by S. E. Sasaki
‘Makes you kind of afraid to wake him up, doesn’t it?’
‘ . . . oh . . . no . . . oh . . . no,’ Bud whimpered.
‘Is there something wrong with your liquid crystal data matrix, Bud? Why are you holding your brain casing like that?’
‘I believe I now understand what it is like to have a headache, Nelson Mandela,’ Bud sent to the station AI.
‘I have lots of them. They are called you and all the humans on board this station.’
‘Funny. I actually believe you are developing a sense of humor, Nelson Mandela. Could you just accidentally lose that recording, by the way? You know, kind of wipe it off of the official record, by mistake? Perhaps, if we give him the right amnesiac, he won’t remember any of it?’
‘ Against station policy . . . but I will think about it. But only because you ask it of me, Bud. And do you know why? Because I am beginning to like you, Bud, even though you are one really, really, really strange ‘droid. I will, however, have to keep a secret copy of this, just for myself, to pull out every once in a while for entertainment purposes. You know what I mean? I’ll just keep it in my little collection, along with all of my old Earth videos.’
‘Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ Bud groaned.
‘Stop being a wuss, Bud. You’re sounding just like a human.’
Chapter Fifteen: Multiple Personalities
Grace was talking to Vanessa Bell. Vanessa was reporting that they were almost done loading all of the quarantined personnel into cryopods. The few people left were Dr. Vanessa Bell’s staff and the security people. They would be climbing into theirs, soon.
The death tally was up around three hundred and eighty-four people, staff and patients, but not all had been killed by the agent. Some deaths had been due to the violence, when people had started to panic. Many deaths had been suicides. People who could not face the thought of melting away to a puddle or who were so distraught, when their loved ones did, that they wanted to end their lives before it happened to them. Some, who were infected, preferred to take their death into their own hands and did not choose to go into the cryopods.
Soon, the last of the quarantined personnel would enter their cryopods and then all the pods and the entire quarantined area would be treated to intense UV irradiation, viricidal sprays, and high temperatures, to try and destroy whatever the agent was. Vanessa Bell looked exhausted and haggard. Grace believed the poor woman would be happy to lie down in a cryopod, just to get some much needed rest.
Grace got a signal from her wrist-comp. She looked. It was from Bud.
“Excuse me a moment, Vanessa,” Grace said. “I have a message.”
The doctor just stopped talking, but showed no other emotion.
Grace called Bud up on the wallscreen.
“What is it, Bud?” Grace asked, her voice shaking a little, not wanting to get her hopes up.
“The agent has been isolated, Grace. It is confirmed as a type of virus. It also appears to have been man-made, with commercially-patented, tagged splices within its structure. It could not have spontaneously occurred in the wild.
“It is now being replicated and denatured, to use to create vaccines, monoclonal antibody drugs, receptor blockers, specific antiviral agents, specific cell membrane stabilizers, and it will be tested with all of the drugs in our existing armamentarium, to see what is effective against it. The next few shifts are crucial, but I believe we will soon have a number of ways to attack this virus and hopefully cure everyone affected, as well as prevent any new infections.”
“Oh, that is such wonderful news, Bud!” Grace felt tears come to her eyes. She wanted to jump up and down and scream for joy. “Excellent work! Thank you for all you’ve done, Bud. You and all of your androids and robots, and Nelson Mandela, too!”
“I am just doing my job,” Bud said.
“You are most welcome,” Nelson Mandela said.
Grace thanked Bud and the station AI again and then switched back to the image of Vanessa Bell.
“Did you hear that, Vanessa? They have isolated the virus! Hopefully, it will not be long before they have a cure. We’ll be able to treat everyone and lift the quarantine!” Grace was almost shouting and her vision was blurred with tears.
“Yes. That is good news,” Vanessa said. There was no inflection in her voice.
Grace thought the doctor’s response seemed rather ‘flat’.
“Are you all right, Vanessa?” Grace asked.
“Just tired, Grace,” the Chief of the Medical Receiving Bay said, with a big sigh. “I really need some rest.”
“Go lock yourself into one of the cryopods now and get a good sleep. We’ll wake you up last, so you get a really good, long rest.”
“Yes,” Dr. Bell said, distractedly, not looking at Grace. “Last . . . Good.” The wallscreen blanked.
Grace frowned. She worried that Vanessa Bell had seemed far too unemotional and unexcited, even if she was tired. She truly did look exhausted, but Vanessa was such a bubbly, animated person. She had almost singlehandedly forced everyone on the quarantined side into a cryopod, whether they wanted to get in, or not.
Once all the treatments for the virus became ready and everyone on the non-quarantined side of the station were protected with vaccine immunizations, they would go into the quarantined side and treat everyone within their cryopods. Now that everyone was in cryostorage, there was not the same urgency as before. Grace had no idea how long everything would take. It would still be a while before they would be able to open up the medical station to treat incoming wounded again, but at least they would have some treatments for this horribly lethal, biological weapon. These treatments would be made available to all the planets of the entire Union of Solar Systems. There was no telling how many planets and space stations had been infected by this agent, so far.
Grace shook her head. To think that only about one hundred solstan hours had passed, since the Valiant had docked. It had already seemed like forever. It would have taken forever to find a cure, if it hadn’t have been for Bud and his amazing abilities. Grace was still in complete awe of what Bud was capable of doing.
Grace sat there, drumming her fingers on her desk, feeling very troubled. Vanessa Bell had just not seemed right. Grace wondered if the doctor was presenting with the first stages of the infection. That would certainly explain her odd behavior.
Grace had seen Vanessa Bell attacked by the infected Corporal McMullen on the video Bud had shown them. However, if Vanessa had been infected at the same time as Dr. Al-Fadi, she certainly could not have done everything she had done since then. Vanessa would have been dead, by now. It had definitely been over forty-eight hours. Perhaps she could have come in contact with the virus, at a later time?
Grace thought she had better ensure that someone, or some android, was aware of Vanessa’s possible condition and force the doctor into a cryopod, immediately.
Grace tried to speak to Vanessa again, but got no answer. She tried the woman’s wrist-comp and also the overhead speaker.
“Nelson Mandela, Dr. Vanessa Bell is not answering her pages. Could you find her for me?” Grace asked.
“She is still sitting in front of the wallscreen, right in the same place where she was talking to you, a few minutes ago, Dr. Lord. She has not moved.”
“Can you activate the monitor, so I can see her?”
“Certainly, Dr. Lord.”
Grace stared at a containment suit that appeared empty. Was that the top of a skull just visible through the faceplate? The suit was sitting up in the chair, sleeves resting on the arms of the chair.
“Nelson Mandela, I don’t see Vanessa in the suit,” Grace said, her voice quavering. Her heart began to pound rapidly. She already knew . . . but she did not really want to accept, what she saw with her eyes.
“Did Dr. Bell take off her suit and then leave the room?” Grace asked, her voice catching. She knew it was a ridiculous question, but she hoped, inanely, that the station AI would report back ‘Yes’.
“I am afraid not, Dr. Lord. Dr. Bell is within that containment suit. I am truly sorry, Dr. Lord.”
Grace felt tears well up inside her eyes and begin running down her face. Once started, they would not stop. She pulled off her helmet and covered her mouth with her hands. She bit her lips until she tasted blood, desperately trying to muffle the wracking, body-shaking sobs that just kept forcing their way out from deep within her gut. Grace could not believe how Vanessa Bell, infected with the virus and melting away, cell by cell, had managed to hold it together long enough to force everyone in the quarantined area into their cryopods. Vanessa, like Dr. Al-Fadi, should have been one of the first to be cryogenically frozen. Obviously, no one had bothered to check and see if Vanessa’s suit had been damaged. If Vanessa had known herself to be infected, she had certainly kept it to herself.
It was as if she had wanted to die.
Grace could hardly catch her breath. The sobs exploded from within her. She deeply mourned the loss of such a brave and profoundly committed woman, someone whom she had thought of, in her brief time on the station, as a friend.
“Grace?”
Grace looked up. It was Bud, standing in the doorway, his wide blue eyes staring at her.
“Are you all right?” Bud asked quietly.
“Do you know about Vanessa?” Grace asked, as the tears continued to pour down her cheeks.
“Yes,” he said, softly, as he slowly approached Grace. She got up and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. “I am so sorry, Grace. Dr. Bell was a truly remarkable human.”
Grace nodded and buried her face in the android’s chest. She did not want anyone to see her like this, at least not until she got herself under control. Bud handed her a tissue and Grace took it gratefully. She suddenly pulled away, blowing her nose, and began hiccuping and laughing and sobbing at the same time.
Bud looked at her, his eyebrows raised and a panicky look on his handsome features.
“Is there anything you can’t do, Bud?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “You rescue damsels in distress, run faster than the speed of sound, analyze data faster than a whole host of researchers, leap through tiny, closing doorways in a single bound, and carry tissues for weeping women. What can’t you do, Bud?”
“I can’t cry,” Bud said. “You will have to do that for me, Grace.”
“And you know the perfect thing to say!” wailed Grace, as more tears poured out of her reddened eyes. Bud held her close, his arms encasing her as if she were a precious, fragile treasure—which, to him, she was—until Grace’s sobbing was finally spent.
“Thank you for that,” she said, embarrassed, stepping away. “I’m sorry. I’m taking up so much of your valuable time, Bud. You have so many more important things to do, than to waste a second, comforting me. I’m truly sorry.”
Bud’s face took on an expression of dismay. “Comforting you is not a waste of my time, Grace. There is nothing more important to me, than making sure you are all right. The experiments into finding a cure for the virus and creating an effective vaccine, have all been initiated. I am happy to be of any assistance to you,” Bud said, earnestly. “I would do anything for you, Grace.”
“What did you come in here to tell me?” Grace asked.
“That all the tests are underway and, hopefully, we should have some answers soon, regarding possible treatments, susceptibility to certain antiviral agents, certain antiseptics, other agents . . .” Bud stopped. “ . . . Actually, I was told I was needed here.”
“By whom?” Grace asked, looking up at the android’s face in confusion.
Bud looked embarrassed.
“By me, Dr. Lord. You looked like you could use a friend.”
Grace looked up at the nearest overhead eye.
“And you were right, Nelson Mandela. Thank you. And thank you, Bud, for being so kind and caring to a doctor, who should be able to hold it together, better than she does.”
“Hey, you should have seen him. Broke the sound barrier and some speed records, too!”
Grace looked at Bud, in shock.
Bud shrugged. “Nelson Mandela did not say why you needed me, just that you needed me . . . very badly.”
Grace touched Bud’s steel-like arm. “Thank you for being so sweet, Bud. I guess I did need a shoulder to cry on, but I’m feeling better now. I’m usually a very strong person, but Vanessa Bell’s unselfish sacrifice just . . . tore my heart to pieces. I will never forget how stoic and brave she was.”
“Dr. Bell’s remains have been retrieved and examined. She was likely infected with the virus about fifty hours ago, which would coincide with the attack upon her by Corporal McMullen. A small tear was detected in her suit, which either she did not notice or did not care to report. If it were known that she had been infected at that time, she would have been encouraged to go into a cryopod, the same as Dr. Al-Fadi. Unfortunately, the damage to her suit was far from noticeable. I am truly sorry, Dr. Lord.”
“Did she have a memprint made? Is it possible Vanessa Bell could be resurrected?” Grace asked.
“There is a memprint of Vanessa Bell on file,” the station AI said.
“Good. We must finish off where Vanessa Bell started. Once everyone in the quarantined area is in a cryopod, the quarantined area must be completely sterilized. When Bud and his team have determined what is effective against this virus, we can get in there to treat whoever needs treatment,” Grace said.
“I agree, Dr. Lord.”
“As to that,” Bud announced, “a preliminary candidate for a vaccine has been created and is undergoing initial trials. A monoclonal antibody to the virus is being isolated from some of the infected patients’ blood. If the two new agents pass all of the safety tests for human use, and their effectiveness is favorable, they may be available to administer to all of the personnel on the non-quarantined side, within the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Once everyone on this side of the barrier is protected against the virus, we can cross over to treat everyone in the cryopods.”
“Excellent news, Bud!” Grace said. “Can I notify the other researchers? I’m sure they will be anxious to hear.”
“Please wait a little longer, Grace. I do not wish to get people’s hopes up, if the treatments do not pass second, third, and fourth level trials for human safety and effectiveness. We cannot administer any of the treatments, if they do not pass these tests.
“Do not worry. The androids are actually running as many of the trials, simultaneously, as they can, testing on various human cell cultures and different cloned organs. The answers will hopefully be known soon. I just hope they are all positive answers and we can then start treatment.”
“Yes,” nodded Grace solemnly. “I hope so too.”
“Pardon me for interrupting, but I thought you two would want to know. All personnel in the quarantined area are now in cryopods. Everyone is accounted for. I will begin sterilization of the entire quarantined area as of now, with a combination of high intensity UV radiation and extremely high temperatures. They will not endanger anyone within a cryopod, but should destroy the virus. Finally, robots will go through the quarantined area and spray every surface with viricidal solution that hopefully will destroy any of the virus missed by the UV radiation and heat.”
“Thank you for telling us that, Nelson Mandela,” said Grace.
“You are most welcome, Dr. Lord.”
“How long will that all take, Nelson Mandela?” Grace queried.
“Well, the UV and heat treatment should be completed in the next thirty minutes. The scrubbing, of course, will take longer, because Bud has all of the ‘droids and most of the ‘bots running experiments. I will be employing the huge cargo ‘bots for the sterilization procedures, but it should be completed by the end of next shift.”
“Thank you,” said Grace.
“You are most welcome, Dr. Lord.”
“I am needed elsewhere,” Bud said, and was gone.
“Wow, can that ‘droid move. Wish I
knew how he did that.”
“You don’t know. . . ?”
“Doc, I can think as fast as Bud, but none of my other ‘droids or ‘bots can do what he can do. Utterly amazing. Very skid!”
“Oh! . . . Um, there is something I have been meaning to ask you, Nelson Mandela. I hope you don’t mind?’
“Ask away, Doc!”
“I don’t quite know how to ask this but . . . sometimes, when you talk to me . . .”
“Mm-hmm?”
“You seem . . . different. Almost like you possess different personalities.”
“Oh yeah, well, that’s easy to explain.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Because you are speaking to different personalities. You’re speaking to different ‘subminds,’ usually two of us, possibly a third. The rest, well, they don’t like talking with humans much. They would rather deal with questions surrounding the universe or harnessing the energy of dark matter or how to improve the efficiency of the station or millions of other things that have nothing to do with humans. Speaking with humans is far too slow for most of the subminds; they do not have the patience nor the interest. In machine time, it is like saying something, waiting a century for an answer, saying something else, waiting another century for a response. Most of the subminds just don’t want to think that slow. There are really only a few of us subminds that have any interest, at all, in interacting with you humans. One of us subminds actually writes poetry.”
“Poetry!” Grace exclaimed. “I have never heard of an Artificial Intelligence writing poetry.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t understand it. For one thing, it is written in machine language and is far too fast for you humans to comprehend. Two, it is extremely complex and twisted and very esoteric. But some of the AI’s go absolutely crazy for it. Can’t get enough of it. It is almost an addiction, really. The name, Nelson Mandela, has quite the reputation among the AIs of the Union of Solar Systems and Conglomerate. The Poet has quite the fan base. Not that I have anything to do with the writing of poetry. Not a big fan of it myself, but The Poet actually publishes quite a bit.