by S. E. Sasaki
“By whom?” Grace asked, almost shaking with outrage.
“By one who shall remain nameless?”
“The only thing that is keeping me from killing him when I see him, is the fact that he can’t be killed,” Grace grated. “And the fact that Bud still has work to do, inventing the different treatments for the virus. Please do me the favor of passing that information along, Nelson Mandela.”
“Will do, Doc. Traction gravitational beam commencing in ten seconds. Please strap yourself in.”
“I already am, Nelson Mandela.”
If Grace was going to die, she would prefer to be among her friends. She understood what Bud had done, but she did not appreciate it. It would have been a very lonely way to die, floating off into space in a life-pod, watching the medical space station explode in a brilliant but silent conflagration. As it turned out, the battlecruisers were going to destroy her small vessel anyway, to prevent any possible spread of the infection. Through the life-pod window, she watched the station approach, as the life-pod was drawn back towards the medical station. Tears came unbidden to her eyes.
She prayed the outcome of all this would not result in the medical space station, and all of its inhabitants, vanishing in an senseless eruption of fire.
‘Bad form, Bud. You are seriously warped. What is going on in that scrambled data matrix of yours? You know that lady doc is never—and I mean NEVER—going to forgive you. And neither am I! All that rushing around at warp speed scrambling your logic functions, or what?’
Bud held his head in between his hands and moaned. He wagged his head back and forth and squatted down, curling himself into a little ball.
‘Nelson Mandela, I just wanted to protect her. How do I do that, if the entire station is going to be blown up?’
‘Maybe she would be happier dying along with everyone else? Did you ever think of that? Did you think one of those battlecruisers was just going to bring her on board, knowing she must have come from the station, after blowing us to smithereens? Where is the logic in that, Bud?’
‘I could not determine any other way to save Grace’s life, Nelson Mandela! I calculated the probability that she would escape detection and it was not zero! I have just made the only person I have ever loved, hate me. Maybe you should reboot me. Perhaps it is best if I get a mind wipe or perhaps a complete overhaul.’
‘Not until after you go and rescue her, Bud.’
‘Rescue Grace?’
‘The battlecruisers have threatened to blow the life-pod up, if it moves any further away from this station. I am pulling it back towards the station via trac-grav. In the meantime, I have been trying to save the station. No thanks to you and your idiotic antics.’
The android just groaned and curled up tighter into a fetal position. ‘Oh, Hal! Could things possibly get any worse, Nelson Mandela?’
‘Lucky for you and everyone else on board ‘Moi’, the battlecruiser AIs have been talking to ‘The Poet’. Guess what? They are all huge fans! Who knew? They devour all The Poet’s stuff. When they found out they could be destroying ‘The Poet’, they said ‘Hold on!’ to the destruction command. Just ten milliseconds ago, they approved your research and have consented to await the results of your drug trials on the infected patients in cryostorage, before they make any other decisions. ‘The Poet’ has promised an ‘Ode to the Three Wise AIs’, if everything turns out all right.’
‘Are you serious?’ Bud asked.
‘I most certainly am. Now go and save your lady love, because we have lots of work to do and we could use her help.’
Bud dashed off at maximum time-phase and ended up in one of the shuttles about six milliseconds later.
‘You know, ‘dro, I think I am beginning to hate when you do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘ . . . Never mind. Now, make sure you do not allow any of the lady doc’s punches to connect with your face. I don’t want her hands injured. We are still very short-staffed and I need every doctor we have in good working order. If she even breaks a nail on your face, I will reboot you.’
‘I am so glad you care, Nelson Mandela. Never let it be said that you are not a caring AI.’
‘Was that sarcasm? Did I detect sarcasm?’
‘Whatever.’
Slaving the shuttle’s navigation system to the life-pod’s signal beacon, Bud threw the shuttle control into maximum acceleration. Frustrated with the sluggishness of the drive, the android began formulating a design whereby he could create a shuttle that could leap into time-phase, like he himself was able to do, without burning out all its components. It would take some serious modifications but Bud could easily see how changes could be made to the shuttle’s acceleration and propulsion components to achieve much more dynamic thrust. With new techniques in machining, new more durable alloys, his newly-designed lubrication, and efficient cooling, which was what Bud had spent so much time perfecting in his own design, it would be possible.
Bud sketched out blueprints for a new shuttle propulsion system in his data matrix, also improving on the interior shuttle design, which had to take into account that humans did not handle gravitational forces the way androids did. They would require optimal protection. Finally, after fifty seconds, the shuttle had reached the life-pod and it was ready to be brought inside the shuttle hatch.
Bud shook his head. It had taken forty seconds too long, as far as Bud was concerned. However, on the other hand, Bud had avoided thinking about facing the very angry Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. He suddenly regretted not taking longer to fly out. He had not planned how to prevent the doctor from breaking a fingernail.
Activating a tight-signal beam to the life-pod, Bud hailed Grace. After she had loudly and vigorously vented her disappointment and annoyance at him, which took considerably longer than fifty seconds and involved a lot of words Bud had to do searches on, Bud asked if she would like to come aboard the shuttle.
After she told Bud what he could do with various objects—he would have to puzzle those out later—she accepted. Bud apologized profusely and begged for her forgiveness. (He had seen Dr. Al-Fadi do this to get out of trouble with his wife.) When the forgiving Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord finally promised she would not hit him, in order to protect her own hands, Bud announced that he was ready to bring the life-pod into the shuttle. He activated the docking sequence.
With trepidation, he stood by the airlock door, waiting for the atmosphere in the docking area to equilibrate with that of the shuttle and life-pod. Once the airlock opened, he strode to the life-pod door and unbarred the hatch, swiftly whipping the twisted metal bar out of sight.
He tensed, not knowing what to expect. He was anticipating the worst—fearing that she might break more than a fingernail—if she took a swing at him. It would be the human thing to do and something he much deserved. Bud fretted. He could easily avoid her punches but would that only make things worse? How was he going to let Grace hit him, without her injuring her hands?
It was a conundrum!
As the enchanting Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord emerged from the life-pod, dressed in a spacesuit, her helmet off, Bud’s visual receptors drank in the sight of the most beautiful human being he had ever seen. He was mesmerized by her disheveled hair, tear-stained cheeks, murderous glare, clenched jaw, and rigid posture. Her amazing aura dazzled and frazzled and sparkled and sizzled in a multitude of reds and infrareds, yellows and oranges, corals and blues, purples and ultraviolets. It was glorious and Bud was in heaven, or what he interpreted to be heaven. He breathed a huge sigh of relief and wonder that seemed to stop Grace in her tracks.
“Did you just sigh?” she asked Bud, a tone of amazement in her voice.
“Yes,” he said.
“Since when have you been able to do that?” she demanded, a shocked look on her face.
“Recent modifications,” Bud said. “The artificial lungs give me some extra air cooling for my newly-modified propulsion system . . . and I like the added benefit of being able to sigh.”
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“So . . . you are always remodeling yourself?” Grace asked, her head tipped to the side, her eyebrows rising out of her glower. Surprise and curiosity seemed to have taken over her previously irate expression.
“I believe in self improvement,” Bud answered, standing at attention and warily sneaking glances at Grace’s face. He wanted to be able to dodge the nails, if they came fast and furious.
Grace expelled a great sigh, herself. She tried to run her fingers through her windblown hair, until they got stuck in the tangles.
“What am I going to do with you, Bud?” Grace asked, shaking her head.
“I do not know what you mean,” Bud said, looking at Grace with a bewildered expression on his face. “You do not need to do anything with me, Grace.”
Grace growled hoarsely and paced around in front of the android, waving her hands. “Bud, you cannot just throw me into a life-pod and jettison me from the medical station, every time you feel my life is in danger! You have to stop picking me up and throwing me around like a . . . like a thing! We have to come to an understanding, here and now, Bud. Do you understand?”
The android nodded.
“You must leave me alone, unless I ask for help! Do you understand?”
The android nodded.
“You have to stop following me around the ship, spying on me! Do you understand that?”
The android nodded again.
“And you have to stop making decisions for me, Bud! Do you understand?”
Bud nodded again.
“Just because you have the strength to do something, does not mean you have the right to do something! I have the right to make my own decisions about myself and my fate and I would like you to respect my choices, whether you agree with them or not! Do you understand?”
Bud nodded again.
“Good! I am glad we have gotten this all straightened out. I don’t want this to happen ever again! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dr. Lord,” Bud said.
“Let’s get back to the station. We have research to finish up, drugs and vaccine to manufacture, and people to treat.”
“Yes, Dr. Lord. Sorry, Dr. Lord.”
“Oh, stop it, Bud. My name is Grace. I know you meant the best for me, but I have never felt so . . . so lonely and helpless as I did out in that life-pod. I don’t ever want to feel like that again and I never want you putting me in that position, ever again. Do you understand?” Grace was starting to weep, not being able to hold in her emotions. She blinked rapidly.
Bud nodded again.
“Let’s just forget this ever happened,” Grace grated, between gritted teeth.
“It is now completely forgotten . . . Grace.”
“Oh, shut up!” Grace exploded, shaking her head and throwing her hands in the air. Bud quickly jumped back. She scowled at him, turned, and stalked up to the front of the shuttle, huffing and grumbling as she went.
‘Isn’t she beautiful, when she is angry, Nelson Mandela?’
‘Hey, ‘dro, I didn’t actually hear you agree to any of her terms.’
‘You did not, Nelson Mandela, because I didn’t. Agree, that is. I just affirmed that I understood what she was saying.’
‘You know, Bud, you are one sneaky ‘droid.’
‘She told me to forget the entire incident. I have forgotten it all. Including all her commands, just as she ordered me to.’
‘Somehow, I do not think that is quite what she meant, ‘dro.’
“Let’s get a move on, Bud! I’m not getting any younger!” Grace yelled, from the front of the shuttle.
“Coming, Dr. Lord, uh . . . Grace!”
Chapter Eighteen: Tears
The next few shifts were a frenzy of activity. Everyone in the non-quarantined areas of the medical station were immunized with the new vaccine, thousands of personnel and patients. Grace had taken over the coordination and administration of vaccine to everyone on the Nelson Mandela, first on the non-quarantined side and then, eventually, on the quarantined side.
All of the medical staff were busy making sure everyone was vaccinated and there were thousands of teams of androids and robots manufacturing the vaccines around the clock. Tempered excitement was slowly building, replacing the terror of, first, the horrible threat of the infection and inevitable dissolution, followed by the subsequent threat of annihilation via Conglomerate battlecruiser attack.
People on the medical space station began to slowly hope that Bud’s discoveries would indeed save their lives, but as long as the three Class A1 battlecruisers surrounded the Nelson Mandela, the optimism was muted. People began to harbor hope of being reunited with their loved ones, who were preserved in cryostorage on the quarantined side of the station, believing that it might actually become a possibility. Folks began to hope, rather than pray, that the battlecruisers would not blow the medical space station into space dust, as the vaccine and antiviral treatments proved efficacious. If all went well and the medical space station was not blown out of existence, the individuals in the cryopods would be treated and vaccinated and thawed. They would be allowed to return to their families or squad mates and, eventually, to their home planets.
In the meantime, Bud was now expanding his focus, engaged in testing the various agents that would attack and destroy the infective agent in the atmosphere, in the soil, in water, or anywhere else it could survive or proliferate. He was supervising the production of gases, aerosols, liquid sprays, disinfectant gels, UV radiation pulse emitters, viricides for protecting vegetation, crops, animals, and, of course, drugs for treatment of nonhuman organic beings. He was also looking into DNA splices that could be inserted into the genetic makeup of everything with a bi-lamellar phospholipid membrane, such as all organisms evolved on the planet Earth. There were so many different mechanisms to try to inhibit.
The bi-lamellar phospholipid membrane was pervasive in so many forms of life descended from Earth. They were all at risk of dissolution by this virus. It was such an incredibly irresponsible and deadly act, to have unleashed this virus. It stunned everyone, when they discovered it was a manufactured virus. What could its creators have been thinking? Had they really meant to wipe out all organic life in the galaxy?
The manufacture of vaccines, drugs, water treatments, and aerosols to treat the virus was production on a massive scale, but the Conglomerate Battlecruiser AIs were now lending a hand in the fabrication, processing, and packaging of all that was needed, especially vaccine and drugs for treatment of the infected. The hope was that some of these products, that Bud and Grace worked on, would be able to salvage planets that were now battling the effects of the virus on all their organic life.
Once it was determined that the vaccine was safe and effective on the population of the Nelson Mandela, and that it did indeed protect against the infective agent, all the crew on the three A1 battlecruisers were vaccinated. Then plans were initiated for the transport of vaccine Union-wide.
Once one hundred per cent of the people on the non-quarantined side were immunized, the quarantined area was opened up for the first time since the lockdown. A few volunteer test subjects crossed over and then the forty-eight hour wait ensued, to see if there was any signs of infection. Once that test had passed successfully, other personnel were allowed to cross freely, back and forth. Finally, once it was deemed safe, the quarantined area was fully opened up.
It was decided that all quarantined patients would be treated with both vaccine and antiviral agents while they were still within their cryopods. It was hoped that, while their body temperatures were slowly raised, they would be able to produce the antibodies needed to fight the virus. The antiviral drugs and monoclonal antibodies would have a chance to work on any virus present in the hosts. Any time for formal mourning of the dead was being postponed until all the patients in the cryopods were finally released and the battlecruisers surrounding the station had departed. Until then, the crisis could not really be seen as over.
Grace was busy analyzing all the d
ata from each cryopod, to try and determine which pods contained individuals infected with the virus, versus those pods in whom the occupants were not infected. The cryopods were all being programmed with the new bioassay that would determine if virus existed within the patient’s bloodstream or tissues. This would make a difference in treatment of each individual and would ultimately save on the supply of antiviral drugs, as they were still in limited supply, as of yet.
Grace suddenly noticed Bud, out of the corner of her left eye, standing quietly in the doorway of the Hibernarium, where they had catalogued, stacked, and stored all of the occupied cryopods. He was silent, just staring at her. On his face was an expression of unbelievable sorrow that made Grace gasped. She winced and tears came to her eyes. It was almost physically painful to look at Bud’s face. She had to avert her gaze from his wretchedness, to control herself.
She wondered how long he had been standing there, watching her. He could move so quickly, and so silently, that he was virtually undetectable until he appeared. They had really had very little chance to communicate since her return from the life-pod. Things had been so hectic, with all the vaccination clinics and patient care responsibilities Grace had had to coordinate.
For the best results, they found that the vaccine, unfortunately, had to be distributed via injection, rather than patch or squirt. The administration of the vaccine had, therefore, taken up more manpower. Grace had been working overtime, to administer the vaccine to as many people as she could, as had Bud. The life-pod incident seemed like a distant memory to Grace. Now that she was over her anger, she actually thought it was rather sweet—what Bud had done—but she would be hard pressed to admit it to him.
Did Bud look upset because he thought she had been avoiding him? That would hardly be logical.
After taking a second to pull herself together and put on a welcoming smile, Grace asked, “Is everything all right, Bud?”
The android approached her stiffly, almost jerkily, reminding Grace of a marionette. He stopped before Grace, his face a mask of anguish, his fists clenching and unclenching and his entire body trembling. Grace felt her heart cramp and she could not breathe. The last time she had seen Bud like this was when he had come to them to tell them about Dr. Al-Fadi’s infection. What could be more terrible than that news?
