by Aaron Hubble
“Is this what we do now? Starve people to get information?”
Frustration took hold of him. “Have you seen what is happening outside of the forest? The Great Cities are in flames and millions of our people have been murdered.” His voice had risen in volume and he was starting to draw stares from the staff going about their daily duties. He pulled the young woman to a bench and they sat down.
Lowering his voice, Jondon continued. “Look, I know this is not typical. I know you don’t agree. I don’t necessarily agree with this course of action either, but we need information from this man. Whatever he knows could help us in this fight.”
“So we’re at war now?”
“Not officially, but I can’t see a scenario where we don’t enter the fight.”
She leaned in to the man and rested her head on his shoulder. “More people will die, won’t they?”
“You’ll need to be prepared. Organize and educate the other doctors and nurses in whatever they’ll need to know about trauma medicine.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry for how I spoke to you earlier, Dad.”
Jondon wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders and squeezed. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t worry about the welfare of your patients, no matter who the patient is.” He chuckled quietly. “That passion comes from your mother. She cares deeply, just as you do.”
“I just wish I could cook like her.”
He laughed. “Give it time. When we were first married most of our dinners were either black or raw on the inside.” He squeezed her once again. “I really do need to go. Keep me posted if there’s any change in our visitor. I’ll check back periodically and see if our friend is more willing to talk.”
Jondon turned and began walking away.
“Hey, Dad?”
He turned back toward his daughter. Before him stood a beautiful young doctor, the picture of professionalism and competence. Yet all he could see was the dirt-streaked face of a child who would run through the forest finding hurt and abandoned animals to help and adopt.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
His heart melted just a little and he fought to keep a tear from escaping the corner of his eye. They always told each other how they felt, this wasn’t anything rare, but today, with what was happening, it meant so much more.
He managed to smile. “I love you too.”
Mirala turned and strode down the hallway, already consulting her data slate, back in the role of doctor. Jondon smoothed the front of his sentry jacket and set his face for the task at hand. He had the feeling there would be very little rest in the coming days and weeks.
Good thing I slept well last night because it might be all I get for awhile, he mused.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mirala swept into the room just minutes after saying goodbye to her father. The treatment he’d mandated for the prisoner and its ethical implications worried her, but she didn’t have the luxury of mulling the philosophical ramifications right now. She had another patient to attend to.
Mirala gathered her long black hair at the back of her neck and tied it with her favorite piece of ribbon. It was bright pink with silver stripes and added a nice bit of color to the otherwise sterile white surroundings of the hospital. Some of the other doctors frowned upon her bright accessories, hair ribbons, colorful shirts and some garish jewelry, calling it unbecoming of a physician, but she didn’t care. Mirala loved the hospital, but it was severely lacking in…personality. Something she had taken upon herself to correct.
The nurse noted her arrival. “Her vitals continue to drop, Doctor,” the nurse said, stepping away from the woman the scouts had brought in several hours ago. “There doesn’t appear to be any substantial trauma that we can pin a cause for her decline on. We’re baffled.”
Mirala called up the woman’s vitals on the screen. Anatomically, the woman was much like any Am’Segid, but Mirala had no way of knowing what was normal for this woman. There was no doubt the woman’s heart rate and blood pressure had dropped since the initial readings had been taken, but they found no indication of severe trauma. It was puzzling.
“Nurse, could you get one of the portable imaging units? I would like a deeper look into this patient. Maybe we can find something useful to help us unravel the mystery.”
The nurse left, and Mirala crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the woman lying on the hospital bed. There had obviously been trauma in her past. Her legs had been surgically amputated, and when her clothing had been removed, they had found scars criss-crossing her entire body. It also looked like several skin grafts had been performed on her upper chest and neck. Whatever had happened to her, it had been horrific.
Mirala turned the woman’s head and probed the back of her skull. The scouts had recounted what they’d pulled out of her head. It was hard to believe, but there was no mistaking the metal hole at the base of her skull.
The nurse returned and the imaging machine was set up. After fine-tuning the settings, Mirala initiated the scan, and a holographic image of the woman’s body appeared next to the imaging unit. Mirala stepped around the controls and began to examine the floating three-dimensional representation of the inside of the woman who lay on the bed.
The nurse turned to her with wide eyes. “What have they done to this woman?”
Mirala was unsure of what she was seeing. “I don’t know.”
The inside of the woman’s torso was a patchwork of repaired organs and bones. The right shoulder was completely replaced, and some sort of man-made material now comprised the joint. Several ribs had been replaced as well. Her spine was fused in several spots. Mirala could see the places where vertebrae had been crushed. Some had been allowed to regrow, but others had been replaced with synthetics. A piece of tech sat on her heart, perhaps a device to regulate its rhythm. The technology was state of the art in Am’Segid terms. While these repairs had obviously taken a great deal of time and effort, what Mirala saw inside the woman’s skull sent shivers down her spine.
“It looks like there’s a spider on her brain,” the nurse said, pointing to the hologram.
Mirala nodded silently. The nurse had perfectly described what appeared on the hologram. Hundreds of tiny filaments radiated out from the metal jack buried deep in the woman’s skull and made connections all over the surface of the brain.
Mirala straightened up with a feeling. Had the woman been turned into some sort of living machine? Was the metal rod the scouts had removed from her head a means of literally jacking the woman into the computer of the ship? Did she become a part of the ship? Was that even possible? How could biologic and digital material interface, coexist, or work harmoniously together?
Mirala exchanged glances with the nurse and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know how to help this woman. I’m at a complete and utter loss.”
A sharp alarm sounded from the monitoring equipment. The nurse moved quickly to stand in front of the display.
“She’s fading fast.” She looked at Mirala. “Doctor, we need to do something soon or she’ll die.”
Mirala couldn’t let that happen. There were too many questions she needed answers to, and this woman, along with the man who had been brought in with her, held answers. She blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. “Get a surgical ward prepped and call in another neurosurgeon. My gut feeling is the only way to save this woman is to disconnect the tech hardwired into her brain. Perhaps by severing the connection, we can encourage her autonomic systems to begin taking control of necessary functions again.”
The nurse nodded and moved with purpose out of the examination room to accomplish what Mirala had set out for her. Mirala called her back in.
“Nurse?”
The nurse stopped and leaned back into the room, an expectant look on her face.
“Contact the guards watching the man who was brought in with this woman. Have him brought to the surgical ward. I want to talk to him before we begin cutting into her.�
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The nurse nodded and disappeared around the edge of the door. Mirala turned back toward the hologram, studying it again, attempting to come up with a plan of action. Stepping around the hologram, she looked at the woman lying on the table. When she woke up this morning, she had never expected a biological machine from another world to be lying on her examination table.
The day kept getting more interesting by the minute.
****
Thirty minutes later the woman lay on the table of the surgical ward. Mirala and the second neurosurgeon studied the images of the woman’s brain on the screen. Both surgeons were awed and horrified by what they were seeing. A more detailed scan had shown the filaments were only the beginning. Where the tendrils touched the cortex, multiple hair-like threads spread to deeper parts of the brain.
Mirala shook her head. “There are literally hundreds of wires embedded in her brain.”
“Do we dare try to remove them?” the surgeon asked.
“I can’t imagine her surviving something so invasive. How were they placed there in the first place?”
The door behind them hissed open, followed by the sound of shuffling feet entering the room. Turning, Mirala saw the guard ushering the man named Dillon into the room. Her stomach turned when she saw him. He definitely evoked strong emotions in her. The man represented what his people were doing to her world, and she hated him for it.
If she had the time and the situation were different, Mirala would have quizzed the man about the translator, about his home world, and a million other questions, but time was not on her side. Curiosity would have to wait.
“This woman” - she swept her arm toward the table - “was pulled from the ship you were in. Do you know her?”
“She’s my Pilot.”
Mirala waited for more, but the man offered nothing. “Her condition has deteriorated since she was brought to us, even though there is no sign of serious trauma. Our cranial scans have found implants in her brain and throughout her body. Is there anything you can tell us about her or how we can help her?”
“You could let us go. Our doctors could fix her,” the man stated flatly.
“That’s not an option.”
The shackled man remained silent.
Mirala’s frustration boiled over and she marched across the room placing herself within inches of the man.“If we do nothing, she’ll die. If you’re keeping back information based on some sort of soldier’s code or ridiculous notion of military secrecy, then her death will be on you.” Mirala stared into his eyes trying to find a glimmer of compassion in their depths. His face remained impassive.
“But what’s one more death on top of the millions you’ve already helped perpetrate?” she spat.
Mirala spun on her heel and moved back to the display screen, fuming. She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down. Delicate surgery in her current mental state would be challenging.
His translated voice spoke behind her. “It’s a bio-digital interface.”
Mirala and the other neurosurgeon turned to face the man. “Go on,” she said.
He hesitated and then continued. “I know the jack is wired to her brain and in turn plugged into the ship’s computer. It’s a symbiotic relationship of sorts. The Pilot controls the ship with her thoughts. It allows her and the ship to form a seamless, cohesive bond. Whatever she wants the ship to do, it does, instantaneously. In turn, the computer helps regulate her internal functions. The best pilot is one who remains calm and collected when the situation gets tense. That’s what the computer does for her.”
The neurosurgeon looked at Mirala. “Perhaps while she’s still wired to the jack, her brain is unable to regulate itself. It’s still waiting for instructions. If we cut the connection to the jack, the brain will begin to function on its own again.”
“That’s a good place to start. We’d know soon enough if cutting the connection worked. If her brain doesn’t start picking up the functions it needs to, we could then attempt to remove the filaments, but I’d rather not go in that direction if I can help it,” Mirala said.
“I’ll inform the team of our plan and meet you in the ward.” He turned and walked into the surgical ward, gathering the team of nurses and support staff around him. People moved efficiently, knowing their jobs, and Mirala swelled with pride. They were a great team and she’d be nothing without them. Surgery thrilled her, but this one was different. Not only was the patient not Am’Segid, but she was some sort of machine/biologic hybrid, and they didn’t know how she would react to such a procedure.
Mirala hated the unknown. She hated not having all the answers.
The woman would die if they didn’t do something, so they might as well give it their best shot. As she reached the doors to exit the room, she heard the strange language behind her and then the tinny translation.
“Why?”
She looked at the man, confused. “Pardon me?”
“Why? Why are you trying to save her? As you’ve so concisely pointed out, she, me, my people deserve no kindness from you. In fact, for what we’ve done, she deserves to die on the table and I should be executed. So why save her?”
Mirala hesitated. She hadn’t even thought about who the woman was or what she’d been involved in. All Mirala cared about was whether or not the woman lived. That’s what doctors did. She looked the man in the eyes.
“Unlike your people, life is sacred to us. I never make judgments on the worth of a patient based on who they are or what they’ve done. The fact she was born imparts value and worth. The fact she still draws breath is enough for me to do everything I can to keep it that way. Something you and your people should consider.”
She threw the doors open and moved into the surgical ward. Despite her impassioned speech to the man, doubts now crept into her mind about what she was doing. She pushed them away. It wasn’t her job to determine someone’s worth, only to act as the life saver a doctor was supposed to be.
****
Mirala slumped into her office chair. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to push the exhaustion from them, but to no avail. Eventually, she gave up and just stared into space. Her mind continually went back to what she had seen in the woman’s head.
They had just spent ten hours performing the most intricate surgery on the body’s most delicate organ, all while flying blind. She picked up the slate and it flared to life. Thumbing through the pictures, she stopped at the one showing the inside of the woman’s cranium. Even though she had been in the surgical ward and had been part of the surgery itself, she still couldn’t believe the mass of minute wires that spider-webbed across the woman’s cortex. They had successfully cut the wires where they entered the jack, but had decided against removing any more wires or the jack itself. Unsure what to do with the entry point into the skull, they’d decided to fashion a type of plug that wouldn’t allow anything into the jack, but could be removed if further surgery was necessary.
As she glanced through more pictures she couldn’t help but be amazed. Am’Segid medical technology was advanced, but this was on another level. Her mind wandered as she tried to imagine what kind of mind would dream up slaving a living person to a machine in order to get better results.
Chills ran down her spine.
If they were willing to do this to their own people, what were they doing to the Am’Segid?
She tossed the slate onto her desk in frustration and revulsion. It slid across the smooth wood surface and clattered to the floor. Mirala cringed. The administration wouldn’t be happy if she had to request a new slate. She smiled grimly. Slates seemed to mysteriously fly through the air in this office.
They would probably set up an inquiry and require her to participate in anger counseling.
She wasn’t angry, just passionate. At least that’s what she told herself.
From the floor she heard the slate emit the incoming message alert. Wearily pushing herself out of the chair, she moved to the front of the desk and picked up the slate. The scre
en was intact and apparently still functional. She tapped on the message, and the image of her head nurse appeared.
“Doctor, I wanted to let you know we have begun decreasing the mechanical assistance to the woman, and so far she is tolerating it well.”
Mirala smiled. “Heart rate and respiration are picking up where the machines are leaving off?”
“Correct, Doctor.”
Mirala smiled wider. There was some good news.
“How about brain function?”
The nurse’s face darkened slightly. “Still no change since surgery. Other than the autonomic functions, there is very little activity.”
“Maybe in time. We’re really in the dark with this case. Keep me updated, if you will.”
“I will, Doctor.”
“Oh, and Chana?”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Great work in there today. You’ve come a long way since you apprenticed. I want you to consider shadowing me more and moving toward a physician’s role. It would be my honor to train and mentor you.”
Chana looked taken aback by the words, but a smile lit up her pretty round face. “I don’t know what to say other than, thank you, Doctor. May I talk it over with my husband before I give you an answer?”
“Of course. This isn’t something to go into without the support of your spouse. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time with me. There will be sacrifices, but in the long run it would be worth it, if this is what you want. If not, I would be proud and grateful to still have you as my head nurse.”
“Thank you again. I’ll give you my answer soon.”
“Sounds fantastic. Keep me apprised of the woman’s progress.”
The screen darkened as the conversation ended.
What were they up against?
Could they really hope to prevail against this kind of technology?
No answers came to her. She closed her eyes and exhaled, fighting the rising fear. Life had always been predictable, following a certain path. Now? Now that path had suddenly become very dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
