by Adam Steel
‘Morning Edie,’ Ellie replied in a professional tone.
Ellie was not interested in getting to know Edie in the slightest.
Edie was the receptionist for the consulting rooms; an irritating woman that spent most of her time through the client’s notes and spreading any gossip around the hospital faster than an Olympic virus. Her husband had left her for one of the nurses that he was in the habit of giving a lift to when it rained, and even ‘when it didn’t rain.’
Ellie was thumbing through the morning’s clinic files on the receptionist desk and thinking to herself that Edie had the worst dress sense in the world. Today Edie was wearing a short, red jacket that had black buttons right up to her neck, strained over tight, black leggings. The high heeled shoes she was wearing had the effect of tipping her forward. Ellie fancied that with her short cropped hair and round glasses she looked like an oversized ladybug.
‘Any messages before I start my clinic?’ Ellie asked as she quickly flicked through her ‘in-tray’ plucking out the relevant patient files.
Edie grinned at her wolfishly.
‘Yes Dr Rushford. You have an official letter,’ Edie said, as she excitedly handed an envelope over the desk and hovered in the hope of picking out a new bit of information.
‘Oh?’ Ellie said, raising her eyebrows as she took the envelope.
It was addressed: ‘Dr Elinor Rushford,' and it bore the unmistakable official seal of the masons was stamped on the back in red wax.
The Masons. Ellie’s heart fluttered. A personally addressed letter.
She had an inkling of what it could be.
The masons periodically ran tours of their most famous facilities for citizens that had made outstanding contributions. It was the equivalent of being invited to a Royal Court.
Ellie tried to suppress her egotistical thoughts that perhaps she ‘deserved’ such an invite.
Edie was pretending to polish the front of the long tropical fish tank near the reception counter. She was fussing over the brightly, coloured fish like they were her own brood. Edie was waiting for a chance to find out what was in the letter.
It irritated Ellie to know that she was hovering around in the hope of probing into her private affairs. Ellie tucked the letter into her pocket; hiding it from Edie’s prying eyes. She gathered up the neat pile of case files from the desk and hurried out of the reception area and into her consulting rooms leaving Edie with a look of disappointment.
Once inside, she dumped the case notes down on the desk and dropped into the plush chair in front of her desk. Using a silver letter-opener that she had been given as a gift from one of her wealthy clients, she expertly sliced open the official seal on the letter. Unfolding the crisp expensive paper, her eyes greedily scanned the document.
From the office of Mason Marlene Henson
C.U.R.E Prison
Mason Marlene Henson requests that Dr Elinor Rushford, consultant surgeon at I.S.I.A.H, attends the next formal tour of the F2-Genie Project facility tomorrow morning. It is with great pleasure that we offer you the opportunity to visit the F2-Genie Project to see how the revolutionary system operates for the benefit of Utopia.
You have been selected because we recognise your outstanding contribution to I.S.I.A.H and the citizens of Utopia.
Enclosed is a document detailing an overview of the security processes you will need to adhere to while on site, as well as details of your travel arrangements. Please read it carefully. You will also note that as part of our security measures, attendees are not permitted to use a camera or any kind of recording devices.
Your appointments have automatically been rescheduled. We look forward to seeing you shortly.
Mason Marlene Henson
Ellie read the letter several times and scanned over the enclosed travel and security documents. They were meticulous; every minute detail had been carefully crafted. When she had been issued her apartment in Sector Three, there had been less legal paperwork than the Genie security documents. Her mind reeled against the huge wall of text about procedures and conditions. It was a maze scattered with a minefield of legal jargon and composed by a team of the most obsessive Fin-Sen lawyers ever assembled.
The words on the letter danced across the page, refusing to sink in. Her eyebrows knitted together, trying to force the words into focus. It reminded her of a time many years ago when she was a carefree medical student taking her first year exam. Her nerves had got the better of her and she had suffered word blindness when she had tried to read the medical paper in front of her. No matter how hard she had tried the words wouldn’t register with her brain. She pictured the scene: Irene sitting on the desk next to her: writing furiously and ploughing through the exam paper with seemingly effortless abandon, while she read it over, and over again, and could not get the words to register.
She put the legal documents aside and returned to the letter. Her finger caressed the side of the crisp paper thoughtfully as she regarded the contents. She could hardly believe the recognition she was being presented with. Her pride was marred only by the thought that her mother and father were not there to see her achievements.
A thin line of blood appeared across her finger. She stared at it dumbly. It seeped through the thick paper, staining the crisp white page. The sharp edge of the page had silently sliced her skin, leaving a deep cut. She felt no pain as she ran her fingers over the raised seal of the mason’s key, leaving small red droplets across it. It flowed down into the wax and settled there, disguised amongst the red.
She wanted to cry from the pride of what she was feeling. It was a strange and uncertain feeling that she had never experienced before and it stirred old unwanted memories.
She left the envelope and papers on her desk and toyed with the silver letter opener as her mind was transported back to the early years in Arethusa.
Ellie, Irene, Bridget and the others had all suffered so much in that place. They were kept safe and reasonably well fed. Corporal Richards had been true to his word on that score. They never left the base. Outside had become a war-zone with only the soldiers venturing out on whatever missions the reclusive base commanders would sign off on. They would watch them leave and patch them back up when they returned. Sometimes with survivors in tow, and sometimes, not. It was all they did for years; mopping up the mess from the fallout of The Day of Reckoning. Amidst the brutality of the situation life went on. Bridget had married Brian the dentist on the base. The nurses held a small ceremony for them, and afterwards, the women had organised a party in one of the quarters with music and dancing. Bridget moved into the married quarters which consisted of a series of mobile homes.
Ellie found herself smiling at the memories of that day. It was one of the few happy memories from those bleak times.
Corporal Richards had turned up with a mate and they had asked her and Irene for a dance. His strange, red and black uniform had marked him out as one of the new superiors in the new military that was being formed from the remnants of the old. It would evolve to become the garb of TALOS, and seeing them now as an established force, always reminded her of him, and the nights they had spent together.
It was comforting. She shut her eyes and she could almost feel his strong arms around her now.
Ellie had danced all night with Corporal Richards. It was the start of a serious relationship that lasted for eight months until he led a series of convoys to The Wastelands. They had been ordered to reclaim an area from the warlords that had taken control of it.
They brought his body back in two, black, body bags.
A snap of cold pain brought her back to the present. She had unconsciously cut into her finger with the silver letter opener, further opening the paper cut until it formed an ugly red tear. A vibrant stream of red trickled down her finger. Uttering a short ‘curse’ she sucked her finger to staunch the blood. She wiped the blade tip and slipped it back into its hiding place in the bottom drawer.
The bad memories had subsided for now.
The intercom on her desk ‘crackled’ and rudely interrupted her thoughts. Edie’s muffled voice came through.
‘Mrs Mark is here to see you, shall I send her in?’
Ellie sighed and put the documents to one side.
From the other side of her desk she pulled her patient files and set them down in front of her with a thump. There was just one clinic session that day. The usual routine stuff: clients requesting ever more expensive cosmetic surgery to address their half-imagined problems.
Mrs Mark figured that she needed an abdominoplasty. Ellie figured she needed to stop shoving cakes and junk food down her throat and do some exercise, but at 10’000 Uto-credits she certainly was not going to argue with her.
One by one her patients came and left. Ellie was finding it hard concentrate. All she could think about was the request from Mason Henson. She figured the short notice was part of security. The less notice, the less chance of a breach, she thought.
Mr Franks (the next client on her list) was sure rhinoplasty was going to stop his young wife running off with her coach. Ellie was sure that his bank account could buy just about anything and if he wanted a nose job who was she to argue. Mrs Frank was still going to run off with the hunk from the gym whatever she did for him.
The Jacobi’s were in next. She reckoned that the sweet young girl – with the bitch of a mother – really did need a breast enlargement if only to give her enough confidence to get a man and tell her mother to get lost.
Breast augmentation was one of Ellie’s personal specialities and she flattered herself she could perform the operation with a needle and thread and her eyes closed.
The girl had been most impressed by her portfolio of work including some of Utopia’s most popular topless models. The mother was less than enthusiastic about the idea.
‘But what if the implant leaks?’ she grumbled, noting with satisfaction when her daughters face sank.
Ellie shook her head smiling, ‘Mrs…Jacobi…there’s literally no chance these new implants can leak. They are CUB implants, specially engineered, you could stamp on one and it wouldn’t rupture.’
The young girls face brightened. ‘So you can touch them without any problem?’
‘Grope them you mean!’ her mother spat.
Ellie tried not to laugh. ‘Yes of course. You can do practically anything with these new implants. They are stronger and more flexible than your own tissue. Short of throwing one in a fire it will not leak,’ she assured the girl.
Mrs Jacobi and her daughter left shortly afterwards, with Mrs Jacobi saying that she needed to consider the idea further. She had thanked Ellie for all her advice before she left.
Ellie figured that Mrs Jacobi needed more time to work out some more excuses, or reasons, why her daughter could not have the operation. It wouldn’t matter. When she had those reasons Ellie would be waiting. Cosmetic surgery was almost as safe now as getting on the monorail.
The citizens could get just about any job done in Utopia if they had the money, and a lot of them did. To them it was a necessity as valuable as a good Uto-Credit rating.
The Jacobi’s were the last clients for that session.
Ellie kicked back in her chair savouring the short break and solitude of her office. It was shattered by an untimely ‘ringing’ of her phone. Ellie retrieved the receiver and her face sank as she took in the words coming down the line.
‘Yes this is Dr Rushford…I see…when did it happen? I see…Yes. I’ll be right down…Yes…Thank you Mr Mackenzie.’
She visibly ‘groaned’ as she replaced the receiver.
A meeting with Mr Mackenzie was the last thing that she wanted. He oversaw the hospital morgue, and she had a pretty good idea that it was one of her clients that was the latest resident taking up slab space in his grim workplace. He wanted her to ‘confirm it’ before the body was put through the final checking in procedure of the dead.
Checking in? Checking out more like. That’s all I need. A trip to the morgue. I’m so sick of looking at corpses, Ellie thought apprehensively.
The trip was completely unnecessary as Mackenzie could easily have the body identified during examination without her; it was Mackenzie's personal payback for her attempting to assert some authority over him.
She had requested that she be informed if any of her clients expired as soon as possible. She liked to be kept informed of everything. It helped her to plan for anything. She liked to be prepared. Having things sprung on her suddenly made her feel nervous and not in control. It made her feel like she had felt at Arethusa. Unfortunately, Mr Mackenzie had taken her request to be informed to mean that she wanted to come down and personally look at their corpses. She was sure he enjoyed watching her cringe.
She didn't have the confidence to re-iterate to him that looking at the bodies personally was not what she meant. She didn't want to open the working rift between them any further.
Edie had come back to collect the completed case files and take them away to be recorded on ISIAH’S systems.
‘Are you off to your early afternoon lunch then Dr Rushford?’ she asked, scooping up the files and lingering for a few seconds.
She watched Ellie put the letter in her pocket.
Ellie looked irritated.
She had planned to meet with Irene and Bridget later this afternoon. Bridget was coming down especially for it from Eden. Ellie had been planning it for weeks. Edie had found out by ear-wigging yet another of her phone conversations.
‘No. I have to go downstairs first so I might be a bit late starting my rounds. Please let the ward manager know. Would you mind getting Mrs Mark’s case file down to E-Wing? One of my Registrars is going to take that case over – thanks,’ Ellie replied curtly.
Edie followed her at an irritatingly close distance, out of the consulting rooms and back as far as the reception desk.
Ellie could almost hear Edie’s thoughts, probing, questioning, as though by some form of telepathy. It irritated her immensely.
‘Bye then. See you later,’ Edie called after Ellie, who was half way out of the reception area and disappearing in the direction of the lift.
Ellie stood in the lift with her hand in her pocket. She traced the outline of the seal with her bandaged finger as though she were reading Braille.
She hated going to the morgue. It was the stench. Her brain knew that smell and it did not like it. It did things to her body that she felt she had no control over, and she hated not being in control. She felt tightness in her stomach, and took a deep breath in, as the lift glided silently to the lower floor.
It took Ellie ten minutes to walk along the corridor to the mortuary. The distance was not that far. It was her slow, reluctant pace that took the time. Ten minutes to think about the beautiful Mrs Drake who was lying on a morgue slab. Ellie quickened her pace at the image. The last time Mrs Drake had been on her operating table it was for breast implants. Ellie could smell the Mortuary in the basement corridor before she reached the double doors. The nauseous feeling that she dreaded so much was starting to rise.
Mr Mackenzie was washing the blood from a stainless steel table when Ellie entered the morgue.
The smell of disinfectant almost overpowered her.
Two bodies lay side by side covered from head to toe in green sheets. One was very small.
Ellie cringed.
Mr Mackenzie smirked at her when she saw his new tenants. She could see the smugness in his eyes, and tried to keep a straight face. Mr Mackenzie looked at Ellie.
‘Ready?’ he said.
Ellie nodded, noting the hint of triumph in his voice.
Mr Mackenzie knew that Ellie found the situation unbearable and he knew why. It gave him extra satisfaction. He had been fuming when the “prissy Doctor” had requested details of her precious clients “right away” like he had nothing better to do. He doubted that she would ever ask him for anything else again after the way he had deliberately ‘misinterpreted’ her instructions.
He ca
refully peeled back the sheet from the dead woman’s body. The cloth snagged on something. It was a piece of jagged glass. Mrs Drake’s face and eyes were covered in shards of glass which had become embedded in her pretty face. Her long blonde hair was congealed with dried blood from the gashes on her head. Ugly bruises left seat belt marks etched on her pale skin.
One of the breast implants quivered as the sheet was pulled back. The surgery incision had broken open and the implant sagged out of the gaping hole. Ellie noted with sick satisfaction, that it had not burst, despite the broken glass embedded in Mrs Drake’s pale skin.
She could almost imagine her next interview with the young Ms Jacobi. CUB implants really are the best. They don’t even burst when you’re dead!
The end of a metal object which had pierced the body, was sticking out of Mrs Drake’s right shoulder. Ellie thought that it might have been part of a car window screen wiper. Ellie was glad she had not been to lunch before visiting the morgue. The colour drained from her cheeks.
‘I think it’s her, but…it’s hard to see through all that glass…and…stuff’ she said, turning away and holding a tissue over her nose and mouth. ‘What happened, do you know?’ Ellie said, in a muffled voice through the tissues. She used to be so beautiful, Ellie thought sadly.
Mr Mackenzie pulled the bloodied rubber gloves from his hands. They made a ‘slapping’ noise as he pulled them off, and chucked them into the nearest waste bin. She had the impression he has practiced at doing the motion on his days off to make it as dramatic as possible.
‘Lost control of her car and skidded into a wall, apparently,’ he said coldly. ‘She was killed outright. The child died on the way in,’ he added.
Ellie looked at the tiny form under the green sheet, lying next to its mother. She was relieved that she didn’t have to look underneath the still green cloth.
‘If you are not sure of her identity, then it’s no problem. You can wait until she has been through my assistant then everything will be confirmed. You did say if we had any of your clients in then you wanted to be informed?’ he said looking directly at her.
