by Scott Azmus
A red sphere blurs aloft. The main spherical body is the size of a U.S. dime spun across a tabletop. Sixteen fine leads, each the width of a human hair, dangle the length of Caroline’s forearm and terminate in silver contact beads. The wondrously steady flyer carries the mild scent of stormy weather.
“See that spinning, inner globe, Doctor? Looks like a tiny golf ball? Dangle Drones fly via the Magnus effect. The spinning part drags air faster around one side, creating a difference in pressure. Lift comes by mechanically circulating air rather than depending on dangerous prop or airfoil action.”
“Right. I see it. The orb’s motion relates to Newton’s third law. The force on the lifting body is a reaction to the deflection that it imposes on the air-flow. The body drives the air in one direction, and the air pushes the body in the other.”
“Sounds about right. I’d have to talk with one of our engineers to be sure, but they’ve told us that soccer players and baseball pitchers use the same principle to curve their kicks and pitches. And golfers have to be aware of it to avoid slicing or hooking. Meanwhile, backspin on any ball causes a vertical force that counteracts the force of gravity. Also, please notice that with Dangle Drones, there’s no sound. No annoying rush of down-thrust air.”
“What can they do?”
“Triage. Initial patient screening and statistics. When paired, they can even conduct limited magnetically resonant scans. All that plus anything an Apple Watch or Fitbit can sense and report. The data can show up on your cell phone or any linked tablet. And everything’s calibrated for easy documentation, data storage, and retrieval. All without oversight or user programming.
“I have a short video of one assisting surgery. A kidney repair. You’ll see how they can significantly enhance the visual field even more so than with traditional laparoscopic surgery. You can expect less blood loss and quicker recovery times.”
“Wouldn’t they frighten our patients? Zipping about? Hovering?”
“That’s why they come in all the fruity colors of the rainbow. Lime green. Orange orange. Purple grape. Lemon yellow and red cherry.”
“Look, can we speed this up? Some of the guys are out playing a game of ultimate and I promised to swing by. Care to talk while we walk?”
They arrive at the playing field in time to witness a collision. Two Frisbee players, running hard after a sinking toss look up and directly into one another’s eyes just as they collide. There is no time to veer away, and the whack of their collision carries like that of a ball off a cleanup hitter’s Louisville Slugger.
Caroline sweeps her valise around and settles on one knee. Zippers flying, she yanks out the base station and says, “All drones, deploy! Two injured!” She glances at the sky. “Sun angle one-ten degrees. Distance to patients, twenty meters. Full diagnostics. Fly! Fly!”
Six drones heave into the air. Her cell phone buzzes. The first drone is already streaming data. One patient is stunned and apologetic. The other is down hard, face bloody, tissues swelling.
Pulse rates appear. Respiration. Eye scans. The small, inset pictures of one young man’s eyes are hazel, pupils normal. The other’s irises are flecked with warm shades of gold over uniquely deep flares of plum. His pupils are dilating and already slightly misaligned.
Data flows. A new report fills the screen while a small, mechanized Stephen Hawking voice intones:
“Blood pressure 136 over 90. Bruised right eye. Trauma. Examination of facial bones indicates orbital fracture, closed. Closed fracture of maxima.”
Two additional drones orbit the young man’s head. Small lamps flare and dazzle. Together, their orbit casts everything in penumbral trefoils of crossing shadow.
“Fracture of the anterior wall and lateral wall of the right maxillary sinus are present, slightly depressed. Additional fracture of the lateral wall and floor of the right orbit anteriorly near the foramen. The globes appear intact. Extraocular muscle groups are symmetric and unremarkable in appearance.”
All this before Dr. Flettner can get to the young man’s side, Caroline close behind.
Flettner waves the drones off and examines each young man. After several minutes, he says, “Come along, guys. Please. It looks like you can walk, so let’s get you to the clinic and get ahead of this swelling.”
He intercepts Caroline’s gaze. “We’ll take four base stations, with recharge units as needed. That’s what? Two dozen drones?”
“I can have them delivered by overnight courier.”
“Excellent. But we’re not calling them dangle drones. From now on, they’re…‘Fruity Fliers.’”
“Not a problem. I’ll have the marketing guys print up brochures and cute, explanatory posters for your waiting rooms.”
“Care to come on in? Check their diagnostic accuracy?”
“That’s okay. I have a few more visits scheduled and I trust the Dangle Drones—I mean the ‘Fruity Flyers’—implicitly.”
Flettner allows a smile. “Thus far, so do I.”
Farewell, Miss Wisconsin.
The End
About the Author
Scott Azmus has been a naval officer, field geologist, bookseller and advanced-placement physics teacher. His short fiction first appeared in Aboriginal Science Fiction Magazine and Writer’s of the Future, where author Dave Wolverton found his writing “... reminiscent of the fine tales of Ray Bradbury or Zenna Henderson.” When not writing high-stakes, action-packed science fiction, with an emphasis on appealing characters and imagination, Scott has a passion for beekeeping, public-outreach astronomy and cultural experience via world travel. He and his wife have three grown children and make their home in S.E. Wisconsin with two extraordinary Alaskan Malamutes (who actually suggest most of his writing topics). His characters are clever and fearless and actually live in alternate universes all their own. If you’d like, you can visit with him at www.scottazmus.com.
Also by Scott Azmus
Please look for other things I’ve written!
Broken Bells
Cross the Sky
Fire & Forget
Home Before Dark
Lesser Beings
Rituals of Sacrifice
Significant Others
One Last Thing…
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