivors.

  If what Dr. Grace had said was true about this agent, it could potentially wipe out all organic life on the planet Soal. Any organism containing cells with a bi-lamellar phospholipid membrane, as found in all life on the planet Earth, would be susceptible. So much for winning the battle but losing the war. There was not going to be a living planet left to fight over!

  Inter-human conflicts were always the worst conflicts, the most bloody and vicious, in Hiro’s estimation. He was amazed that the human race had not wiped itself out long ago! Then again, humans, so far, seemed to be the meanest bastards in the universe.

  Because the investigations were pointing to a biological agent as the cause of the epidemic, Hiro had allowed communications to be re-instated. Now everyone was able to contact their loved ones on the other side of the quarantine barrier and most people had been on their coms and wall-screens, when not on duty. The quarantined side of the space station had also quietened down a bit, since the news had percolated out to the populace that the contagion was most likely a virus.

  People knew how to deal with an air-transmitted virus. There were protocols. There were ways to avoid being infected, but for how long? Even the incidence of new infections was slightly dropping, as people were ultra-cautious and broad spectrum antivirals were being taken. Hiro knew they were a long way from being out of danger, but the news had given people hope.