Soon, she opened the car door, placed the towels on the seat, sat comfortably over the stack, and drove to the Norwood Memorial Airport.
Chapter Fifty-Two
As Alexandra drove on, she attempted communications with Brent, Ellie, and William.
“Commanders,” she said. “Are you able to communicate at this time?”
“Yes,” said William. “We’ve been on pins and needles—”
“I’m sorry, pins and needles?”
“Yes,” explained Brent. “We’ve been worried about Valerie’s status. What do you know?”
“I went to her hospital bed and scanned her status,” said Alexandra. “I am now ready to learn what the computer has learned. I thought I’d put you online with us as I do.”
“Great,” said Ellie. “What have you learned?”
“Computer, display a virtual screen on the virtual cortices of those to whom I’m speaking. Show what you know.”
“Hello, Commanders,” said the computerized voice. “The one called Valerie is devoid of brain function. Her chance of meaningful life is zero, and her chance of any survival over the next twenty-four hours is six percent.”
“Oh my,” said Brent. “Is she still under the coma-inducing medications?”
“No, these were stopped about twelve hours ago, and their effect at this time is nil,” said Alexandra.
William interrupted a long moment of silence. “Damn! I can’t believe Valerie is dead!”
“I will come get you,” said Alexandra. “I’m en route to your location. What is the strategy for your coma reversals?”
“We sent a code to our parents for them to wake us up,” said William. “But so far nothing has happened.”
“Keep trying,” said Alexandra. “I’ve learned that the cerebrumular particle will dissipate quickly if the coma-reversing drugs are stopped, but they will dissolve slowly otherwise.”
“So the quicker the better,” said Brent. “Any danger if we remain in coma for several more days?”
“The particle should have been totally gone by now,” explained Alexandra. “We didn’t count on your doctors being able to see it and prolonging your coma.”
“They devised some new type of scanner just for us,” said Brent. “That device was able to visualize it.”
“You’ve been in a coma for seven of your months,” said Alexandra. “The longer you remain in coma, the higher the chance of the particle encroaching on your normal brain tissue and causing damage. Also, your neurotransmitter levels are depleting fast and you risk paralysis. We need you awake very quickly.”
“How quickly can you be here?” asked Ellie. “You might be able to help us. We’ve tried but so far have been unable to get our coma reversed.”
“I’ll be another few hours,” said Alexandra. “Keep working on it. Hopefully, you can get the message to your doctors to stop the coma-inducing medications. Now!”
Chapter Fifty-Three
It was midmorning, and the traffic had been rather light. Alexandra arrived at the Norwood Memorial Airport and parked the electric car. There was nobody in the area to witness a four-year-old sitting on a stack of hospital towels operating a vehicle. Plenty of fellow drivers stared at her during the drive in disbelief and some even honked their horns, but her forward progress had not been impeded in any way.
Alexandra picked up the pile of towels with ease and walked outside the airport proper around the ten-foot-high chain link fence to the area where she spotted the airplane that brought her to Boston. The Gulfstream G650 had been moved from the end of the runway to where it now sat in the periphery of the airport. She threw the heap of towels over the fence and climbed over, her little feet easily fitting the chain links and allowing her to walk up and then down effortlessly. She first noticed that the airplane’s front wheel was physically disabled with a special locking instrument to prevent its use. She felt the heavy metal device surrounding the front tire. It was thick and locked in place. Steel and nickel, she realized by touching the material. Carbon and iron, mostly. She fished out the small thumb-sized app and with a touch of a button melted the apparatus off, freeing the aircraft’s front wheel. She tossed the small portions of the melted locking device aside so as to allow the wheel to move forward unimpeded.
There was yellow tape on the entry into the jet. “This airplane is under investigation by the FAA. Do not operate.” Alexandra removed the tape and message and gained access to the cockpit. She placed the towel stash on the pilot’s seat and concentrated on the virtual image inside her visual cortex. The computer had accomplished a preflight check remotely. “The aircraft is airworthy and you can depart now,” the computer announced.
She sat on the towels and was now able to look outside the airplane. It was then she noticed five men marching toward the Gulfstream, still thirty yards away.
“Computer, options for dealing with the men approaching the airplane.”
“Computing,” said the computer voice in Alexandra’s auditory brain center. “If you wait for their arrival, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do or to hurt them physically. Best course of action is to fly away. I have disabled detection mechanisms, so their radar will not detect your presence once you’re off the ground.”
The Gulfstream came alive, and in a few seconds, the jet was ready to taxi. Alexandra gunned the throttle, and the airplane began rolling, slowly at first but faster and faster as it went. Astonished and surprised, the men ran to the side of the taxiway to avoid being run over by the airplane as it sped by them. The airplane lined up with the centerline of the runway and soon was airborne.
Dr. Monroe had a gnawing sensation inside the pit of her stomach. These were unusual circumstances, but her professional opinion was that the teenagers should be lifted out of their seven-month deep comas slowly over two weeks. Well, at least one week. The effects of the comatose state, this deep and this long, were unknown. In these situations, it seemed prudent to proceed cautiously. And slowly.
She sat at her computer and looked up the teenagers’ latest laboratory test results.
All good. All normal, she thought. She made some calculations on her computer, and when satisfied, she turned to her patients’ electronic medical record. She pulled up William Baten’s chart and typed her order for the nursing staff to begin the slow weaning process of the coma-inducing drugs. At this rate, the coma would begin to wear off, and consciousness will be regained in about nine to ten days. Her eyes began to squint into diminishing slits. I hope they wake up after all this time! The uncertainty of the situation bothered her to no end.
Monroe did a double take when the electronic medical record order page on William Baten morphed right in front of her eyes.
“What the—” Monroe sat on the edge of her seat. “Who’s changing my orders?” Right in front of her eyes, her computer’s keyboard ceased to respond to her input, and the screen began to display a new message: Turn off the coma-inducing medications now! This message repeated over and over, now encompassing the whole monitor. Turn off the coma-inducing medications now!
Chapter Fifty-Four
The ward was full of people. Around the three hospital beds, all available personnel who had been involved with the care of the comatose teenagers were now anticipating the next big step. Surrounding the bed were the six parents. Behind them were Dr. Monroe, other doctors, and neuroscientists. Interspersed in between all, several nurses and techs craned their necks to witness the grand awakening.
Dr. Monroe nodded, and nurses situated by each of the IV poles pushed a button, causing the drip of medications to cease trickling.
“How long will this take?” asked Gus.
“Five minutes,” said Monroe. “Ten at most.” She took a deep breath. “I hope this is the right thing to do.”
“I’m sure of it,” said Jane. “I have faith in Ellie and her friends.”
“The kids were certainly very clear in their instructions,” said Gus.
A long moment of silence ens
ued, and the room filled with the beep of the heart monitors and the swish of the respirators, all eyes on the sleeping teens.
“The suspense is killing me,” said Joseph. “Come on, Brent. Wake up, son.” Mary gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. They hugged.
“It’s been about seven minutes and fifty seconds,” said one of the nurses, a stopwatch in her hand.
“The medications are out of their systems by now,” said Dr. Della Martin. “If they’re going to wake up, we’ll see some signs very soon.”
“If they’re going to wake up?” asked Mary. “I can’t bear the thought that my Brent might not—”
“He will,” said Joe. “Brent and all the others will wake up. Let’s have some faith here.”
“I’m getting worried,” said Monroe. “How long has it been since we discontinued the drip of medications?”
“Ten minutes and four seconds,” said the nurse with the timer.
Monroe walked briskly to Brent’s bedside and began performing a neuro check. She assessed his reflexes and muscle tone, looked at his pupils, and evaluated spontaneous eye movements as she turned his head side to side. She pinched Brent’s thigh muscles to gauge for pain perception. With deep concern in her expression, she faced the parents, her head shaking slowly.
The Gulfstream G650 rolled down the runway after an impeccable landing at Indy Executive Airport. The airplane proceeded to the taxiway and stopped at the point where the perimeter fence was nearest, only twenty yards away. The aircraft powered down and the door opened. The stairs rolled out and Alexandra climbed down. She ran to the eight-foot fence and scaled over to the other side with the ease of a chimpanzee in the wild.
“Commanders, are you there?” she asked, using her mental communicator. Her thought frequencies had been trying to reach Brent, Ellie, and William for some time now to no avail. “I hope the commanders are OK,” she said. “Computer, find me an electric vehicle and provide the quickest navigation route to the location where the commanders are housed.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
The solace room was cold and dreary. The illumination in there was low. On the walls hung a clock and a cross. Dr. Tom Rovine was rendered unable to speak, a continuous stream of tears running down his cheeks. He looked over at his wife, Madeleine, who stood firm, sitting up at the edge of her chair. No tears. Apparently emotionless.
The loss of his only daughter seemed insufferable to Tom.
“Dr. and Mrs. Rovine, I need to take Valerie to the morgue,” said a woman peeking inside the solace room. “I thought you two might want to see her before I do.”
Teary eyed, Tom spoke first. “Yes…please.”
Madeleine got up from her chair and stood there. “We’ll be right in.” She held Tom’s arm and helped him to his feet.
The woman nodded and left, the door closing behind her, leaving Tom and Madeleine alone once again.
“This is all your fault, Madeleine,” said Tom, through clenched teeth. “My Valerie would be alive if you didn’t insist we come here to Boston.”
Madeleine took a step away from Tom. “I didn’t kill our daughter, Tom.” She pointed skyward. “Those damned aliens did!”
“Just like you to blame your bad decisions on others,” said Tom, another tear cascading down his face. “If we’d stayed in Indy, Valerie would still be alive.”
“But brain dead like her other friends,” said Madeleine. “I just received a text from Mary Smithson. They stopped the coma-inducing medications, and the three kids never woke up. Do you blame me for their conditions, too?”
“What?” asked Tom, his eyes wide open. “The other teens are brain dead? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I didn’t want to add to your misery, Tom. You had enough sorrow on your plate.”
“Don’t start to pretend you care, Madeleine,” said Tom. “It doesn’t suit you.” With these words, Tom walked briskly out of the solace room.
“Tom,” yelled Madeleine. “Tom, don’t run away from me.” She opened the door and peered in Tom’s direction.
Tom stopped and looked back at her. “Get away from me.” He took a deep breath. “And get out of my life!”
Many eyes stared as Alexandra parked her ride haphazardly by the main entrance into Memorial Hospital. She hurriedly walked toward the neuro unit where Brent, Ellie, and William remained prone on their hospital beds. In the visual cortex of her brain, a schematic showing the best route to the teenagers’ bedsides was displayed. She followed it, all along getting stares from other visitors.
When Alexandra reached the teens’ unit, she stopped at the door and peered inside. Brent, Ellie, and William were lying on their beds. Medical personnel attended to their bodily needs.
Alexandra retreated to the waiting room and gave a thought command. “Computer, why am I unable to receive communications from the commanders?”
“Computing and scanning,” returned the voice in her auditory brain center. “Not enough is known about human brain physiology to make definitive assessments. A closer scan would be helpful, Commander.”
“Computer, standby to scan and derive information fast,” thought-commanded Alexandra. “I’ll get closer and allow proximity probing of their central nervous systems.”
Alexandra walked slowly into the neuro unit. Many people were gathered around the three beds—parents, nurses, doctors, and technicians. She intertwined her little body in between all those present, trying to remain inconspicuous. Despite her unobtrusiveness, when she was near one of the beds, a woman got in her way.
“Who are you, little girl?” asked the nurse, squatting down to look at her. “Where are your parents?”
“I’d like to see the kids on these beds,” said Alexandra, taking one step forward, now a little closer to one of the teens. “Are they dead?”
“You can’t be here, sweetheart,” said the woman. “Let me take you to your mommy. Where is she?”
Alexandra moved another step closer to one of the beds.
The nurse held Alexandra’s arm. “Don’t get any closer. Where’s your mommy?”
Alexandra twisted her body, and the nurse reflexively let go of her arm. When free, Alexandra leapt onto the bed nearest her. She looked and saw Brent’s face. She touched his skull with both hands for a second, and then her palms moved slowly to his closed eyes.
“Who’s the little girl?” asked a man in a suit.
“I don’t know,” said the nurse who had interacted with Alexandra. “Let’s go find your family, sweetheart.” She picked Alexandra up under the armpits and attempted to physically remove her from the bed. “My, you’re a heavy one.”
“Scan complete,” Alexandra heard in her head.
Alexandra jumped off the bed with ease and swiftly left the room, all eyes on her, puzzled.
“Computer, why are their brains dysfunctional?” She trotted to the basement and found an unoccupied broom closet. She closed the door behind her.
“The long, deep comatose state has rendered their neurons unable to produce presynaptic neurotransmitters. Without these chemicals, the brain is unable to process information.”
“Computer, why can’t I communicate with them any longer?”
“Computing,” Alexandra heard in her head. “The coma-induced drugs created a state whereby the teens could use portions of their newly recruited brain cells to dream. When the drugs were discontinued, this communication tool ceased to function. They will be able to reestablish communication when they can be infused with sufficient amounts of usable neurotransmitters. My research shows that this process is not part of the medical repertoire of the physicians on this planet.”
“Computer, how do we reverse the present state of their brains?”
“Best course of action is to deliver a fifty-micro-watt-second-squared neurosynaptic shock wave from the medulla oblongata to the—”
“Computer, how do I accomplish this?” interrupted Alexandra.
“The shock wave is delivered through
a neurosynaptic neuroverter; however, none exists on this planet,” said the computer matter-of-factly. “It will take five and a half hours to manufacture one, once the ingredients are gathered. However, to find all the necessary elements, a planetary-wide search is required. This will take you at least five days to accomplish.”
“What will happen to the teenagers if we wait that long to intervene?” asked Alexandra.
“Computing…neurons will begin to die off in approximately forty-eight hours. The commanders will be completely paralyzed and possibly brain dead in approximately four days.”
“We don’t have that kind of time,” said Alexandra. “I must intervene somehow!” Alexandra thought a moment. “Computer, is there a quicker way to deliver the neurostimulation? Without the neuroverter instrument?”
“The microshock can be delivered through traditional paddles with pretreatment with a chemical agent that you will need to manufacture. But this therapy will require a craniotomy.”
Brain surgery, mused Alexandra. I must cut into their skulls and—
Alexandra’s thoughts were interrupted by the computer’s voice in her head. “Commander, I think you should know that a DNR order has just been entered into the computer for each of them.”
“DNR order?” Alexandra’s eyes squinted. “Computer, what is a DNR order?”
“Do not resuscitate. I’m afraid the plan now is to pull the plug on the teenagers. Off the respirators, chance of survival beyond fifteen minutes is zero percent.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Louis kissed Ellie’s forehead and stepped aside so that Jane could have her turn. The sadness in the room was unbearable. Having said their last good-byes, the six parents ambled to the waiting room.
Unlike every other time they entered the chamber, a young albino girl was standing by a window looking outside.
“This is the little girl who came in to see Brent,” whispered Joseph to the cluster of parents. “What’s she doing here?”
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