Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  Gingerly she raised her arm and touched the bandage at the hairline of her neck, staring at him as she explored it. “But why?”

  “That will be explained later, as I said. It’s standard procedure for all citizens. Your children are also undergoing this operation.”

  “What?” She started up out of the chair, but he pushed her back down firmly.

  “It’s a minor operation. I assure you they’re all right. In fact, your two oldest daughters are already awake and doing fine.”

  “My two oldest—” She stumbled to a halt, her eyes focusing on the surgical mask that hung at his throat. A sense of horror more numbing than the sedation was crushing down on her, and she felt a sudden clamminess down her spine. “Who gave you permission to operate on my children?”

  He sighed, like a teacher wearying of a particularly slow pupil. “Mrs. Lloyd, this will all make perfect sense later. But it’s not a question of permission. It’s a government requirement.”

  “A government requirement?”

  “Mrs. Lloyd, I know this is all a bit of a shock, but we don’t have time to go through all that now. We have a problem with your youngest daughter.”

  “Becky?” she cried. “What’s wrong?”

  “No, no,” he said hastily. “It’s nothing serious. We just, well, we have a problem. She threw up her lunch—” He managed a brief smile, meant to show his fatherly concern, but which filled Madeline with revulsion. “Too much hamburger and ice cream soda, I guess. Anyway, she came out of the sedation too early.”

  “Sedation?” Madeline shook her head, her mind reeling.

  “Yes, you were all given a sedative with your lunch today. You’ve been asleep for about four hours. We find it’s much easier on both you and us.”

  It came back to her then, the growing weariness during Travis’s lecture, the dull sense of alarm as she slipped into unconsciousness. The sickness and the revulsion and the horror were turning now, swiftly changing to a burning rage. “It?” she nearly shouted. “What do you mean it? It makes what easier?”

  A searing pain wrenched her stomach, causing her to gasp sharply. She tried to ignore it as the rage against this awful man engulfed her. “What are you saying?” she cried, leaping up to confront him. “Who are you? What right do you have—?” But a scream of agony cut her off, doubling her over.

  Dr. Gould watched, his eyes expressionless as she finally straightened, biting back the pain, her face white. “Mrs. Lloyd,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “anger will only hurt you. It will not help your daughter. Do you want to help your daughter or not?”

  Madeline was dazed and shaken, not sure what was happening. The pain. His hammering words. But his final question registered, and she heard herself answering, “Yes, I do. Where is she?”

  “Normally we use only a local anesthetic when we do implantations, but the patient must hold absolutely still. That’s why we sedated all of you. But Becky’s sedation has worn off, and the anesthesiologist would rather not put her under a general anesthesia when she has been throwing up. That presents a problem, for she must be perfectly motionless while we do the implantation, and Becky has been hysterical for the last hour and a half. She’s terribly frightened and wants her mother.”

  “Oh, Becky,” Madeline whispered, still unable to shake off the horrifying dreamlike quality of what was happening.

  “Unfortunately, you’d already been sent to surgery, so we’ve had to wait for you to recover. Now, time is critical. The next busload of people have to be implanted before their sedation wears off.” He looked at his hands, then finally raised his head. “Mrs. Lloyd, I don’t like to put it this way, but I must. We have no option. Your daughter must have this operation now. If you can calm her down, we can do it with a local anesthetic. If not, we’ll have to put her under. She’ll probably be fine, but there’s a greater risk that way. Do you understand that?

  She leaped up, knocking away his hand as he tried to stop her. “I only understand—” She gasped as someone took a red hot iron and rammed it up from her stomach into her chest. She grabbed for the wheelchair. “I won’t let you touch my daughter!” she shouted. Then her body jerked violently, and she started to topple over, the wheelchair tipping beneath her weight.

  Dr. Gould grabbed her, pulling her back upright. For a moment she thought she was going to faint, and she didn’t resist as he pushed her firmly back down into the wheelchair.

  “Mrs. Lloyd,” he said, leaning over and peering into her face, “you must control your anger. It’s your implantation that’s causing the pain you’re experiencing now.”

  She shook her head, drawing deep, hungry breaths of air. “No. It’s my stomach.”

  “Just trust me. I’ll explain it all to you later. But you must not get angry, or the pain will return. Do you understand that much?”

  She didn’t, but she slowly nodded.

  “Good. Now I’ll say it again. You can either help us with your daughter or you can refuse. Either way we will proceed. Will you help us, or do we do it without you?”

  She nodded, not daring to think, not daring to feel, lest she call back the searing pain. Tears welled up, and her lower lip trembled. “Yes, I’ll help you. Where is she?”

  As they wheeled the hospital bed down the long hallway toward her, Madeline saw the tiny figure hunched up in a pitiful little ball, exhausted sobs racking the body. She felt a sharp pain in her heart far more intense than the blows that had hammered at her stomach. She swept Becky up into her arms, clinging to the trembling little body as desperately as Becky clung to her. For five minutes they sat in the hallway until finally the sobs subsided, the heart stopped its furious pounding, and Becky pulled away and looked around. Though her eyes were still swollen and her cheeks a blotchy red, her normal adventuresome spirit was returning, and when Mrs. Carter brought green gowns for both Becky and her mother and they went into surgery, she was bouncing with the newness of it all.

  “Okay, young lady,” Mrs. Carter said, patting the operating table. “Let’s trade beds.”

  “That’s a bed?” Becky cried, wrinkling her nose.

  “Yup. A pretty funny one, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?” Becky was pointing to a circular device made of stainless steel and lined on the inside with thick foam rubber. It was attached to the head of the bed.

  “That, kiddo, is where your head goes. How’s that for silly?”

  “My head?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Lie on your tummy, and rest your chin right here. Your mommy will come and sit in the chair here where you can see her.”

  The nurse helped Becky rest her head in the cup, then began to adjust the stainless steel clamps. “I’ll just tighten this until it’s nice and comfy, and that way your head will be real still while the doctors fix you up. Okay?”

  “Yes. This really is silly.”

  Becky giggled happily, a sound that tore through Madeline like a serrated blade of steel. A scream started somewhere in the back of her throat, swelling up inside her until she had to clench her teeth to stop it from bursting out. Then just as suddenly, the silent scream was snuffed out by rolling waves of pain smashing at her body. Her knees buckled, and she sat down quickly, averting her face, glad that the surgical mask hid all but her eyes.

  The nurse watched her sadly for a moment, then picked up a hypodermic needle from the tray and showed it to Becky, whose eyes suddenly grew wide with fear.

  “Have you ever stuck your finger with a pin or a needle?”

  “Uh huh,” Becky answered nervously.

  “Well, this won’t hurt any more than that. Just one little teeny hurt for one teeny minute right here—” She touched the back of Becky’s neck. “Okay? Let your mother hold your hand.”

  With great effort, Madeline leaned over and looked into the frightened brown eyes as she gripped the little hand. As her fingers encircled Becky’s wrist, she could feel the tiny pulse pounding and her daughter’s body stiffen.

  “Ouch!” Bec
ky’s body jerked slightly, then she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes tightly, preparing for more.

  Mrs. Carter patted her. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Is it done?”

  “That’s it, kiddo.”

  Becky’s eyes opened, bright with relief. “I didn’t cry, Mama.”

  “You were a brave girl.” Madeline squeezed her hand and looked away.

  For a few minutes the room was quiet while Mrs. Carter busied herself with several trays of equipment. Finally as she returned and touched the back of Becky’s neck, Madeline spoke softly. “What are they going to do to her?”

  Mrs. Carter glanced quickly toward the window through which Dr. Gould and another doctor could be seen. A nurse was helping them on with surgical gloves. “Dr. Gould will explain it all to you. I—” She stopped, looking down quickly. “I can’t say anything more, Mrs. Lloyd. Except that I know how you feel. I want you to know, this isn’t something I approve of, but I’m implanted too. I—” She shook her head, her eyes pleading.

  “I understand.”

  “Dr. Gould is one of the original founders of Shalev. He and the Major developed the idea of implantation, and—” The door pushed open, and she busied herself checking Becky’s head position.

  “Mrs. Lloyd?” With the surgical mask in place, Dr. Gould’s voice was slightly muffled. “This is Dr. Abernathy, our X-ray and computer specialist, and this is Miss Brighton, our head surgical nurse.”

  It was difficult to tell what they looked like behind their masks, except that Dr. Abernathy looked young and had kind eyes, and Madeline guessed that Miss Brighton was very attractive.

  Dr. Abernathy moved over to a large machine. Part of it looked like a traditional X-ray machine, but it had additional machinery with dials, a digital readout, and numerous switches. He moved it back to the bed and positioned it over Becky’s head.

  Mrs. Carter bent down and peered into Becky’s eyes. “You’re all set now, young lady. I’ll see you in your room, and I’ll have that big dish of ice cream I promised you, okay?” She stood up, touched Madeline’s arm briefly, then left the room.

  “Mrs. Lloyd?”

  “Yes?”

  Dr. Gould put his hands together, the fingers interlocking as he pushed the surgical gloves on more tightly. “Your presence here is necessary, but you must understand that we cannot have you interfere with the operation in any way. You may speak to Becky to keep her calm, and that’s all. Is that clear?”

  Madeline met his gaze, her eyes flashing, but she finally nodded, then leaned down and looked at Becky. “My goodness, Becky,” she cooed, “doesn’t Dr. Gould have a wonderful bedside manner?”

  Dr. Abernathy nearly choked, and Miss Brighton dropped a pair of scissors into a tray with a loud clang. Dr. Gould glared at Madeline for a moment, then stalked around the table and thrust his hand out toward the nurse. She slapped a scalpel into it with a sharp crack.

  “Dr. Abernathy, are you ready?” he snapped.

  “Yes, doctor.”

  As Dr. Gould bent over the back of Becky’s head, Madeline took a deep breath and bit her lip. Dr. Abernathy adjusted the machine slightly, then bent down and looked into Becky’s eyes. “How you doing, squirt?”

  “Is it going to hurt?” she asked, the quiver in her voice betraying her anxiety.

  He smiled. “Have you felt anything yet?”

  She tried to shake her head as Dr. Gould’s voice commanded softly, “Hemostat. Sponge.” Madeline caught the sudden flash of bright red on the fingers of his gloves and felt her stomach turn.

  “Well,” Dr. Abernathy continued, “that’s your answer. Dr. Gould has already started. And see, you haven’t felt a thing.” He straightened and noticed Madeline staring at Dr. Gould’s hands. “Mrs. Lloyd.”

  If she heard him, she gave no response.

  “Mrs. Lloyd!” he said, more sharply, wresting her eyes to his. “The operation involves an inch-long incision at the base of the skull, which is only about half an inch deep.”

  Dr. Gould shot his colleague a withering glance.

  If Dr. Abernathy saw it, he ignored it. “At that point, this machine here—” he touched the gleaming surface, “which is a laser drill—”

  “Dr. Abernathy!” Dr. Gould’s voice crackled with anger. “I told Mrs. Lloyd I will explain all of that afterwards.”

  Dr. Abernathy turned slowly, his eyes glittering embers of challenge above his mask. “This is her daughter! She has a right to know what we are doing, and she has a right to know it now!”

  Evidently not many people challenged Dr. Gould, for his eyes registered shocked surprise, as did the eyes of Miss Brighton. Without waiting for an answer, Dr. Abernathy turned back to Madeline. “Do you know what a laser is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, with an almost microscopic laser beam, four very tiny holes will be drilled in Becky’s skull. Please,” he said gently, as her hand flew to her mouth, “this is not nearly as terrible as it sounds. The laser cauterizes as it goes, eliminating any bleeding and any chance of infection.”

  Somewhere far back in Madeline’s numbed mind pain registered as she bit down against the edge of her clenched fist to stop the cry of horror. Oh, dear Lord, make this be a dream. Make it not be real.

  “Mama! What’s wrong?” Becky’s eyes were round and anxious.

  Dr. Gould’s head jerked up and he glared at Madeline, then at Dr. Abernathy. With a feeling of cold death constricting her heart, Madeline forcibly drew her hand away from her mouth and managed a thin smile. “Nothing, Becky. I just had a little pain, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

  She looked up, her eyes like stone. “I’m sorry, Dr. Abernathy. Please go on.”

  He turned and took one step toward the tray of instruments in front of the nurse. When he turned back, he held a flat piece of black plastic about one-inch square. From it extended four incredibly thin wires.

  “Inside this plastic is a silicon chip, a miniaturized computer, as it were. The chip will be implanted under the skin at the base of the skull. The electrodes will be inserted through the four laser holes and placed very precisely with the help of X rays and the computer into special areas of the brain.”

  Not Becky’s skull—the skull. Not Becky’s brain—the brain. Even kind Dr. Abernathy had to depersonalize her to talk about it. It wasn’t a freckle-faced six-year-old lying face down on the table, it was a mannequin used in a physiology class, a paragraph from an anatomy book.

  When he saw her eyes, he stopped and took a deep breath. “It sounds terrible, but the brain itself has no sensory nerves. The insertion of the electrodes causes no pain.”

  “But why?” she whispered.

  He let his breath out in one long, drawn-out sound. “I am afraid that is the one question Dr. Gould will have to answer.”

  “Are you quite through, doctor?” Dr. Gould asked icily.

  “Yes, Dr. Gould, I am.”

  “Then, with your permission, may we proceed?”

  Dr. Abernathy nodded. He turned and inserted the computer chip into a special slot on the underside of the machine and began to lower it until the electrodes nearly touched Becky’s neck.

  “Mama!” Becky’s lip trembled, and clearly she was on the verge of tears.

  “It’s all right, darling,” Madeline said, reaching out for her hand as Dr. Gould shot her a warning glance. “Hold real still. This won’t hurt.”

  “Then why are you crying, Mama?”

  Madeline blinked rapidly and sniffed back the tears. “I—I’m just so proud of you, how brave you are. Just hold real still, and be my brave girl.”

  Chapter 7

  Nicole Lambert stood up quickly as the Major entered the narrow, darkened observation room, but he waved her back into her chair. “Sit down, Nicole, please.” He stepped forward and peered through the glass. “How is our boy today?”

  She smiled. “Bored stiff and increasingly restless.”

  “Good. Do you think he’s ready?�
��

  “Definitely. These two days have driven him up the wall. He should be ready for just about anything.”

  “Good. What’s your evaluation? Can we turn him?”

  Nicole pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, it’s hard to say without any direct interaction, but he’s full of hate and frustration. He spotted the speaker and knows what it is. I also think he knows what the mirror is. He demands to know about his family and the village. He hasn’t said much the last while because we never answer him.”

  He sat down next to Nicole. “Okay,” he said, with evident pleasure at what was about to take place. “Let’s give him a few pleasant surprises, see if we can’t lower the hate level a little.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nicole took a deep breath, flicked a switch, then turned to watch the figure stretched out on the cot. “Eric Lloyd,” she said softly into the microphone.

  He shot off the cot and looked quickly around the room, then at the speaker in the ceiling.

  “Mr. Lloyd.”

  “Yes. I hear you. Who are you?”

  “My name is Nicole Lambert.”

  “Are you behind the mirror?” He was staring almost directly at her.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you the head zoo keeper or just the overseer of the monkey’s cage.”

  Nicole flushed in spite of herself. The caustic bitterness in his eyes burned through the glass between them. She took another breath, aware of the Major’s soft chuckle beside her. “May I talk with you a moment?” she asked, keeping her voice completely impersonal.

  “I’ll have to check my calendar. It’s been a hectic summer.”

  “Okay,” she snapped back, “have it your way.” She punched off the mike switch, knowing it would create an audible pop in the speaker. Ignoring the Major’s questioning glance, she watched with great satisfaction as Eric’s arrogant posture gradually slackened, and the bitter eyes filled with uncertainty.

  “All right,” he said, only half erasing the defiance out of his voice. “Talk.”

  “Beautifully done,” the Major murmured.

  “Mr. Lloyd, you are presently being held in a detention cell in the city of Shalev, about five hundred miles north of where you used to live.”