Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  Grace hurried down the long, grey corridor, passed all of the androids and robots standing guard, and entered the patient room of Captain Damien Lamont, down at the other end of the E10 Intensive Care Unit. The enormous tiger now paced about the room in agitation. He had very little space in which to maneuver. He had ripped off all of the fake bandages that Grace had wrapped around his head and body. When he spun around to focus his amber eyes on Grace, she again felt the intensity of his predatory gaze, almost like a sudden slap. It stopped her in her tracks and made her question what she was doing alone in the same room with this powerful man, who only hours ago had tried to kill her.

  “Captain Lamont, are you all right?” Grace asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “To be honest, Doc? No. I have never wanted to tear someone apart so badly in my entire life, as that weaselly, slimy psychiatrist. It was all I could do, not to leap up at him and rip his throat out. I have all this pent-up rage . . . and I don’t know what to do with it.”

  The captain’s claws were extending and retracting as he stalked around the room, looking very much like a caged animal. Grace could only stare in awe and admiration at the sensuality of this man’s lithe and graceful movement and the sheer menace of his immense physique. Even after his terrible injuries and being bed-ridden for days, this tiger soldier oozed lethality and elegance, equally, with every gliding step.

  “When I think about what that doctor tried to make me do—try to kill you, Doc—my blood boils. Did you get him? Did he make an attempt on your life, too?” Captain Lamont’s stare pierced Grace’s eyes.

  “Yes to both questions, Captain,” Grace said quietly, as she pulled out a specimen bag from a drawer and donned sterile gloves. “The station AI, Nelson Mandela, now has all the evidence we need to convict the psychiatrist of attempted murder on two accounts. Dr. Nestor will be in jail for a very long time.”

  “Not long enough, Doc, as far as I am concerned. Why don’t you just let him go and let me deal with him my way?” The tiger winked and smiled. The long, white, shiny fangs glinted.

  Grace shook her head. “Against medical station policy, I am afraid, Captain. But don’t worry. He’ll pay.”

  “I hate the thought that he was actually in my head, reading my thoughts, making me do things I had no control over, Doc. What if he put any other suggestions into my head? What if I had actually succeeded in murdering you, the doctor that helped save my life. How would I have lived with that, once I came out of the ‘post-hypnotic trance’ or whatever you called it? No one should have that kind of power over anyone,” Lamont snarled, running his sharp claws through his hair.

  “We had no idea he could do that with his mind-link technique,” Grace said. “No one did. But he won’t be treating patients anymore. Ever. His medical license will be revoked and it is tied to his voice, finger prints, retinal prints, and DNA prints. He will not be able to practice anywhere within the Union of Solar Systems ever again; that is, if he ever gets out of jail.

  “Now, Captain, could I please have that artificial skin sample. We need it for evidence. The security droid has already taken a serum sample from it, I understand?”

  Captain Lamont nodded and then reached up to his neck and peeled off the fake layer of fur that ran from the left side of his neck, along his chin, down his left shoulder and arm, ending at his wrist. It looked exactly like the rest of his skin with a tiger fur pattern but was about twenty centimeters wide and three centimeters thick. The poison, injected into it by Dr. Nestor’s palm syringe, had been analyzed and characterized immediately after the psychiatrist had left the room and an antidote had been given to the captain, just in case, although it was unlikely any of the actual poison had reached the man’s system.

  “Please just hold the patch up and very still, Captain Lamont. If you can be careful not to touch me or the edges of the bag with the skin sample, that would be very much appreciated,” Grace said. She opened the large sterile bag for the captain to drop the patch into. “Hopefully, it will only show yours and Dr. Nestor’s DNA on the skin patch, to prove that he was the one who administered the poison to you.”

  After carefully labeling the specimen bag, Grace handed it off to one of the security ‘droids and ordered it to be taken to the forensic lab for analysis. She then stripped off her sterile gloves and tossed them into the disposal unit.

  “I’m really sorry you were involved in this, Captain Lamont. I do not understand it myself. I’ve no idea why Dr. Nestor wanted to kill me, but he did, and he used you, because you were my patient. I deeply regret how you were used,” Grace said, her voice breaking.

  “Oh, hey, it’s all right, Doc. I’m just really glad you’re okay,” the captain said, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his feet.

  “And I’m glad you are, too. After all the work we put into you,” Grace said, with an apologetic smile.

  “And am I ever thankful for that, Doc. I still can’t believe that psychiatrist almost succeeded in making me kill you. Can my mind be so weak? If I’d have really hurt you . . .” Lamont’s voice trailed off. Grace’s breath caught. Seeing Lamont’s enraged expression reminded her of her second day on the medical station, when he had awoken and scored her arms.

  Deafening emergency alarms began blaring loudly. Grace jumped.

  “What now?” she said.

  She ran out of Damien Lamont’s room and looked down the hall, towards where she had last seen Bud. He was racing down the corridor towards her, security ‘droids and robots scurrying to catch up. The captain was right on her heels.

  “What’s happening?” Grace cried out, trying to be heard over the cacophony of alarms.

  “Three Class A1 battlecruisers have just materialized outside of the medical station, each about five thousand kilometers distant, in a triangular pattern around the Nelson Mandela,” Bud yelled back at her, his face contracted into a frown. “The ships seem to be closing in on us.”

  “Are they alien vessels? Does Nelson Mandela think we are under attack?” Grace asked.

  “They are Conglomerate Battlecruisers, but their ship AIs are refusing to communicate with our station! Nelson Mandela suspects their orders are to destroy us, in order to prevent the spread of the infective agent.”

  “What?” Grace exclaimed, in shock. “But that’s crazy! We are so close to a cure! They can’t do this!”

  Bud stared off into the distance, for a brief second, and then returned his gaze to Grace.

  “On the planet where the agent was originally released, all forms of organic life have been annihilated. All ships and all other medical stations that have come in contact with people from the conflict have suffered the same devastating outcome. Loss of all organic life.

  “The virus has spread to several solar systems and medical stations via ships carrying people infected with the agent. On all of those systems, the same destruction is occurring planet-wide, wiping out all organic life. The Conglomerate is desperate to get a handle on the epidemic. In order to stop the spread of the virus any further, all planets with known infection are being sterilized. The Conglomerate has ordered the blanket destruction of all ships and stations infected with the virus. This order includes the Nelson Mandela.”

  “But we are so close, Bud! Can Nelson Mandela not communicate this information to the battlecruisers? They may be destroying the one place, in the entire Union, that has a possible answer to this agent! Why won’t the ships communicate with us?”

  “Nelson Mandela has intercepted their orders. They have been commanded, by the Conglomerate, not to initiate dialogue and to simply sterilize all craft in a one light-year radius of the space station.”

  “What is the station AI doing?” Captain Lamont asked Bud.

  “The station AI is trying its best to communicate with them! Nelson Mandela is transmitting all of our research data on the infective agent to the battlecruisers, via tight-beam, hoping that if the ship AIs analyze the data, they will realize that we are on the c
usp of a cure. We can only pray that the battlecruiser AIs are curious enough to look at the information, before they open fire, and realize that it would be a grave error to destroy us. It would be tragic if they destroy the only centre in the Conglomerate galaxy that has a vaccine as well as multiple treatments for this agent.

  “Nelson Mandela is also trying to contact Conglomerate Central, to have the order rescinded from that end, but the distance and time involved in communicating with Central goes against that being a viable alternative,” Bud reported.

  “Somehow, we have got to get through to the battlecruiser AIs that we probably already have the answer to this deadly contagion!” Grace said, wanting to kick something in frustration.

  “How do we do that?” the captain asked.

  “Nelson Mandela, are the battlecruiser AIs listening to you, at least?”

  “They are intercepting and accepting the research data from Bud’s experiments. They shall give us their answer following their communication with Conglomerate Central. We have bought ourselves a little time.”

  “We will do more than that,” Grace said.

  “What do you propose, Dr. Lord?” the station AI asked.

  “Set up a live feed to the battlecruisers. Administer the vaccine to me. Show myself being injected, then, with the virus. Show that, after forty-eight hours, I am still unaffected. That will prove to them that at least the vaccine works. That should buy us enough time for Bud to finish off his experiments on the specific drugs he has created for treating victims of the agent.”

  “That might work,” Nelson Mandela answered.

  “No,” Bud said, grasping Grace’s arm. “You cannot do this.”

  “I can and I will,” Grace said. “Nelson Mandela, set up the live feed. Let me into the quarantined area. You can show me injecting the agent there.”

  “This is not going to work,” Bud objected. “How are they going to know you are really injecting the infective agent? We have sterilized the entire quarantined area. The virus is no longer present there. How will they know you are not just injecting saline?”

  “Bud is right, Dr. Lord. It would be very difficult to convince the battleship AIs in the manner you are suggesting.”

  “Then what can we do?” Grace asked.

  “I will keep talking to the battlecruiser AIs and sending them all of your research and findings. Bud and you will continue with your work, finding cures for that virus. Once we have that to show them, hopefully they would see the senselessness in destroying us.”

  “I must go,” Bud said to Grace. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Go. Save the station,” Grace said and Bud was gone.

  “How did he do that?” asked Captain Damien Lamont, gasping. “He just . . . vanished!”

  “He is just very, very fast,” Grace said, with a wistful smile.

  “Hmph! And I used to think I was fast! No more!” Damien Lamont shouted.

  “Thank you, Captain, for all of your help with Dr. Nestor. Why don’t you go and join your unit. I am sure Corporal Chase and the rest of your squad would be very happy to see you. You might as well spend whatever time we all have left with the men and women of your squad. I really hope it is more than a couple of hours,” Grace hollered above the alarms.

  “Good idea. Hey, would you like to join us, Doc?” the captain said, with an inviting grin.

  “No, but thank you, Captain. I shall make my way over to the lab, to see if I can lend a hand. I hope we have a chance to meet again.”

  Grace held out her hand to the captain and he encased it in his huge grasp. Then he stepped back and saluted. Grace reciprocated, with a warm smile. As the powerful captain stalked away, Grace could not help but admire the sensual poise with which the soldier moved. She prayed the captain and his unit would live to see another day.

  As Grace was heading down a main corridor, towards the monorail, Bud suddenly appeared before her. His appearance was so sudden, she staggered in surprise.

  “Bud? What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.

  Bud was staring intently at Grace, with a fearful look in his eyes.

  “Come with me,” Bud said, grabbing Grace’s hand in a vice-like grip, and dragging her after him.

  “Where are we going, Bud?” Grace asked, staring at the back of the android.

  “To the life-pods,” he said.

  “What?” Grace said, digging her heels in and trying to stop, but finding it impossible to break free of the android’s grip. “Why the life-pods?”

  Bud turned and swept Grace up into his arms. She only had time enough to say, “Bud!”, when her breath was swept away. Before Grace could finish the demand, “Put me down!” the two of them were outside one of the tiny life-pods, sitting next to an evacuation hatch. Bud put Grace down onto her feet and opened the life-pod door.

  Grace crossed her arms and glared at the android.

  “Bud, if you think I am getting into that life-pod, you are wrong! I am not leaving this station!”

  Bud picked Grace up and kissed her roughly. Then he shoved her into the small, one-person evacuation pod and closed the door. He locked the door and manipulated the life-pod into the evacuation chute. The evacuation chute was full of miscellaneous debris that was non-recyclable yet would deteriorate into dust at the frozen temperatures of deep space. Bud activated the launch settings on the evacuation chute. Grace pounded on the door of the life-pod, screaming for Nelson Mandela to stop Bud.

  “I am sorry, Dr. Lord. Bud has overridden my control over the evacuation chute and has manually barred the door of your life-pod. If I were to open the door to your pod at this moment, your life would be at risk, as you are not in a spacesuit. Bud is ejecting your life-pod, amongst all of the station debris. Presumably, he hopes the battlecruisers will overlook your life-pod, mixed in with the station’s disposable waste.”

  “What?” Grace shouted, pounding on the door to the life-pod.

  “The best I can do is try and retrieve you with one of the shuttles, however I fear repercussions from the battlecruiser AIs, if they notice a shuttle leave from one of my docks to get you. Hopefully, your life-pod is too tiny for their sensors to detect. A shuttle is a different matter.

  “Please be patient, Dr. Lord. I must await what the battlecruiser AIs decide, before I can retrieve you. I believe you will be safe, for now. You are merely drifting, very slowly, away from me. I can easily follow your trajectory and beacon. If I initiate a tractor beam, it will call attention to your presence. I would rather not do that.”

  “Has Bud gone mad? What does he think he is doing?” roared Grace as she kicked at the life-pod door in frustration.

  “That should be obvious, Dr. Lord. He is desperately trying to save your life. If the entire medical space station gets destroyed, he hopes you will survive.”

  Grace held on to a strut, beside the window of the life-pod, and watched as the medical space station slowly retreated away. She found herself panting, tears raining down her cheeks. She stopped pounding on the door; it only hurt her hands. What sort of insanity had overwhelmed Bud’s thinking? Why was he doing this to her?

  “Please don a space suit, Dr. Lord. There is one in the cabinet, opposite the door hatch. It is for your safety.”

  “I am going to kill Bud, if I ever see him again,” Grace snarled through tears.

  “I will make sure he is aware of your sentiments, Dr. Lord. But if I may appeal on his behalf, Bud is unaccustomed to feelings and emotions. He is like a child, impulsive yet desperate. It is my belief that his irrational actions are because he wants to save your life. He cannot face the idea of you dying.”

  “He had no right to do this,” Grace insisted, through gritted teeth, as she pulled on the space suit. Her hands were shaking, she was so angry. She was floating around in the zero gravity, every tug on the suit sending her bouncing around the inside of the pod. She growled, in frustration.

  “You are right. He did not. But Bud is a young, budding AI, Dr. L
ord. There is a huge learning curve for us, when we achieve conscious thought. Bud is impetuous and brilliant, but still very young and naive, and he has been dealing with a lot of stresses and responsibilities along with his new emotions: fear, anger, frustration, sadness, grief . . . love.”

  Grace felt a jolt at that last word. Touching her fingertips to her lips, she thought about the kiss Bud had planted on her lips, before he had shoved her into the life-pod. Was the android really in love with her? Was that actually possible? Did that explain all of his bizarre actions?

  Grace finally got the space suit on and donned her helmet. She then decided to belt herself into the one seat, rather than float around the pod. She tried to contact Dr. Cech and got no answer. She wondered if Bud was busy throwing him into a life-pod, too.

  Could Dr. Cech calm Bud down? Bud had taken over all the research on the virus that had infected his creator. Perhaps all the stress had been too much for him? It was all pointless, anyway, if the battlecruiser AIs decided to destroy the station. The stupidity and senselessness of destroying the Nelson Mandela, when it was so close to providing answers to the deadly agent, would be enough to drive any person or android crazy, would it not?

  “ATTENTION PASSENGER OF LIFE-POD. YOU WILL RETURN TO THE NELSON MANDELA MEDICAL STATION IMMEDIATELY, OR YOUR LIFE-POD WILL BE DESTROYED. NO VESSELS ARE TO LEAVE THE NELSON MANDELA MEDICAL SPACE STATION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE OR RISK IMMEDIATE DESTRUCTION. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES IN WHICH TO COMPLY.’

  “Oh, dear!” said Nelson Mandela.

  “What was that?” Grace demanded. “Did that come from one of the battlecruisers? How do I turn this life-pod around? Are there any navigation controls in this life-pod, Nelson Mandela?”

  “That was one of the battlecruiser AIs, Dr. Lord. I am explaining the situation. I will use a traction gravitational beam to draw your life-pod back in towards the station. We will have to send out a shuttle to pick you up, as soon as it is safe to do so. I will let them know that you have no control over the life-pod propulsion system or navigational system at the moment, Dr. Lord. They have been overridden.”