by S. E. Sasaki
Bud opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it, once, twice, and then he just shook his head.
“What has happened, Bud? What is wrong?’ Grace asked, getting up from her seat and reaching out to touch the android’s arm. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Have the battleship AIs changed their minds about your findings?”
He shook his head.
“Something terrible has happened. You’re afraid to tell me, because it will cause me pain,” Grace guessed.
Bud nodded and looked down at his feet.
Grace took a closer look at the android’s face. What she saw there made her draw in a breath. She stared for a long moment, trying to fully comprehend what she was seeing.
“Why, Bud, you are crying!” she gasped, reaching up to touch his wet cheek. “You told me before that you couldn’t cry. When did you develop tear ducts? Please tell me, why you are crying.”
“New upgrades,” Bud said.
“Are you just trying them out? Are you just here to show me how they work?” Grace asked.
“No, Grace,” Bud said, madly shaking his head. “I would never do that to you! I just do not want to upset you. I do not want to cause you any more pain.”
“Whatever it is, Bud, you can tell me,” Grace said quietly, taking both of his hands in hers. “Sometimes, not knowing is worse than knowing. Sometimes, we need to share pain, so we can all feel better.”
The android shook his head again and looked confused.
“ . . . It . . . is about Dr. Al-Fadi . . . ” he whispered and his face looked at Grace with an inconsolability that made her wince.
“Dr. Al-Fadi?” Grace asked, her eyebrows rising. She shook her head, not understanding.
Dr. Al-Fadi was safe in one of the cryopods, somewhere in the Hibernarium. He had been one of the first stored. Grace had not gotten to his cryopod yet, because of where it was stacked, but she knew his would need full treatment with the vaccine and antiviral agents, so she had not bothered to specifically search for it. It was the status of unknown cryopods that she was examining and tabulating at the moment.
Perhaps Bud had looked for the surgeon’s cryopod first. But what could have happened to Dr. Al-Fadi’s cryopod that would have gotten Bud so upset?
“The security ‘droids did a routine check on all of the cryopods, to make sure they were all functioning properly,” Bud began. “I asked them to do this. There was something wrong with Dr. Al-Fadi’s cryopod. They came and reported it to me.”
Bud hesitated. Grace watched more tears run down the android’s cheeks. She could not help but stare, in utter fascination, as drop after drop of water slid down his perfect skin, to hang for a second from his smooth chin and then plummet to the ground. Inanely, she wondered—as if her mind could just not accept any more painful truths at the moment—if Bud’s tears contained salt.
Grace whispered, “Go on. What was wrong with Dr. Al-Fadi’s cryopod?”
“The cryopod, itself, was still operational and there was no malfunction, but someone . . . the cryostasis program on the pod was deactivated, Grace. Dr. Al-Fadi’s body is . . . not a body anymore.”
The android’s voice faded into a whisper. Bud stood, arms hanging straight at his sides, looking away from Grace. Rivulets poured down his face and he looked lost. He knew not how to deal with his pain.
“What? Oh no, Bud,” Grace cried. The sight of Bud’s despair became obscured by her own tears. She wrapped him up in her arms and held him. He was rigid and quivering.
“I am so sorry, Bud. I know how much he meant to you, to everyone on this station. He was such an amazing surgeon, an amazing Chief, and an amazing man.” She squeezed the marble-like form of the android, trying to give him comfort as best she could. She held him close, as he silently wept.
“Does Nelson Mandela know how it happened?” she asked, wiping tears from her own face. She found a tissue and wiped the tears from the android’s face, as if he were a little child. In some ways, even though he looked like a grown adult male, he was still in his infancy, in terms of emotional development.
“According to surveillance recordings, the last individual to have touched Dr. Al-Fadi’s cryopod was Dr. Bell,” Bud stated, in an inflectionless voice.
“Vanessa Bell? Does Nelson Mandela believe she could have tampered with the cryopod?” asked Grace.
“That is what Nelson Mandela has confirmed. Going back over the cryopod readout, it appears the deactivation of the cryostasis function began at exactly the moment Dr. Bell was touching Dr. Al-Fadi’s cryopod. The energy utilization figures dropped from his cryopod from that point on, but unfortunately, it was not detected. At the time, all of the quarantined people were being forced into the newly reprogrammed cryopods and I had Nelson Mandela running thousands of simulations.”
“Vanessa would have been deep in the throes of her infection. Who knows what she had been thinking?” Grace said.
“When she and Dr. Al-Fadi were both attacked by the infected Corporal McMullen, Dr. Al-Fadi had said that it was his fault the ship had docked onto the station. He said it was his fault all those people had died. Perhaps, Dr. Bell blamed him.”
“The virus causes madness, Bud. Dr. Bell’s brain was probably quite diseased by then. One cannot really know what Dr. Bell was thinking.”
“Grace, please tell me, how do you deal with this . . . this pain?” Bud whispered. His blue eyes focused on her with such devastation in them, that her heart felt like it would burst. She wanted to close her eyes, to look away, but she met the android’s stare straight on.
“How do you humans bear this? If this is consciousness, I would give it back. I feel like my mind is being torn asunder and nothing worthwhile shall be left after this pain has wreaked its havoc,” Bud’s hoarse voice rasped.
Grace struggled to find an answer, looking up into the android’s tortured face. She reached up to stroke his cheek. She brushed away more of his tears.
“We cry,” Grace offered, shaking her head. “For some reason, it makes us feel better. We comfort each other and share each other’s pain. We try and remember the good times and forget the bad. We celebrate Dr. Al-Fadi’s life and carry on the work he believed in. We, who are mortal, Bud, all face death at some time. It is what makes life so precious and so valuable to us. And why we love so deeply and passionately. Because it never lasts long enough.” Grace gave Bud another hug and held him, until his trembling stopped.
“I will never forget a second that I spent with Dr. Al-Fadi,” Bud said, into Grace’s hair, as he gently squeezed his arms around Grace and gave her comfort in return.
“Nor will I,” Grace whispered.
Dejan Cech and his wife, Sierra, sat with Hanako Matheson in the quarters she had shared with her late husband, Hiro. They had finished weeping and were now reminiscing about the good times the two couples had enjoyed together over the years.
A loud chime announced that Hanako had visitors.
“I will get it for you, Hanako,” Dejan Cech offered, getting up first.
“Thank you, Dejan,” she said, looking tiny and frail on the couch.
“Are you interested in more visitors?” he asked, solicitously.
“Not really, Dejan. Could you please just take a message and tell them I will get back to them, later?” Hanako asked, sadly, tears beginning to form in her puffy eyes once more. “I do not think I can face anyone, right now.”
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” Dejan said, with a deep bow.
The tall anesthetist approached the door, as the chime rang again. He activated the open switch and the door panel slid open to reveal Dr. Octavia Weisman, looking distraught and dejected. Her face showed surprise, initially, at seeing Dejan, and then she nodded at him, as her face crumpled in grief. Dejan wrapped his long arms around the neurosurgeon and held her as she wept.
“He was the best of us, Dejan,” she mumbled into his chest. “What are we going to do without him, without his drive, his energy, his vision?”
/> “We can do something about it, Octavia,” Dejan said quietly.
The neurosurgeon stepped back, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. She looked up at Dejan’s face with surprise.
“Hiro did not give his permission to be resurrected, Dejan. He said he wanted to think about it. He never changed his mind, no matter how many times I asked him!”
“Yes, but if he’d had time to think about it, which he did not, because of the emergency, I am sure he would have agreed to it,” Dejan insisted.
“Really?” Octavia said.
“Look, Octavia, this memprint stuff is all new to us old goats. We needed some time to chew on things, before we said ‘yes’. Hiro did not have a chance to do that. But I would have made him say ‘yes’. He would have come around. I am positive. “
“I am sorry, Dejan, but I cannot resurrect Hiro, without his having given his prior consent. You have no idea how much I have tried to get around it, but my hands are tied. I looked into the possibility of going ahead and cloning Hiro’s body, without the consent signed by the him. I could not access the information. There were so many failsafe directives that were built into the programming with this project—to prevent anyone from being resurrected against their will—that I am unable to do anything. I tried. I could not override any of the directives. I could not start the cloning of his cells. The genetic information would not be released, thanks to my own paranoid stupidity. I can’t bring Hiro back. Hiro had to have agreed to resurrection and signed a consent before he died, or even given verbal consent, for me to get access to his memprint data and genetic records. We’d set it all up that way, to avoid abuses of the system, and now I could kick myself. Hiro always refused.”
“Surely you can get around your own programming, Octavia,” Dejan said. “Who wrote your programs?”
“My staff. Some of the best people in the business. That’s why we can’t hack the programming. I have been tearing my hair out. Can you believe it? I told them, I did not want programming that could be tampered with. I wanted fail-safe commands that would be impregnable. And that is what I got! I want to throw myself out the nearest space hatch,” Octavia wailed.
“Please do not even countenance that idea, Octavia. You know we can’t afford to lose you, as well,” Dejan Cech said, with a gentle smile.
“I have Nelson Mandela looking into the programming, to see if some of the directives can be overridden,” she said, with a dismal shake of her head.
“Do you think Nelson Mandela might find a loophole?” the anesthetist asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, with a shrug. “Most of our failsafe directives were programmed much like the station AI’s failsafe programming. Ultimate commands that cannot be rescinded under any circumstances.
“Oh, I am such an idiot!” she yelled, grabbing her hair with both fists and yanking.
“I would bet there are ways around it, Octavia,” Dejan said, quietly.
“You can be sure my damn programmers are looking into every possibility, Dejan. For once, I regret having the smartest people working for me.”
“I will not give up hope that you will find a way, Octavia,” Dejan Cech said.
Hanako showed up at the entranceway, then, and Octavia enclosed her in a big bear hug.
Dejan threw a look at the neurosurgeon over Hanako’s shoulder that said: ‘This discussion is not over.’
Octavia nodded, sadly, in agreement.
Other than the tragic events surrounding Dr. Al-Fadi’s death, the treatment of all the rest of the personnel in the cryopods went without mishap. No other deaths occurred due to the virus. People emerged from their cryopods weakened, but infection-free. The three Conglomerate battlecruisers lifted their blockade and went about delivering much needed aid to the affected planets of the USS. The directions on how to manufacture the vaccine and the antiviral drugs and all the treatments for the virus were transmitted to all of the planets and systems in the Union of Solar Systems. Bud was declared a hero, in spite of his protests. He tried to give Dr. Al-Fadi and Dr. Grace Lord all of the credit but Grace would have none of it. Bud decided to take the name Bud Al-Fadi, to honor his creator and mentor. He was given honorary degrees from countless institutions, making him an honorary doctor.
The medical space station had a memorial service to honor all those killed by the virus. Special commendations were awarded to Dr. Vanessa Bell and Dr. Hiro Al-Fadi, as well as the security personnel who died in the line of fire. So many dedicated people had died and Grace could not get over the fact that the little surgeon with the big personality was one of them.
The quarantine of the medical space station, imposed by Dr. Al-Fadi, was finally lifted and the Nelson Mandela was now open again to incoming wounded and the sick. The lifted embargo now allowed healthy patients to return to their planets and stations of origin. Shiploads of treated patients were now leaving, en masse, as soldiers returned to their battalions and workers returned to their home worlds.
Most patients were very happy to get off of the medical space station, where their lives had been a hair’s breadth away from being obliterated by either a life-destroying virus or by a Conglomerate battleship. They figured their chances of survival would jump dramatically, the moment they got off the Nelson Mandela. Thus, there was a mass exodus almost the minute the quarantine was lifted.
Grace entered the patient room of Corporal Dris Kindle, to find both Dris and Joss, the snow leopard soldiers, each holding a baby in their powerful arms. Grace could barely see the tiny bundles amidst the leopard fur, but the soldiers’ faces were smiling and radiant. Grace could have sworn she had heard some deep purring, when she had walked into the room.
“Hey, Doc!” Dris Kindle said, with an enormous grin, baring all of her fangs.
“Hi, Dris!” Grace responded, in kind. “Which baby have you got there?”
“This is Talia,” the leopard female said, proudly showing her off. The baby opened her eyes for a brief second, at the movement, but then quickly fell back to sleep.
“She is beautiful,” Grace said, admiring the fine, brown curls and dark eyes.
“Like her mother,” Joss said.
Dris grinned a bashful smile at her partner and swiped playfully at him with her free hand.
“And that is Marc, Doc,” Dris said, indicating the baby boy in Joss’ arms.
“How handsome he is,” Grace said, looking at his cherubic face.
“They have just been fed,” Dris said, rocking Talia, “and they are just falling asleep.”
“Have you decided what you are going to do about the babies?” Grace asked, hoping the news would be good.
“We have both put in for transfers to Administration Headquarters. We are waiting for word on whether they will say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. If they don’t want us, we will both retire from service with respectable pensions. We’ve both put in our time and have earned enough to get by. We’ve decided it is time to focus on making lives rather than taking them.”
“I think that is a great decision,” Grace said, with a delighted grin. “I’m sure you two will make wonderful parents. I wish you all the best and good luck on getting your transfers.”
“Thank you so much, Doc, for making me realize what is truly important,” Dris said. “If you hadn’t said anything, we would have lost our babies and I doubt our relationship would have survived that.”
“You realized it, yourself, Dris,” Grace said. “You just had to hear someone say that it was okay to feel that way, that you were right.”
“Well, thanks for doing that, Doc,” Dris said.
“It was my pleasure,” Grace said.
Joss came up and hugged Grace with his free arm.
“Thanks, Doc, for everything. I have my beautiful partner and my gorgeous children. We survived the deadliest virus in the universe, thanks to you and your friend, Bud, and we didn’t get blown to smithereens by the Conglomerate. We are getting out of the Conglomerate Military or at least away from the front line.
I’m a lucky man! And I have you to thank for all of this. Can I give you a kiss?”
“I think that is against medical station policy, Joss, but thank you anyway,” Grace said, her cheeks suddenly feeling very hot.
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Dris said. “He does that to me, too.”
Grace walked into the room, leaned her back against a counter, and crossed her arms.
“What’s this I hear about someone shipping back out into the field?” she asked.
The man froze, keeping his broad, muscled back to her. She saw him inhale a slow deep breath before he turned around. He kept his eyes lowered, refusing to meet her eyes. He picked up some things and stuffed them into a bag.
“Is it true?” Grace pressed.
He continued to busy himself with packing what little he had, as if he was not aware Grace was still in his room. She knew he had heard her question. She could see him glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes, as he moved about his room, trying to ignore her. She just waited.
“ . . . What’s it to you?” he finally asked, a challenge in his voice. He turned to face her, his enormous hands on his slim hips.
“My patient. I happen to care about what happens to him.”
He jerked and raised his eyebrows, at that. “I had no idea, Doc,” he said. “Is that sort of thing allowed?” He donned a sly, crooked smile, to take the edge off the words.
“You know what I mean,” Grace said, her cheeks starting to tingle.
“No . . . actually I don’t, Doc. You’ll have to explain it to me.”
He looked her square in the eyes, then, and Grace felt her throat constrict and her mouth go dry. His intense, amber eyes were so piercing and penetrating. Could he see right into her soul, through those eyes?
