Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  “Why?” she blurted out, not able to hide the frustration and distress in her voice. She took a deep breath and said, more softly, in a voice not much above a whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” he asked, chin raised.

  “Going back out there?” Grace said, almost in tears.

  He shook his head and looked away, his hands clenching into fists. His shoulders sagged. “Because I have to, Doc. Because it’s something I have to do.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want to go back out there. You couldn’t go back. Didn’t you say to me, ‘Doc, don’t let them make me go back out there?’ You don’t have to go! You can still get out!” Grace said, pleading in her raised voice.

  “No. No, Doc, I can’t. This is my duty. They need me. My squad—what is left of them—needs me. If I retired and went back home—well, probably none of my family would be alive—just great grand-nephews and great grand-nieces, perfect strangers, really. They wouldn’t want an old, antiquated fossil like me hanging around them. And why should they? They would probably be terrified of me.

  “Besides, it wouldn’t be my world any more, not the one I grew up in. It’d be several decades if not a century, since I left it. Nothing and no one would be the same. I doubt anyone I knew would even be alive. And what would I do, Doc? All I really know is killing. After everything that happened with you and Dr. Nestor, and then almost being destroyed by those battlecruisers, it made me do some serious thinking. The men and women of my squad, they’re my family now. They are all I have left and I need to look after them. They are my reason for living, now.

  “Look. I really appreciate you caring about me, Doc. Giving me all these new parts and saving my life, but I have a duty to the soldiers under my command. I have to go with them. What I said before about not wanting to go back out there, that was just the drugs talking. I’ve got my head on straight now and I know what I have to do.”

  “You don’t have to go back into combat,” Grace pressed. “There are so many other things within the military you can do. You can teach. You can recruit. You don’t necessarily have to retire.”

  Captain Damien Lamont smiled. “Doc, I want to go back. It’s my job, my duty . . . my calling. I need to look after the soldiers under me. They’re just kids! They’ll get themselves killed without me! You understand about ‘calling’ and duty’ and ‘responsibility’, don’t you, Doc?”

  Grace sucked in her lips and sniffed. She eventually nodded. “Unfortunately, only too well, Captain Lamont. I know exactly what you mean,” Grace said, a sigh punctuating her words.

  “It’s funny, Doc. I feel bigger, better, stronger, and faster with all of these new modifications. I thought I would be weak and in a lot of pain, but the opposite is true. Hopefully, with all of these new upgrades, I can protect my kids better. Hopefully, I will be better at my job, this time around.”

  Grace felt tears invade her vision. “You were too good at your job, Captain. Try and be a bit less selfless next time around. No more jumping on top of bombs. That’s an order,” she said, gruffly, to cover up her emotions.

  “Don’t take this personally, Captain Damien Lamont, but I don’t ever want to see you on an operating table in front of me ever again.”

  The captain drew himself up to his full height and grinned.

  “I don’t intend to ever be on one again either, Doc. I intend to live until they have to push me around in an antigrav chair and spoon mush into my toothless mouth!”

  He grinned, showing off his full set of glistening tiger fangs. He held out his huge, left hand to her, claws retracted, and she stared at it for a few seconds before reaching out her left hand to have it engulfed. The captain’s hand felt so incredibly soft and luxuriant and was surprisingly gentle. Grace knew, with the lightest of squeezes, that Damien Lamont could easily crush all the bones in her hand, if he wished.

  “Thanks for everything, Doc,” he said earnestly, his captivating, amber eyes holding hers. “Thanks for getting me out of that mess with Nestor and for believing in my innocence. Thanks for saving my life and putting me back together again. I owe you more than I can ever repay.” He dragged her into a huge bear hug.

  “You are very welcome, Captain,” Grace said, feeling as if she were being smothered by a fur coat. It was so soft and warm in his embrace, part of her wished she could stay cuddled in there forever. She put on a brave smile and pulled away. “You take care of yourself out there and, like I said before, don’t go throwing yourself onto any more bombs.”

  “Only if they look like you, Doc,” he said, and winked.

  Grace let out a very unladylike guffaw and rolled her eyes. She felt the hot blush blooming.

  “Be good,” she ordered.

  “Will do, Doc.” He grinned. “Same back at you.”

  “Come back for a visit, Captain, but all in one piece.”

  “I just might take you up on that, Doc,” he said, with a low growl and a killer smile. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and then saluted.

  Grace laughed at Damien’s expression and returned the salute. She turned and left the captain’s room, quickly, before her carefree façade crumbled and she made a fool of herself by bursting into tears.

  “Stay safe,” she whispered, as the tears tracked down her cheeks.

  Chapter Nineteen: More Than Forgiven

  “Dr. Lord?”

  “Yes, Nelson Mandela?”

  “I have some unpleasant news.”

  “What is it?” Grace asked, sitting at the nursing station, writing orders for her patients, primarily discharge orders. The little voice in her head sighed, ‘Oh, no. What now?’

  “It is about Dr. Jeffrey Nestor.”

  Grace’s face fell. Her heart skipped a few beats and she felt her shoulders tightened. She tried to swallow; it took a few attempts. She sat up straight and looked up at the nearest surveillance eye.

  “Dr. Nestor? What about Dr. Nestor?” A cold wave of trepidation drenched her in sweat.

  “It appears the psychiatrist has escaped.”

  Grace felt her heart begin to race. It rapidly thumped the inside of her chest like a boxer jabbing. Did she now have to suspect that anyone on the station could be a possible assassin, programmed to try and kill her?

  “It is my belief that he has left the medical station on one of the ships taking recovered workers back to their home worlds. I believe he was aided by two female personnel, who worked in the brig and were longstanding patients of his. It appears these accomplices brought a disguise to Dr. Nestor and they were able to somehow get Dr. Nestor onto one of the vessels, departing with discharged patients.”

  “Do you know which vessel he left on?” Grace whispered.

  “I believe so, Dr. Lord, but I cannot be absolutely sure. I believe he may have been smuggled out in one of the empty cryopods, onto one of the departing ships. There were a thousand empty cryopods loaded in that time period for return to planets and combat zones. Which ship is carrying the cryopod containing Dr. Nestor’s body is anyone’s guess, unfortunately. I have already notified all of the departing ships’ captains, as well as the destination battlecruisers and planets receiving the cryopods. All respondents have assured me that, if he is found, he will be recaptured and held for trial.”

  “I wonder how they managed it?” Grace said, in wonder.

  “His accomplices managed to sabotage the surveillance cameras in the brig. These former patients of Dr. Nestor were on guard duty in the brig together. They were able to facilitate Dr. Nestor’s escape during the time of the announcement, regarding the discovery of Dr. Al-Fadi’s remains. Dr. Nestor’s absence was not discovered until the next shift, when the new guards arrived to find the jail cell empty and both accomplices gone.”

  “Does Bud and Captain Damien Lamont know about this?” Grace asked, getting up out of the chair to pace nervously around the unit.

  “Yes. Bud has been very busy, Dr. Lord, but he has been made aware. Captain Lamont and his squad h
ave already left, to return to their ship, but I will send word to him.”

  “Of course,” Grace said, quickly, crossing her arms and trying to suppress a shiver. She felt a wave of fear and also sadness, as she wondered why Bud had not come himself, to tell her the news.

  “I am deeply sorry, Dr. Lord. I take full responsibility.”

  “No need to apologize, Nelson Mandela. I understand.”

  “Would you like someone to stay with you, Dr. Lord?”

  “Oh . . . no, Nelson Mandela. If Dr. Nestor is off of the station, hopefully my life is not in danger anymore.”

  “I shall have security droids stationed outside your quarters for now, Dr. Lord. Just in case.”

  “That really is not necessary, Nelson Mandela.”

  “Please, Dr. Lord. I insist. It is the logical thing to do: keep you under guard, at least for now, until we are sure Dr. Nestor has not sent anyone else after you.”

  “Oh, all right,” Grace sighed. “I think it is highly unlikely, Nelson Mandela, but I do appreciate your concern for my wellbeing. I am not trying to be difficult, but . . .”

  “You are most welcome, Dr. Lord. And, again, I deeply apologize for Dr. Nestor’s escape.”

  Grace wanted to ask the station AI where Bud was, but she was too ashamed. She knew she had been hard on the android regarding the life-pod episode and then Dr. Al-Fadi was found liquefied. Bud was probably off mourning over the loss of his creator.

  Bud obviously had no time for Grace, at the moment. She could hardly blame him, the way she had acted towards him and treated him, after he had come out in the shuttle to retrieve the life-pod. She had been verbally abusive and she regretted it.

  Loneliness was a dismal companion.

  The Receiving Bays had been flooded with incoming patients. Grace had spent shift after shift in Triage, assessing the wounded and lining up surgeries. Without Dr. Bell around to keep everything and everyone organized and efficient, the intake of patients seemed an exercise in frustration and chaos theory. There were fewer medical staff—fewer surgeons, anesthetists, and nurses—but not fewer incoming. Nelson Mandela had put out a call to all planets of the Union for medical staff, especially surgeons and anesthetists. Unfortunately, the replacement staff that Nelson Mandela was recruiting, would not be arriving for a few more weeks.

  Grace had had to take over Dr. Al-Fadi’s position for now—even though she felt totally inadequate—until a replacement adaptations surgeon arrived to step into his place. She could do the simpler operations. She had requested that Bud continue to operate with her, because he had seen many of Dr. Al-Fadi’s surgeries and he could help her with the nanobots, but she had received no reply. She suspected that the android no longer wanted anything to do with her, after she had vented her anger at him in the shuttle.

  She could not blame Bud. There were things she had said that she wished she could take back. Unfortunately, that was just not possible. Androids did not forget anything. Grace had not even seen Bud, since the day he told her that Dr. Al-Fadi was dead. She at first thought he was just mourning over the loss of his mentor. Then she worried that something disastrous had happened to Bud, but Nelson Mandela had insisted that Bud was fine. Bud had not been overhauled or turned into scrap metal, as the station AI had always been threatening.

  Coming to the depressing conclusion that Bud was just avoiding her, Grace felt dejected and bereft. Over time, she had come to rely more and more on Bud’s company and support and kindness. If she was honest with herself, she had also become used to his attentiveness. Without his companionship, she felt rejected and abandoned. She thought about that old saying: ‘You don’t know what you’ve got, till it’s gone’ and she had to agree with it, one hundred percent.

  Grace sighed. She had now lost both Dr. Al-Fadi and Bud, and she felt lost and friendless on the huge medical station. She had not even seen Dr. Cech around to talk to. Everyone was grieving the loss of someone, so Grace did not feel she could complain. She could not imagine the grief Hanako was suffering at the moment. Perhaps Grace would drop in on Dr. Al-Fadi’s widow, to see if Hanako wanted company, after she completed her shift in the operating room.

  Before coming to the Nelson Mandela, Grace had never really paid attention to the androids around her; whether they had feelings, whether they experienced emotions, like guilt, sadness, regret. The question of whether an android could feel love, had never even crossed her mind. She had paid no more attention to them than if they were a piece of equipment or machinery. She now realized how wrong she had been. Spending so much time with Bud, seeing his passion and commitment to saving lives, helping others, and protecting her—especially protecting her—had taught her that they were far from emotionless automatons. They needed and deserved to be respected as individuals.

  Could she actually love an android?

  Before the crisis, she would have scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. Now, though, she realized just how much she missed Bud, his innocence, his strength, his intelligence, and his complete lack of guile. He was probably the most forthcoming and open ‘being’ she had ever met. A child with a man’s appearance, learning and maturing exponentially fast. And his love for Grace was playing a part in that development . . . or had been. Whatever Grace felt for Bud, it was very strong as well. She had to admit it. She dearly missed him.

  She had to push those feelings away and forget them, now. She had obviously driven Bud away. Her vision began to blur with tears and she blinked rapidly, sniffing. She silently told herself to stop feeling sorry for herself. She was a surgeon and she was trained to save lives.

  It was time to get to work.

  She had a polar bear soldier being cryothawed in the operating room. The soldier needed a new right arm, after having had the limb blown off by an explosion.

  Grace changed into clean operating scrubs in the women’s locker room and put on her hair covering and surgical mask. After scrubbing her hands with the antiseptic and antiviral soap, she placed her hands in the sterilizer and glover. She could not suppress another deep sigh.

  For her, today was the first day back in surgery since the quarantine had begun, and she was on her own, without Dr. Al-Fadi or Bud. She felt an overwhelming urge to race back to her room, bury herself under the covers, and never come out. Grace shook her head. She knew that she was just being ridiculous. She had a responsibility to the patients who needed what little expertise she could offer them. She prayed it would be enough.

  What Grace was going through, emotionally, was not important. Injured patients needed help and she would do her best or die trying. That’s what Dr. Al-Fadi and Dr. Vanessa Bell would have done, and she would try and live up to their legacy of bravery and devotion to others. She hoped she at least had an experienced SAMM-E to assist her, since Bud was not around. Again, Grace felt some wetness forming in her eyes and she fought the tears back, angrily.

  ‘Stop it!’ she scolded herself. ‘Stop wallowing in self-pity! You brought this all on yourself, so suck it up!’

  She straightened up, pulled her shoulders back, and took a deep breath. She backed up into the door that opened into the operating room, her sterile, gloved hands held up high in the air.

  “It’s show time,” she whispered to herself, recalling when Dr. Al-Fadi had said that to her. She smiled, thinking about how much she was going to miss the small surgeon’s antics in the operating room. Through the door she went.

  “. . . Well! Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence, Dr. Grace. To what do we owe this honor? I hope we did not get you up out of your bed, too early? Did you have trouble turning on the shower this morning, may I ask?”

  Grace stopped just within the operating room door, frozen to the spot, her mouth hanging open, and her breath catching in her throat. She blinked repeatedly. Was she hallucinating? Was this all a dream?

  “Why are you standing there like a lost waif, Dr. Grace? Have I not made it abundantly clear that you are not to be late? Is it not obvious that we are al
ready behind, because of you? There are no flies in this operating room here to catch, so you can close your mouth. I know you are wearing a mask, but I can tell by the position of your jaw, that you have your mouth wide open. Shut it and get over here. Quickly, please. We do not have all day. This patient’s thawing injury cannot wait for you to wake up.

  “Bud? Please help the stupefied Dr. Grace get into her surgical gown, as I worry that she is not capable of doing it up on her own. Stick her with a cattle prod, if she does not snap out of it or use the cautery. No! Forget I said that! The cautery must stay sterile!”

  Grace staggered over, unsteadily, and stopped to stare at the diminutive surgeon in disbelief. She had a desperate urge to poke him with a finger, to see if he was real, but a cattle prod would have been even better. She just had to be gowned first. The adaptation surgeon was sterile and would not have appreciated being contaminated . . . even if he wasn’t real and she was hallucinating him.

  “How?” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Her voice was tremulous and her raised hands quivered like ripples on a pond. “ . . . How is this possible? Are you for real?”

  “If you are going to cry, Dr. Grace, I would kindly ask that you not bend over my patient. Nay, not ask, but demand. I do not want any of your tears falling into my sterile field.

  “Bud? Please give the emotional Dr. Grace a gauze to wipe her eyes, and then she will have to go out and re-sterilize herself. Be careful not to contaminate yourself. The last thing I need are two surgical assistants unable to assist. Do I have to do everything by myself?”

  Bud faced Grace and she could see his eyes gleaming above his surgical mask. Now that he had lungs, he had to wear a mask, just like all the humans. He handed her a clean dry gauze and she blotted her eyes and dropped the sponge onto the floor. A minibot scurried over and picked it up.

  Grace did not know whether she wanted to kiss Bud or strangle him. Perhaps it was a bit of both, because she was laughing and crying at the same time as well. If she did either, she would have been yelled at by the small hallucination, for sure. She looked over at Dr. Cech, who was crying too.