“Why isn’t Valerie communicating yet?” asked William. “Something is certainly wrong with her.”
“I trust in Alexandra,” said Ellie. “She’ll send us news soon.”
“The best thing for us to do is to get out of this damn coma,” said Brent. “We need to convey to our doctors that it’s OK to wake us up.”
“We can control our heartbeats, respirations, and blood pressure,” said William.
“So?” asked Ellie. “If we change these things significantly, the doctors will only worry more and keep us in coma longer.”
“Yeah, or decide to do urgent brain surgery on us,” agreed Brent.
“That’s true,” said William. “Brain surgery is the last thing we need. We must think of something to let these doctors in on the benign nature of our brain mass.” He paused. “Valerie, are you out there?” Another pause. “If you’re able, please send back some message. Any message.”
The parents came into the unit and walked slowly to their children’s beds.
“I don’t know if I can put up with a week more of this,” said Jane.
“You heard Dr. Monroe,” said Louis. “At least one week, but probably longer. We have to have patience.”
Gus held on to William’s unmoving hand. “Hang in there, son. The doctors are beginning to ease off your coma drugs.” Leona smiled and nodded at her husband.
As if on cue, William’s monitor skipped a beat, adding an extra beep to the regular cadence of his heart rhythm. Then another. Ellie’s monitor seemed to chime in, and hers threw two skips into the mix. Brent was next, and his blood pressure monitor signal tossed in a few extra-long strokes and short thumps. Then the skipping beats from William and Ellie again. The extra sounds from the bedside monitors persisted, the erratic nature of the jangles and thuds worsening with each passing moment.
The six parents looked at each other, all eyes scanning, all ears super attentive of the monitors overhead.
“What’s happening?” asked Leona.
“I don’t know,” said Jane. “I’m going to get the nurse.” She turned to exit the main room when her progress was halted.
“Listen,” said Gus, his index finger to his lips. “I used to be an amateur radio operator.” He held his right hand open, urging the others to concentrate. “This is Morse code.”
“I wouldn’t think the kids would know Morse code,” said Jane.
“My William does, or at least he used to,” said Gus. “A long time ago, when he thought his old man was still cool, we spent a lot of time in the radio room communicating with folks across the globe using all kinds of codes, including Morse code.”
“What are they telling us?” asked Louis.
Gus’s lips parted, revealing a huge smile. “I have long since forgotten. But I’m sure this is Morse code. They are definitely trying to communicate with us.”
“I’ll go call Dr. Monroe,” said Louis, vamoosing the room. “She’ll want to be here to witness this.”
“Look it up on your smartphone, Gus,” said Leona, a newfound enthusiasm in her voice. “We have to decipher this.” She fished out her cell phone from her purse as she spoke and began recording the changing intonations emanating from the teens’ bedside monitoring equipment. “My boy is trying to say something, and I want to know what it is.”
Hurriedly, Gus found his iPhone deep in his pocket and Googled the Morse code.
“R-E-A-D-Y, stop; N-O-W.” Gus looked up from the cell phone, and his gaze met multiple eyes, all focused on his every word. “The message is repeating. He nodded his head in excitement. “They’re saying ‘Ready now!’ over and over.”
“Can the message be any clearer?” asked Louis.
Jane nodded. “They want out of their comas. Now!”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dr. Moffett entered the postop waiting room and slowly walked toward the two Rovines, the only people in the vast chamber. Madeleine saw him first and immediately got on her feet. Tom stood up next, all along observing the neurosurgeon’s posture and demeanor. In less than a second, he realized the news was bad. He knew the regretful-messenger look only too well as he too had had the displeasure of giving news like he was about to receive. Moffett’s shoulders were slumped, his gaze droopy, and eye contact was yet to be established.
“How’s Valerie?” rhapsodized Madeleine, her words clueless.
“Something went wrong,” said Tom, melancholy accenting every syllable.
“The brain scans were deceiving,” said Moffett, his stare on the floor. “The tumor was all over the place. I tried to resect out as much as I could.” He nodded his head, and then his sad eyes met the parents’. “I aborted the operation when I realized the potential harm was greater than the potential benefit.”
“Is my Valerie going to be OK?” asked Madeleine. “I mean, will she be as good as she was before the surgery?”
“I don’t know,” said Moffett. “Only time will tell.”
Tom prepared to pose a question, hoping to get more details about his daughter. Before he could do so, Moffett turned around and departed the room. Tom and Madeleine, mouths agape, looked at each other and sat down heavily on the couch behind them.
“Shit, I should have left her in Indy,” said Madeleine. “Valerie shouldn’t have had the brain surgery.”
The night was cool and windy, the mantles of clouds blanketing the city of Boston, allowing only short-lived peeks from the full moon above. Off the postop waiting room, there was a balcony overlooking the metropolitan streets, its doors ajar behind the drawn semitransparent curtains, which moved to and fro at the whim of the passing wind. In between the partly opened doors and the long, swaying draperies, a four-year-old albino girl peeked in. Quiet. Unemotional. Still.
Alexandra entered the waiting room and walked rapidly past the Rovines on her way to the postop ICU.
“Where did you come from?” asked Tom, his gaze tracking the little girl.
“Where are your mom and dad?” asked Madeleine.
And just like that, Alexandra was out of their sight.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The special neuro unit created for Brent, Ellie, and William was still. The three comatose teenagers lay still, their chests gradually rising and falling. The six parents and Dr. Monroe formed a circle in the center of the three beds. Three nurses loitered the area, their curiosity piqued.
The background noise was now very familiar; the unmelodious short beeps and longer muffled thumps in a repeating cacophony of irregular heart rhythm beats and fluctuating blood pressure readings.
“This can’t be random,” said Gus. “It repeats over and over again. The kids are definitely messaging us.”
“Your children cannot possibly be sending messages of any kind,” said Monroe. “Their brains are flatlined. Comatose. There is no possible way.”
“The drugs you are administering them to keep them comatose are very capable of preventing the brain we know of from working,” said Joseph. “But I’m telling you, my Brent is sending this message. And the other two kids too.”
“The point being,” added Mary, “there may be other parts of the brain that are usually dormant that we know nothing about. These brain areas may have been recruited. How likely is it that these areas are affected by your coma-producing medications?”
“All those considerations aside, it doesn’t mean it’s safe to get them out of their comas,” said Monroe. “We all think we should do it over the course of a week, maybe two.”
Louis interjected. “Dr. Monroe, our kids have been living in the midst of a very advanced race of aliens—”
“They’re travelers, honey,” interrupted Jane. “The general told us Ellie and the other kids called them travelers. Not aliens.”
“Excuse me,” said Louis. “They’ve been with very advanced travelers from another planet. If they say it’s time now, I say we do it now. And quickly.”
“What’s the hurry anyway?” asked Monroe. “Why not do it slowly as
we had planned?”
“We don’t know why they want out of their comas so soon,” said Mary. “But their message is concise. They’re ready now!”
“Well, I’m sorry,” said Monroe. “I speak for the entire neuro team working with your children. Our final word is no. We will continue with our plan to get them out of their comas over the next week.” Monroe quickly turned around and left the area.
Brent’s brain interrupted the silence in the Traveler Spaceship. “Someone left the room.”
“Don’t stop the rhythm,” said William. “I’m not sure they got the message yet.”
“We’ve been at this for an hour,” said Ellie. “They either got it or they’ll never get it.”
“Someone left the room,” repeated Brent. “All present had been very quiet and still. Then someone left. I think they got the message.”
“Will they let us off the coma drugs then?” asked Ellie.
“I think so,” said Brent. “Soon we’ll be awake and aware, with all our faculties back at our disposal.”
“Any word from Valerie?” asked William. “Or Alexandra?”
“This is Alexandra,” a high-frequency signal permutated their tertiary auditory cortex.
“Alexandra, any news from Valerie?” asked William.
“I’ve not examined her as of yet, but the reports from the doctors indicate that Valerie’s condition is premorbid,” said Alexandra. “The surgery did not go well.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Ellie.
“Is there any hope for her?” asked Brent.
A long period free of extremely high-frequency signals arose. Finally Alexandra spoke, “Her neurosurgeon thinks her chances of survival without deficits are less than five percent.”
“There must be something we can do,” said William.
“I have other bad news,” said Alexandra. “In further researching Valerie’s brain, I discovered that the human brain in a deep coma for this long loses neurotransmitters.”
“Can these be regenerated?” asked Ellie.
“What does all that really mean?” asked Brent.
“Humans don’t yet have the scientific ability to replenish neurons with neurotransmitters,” said Alexandra. “If you’re not out of this deep coma in the next two to three hours, you will be paralyzed indefinitely.”
Chapter Fifty
The Rovines were finally allowed to see Valerie. They entered her cubicle, their steps unhurried, Madeleine first, followed by Tom, and Valerie’s nurse last.
“She’s peaceful,” noted Madeleine.
Valerie’s chest rose and deflated with each stroke of the ventilator.
“Is she in any pain?” asked Tom.
“No, she feels no pain,” said the nurse. “She has no brain function whatsoever.”
“Is that from the medication to induce coma?” asked Madeleine.
“No, we stopped that medication completely before she went to surgery,” said the nurse. “The effect is all gone by now.”
Tom wiped a fallen tear. “She looks so beautiful.”
“I always told her she was brainless,” said Madeleine. “She’s in this predicament because I insisted on removing the brain tumor.” She took a deep breath. “It’s all my fault.”
Tom’s jaw clenched, and he wiped another tear. “I should have stopped you.”
“Is there no hope she will recover full brain function?” asked Madeleine.
“There’s always hope,” said the nurse. “We’ve all seen miracles happen around here.” She looked at her feet and then slowly walked out the small cubicle.
Tom found Valerie’s hand, gave it a soft squeeze, and held it firmly in his clasp, his head bowed, eyes closed.
Back in Indiana, the parents remained at their children’s bedsides.
“There’s got to be a way to convince the neurologist to reverse the coma quickly,” said Gus. “I know that’s what my William wants.”
“I know he has a good reason to want this now,” said Leona.
Louis took a deep breath. “What if we—”
His words were interrupted by a cell-phone chime emanating from Jane’s purse. He looked at his wife.
“Who would be calling at a time like this?” asked Jane, fishing for her cell phone. She produced it, looked at the caller ID, and answered it. “Madeleine, how is Valerie doing?”
“Don’t let the doctors there operate on your kids,” said Madeleine. “Valerie had the surgery, and she is now brain dead, according to the doctor’s report. She’s not expected to regain any brain function. Ever. And it’s doubtful she’ll survive the night.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Alexandra was experiencing feelings. Earthly feelings. Feelings that had previously been foreign to her. Despair. Failure. Disgust. Doubt. She was beginning to understand these sensations and even comprehend their raison d’être. But there was another. One that was distant so far. One that began brewing soon after her arrival as she witnessed Moffett and Valerie’s parents interact. This sensation was deep and very unpleasant. Though at this time it was negligible, Alexandra became very afraid of it. Revenge, I think is the word for this emotion. I must suppress it. It’s ugly and unproductive.
Realizing she was too late and unable to intercede to help Valerie, Alexandra decided to seek out the others. She would confer with them and devise a plan as to how to proceed. But first, it was essential for her to visit with Valerie.
“Computer, show me schematics of this hospital and guide me to the bedside of the one called Valerie.”
“Scanning,” pronounced the computerized voice inside her head. And soon, Alexandra saw a virtual map of the hospital. Only she could see it. All others appreciated only a cute little albino girl wandering about the neurosurgical unit.
A nurse bent down and then got on one knee. “Are you lost?” asked the woman, a smile growing on her face as she approached her. “What’s your name?”
Alexandra turned away and ran, her accelerated strides guided by the virtual map in her visual cortex.
“Hey, where are you going?” she heard the nurse say.
There were a lot of people about, all busy, pursuing one task or another.
“You can’t be here,” said a balding, scowled-face man. “Where are your parents?”
Alexandra quickened her pace so as to avoid his clutches and soon was only two doors away from Valerie.
“Computer, scan Valerie and determine her present status. Determine if there is a way to rejuvenate her neuronal pathways.”
“Scanning.”
Alexandra stepped into Valerie’s cubicle. There were three female nurses and one man. Alexandra determined he was a neurosurgical resident. She scanned his administrative folder and learned Dr. Rufus Beaty began at Boston General Hospital’s neurosurgical department almost two Earth years ago.
“The DNA sequence signature of the one called Valerie has been found, and I am now scanning for injuries, organ function, and—”
“Computer, I’m unable to concentrate with this human half brain of mine if you keep talking in my auditory cortex. Scan and store information. I will retrieve later.”
As she thought-commanded her computer, Alexandra had jumped on Valerie’s bed.
“Little one, you can’t be in here without your parents,” said one of the women. “Where are they?”
Alexandra noticed the thick bandages around Valerie’s head covering all but her face. A tube exited from her nostrils. A respirator. I read about this primitive tool of theirs earlier. Interesting. Two clear tubes dripped medications into central IV lines.
The male worker had walked to the bed and placed his hands under Alexandra’s pits. He gave it two tries.
“My, you’re heavy,” he said. “How old are you? You must weigh hundreds of pounds.”
One of the other females smiled. “I thought you were going to the gym after work almost every night.” She pushed the man aside and attempted to pick up Alexandra. Unbudgeable from her po
sition, Alexandra touched Valerie’s head bandages, allowing the computer to gather more specific information about the brain injury.
“How can you be so damn heavy, child?” she said, attempting to lift up Alexandra. “You seem to be made out of heavy stones. I can’t even begin to move you.”
“She’s what, four? Five?” asked another female. “Step aside.” She walked around to the other side of Valerie’s bed, hoping to have a go at bodily moving the little girl.
“I’m all done here,” said Alexandra, hopping off the bed and walking out of the cubicle, leaving the others dumbfounded and looking at one another, unsure of what had just transpired.
Alexandra followed the virtual map displaying on her visual cortex, walking rapidly in between people who had noticed her. Here and there, she was treated to “Where are your parents?” and “Are you lost, little girl?” and “My, you are certainly in a hurry!” and “Want me to help you find your mommy?”
Alexandra shook her head and continued on her slow jog toward the back exit, the door she knew led to the employee parking lot. But first, she had a quick stop to make. A door in front of her read Laundry Room. Outside this door, there were multiple shelves, each labeled with a hospital unit. A dark-skinned man threw a stack of blankets on the shelf labeled 4 West. There were ten blankets all securely fastened together with rope.
He smiled at her. “Are you lost?”
“No, I’m good,” said Alexandra, picking up the stack of blankets. The man stood still. Openmouthed. Astonished. Alexandra tossed him a wan smile and then resumed her running with ease, despite the heavy load, toward the exit door.
She would reach it in two and a quarter minutes, at this pace. This part of the hospital had much fewer walkabouts, so her progress would be rapider.
Finally, she arrived. The door opened, and Alexandra smiled. There was a myriad of automobiles, several electric in design. She picked one and walked toward it.
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