by Jim Rudnick
He'd been taught that in his final years at the Barony Research College of Physicians, and yet he had always postulated that aging exerts a limited effect on the constitutive functions of the liver and more on its response to extra-hepatic factors.
And the liver still went on, acting as the single organ that filtered each and every molecule of blood delivered to every single cell in the body. Every one. All the time. And that meant that aging perhaps—and he nodded to himself here—could be lengthened if the liver did something in an Ikarian that it did not do in everyone else. Maybe. Maybe was the active word there.
The liver changed all its incoming nutrients into a new biochemical form—that fact he remembered was from his thirty-year-old classes back in the college.
More than that, the liver also had a network of bile ducts and that was what had suddenly come to him as an idea. Bile was the greenish liquid—except in Leudies where it was bright, bright blue due he thought in some way to their symbiotic existence to their neck snakes. But that wasn't what had made a dent in his consciousness.
It was, as he knew, the rows of liver cells separated by space that was important. Together, those spaces acted like a sieve through which the blood flowed. This sieve—like a RIM customs agent finding out what illegal goods someone was bringing onto a planet—removed toxic substances from the bloodstream. Those toxins could come in the form of everything from drugs and alcohol to chemicals and microorganisms … and perhaps aging had filterable items too.
It was that single thought that had leapt out from his college classes of decades ago.
The liver, as he remembered, had special Kupffer cells, which ate up and broke down the toxins or aging too perhaps.
In short, these cells disarm the toxins by converting a dangerous chemical to a less harmful one or by packaging them for easier disposal through an Ikarian's bile or urine. The latter approach revealed how the sly liver didn't always have to fight its enemies head-on. Instead, it often used a martial arts approach and paralyzed toxins by wrapping them in a water-soluble chemical so they landed in a toilet rather than in a vital organ.
He smiled.
The urine of an adult Ikarian as opposed to a child Ikarian needed to be tested, and then if possible with an Ikarian child who was in puberty at the same time.
And we need to do that yesterday, Toombs thought.
Something was nudging his consciousness again, and he knew enough to let it sit and bloom on its own.
It had been a comment back a week or so ago at the last M&M meeting, and he knew who had said it, the Radiology department head doctor.
She had talked about their PET scanning and positrons. And that for some reason, the two opposing gamma rays must have been faulty due to some kind of a radioactive, biologically active substance that had gone undetected within the media.
PET scanning. Gamma rays ... more things to check, but this was an interesting new trail to follow ...
####
Dr. Bassem sat and toyed with the latte in front of him. He pushed the spoon around in the dregs of the foam inside the tall plas-cup and sighed a bit right out loud. He had been spending far too much time each lunchtime, sitting and listening and trying to identify the voices around him. He'd noticed that for the most part, staff here were somewhat territorial when it came to the tables they chose to sit and eat at—and he'd seen some folks get downright surly when they arrived at their usual table, trays in hand, and found them full.
Why some people needed to sit at the usual table was beyond him, yet he sat at the same table too now and tried to see who else sat close to his table and if they might be talking again. Talking about the "secret" Barony Research lab, as if there was such a thing. He thought for a moment about why anyone would think the lab was a secret lab, other than the fact you had to put on a spacesuit just to get into the area.
He looked over at the closest table and some of the faces there were familiar. They were nurses from up on R deck where the ICU was located. Five younger humans, all rather pretty but wearing not a lot of makeup, which was a Hospital Ship rule. One was very animated and was expounding on her date of the night before, and judging by the way she described it, there would be no second date. The rest of the table of young women was all asking very detailed questions, and as he listened, he wondered at the state of young people and their relationships.
But he shrugged and worked on trying to hear past them to the table off to their left and realized he couldn't hear a thing with the nurses prattling on about what the perfect man would be like.
No help here today he thought as he dropped his now crushed napkin on his tray and stood to pick it up and bus it over to the dirty dishes station some feet away.
On his way there, he had to stop for a doctor he didn't know. At least he thought the man was a doctor as he was having a talk with a fellow in a lab coat, and he had to go around them as they wouldn't move.
"I have already said, Mister Ward, that I will not again don a spacesuit just to get to work. That is final. No exceptions. The one time yesterday was more than I ever had to do—and I will not do that again. Have your big Research Scientist doctor come to see me—I'll just sit here in the cafeteria. No exceptions, Mister Ward ..."
He almost stamped his foot, Kahil noticed. He was a man of about seventy years of age with white hair, of course, and wore civvies—not scrubs. He wore his glasses low on his nose, and they were on one of those lanyards that went around his neck so he could take them off and they'd simply sit on his chest. Of average size, the only real characteristic Kahil noticed was the man's voice, which had a very strong and resounding tone like a professional voice-over speaker.
This was news to the man named Ward who was wringing his hands together and looking totally unhappy with that decision.
"Doctor Chapman, I-I need to get you over to the labs, Sir. I know that it's not a lot of fun getting there, but our head Research Scientist needs you to come back for more briefs, Sir ..." he said and Kahil could tell the boy was troubled.
He went around the twosome, keeping his ears open, and slowly stacked his dirty plate, silverware, and garbage in their respective bins.
They were still discussing that spacesuit part of the trip, and at some point, the young man named Ward realized the doctor was not going to make the trip. He stopped talking and as Kahil stacked his tray on the top, he nodded to the doctor.
"Sir, then how about this—just before you leave the Hospital Ship to take that spacesuit jaunt, there is a small conference room on the port side. Would it be okay to escort you there and then get Research Scientist Toombs to join us there? Would that work for you, Professor?" he said.
The doctor nodded.
"Good to know," Kahil said to himself and went around them one more time and back to his office up on Deck D.
There, he quickly plugged into Gallipedia and searched for "Doctor Chapman professor Neres," and there were more than a hundred thousand hits. He took his time as he read more and more about the doctor who didn't like spacesuits.
He was a professor over at the Barony College of Physicians and Surgeons whose specialty was the liver. He appeared to also be the generally accepted expert in Hepatology on the whole planet, and if you could believe his press, he wrote the book on the human liver. That stopped Kahil for a moment, as the Ikarians, of course, were not human at all but aliens. He wondered about that but not enough to stop thinking perhaps the secret labs had some kind of an idea the liver was involved.
He read a few more pages of the Gallipedia results and saw the professor also appeared at times on local NEWS channels as an expert doctor on some items about the liver, but those snippets were on things like hepatitis and jaundice and the like—all pretty basic human issues. But at least that explained the man's vocal tones and why he'd been chosen to speak on the NEWS, Kahil thought.
But what the good professor might be needed for to work on the Ikarian virus was the question and one he knew he'd have to come up with an ans
wer to soon.
His thoughts turned to the other man he'd listened to, this research lab young man named Ward. He'd think Gallipedia wouldn't have much on such a youngster and he was right. Instead, he used the console to search the Hospital Ship database to find the man, and yes, he was a junior—very junior it said—and he was posted to the Barony Research department—the secret labs in other words. Why they had tried to hide the whole thing was beyond him, but everyone on the ship knew what that meant, where the labs were, and who worked there too. Well, at least at the top of the heap, this Ward person was down at the bottom.
He quickly logged into the Caliphate database section of Gallipedia where there was stored information on all RIM citizens in relation to their Caliphate positions; it was a listing who's who of friends and enemies too. He noted the professor was an entry but a small one—he'd spoken a couple of times on Neria at their university and had taken a part of a previous sabbatical leave on Olbia too. Nothing there he noted.
On a whim, he ran the name Nathan Ward through and got a bit alert right up front—ahhh, Nathan was a gambler!
And like all gamblers, he was a loser too—and his credit at the Casino Station had been cut off as he was behind in his payment schedules. Total amount outstanding was ... good Christ, the man owed more than 60,000 credits. And he was late again. So there was something to think on. It looked like the young man was a chaser too—he chased losses with more gambling, trying as they all did to earn back his losses. The fact that he lost again never seemed to dull that aim either—and Kahil smiled at that.
A man who needed money was always pliable. He had learned that when the Caliph wanted something, finding a name in the database was a bonus. I will need to work on that item ...
He would have to come up with a way to make an acquaintance with this young man and try to cultivate him to learn as much as he could about the status of the Ikarian vaccine. "Never can tell who might be important to his 'mission,'" he said as he sighed and wondered if his family back in the Caliphate would even know what he was doing. Probably not—and most definitely not if I succeed. And if I fail, I wonder if I'd even know ...
####
Along one wall were a couple of vending machines, and search as he might, Tanner had not a single credit.
Haven't had any need for pocket money here, he thought, but sure could use something to drink.
He looked around and noted that of all the patients present, he didn't know a single one. They were all sitting around with their visitors because this was ship-wide Visitors Day, and his visitors were running late. They were all in this large room that had a wall that was a full view-port that at present showed Neres—blue and green and brown with those white cloud banks that rippled across the continents. Much to see, and for me, a nice change. It was his first allowed Visitors Day, and he had been pleased to learn that his best friend Bram and Kondo Lazaro, the Atlas XO, were already on his list. They'd wanted to come every time he'd been told and that truly was good to know.
He sat back on the couch and wondered why that might be and was rewarded a moment later with a clap on the back and a hearty "Hey there Captain!" and Bram dropped into the seat beside him. He had a big smile on his face, yet Tanner could still see some sort of uncertainty there and he understood completely.
In fact, he looked right into his friend's blue eyes and thought simply "I'm okay so far ..." and he saw the uncertainty drift away and Bram's smile broadened.
"Sir, good to see you," his XO said and Kondo pulled up a chair and looked about the same as Bram had, happy but worried.
"Thanks, Kondo—I'm fine honestly. So far, the worst thing that has happened here is that I don't have a credit to put into one of those machines over there. All else is fine, fellows—just fine," he said and he believed it too. At least that's the way it should look. So far, so good.
Kondo held up a hand and jogged over to the closest vending machine, looked at the brands, and then asked "Nuka-cola, okay, Captain?" and getting a nod, he inserted a credit coin and the machine doled out a can of the soft drink. He trotted it over to the couch and grinned as he handed it to Tanner.
Tanner thanked him, and popping the can, he took a big swig.
A moment later, he burped loudly and all three of them chuckled.
"Okay," he said, "me first. So far, I've been here almost two months, one more to go. I've had a dozen or so appointments with my very own psychiatrist—one Dr. Etter who is a very nice man. Asks some tough questions, but so far he's been more than fair and understanding—but we haven't gotten to why I hate my father yet."
That got another group chuckle as everyone knew it was pretty much a standard part for psychiatry—least so everyone thought.
He smiled too and then went on.
"I also have group sessions once a week or so with another psychiatrist in charge, a Dr. Trystan who runs the meetings of the twelve of us. We've got all types, a lady from Juno who thought the planet was poisoning her. A union busting fellow from ITO where there were no unions and quite a few smugglers too who were all guilty as hell. Least that's how I see it," he finished off and he meant it too. Group sessions were a waste of time as he'd yet to hear a single sentence out of any of them that rang true. But that too, he thought, was a part of this kind of psych medicine ... who knew what was true and what wasn't.
Bram laid a hand on his right arm and squeezed a bit, and Tanner came back to the moment.
"Sorry, but that's about it—oh wait, Kondo, do you remember Lieutenant Irving? She was our Ansible officer on the Atlas when we got attacked over on Ghayth?"
Kondo nodded as did Bram.
"Well, she's here and we see each other every couple of days. Her ears are getting better, and she told me just yesterday that with one more operation and surrogate insertions, she'll be free to go back to duty. I wonder, Kondo—could you ensure that she gets transferred back to the Atlas? I want her on my bridge ..." He stopped as he'd just vocalized the bigger issue. Would he himself return to the Atlas. That was the question all of them were concerned with ..."
He thought back to yesterday once again.
Under directions from his psychiatrist, Maddie had shown up early—before 0900 hours to take him to the outpatient clinic. They'd walked quietly and he hadn't felt like talking. Once there, Maddie had the paperwork on her tablet, and he'd been admitted and put into a curtained area, and he lay down with a degree of trepidation.
He was here to have his alcoholism cured. One shot. One shot and it loosened its hold on him. And his brain.
One shot and that was it—like nineteen percent of the rest of the galaxy—and he would be cured.
He lay still while someone came in to do vitals, and Maddie watched that nurse like a hawk.
He lay still while they hooked him up to a machine and he almost got used to the beat of his heart as it played as a small audio cue.
The next one who pushed back the curtain was a doctor—at least as far as he could tell. The man smiled at Maddie and came over to his side.
"Just double-checking—you are Captain Tanner Scott, correct?" he added as he looked down at his tablet. He reached over to the small cart beside the bed and picked up a large syringe. Inserting the needle end into the rubber-tipped top, he pulled back on the plunger to fill the syringe with the yellowish liquid and carefully measured a dosage. Turning to Tanner, he smiled as he mopped Tanner's left forearm in the crook of his elbow, making sure that the vein was large and easy to use. He must have been happy, as the needle slid in a second later, and as Tanner watched, the yellow liquid disappeared into his arm.
He didn't realize the rapid beeping he was hearing was his own heart for almost a full minute; the beats were quicker than he'd have liked to acknowledge. But they did slow slowly.
The doctor smiled once more. Not much of a bedside manner, Tanner thought, as the needle was withdrawn a moment later, and the nurse, who'd stood and watched the whole procedure, daubed the teensy drop of blood up with a sterile
cloth and then slapped down a fresh new Band-Aid to seal it off.
I was just cured of drinking. Never again, he thought, will I fall to that lure.
He shrugged—he remembered shrugging right then and thinking that maybe being in the other eighty-one percent of the galaxy's population would have been better.
More fun. More camaraderie. More esprit de corps. More everything.
His heart was beating loudly again, and that was not so much a bad thing, he figured.
"Sir," Kondo said, "Captain—everything okay?" He sounded worried, and as Tanner looked at him, he smiled.
"Top of the day, Kondo. I'm fine ... just remembering something is all," he said as he caught Bram nodding beside him.
He'd caught that little flashback and that was okay.
"So—what is the news on the Atlas, fellows?" he asked and both of them grinned at him.
"As you know—I'm just the acting captain—that spot is still yours, we were all told by the Lady St. August. She held a ship-wide meeting the day after they shipped you up here and told us all that I was just filling in—that you'd be back. Far as we all know, Sir, that's still the truth," Kondo said.
Bram leaned in closer.
"Course, some of us think that she was pretty pissed off with the whole thing—that she wanted to just over-ride the whole court proceedings and put you back in the captain's chair that very same day," he said.
Tanner nodded and knew if there was one thing that Royalty could do—it was whatever the hell they wanted to do.
"We are leaving tonight, too, Captain, for a quick trip to Enki."
Tanner looked at Kondo with some confusion.
"Yes, I know, Captain. Seems like Enki is the third planet in the UrPoPo system. About seventy years ago, we asked if they'd like to join the RIM Confederacy and heard back nothing 'til last week. They sent a probe without FTL to Juno to talk to us and asked if we'd like to join their realm ... a realm of one planet, mind you. Seems like they have some delusions of grandeur, and the Baroness offered for us—well, the Atlas that is—to take our diplomats over to this planet and see what they've got to say for themselves. So, it's my first real acting captain mission, Sir—but I wish you were in that chair!" he said.
