by J. Naomi Ay
Space Doctor
A Two Moons of Rehnor Novella
by
J. Naomi Ay
Published by Ayzenberg Inc
Copyright Ayzenberg, Inc. 2013-2016
All Rights Reserved
080316
Cover Design by Amy Jambor
Photo Credits:
Thufir / Bigstock.com mawear / Bigstock.com Georgiy / Bigstock.com
Also by J. Naomi Ay
The Two Moons of Rehnor series
The Boy who Lit up the Sky (Book 1)
My Enemy's Son (Book 2)
Of Blood and Angels (Book 3)
Firestone Rings (Book 4)
The Days of the Golden Moons (Book 5)
Golden's Quest (Book 6)
Metamorphosis (Book 7)
The Choice (Book 8)
Treasure Hunt (Book 9)
Space Chase (Book 10)
Imperial Masquerade (Book 11)
Rivalry (Book 12)
Thirteen (Book 13)
Betrayal (Book 14)
Fairy Tales (Book 15)
Gone for a Spin (Book 16)
The Firesetter series
A Thread of Time
Amyr’s Command
Three Kings
Exceeding Expectations
A Cosmic Dance
You know that old joke, the one where the mother of the new Allied Council President is sitting at his inauguration, and she turns to the woman next to her and says, "His brother is a doctor." That's me. I'm the doctor, except instead of being proud of it, my mother thinks I'm a schmuck. Actually, my whole family thinks that way, even me, so I guess that joke doesn't quite work.
My brother isn't a schmuck. My brother is the guy I could never measure up to. Kevin is taller, thinner, has more hair, doesn't wear glasses and is probably worth a bazillion dollars today because he has a knack for investing in just the right thing at the right time.
When he was about twelve, and I was ten, he put a piece of gum on the table. "Do you know what this is, Jer?" he asked.
"Juicy Fruit?" I pushed up my glasses. I had a new pair that weren't adjusted correctly and every time I moved my mouth, my glasses slipped down to the end of my nose.
"Yeah, it's Juicy Fruit, but it's not just ordinary Juicy Fruit. It's genetically modified Juicy Fruit."
"Wow!" I gasped. I had no idea what that was, but it sure sounded impressive.
"If I chew this gum," Kevin continued, pealing the wrapper and tossing the stick back like a swig of grape Nehi soda. "I can make it do anything."
"Wow," I breathed again.
"I can use this gum instead of glue. If the wing fell off Mom's speeder, I could repair it with this gum. If the roof fell off this house, this gum would hold it back on. This gum is going to make me a million zillionaire, Jer, because all you have to do to activate it is chew."
"Wow!" I pushed my glasses up again for the third time. "Can I have some?"
"Nope. This gum is now a trade secret, and until my attorneys register the patents, I can't let anyone else taste it or use it. Furthermore, if you chew it wrong, it may cause your mouth to stick together and then you'll never be able to talk again. You may even die."
"Wow." My brother was the smartest guy alive.
"Are you boys finished with your homework?" Mom yelled from the kitchen. "Kevin, quit talking. Let Jerry do his math problems."
Of course, I had been avoiding my math homework and had been glad to listen to Kevin explain about his gum. I hated math, even fourth grade math.
Kevin snickered and went right on chewing, smacking loudly for my benefit. I never questioned anything he said. I took it as verbatim that he was telling me the truth.
After that, I snuck a piece of gum from the pack that was sitting on his dresser and I kept it in my pocket just in case. I probably still have it today although I'd break my jaw if I tried to chew it.
Kevin went on to high school where he graduated as class valedictorian. He was accepted into four Ivy League business schools and finally, decided on Wharton. By the time I was filling out my own college applications, Kevin had made his first million by stealing some other kid's idea. That ended up in litigation, the first of many lawsuits that Kevin would eventually be involved in.
Kevin lost about half of his already substantial fortune, while the kid, the one with the original idea got about a quarter of it, and the lawyers cleaned up on the rest.
At my high school graduation dinner, Kevin announced he was dropping out of college in order to start a new venture that specialized in interplanetary multi-level marketing, whatever that was.
"You see, Jer," he said, pointing his fork at me. "It's all about using somebody else's money to make you money."
"Take your elbows off the table, Kevin," Mom snapped while laying a humongous corned beef brisket before us.
"Why are we having brisket this time of year?" Dad grumbled. "Are you trying to kill me again?"
"I'm going to give you the most important piece of advice you'll ever hear." Now, Kevin stabbed his fork into a giant hunk of fatty meat. It flaked off and crumbled all over the tablecloth. "Never ever invest your own money. Got that, Jer? Always, somebody else funds it, and you take a percentage. This brisket is delish, Mom, as always. Who said corned beef in June is out of season?"
"Hmmph." Mom sniffed for Dad's benefit.
"Too salty," Dad grumbled. "If I survive this dinner, you had better call over to the hospital and book me a room for a bypass. Send the potatoes this way, Jerry."
I went to Bloomfield with totally no idea what I wanted to do with my life, let alone choose for a major. Dad was a heart surgeon, and Grandpa Lou had been a gynecologist, but cutting open chests or feeling up girls' insides didn't really appeal to me.
Actually, feeling up girls appealed to me big time, not that I'd ever done it, but doing it in an office setting with a Nurse Ratched looking on just didn't have the same attraction.
One day, during freshman year when I was still wasting time taking Rock for Jocks, Count the Stars, and Concert Appreciation, I went out to The Home to visit Lou who was sitting at a bridge table with three blue-haired old ladies. Each one of them had more makeup on then the next. Lou's partner was seriously into the game and kept snapping at the other two broads who were flirting with Lou. Apparently, my gramps was the only guy there with a pulse.
"Go get some refreshments for the ladies, Jerry," Lou ordered, laying his cards down on the table. "Do I have a nice grandson or do I have schmuck?"
"I'm not schmuck," I mumbled, wandering over to the buffet table where a nurse sat reading a book on her tablet. It must have been a good one because periodically she would smirk, fan herself and giggle. She had one leg crossed over the other at the knee and occasionally that crossed leg would start swinging. Later, Lou whispered in my ear something obnoxious about women and crossed-legs being a form of masturbation. Being a gynecologist, I just assumed he knew about those things. Either that or he was just a dirty old man.
At any rate, I put together a dish of dry-as-dust stale butter cookies and poured each of the old gals a cup of decaf coffee in a recycled paper cup. Lou didn’t need coffee as he always preferred what was in the flask hidden somewhere on his body.
"This is my schmuck-grandson, Jerry," he announced when I returned to the table. His partner hissed at him as she was very busy trying to make two clubs or something like that. "Let me tell you about this Jerry," Lou continued. The other two old gals smiled and batted their false eyelashes giving Lou the audience he craved. "This Jerry, he would play soccer back when he was a tiny little boychik. Do you think he ever scored? No. Not this Jerry. This Jerry would stand out there
and wait for the ball which of course, never came." Lou bent down and furtively took a swig from the front pocket of his vest. The two old bags nodded and smiled at me. I had a feeling they were either deaf or didn't speak English as they seemed to have no idea what Lou was talking about. "This Jerry, he played the clarinet. Do you think he played it well? No. Of course not. This Jerry never practiced. Every band concert which I was forced to attend on account of my daughter, she tells me, what? How many grandsons do you have besides two? So, I go to the concert, and I know exactly when this Jerry plays because all I hear is squeak and screech from the clarinets. It was like he had a solo every time." Lou nudged the woman on his right. "To this day, I still hate clarinet music. Squeak! Screech! Oy Veh."
Lou's partner only managed to make one club and then rose from the table in a huff.
"I don't know how anyone plays bridge with you, Louis. You never stop yakking. It's time for my Zumba dancing class anyway."
"Phyllis hates to lose," one of the other ladies remarked as we watched Phyllis shuffle off. I tried to imagine her doing Zumba and for everyone's sake, hoped that the music was extremely slow.
"Now, Jerry," Lou said pushing his chair back. He balanced himself on the table and groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. "Why do I ache like an old man? Is it because I am an old man? I should be dead. Who needs eighty-five years when the last twenty of them are nothing but aches and pains?"
"You're eighty-seven, Grandpa." I steadied his arm.
"Ah, see! I was just testing you, Jerry. This math, this was always a problem for you."
"Right, Grandpa." I held his arm as we shuffled out of the bridge room to take a short stroll around the gardens.
"I am going to stick around just to make sure you don't end up like the schmuck you are, Jerry. This is why I am still alive even though I would much prefer to be lying peacefully with your grandmother, God rest her soul." He spat three times over his left shoulder. "Why should I be worrying about you anymore at my age? You should be worrying about me."
"Lying with Grandma was never peaceful, Grandpa," I reminded him. "You've said that many times. And, I do worry about you."
"Ha!" He laughed and nudged me in the ribs. "Your grandmother was quite the something. I don't know what that was, but she was definitely something. Now, Jerry, why are you not like your brother who has already several millions and a fancy apartment with high ceilings and a door man?"
"Well I…"
"Or your cousin, Michael? He's a doctor, you know, unlike you who is still trying to find himself at school, getting grades that would make your blessed grandmother, God rest her soul," again he spat over his shoulder three times, "roll over in her grave."
"Yeah, but…"
"No excuses, Jerry." He waggled his finger at me. "Now is the time for you to step up to the plate. No more spoon feeding, no more wiping up your spills. Both you and your mother need to realize you are an adult, and it is time for you to start acting like one."
"Okay, Grandpa," I agreed, resolving to limit my visits to once every century or so. "I think I need to get back home to study."
"Sure," he scoffed and threw up his hands. "Now, while you are with me, you want to study? Why don't you study when you are not visiting me? How many times more will you be visiting me? Do I look like I am getting any younger?"
It was right about then that someone in the card room began to scream. Fortunately.
"Oy Veh, someone dying," Grandpa said and doing a not so quick pirouette, we headed back inside to find an old guy sprawled on the floor among a scattered deck of cards.
The nurse set down her book and pushed the crowd of old ladies out of the way, before kneeling down beside the old guy.
"Murray?" She called loudly, slapping his cheek. "Murray, can you hear me?"
"No, of course he can't hear you," one of the old ladies announced loudly. "He's dead. Poor Murray. Tonight is his favorite turkey with mashed potatoes."
"Someone call a doctor." A lady at another card table said while still holding her fan of cards in front of her face.
"Lou is a doctor. Check out Murray, Lou."
"Lou was a gynecologist. Murray doesn't have the parts that Lou knows how to check."
"I remember my old gynecologist. His name was Hiram, and he had the softest hands."
"Nobody cares, Ethel."
"Jerry," Grandpa Lou nudged me hard in the ribs. "You get down there and check out Murray. You know CPR, right?"
"Um, I guess so." I knelt down next to the nurse, who was still yelling at Murray and slapping his face.
"Move over, sweetheart," Lou ordered. "My grandson here is Pre-Med. Let the boy take charge."
To my surprise, the nurse shrugged and moved out of the way, leaving me with dead Murray.
"Go, go," Grandpa urged. "Time is of the essence here."
"Ok," I mumbled under my breath and recalling everything I could from my First Aid Merit Badge, I began compressions on Murray's chest. The old folks around me cheered as I counted. "One two three, one two three, come on, Murray, breathe."
It was hard work. I was in a sweat, and my glasses had slipped completely off my nose and were now dangling near Murray's chin. It worked though. Even before the paramedics arrived, Murray gasped and coughed. He opened his eyes and said, "Who the hell are you?"
"This is Dr. Waldman," Lou announced taking another swig from his vest.
At that point, I sat back and let my aching arms have a rest.
"Your son-in-law, the cardiologist?" Ethel yelled from the card table. "He looks so young. Of course, everybody looks so young these days."
"My grandson." Lou clapped me on the back and then helped me to my feet as the paramedics began to load Murray up and take him away. Murray was none too happy about this as it meant missing turkey night at The Home. "You see, Jerry?" Lou continued. "You've got the healing touch too. You just saved old Murray's life, such as it is, and it looks like there is no brain damage, although with Murray, it's hard to tell."
I went back to school that night and changed my schedule for the next semester. Chemistry, Physics, and Math replaced Advanced Rocks and Dinosaurs. I kept Concert Season II just because I needed an easy A.
For the next few years, I muddled through school, graduating with a half way decent GPA. I got admitted into Robert Wood Johnson Med School, my cousin Michael's Alma Mater, and then graduated four years later with enough debt to last me a lifetime. At a starting physician's salary, I figured it would take me about forty years just to pay off my student loans.
When I wandered by a Spaceforce recruiting office on the way to Starbucks one day, I happened to glance in their window at a sign advertising complete tuition reimbursement.
Somehow I found my feet leading me inside and somehow I found my hand signing with a pen. I never got that mocha chip frappucino or the whoopie pie I was going for. Instead, I got a whole new career.
Two months later, I was commissioned as a Lieutenant with orders to begin my post-graduate work at a Spaceforce hospital on Spacebase 31 in the Altarian sector. I was issued a goofy blue spandex uniform with one stripe on my sleeve, a kit bag with a whole host of cool emergency medical supplies and devices, and a ticket on a United Starlines flight across the stars. Everyone came to see me off.
"So where are you flying to, Jer?" Kevin asked, his eyes drifting to a group of Ensigns in their own tight spandex uniforms.
"Hey, hey," Lou whistled at the girls and then nudged Kevin in the ribs. "What'd you think, Kevin? You and me go over there and see if those girls want a little action?"
"With you, Gramps, it would be really little action."
"Not until you show them what's in your pants!"
"Dad!" Mom yelled.
"What? I was referring to his wallet. So fine. I'll head over there myself." Lou set his walker on Warp 2 and left in the direction of the girls. They scattered as soon as they saw him coming.
"Did you pack your long underwear?" Mom turned back to me. "You know ho
w cold it is out there in space. With your drippy sinuses, you'll need to dress warmly, or you'll forever be congested."
"Actually, I don't know how cold it is, Mom. I've never been to space before, but I'm sure the spacebase is heated."
"And how do you know this, Mr. Smarty-pants Lieutenant?"
"Trust your mother," Dad grumbled. "If she says it's cold, it's cold. She knows everything."
"Yes. I packed my long underwear, and I do know a little bit about sinus congestion. I'm a doctor now." I glanced at the digital clock on the wall and noted we had been standing there exactly three minutes. I still had an hour and half until my flight even boarded.
"An intern. That means you know nothing yet," Mom continued. "Ask your father. He'll tell you all about interns and residents who know absolutely nothing, but think they know everything. What have I heard for thirty years but this schmuck intern and that schmuck resident? Oy, every one of them. You'll call when you get there? What if the spacebase doesn't have a phone? How will I know if you got there alive?"
"The spacebase has a phone. I'll call. Is that my flight they're announcing?" A voice echoed across the terminal requesting all passengers begin to board the flight to Mars.
"I thought you were going to the moon first," Mom said. "You never said anything about Mars. There's all sorts of dust on Mars. It will wreak havoc with your poor sinuses."
"I'm just changing flights there. I'll never go outside the spaceport and breathe any dust. I promise I'll call you when I get to my posting. See you in a few months."
Quickly, I bent down to kiss Mom, hug Dad, high five Kevin and let Grandpa Lou sock me in the ribs. Then, I grabbed my kit and duffle and lost myself in the crowd heading toward the gate with a large flashing sign that said Mars. Once there, I turned back to see my sad little family waving tearfully goodbye before I ducked behind a potted palm and then clandestinely bolted into the nearest bar.
