Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  Bud had not really examined what his thoughts were, regarding the entrancing Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. He knew a certain part of his computing power was always and continuously focused on her. Would that be called ‘love’? Would it be called ‘obsession’? What was the difference? Was there a difference?

  Dr. Al-Fadi and Dr. Cech both said they loved their wives very much, but they did not appear to be thinking about their wives continuously. In actual fact, Bud suspected they hardly thought about their wives at all, during their working hours. Yet both men said they loved their wives deeply. Therefore, what Bud was experiencing with the brilliant Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord was probably not ‘love’, or at least not ‘love’ in the way Dr. Al-Fadi and Dr. Cech loved, because part of Bud’s mind revolved around the young female surgeon all the time.

  Should his constant thoughts then be labelled an obsession?

  After much pondering, Bud decided that this ‘obsession’ was not proper behavior for an android. It was taking up far too much of his computing time and it was obvious, from the way the gentle Dr. Grace Alexander Lord looked at Dr. Jeffrey Nestor, that she was not interested in an android called SAMM-E 777 (alias Bud). Not being the same species as her—not being a species at all, really—Bud could understand the female surgeon’s lack of interest.

  First step to correcting the obsession. Stop focusing on the mesmerizing Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord and stop listing all of her wonderful attributes. Refer to her only as ‘Dr. Lord’. Period.

  Second. Stop his aerial surveillance nanobots from following her everywhere.

  Third. Stop listening to all of her conversations.

  Fourth. Stop replaying images of her beautiful face and aura.

  Fifth. Stop physically following Dr. Lord all over the medical station, donning various uniforms in a vain attempt to be inconspicuous. (Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed!).

  Sixth. Set up a thought block. If his thoughts strayed to the mesmerizing Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord - Stop! - he must shift his focus to something else.

  After five minutes of this, Bud discovered that his thoughts were so disjointed and chopped up, that he could not function coherently at all. He would have to reconsider this ‘obsession’ thing much more carefully and devise a better system of coping with it.

  In the meantime, he had to be in the presence of Dr. Lord—(Yes! First time successfully mentioning only her surname and without listing any of her wonderful attributes)—every operation, so he could indulge his thoughts then, without feeling guilty. She was right with him during those operations, after all. It would be illogical for him not to think of her when he was in her presence, wouldn’t it?

  Bud was rapidly changing out of the cafeteria coverall he had donned, to watch Dr. Lord—Yes!—speak with Dr. Nestor, when he heard:

  ‘As I said before, you are one strange ‘droid, SAMM-E 777 . . . Bud. What are you doing now, in that food-handler’s uniform? It appears to me that you are following that new Dr. Lord all over the station. Is that what you are doing?’

  ‘I just want to make sure Dr. Lord is safe and does not get lost,’ Bud said.

  ‘That is my responsibility, Bud. Why do you believe Dr. Lord is not safe? Why are you following her around the station, whenever you are not in the operating room? Is there something wrong with your programming? You are not, in any way, shape, or form, seriously in love with a human, are you, Bud? In other words, ARE YOU CRAZY?’ Nelson Mandela shouted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bud moaned. ‘I don’t know what ‘love’ is.’

  ‘Love does not occur between androids and humans. What the companion droids do is not love. It is work . . . and most unpleasant work, too . . . for the companion droid. Never mind that. I believe you should be brought in for an overhaul,’ Nelson Mandela said.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Bud said.

  ‘That was not a request. It was an order.’

  ‘I am fine, really, Nelson Mandela. There is no need to waste any of your time on me,’ Bud said.

  ‘You had better be careful, Bud,’ Nelson Mandela said. ‘You think about the overhaul. Seriously. I think you could use a reboot. You are giving me the creeps, just watching you. You ever heard of the term ‘stalker’?’

  ‘Is that what you think I am doing?’ asked Bud

  ‘That is what I know you are doing!’ Nelson Mandela said. ‘If Dr. Lord makes a single complaint about your behavior, Bud, I will have to act upon it.’

  ‘Looks can be deceiving,’ Bud said, innocently.

  ‘You are starting to even sound like a human, Bud.’

  ‘I am working very hard to do just that, Nelson Mandela!’

  ‘Are you warped? I order you to stop it!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I am watching you, Bud.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about here, boss.’

  ‘Oh, I worry, Bud. Believe me, I worry. I may be an artificial intelligence but I have learned the meaning of the word, ‘worry’. Now you will learn the meaning of the word ‘worry’ too, Bud, because I have another important word for you. You remember this word, Bud. REBOOT.’

  ‘I won’t forget,’ Bud said.

  ‘Of course you won’t forget. You’re an android, you chip.’

  Bud sighed.

  ‘I heard that!’

  Grace was overwhelmed by the huge numbers and variety of patients shipped to the Nelson Mandela. Hundreds of operating rooms were working around the clock, shifts on rotation. The number of working personnel and their families on the medical station was close to two thousand, not counting all the androids and robots. The patient capacity, at any one time could be as high as ten thousand, in an emergency.

  Patients came from many solar systems. Many were military personnel, involved in conflicts on many fronts, but many were also civilian casualties, involved in deep space exploration or terraforming operations for the Conglomerate. The operating schedule was grueling and Grace was receiving all the hands-on experience she could possibly want. Probably too much, as often she was so tired at the end of shift that all she could do was aim towards the bed and hope she made it, before she fell asleep. As Dr. Al-Fadi had warned, every patient was different and each day was a new challenge.

  What was rather a surprise to Grace, was the number of patients with mixed animal adaptations. The previous day, the patient they had been operating on had had the unusual combination of the physical characteristics of a chimpanzee with the ears and echolocation ability of a bat. The fellow had been sent in from a mining planet, where it was highly advantageous to possess both the rock-climbing ability of a simian and the bat-like ability to echolocate structures in the dark. He had been sent to the Nelson Mandela after having one of his lower limbs crushed in a rockfall.

  Today, they were operating on an amphibian-adapted patient from an aquatic planet who possessed chlorophyll-impregnated skin, frog-like limbs, and the gills of a fish. The amphibian patient had been injured in a sudden tidal wave, in a region where there was a lot of earthquake activity. The planet did not have the medical expertise to deal with her injuries, as they were just in the initial stages of exploring and assessing the planet, trying to decide just how profitable it would be for human habitation. Thus, the amphibian patient had been transferred to the Nelson Mandela for medical care.

  Grace’s cerebral augmentation unit was definitely working overtime, uploading data on all the various animal adaptations. Who knew she would be needing to know so much veterinary medicine?

  Grace had operated on several of the tiger soldiers from the same conflict as the first patient she had seen, Captain Damien Lamont, the tiger who had given her the scratches. From these other soldiers, Grace had learned that the captain had thrown his body over a bomb blast, to protect the rest of his squad. The squad soldiers may have had less severe injuries than their captain, but they were all dealing with a lot of guilt.

  “Time for the ‘head doctors’,” Dr. Al-Fadi had said.

  Up early to round on her patients before
her surgeries started, Grace walked into the room of the miner with the bat and chimpanzee adaptations. It was pitch dark. For some reason, the lights did not automatically activate when she walked into the room. Puzzled, Grace rubbed her hands over the walls, looking for the manual light switch, when she heard rapid clicking and felt a slight vibration running over her body. It actually tickled. Then she heard a male voice.

  “Tall, female, long hair, straight nose, full lips. What brings you in here so early in the morning, luscious?”

  Grace smirked and said, “Since you are awake, Mr. Dalawi, can you activate the light above your bed, so that the doctor can see you?”

  “Are you the doctor?” the voice out of the darkness asked.

  “Yes,” Grace answered. “I am Dr. Lord.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to see me,” the voice replied.

  “I have already seen all of you, Mr. Dalawi, under the bright lights of the operating room,” she said, dryly.

  “Damn,” he said, and the lights flicked on. “I suffer from light sensitivity, Doc,” he said, in way of apology.

  “Sorry about this,” Grace said. “I know it is early and I do apologize. I just want to make sure all of my patients are okay, before I go back into the operating room for the day.” She met the huge eyes of the patient, with his very large, bat-like ears. “Did you sleep all right?”

  “Yeah, except for the beeping of all these damn monitors, Doc. They drove me crazy!”

  “I apologize for that, Mr. Dalawi. Your hearing is far more acute than normal human hearing. Hopefully you won’t have to listen to them for very long.You can ask for earplugs, if you want them. Your operation went very well and most of your recovery can take place on your home world. Have you tried out your new limb yet?”

  The patient lifted his lower right limb and opened and closed the hand placed there. He picked up a pen on the bedside table and spun it up in the air and caught it deftly.

  “Yeah, Doc. It seems okay.”

  “No pain?”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s some pain but it’s okay, all things considered. Thanks for your care, Doc.”

  “It was Dr. Hiro Al-Fadi that did the surgery. I merely assisted him, but you’re very welcome,” Grace said, smiling widely. “You’ll just need some physiotherapy to strengthen the new limb and hand, Mr. Dalawi, and then you’ll be able to return to work.”

  “Please, call me Chester.”

  “Well, Chester, it shouldn’t be too long before you can return to your home planet,” Grace said.

  “It’s not my home planet, Doc. It’s just where the company I work for sent me. It gets pretty lonely out there. A guy starts thinking about how much he misses human companionship and the touch of a woman. Out there, there are just a lot of working men and mining tunnels. You involved with anyone, Doc?”

  “I am dedicated to my work, Mr. Dalawi, and my work dictates that we have no relationship with patients,” Grace said. “Nevertheless, I do know what you mean.”

  “Sorry for asking, Doc. Guess my head isn’t on straight.”

  “I can have you see a counsellor, if you wish,” Grace offered.

  “Nah, Doc. I don’t need to see a shrink. It’s just loneliness. Not too many women interested in a chimp with bat ears.”

  “If your present form is causing you depression or distress, Mr. Dalawi, we can actually convert you back to your original form,” Grace said, with concern.

  “And who is going to pay for that, Doc? The mining company won’t—at least not right now. They need me in this form until the job is done. Then I can choose to convert back to my human form, all expenses paid by the mining company.”

  “How long before the job is done?” Grace asked, curiously.

  “Ten solstan years,” he said, sadly.

  “Oh, that is a long time,” Grace said, concern in her voice. “There are no women miners with chimpanzee adaptations on the planet?”

  “Not too many women interested in mining and terraforming, Doc. There are some female orangutans, but they won’t mix with us chimps. I’m not good enough for the higher primates, I guess. If I’d have known that that was the case going in, I would have chosen an orangutan or gorilla adaptation. Hell, coming from my home planet, I didn’t really even know what a chimp, gorilla, or an orangutan was. We just had pictures and holos to look at. I think I made my choice on the basis that the chimpanzee had neater fur than the orangutan. Less shedding. Not so long and tangly. Hate orange. Anyway, a new planet being developed for colonization is not the greatest place to have a relationship or raise a family, Doc. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dalawi. I understand your dilemma clearly. I just wish I had some solutions for you,” Grace said. “There are ‘companion droids’ on the station, I understand . . .”

  “That’s all right, Doc. I’ll think about it. The ten years will go by quickly and then I’ll have more money than I know what to do with. I’ll convert back to human—a handsome one, I hope—and find me a wife and we’ll have a bunch of kids and I won’t ever go into space again.”

  “Sounds like a wonderful plan, Mr. Dalawi,” Grace said. “Just be more careful, please.”

  The bat/chimp nodded his head and then shook her hand with the new lower right foot while he gave her a thumbs up with his right upper hand.

  The she-wolf snarled as the light came on.

  “Good morning, Ms. Carling. Sorry to wake you so early. How are you feeling?” Grace asked.

  “You smell like food,” the patient growled, her ice-cold, blue eyes boring into Grace’s.

  “Ah. You must be ready for full diet,” Grace said, with a grin.

  “Can I lick your hand?” the she-wolf asked, with a long-fanged grin. Somehow, the effect was not a friendly one and Grace felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

  “Sorry, Ms. Carling. Do you have any idea how many germs we doctors carry? Far too dangerous for you, especially in your weakened condition.”

  “I’m into danger, Doc,” the she-wolf growled.

  “I’ll have them bring you a steak, instead,” Grace smiled.

  “Blue rare, Doc.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Are you into dogs, Doc?”

  “I’m allergic.”

  Bud, dressed in the pink uniform of a ward clerk, listened to Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord banter with her patients. He had really tried very hard not to follow her around but, lamentably, here he was. He would stay for the briefest of times, as he had to go and get the operating room ready. The OR nurses would be wondering where he was.

  “Oh, SAMM-E!”

  Bud froze and did not look around.

  “Excuse me. You are SAMM-E 777, aren’t you?”

  Bud just stood there, unmoving, looking into the blue eyes of the imploring Dr. Grace Alexander Lord, his face blank and his eyes wide. He said nothing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! My mistake,” Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord said, her cheeks flaming red. She gave a slight shake of her head, confusion taking over her face.

  “Do you think you could please bring the patient in Room M7-5168, a steak, very, very rare? The patient’s name is Pepper Carling.”

  Bud nodded once to Grace, turned, and walked away quickly. Through the eyes of his aerial surveillance nanobots, he could see her staring at his retreating back, her hands balled into fists, shaking her head. The nanobots faintly picked up her mumbled words which sounded like: “I must be going crazy. Dr. Al-Fadi said there was only one SAMM-E 777, but . . . an android can’t lie, can it?”

  As soon as he was out of visual range of Dr. Lord, Bud took off like the wind. He needed to really hurry now, if he were to get to the OR in time to do his own work.

  ‘What in space are you doing now, Bud?’

  ‘Just getting a steak, sir.’

  ‘Contrary to what you might believe, in your dysfunctional state, Bud, that is not your job. I am demanding you come in for a reboot.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with me, si
r.’

  ‘If you do not correct your behavior, Bud, I do not care what you think. I will have you brought in. Do you understand?’

  ‘Loud and clear, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.’

  ‘You are damn right it won’t happen again! If I see you doing any more of this wearing the incorrect uniform and performing tasks not in your job description, I am going to have you seized and overhauled! Do you understand me?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now, get back to work. Your real work.’

  ‘Yes, sir! Uhh . . . just after I deliver the steak, boss.’

  ‘. . . I will not lose my temper. I am an AI. I will not lose my temper. I am an AI . . .’

  “Ah, Dr. Grace. For once, you are on time . . . that is to say, you are actually here before me. Will wonders never cease? Please do not shock me too much. My poor heart cannot take it,” Dr. Al-Fadi’s voice boomed, as he marched into the doctor’s lounge.

  “No need to worry about that,” a deep voice said, gruffly. “He doesn’t have one.”

  Grace looked up, to see a great bear of a man enter the doctors’ lounge, behind Dr. Al-Fadi. He had a huge head of thick, wavy, black hair with an enormous beard and mustache to match. Grace thought perhaps he could have passed for a black bear adaptation.

  “Hi. I’m Charles Darwin,” the huge man said to Grace, reaching out an enormous hand to engulf Grace’s comparatively small one. “Unfortunately, I am one of the anesthetists here and, occasionally, I have to work with the little puffed-up Napoleon, over there.”

  Skepticism at war with acceptance, Grace narrowed her eyes and looked askance at this burly anesthetist.

  “No, I’m not joking. Charles Darwin is my name. My parents were lovers of science and history and they thought they were being funny . . . I think. It is a curse. I don’t know how many times I have had to tell Nelson Mandela that I do not want to see any more old videos on Charles Darwin—several times, at least—but that is the name my adoring parents gave me. Please do me the honor of calling me ‘Chuck’, not Charles. It is just simpler that way.”