Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  “Thank you for the offer, Dr. Nestor, but unfortunately my work on the antiviral treatment trials takes priority at present. Besides, I am sure you have enough on your hands, dealing with the captain. It must be very distracting to have another observer along for the ride, so to speak, and hardly good for the patient.” Grace looked away from the man’s alluring dark eyes, that seemed to want to capture her soul and draw her in.

  “Captain Lamont has said it is all right,” Dr. Nestor said earnestly.

  “Whatever assistance I can give to the team working on a treatment or cure for the epidemic, surely comes first and foremost right now, Dr. Nestor. Perhaps, when this crisis is all over, and everything is back to normal, I could sit in on a session, but remember Dr. Nestor, I am only a surgeon. We surgeons are not the best people to have stumbling around in a patient’s head. We are only interested in cutting things out,” Grace said with a laugh. Unfortunately, Dr. Nestor did not appear to find her statement funny.

  The psychiatrist looked quite irritated at Grace’s response. He had obviously thought she would jump at the chance to join in on an ‘inter-cerebral communication’ with him. He stepped closer to her, almost looming over her, and stared intently into her eyes. She could not help but notice how beautiful his eyes were, but there was a coldness, an emptiness behind them, that she had not noticed before. She could not help but feel that his attention was calculated, measured, dispassionate. She took a step backwards. Why was she always finding herself backing away from this man?

  “Are you sure?” he asked, softly. “I think you would find it very fascinating and helpful in your understanding of what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is, Grace. It would not take all that long, and I really think you would get a great deal out of it,” the psychiatrist insisted.

  Grace began to feel very uncomfortable. Having explained to Dr. Nestor that she was busy with the search for a cure for the virus, how could he continue to insist that she spend time with him on a counseling session? Did he not understand that the mortality rate of this virus was, so far, one hundred percent and that none of the people in quarantine, including Dr. Al-Fadi, could be revived until multiple treatments were found?

  It did not make any sense!

  “I am very sorry, Dr. Nestor. It is kind of you to ask, but I really can’t afford the time,” Grace said, apologetically.

  “No time to care for your own patient, eh? Far too busy doing important things, than to spend time treating a patient, doing something as mundane as counseling? Don’t you care about your patient, Doctor?” the psychiatrist asked, sarcastically, his arms crossed and his expression one of condescension.

  Grace’s mouth dropped open. “I care very much about Captain Lamont,” she said, defensively. “But I hardly see how my being inside his head could possibly help him. He has enough worries, without my thoughts causing him more confusion. And I certainly have enough on my mind to cause anyone confusion, Dr. Nestor. I only see my involvement as possibly causing him harm. I am sure you are quite capable of treating Captain Lamont without me, Dr. Nestor, but if you are not, then I can ask someone else to assume care, if you wish.”

  “You think me incapable of treating your patient effectively, Dr. Lord?” Jeffrey Nestor asked, in a very low, menacing tone. Grace could tell the psychiatrist had been insulted by her suggestion. “Are you questioning my competency, Doctor?”

  “No, of course not,” Grace said, her eyebrows peaked as she gave Jeffrey Nestor a puzzled frown.

  “Would you prefer to involve a different psychiatrist in your patient’s care?” he asked, his voice dripping with open hostility. Fury was reflected in his dark, shining eyes.

  “No, Dr. Nestor, of course not,” Grace said. “I am sorry. I did not mean anything . . . “

  “I have everything under control, Doctor,” Jeffrey Nestor said, coldly. “Pardon me for taking up any of your precious time, discussing your patient with you.”

  Grace stood there, stunned, as Dr. Nestor stalked away. She shook her head and tried to figure out why that conversation had ended up so poorly. Had she really sounded that pompous? Her mind reeled in confusion.

  “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?” Grace heard a gravelly voice say, from behind the counter of the nursing station. Grace walked over to peer over the barrier. It was Head Nurse Virginia Conti, who was concentrating on something on the screen before her. She glanced over at Grace, rolling her eyes.

  “Did I sound unreasonable to you?” Grace asked, her mind still reeling.

  “Of course not, Dr. Lord,” Virginia Conti growled in her low, raspy voice. “It’s just that Dr. Jeffrey Nestor is used to always getting his way with the ladies and you were not cooperating. He didn’t like it. He thinks he’s more important than everyone stuck in the cryopods. Narcissistic bastard, isn’t he?” the grey-haired nurse said, with a derisive snort and another roll of her expressive eyes. She shook her head, as if to spit out, ‘Men!’, but frowned in disgust instead.

  “So it wasn’t me?” Grace asked, her brows wrinkled. “I just could not understand how he would think helping find a solution to one of the deadliest infectious agents humankind has ever seen, would be less important than a counseling session with him. I was beginning to wonder if I was going crazy. Was I being unreasonable?”

  The elderly nurse just looked over at Grace, wearily, and said: “My best advice to you, Dr. Lord, is to stay well away from Jeffrey Nestor. You’ve stuck a pin in his behind, because he did not get his way with you and, like I said before, he is always—always!—used to getting his way with women. You are a creature he has never encountered before. Hell knows how he is going to respond to that.”

  Head Nurse Conti squinted her eyes and stared at the console screen, but she was not really seeing it. “He seems to take great pride in breaking women’s hearts, Dr. Lord, and I have had to comfort more than my share of heartbroken nurses on this station. It seems he has set his sights on yours, now. He won’t be happy that you turned him down.” Conti sighed and looked over at Grace, a worried expression on her face. “Hopefully, he does not take this all out on your patient.”

  “He had better not,” Grace said.

  “You are definitely not the crazy one . . .” Virginia Conti said.

  ‘Thank you, Virginia.’

  “You’re welcome, Dr. Lord. And never forget this. I have your back, if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Grace said, her eyes widening in surprise. She had really not gotten to know Nurse Conti well, but Grace believed she meant what she said. “Well, I had better get back to the lab. There is so much work to do. Thank you again for your advice.”

  “Good luck to you, Dr. Lord,” Virginai Conti said, with a nod to Grace. “There are some of us who do appreciate the hard work you and your team are doing to save us all. I hope you find an answer very soon, Doctor.”

  “It won’t be me,” Grace said. “It will be Bud, also known to you as SAMM-E 777. He deserves all the credit. Spread the word!”

  Grace spent the rest of the shift and the entire next day, analyzing the test results achieved by Bud’s army of androids and robots. The results were excellent and the studies were reliable and reproducible, because Bud had his army of tireless androids and robots doing all the studies in triplicate. The studies on the vaccine were so encouraging, Grace felt that, if the rest of the studies looked this good, they could start administering the vaccine next shift. She wanted to discuss this with Bud, but he was nowhere to be found. Off troubleshooting or supervising the start of new experiments, she supposed.

  She hated to bother Bud. He was so busy working on trying to develop different treatments to counteract the actions of the virus. The vaccine would be good for protecting people against catching the illness, but they still needed drug treatments that would stop the virus in its tracks, if a person became or was already infected. The goal was to not only stop the disease from progressing, but to also prevent the process from starting entirely.

  They were
also looking for treatments that would help the body heal up the damage to cell membranes caused by the virus, once it got into cells and began total cell destruction. Of course, with the risks of drug allergies and adverse reactions, more than one drug was always needed. They always required lots of alternatives and substitute medications, if they were to try and help everyone.

  Grace sighed. There was still so much to do and she was exhausted. Perhaps a few hours of sleep would be permissible. A couple of hours would not make that much difference to the investigation, but it would mean a world of a difference to her. She would contact Bud after she had a brief nap. Bud was probably way ahead of her, anyway, on the plans for administering the vaccine to the non-quarantined personnel.

  Grace left a message for Bud, through her wrist-comp, that she would talk to him once she had rested. She headed off to her quarters for some sleep. On the way there, she mentally organized a schedule for vaccinating all of the personnel in an orderly manner. She plugged this into her wrist-comp, as well, and sent a copy to Bud for his opinion. She was not yet sure how the vaccine would be administered: orally, by needle, by patch, or by spray. The choice would depend on which method produced the best protection rates and those results were still pending.

  Grace hopped off the monorail and headed towards Ward M1 where her quarters were now situated. She waved at one of the nurses who was doing her rounds. She would turn off her wrist-comp, except for emergencies, until her wakeup alarm went off. She set the alarm on her wrist-comp for two hours. Hopefully, no one would feel the need to page her in that time period. Grace was so anxious to put her head down and get some much needed rest, that she was almost crying with anticipation of lying down on a flat surface and closing her eyes. It did not even have to be a bed. It could be a hard floor, as far as she was concerned. Just an opportunity to turn her mind off and drift into a deep, dreamless slumber seemed like a luxury that she could ill afford.

  Although everyone at risk was now in a cryopod and they had more time now to do things meticulously, the sooner all personnel like Dr. Al-Fadi were treated and back to work, the better. The goal of the Nelson Mandela Medical Space Station was to treat the sick and mortally wounded of the Conglomerate and they were not fulfilling their mandate during this crisis.

  Palming her door lock and stepping into her quarters, Grace stopped on the threshold, waiting for the room light to activate, as it always did. For once, though, the illumination did not appear, so Grace felt for the wall switch that would manually activate it. She pressed the switch and there was still no light.

  ‘Funny,’ Grace thought and opened her mouth to speak to Nelson Mandela about the malfunction in her room, when a strong hand slammed over her mouth and a sharp, hard point jabbed between her ribs under her left breast, firmly enough to break the skin. Grace froze, afraid to breathe. The squeak she let out had been thoroughly muffled by the palm almost smothering her face.

  Her mind raced, trying to understand who could be threatening her like this. Could it be someone infected with the virus? But, how would they have become infected? How could anyone have gotten out of the quarantined area and why would they decide to attack her in her quarters? Nelson Mandela had said everyone from the quarantined area was in a cryopod and accounted for, so that seemed highly unlikely. Yet no sane person would attack another person on this medical station with the station AI always alert and watching.

  Would they?

  As soon as she heard the voice, Grace knew who it was. Her stomach felt like it was being twisted into a tight, small knot and a deep, hollow chill spread through her bones. She tried not to let the fear overwhelm her. She knew that if she did not deal with this correctly, she would be dead in the next minute. She activated the emergency button on her wrist-comp, hoping someone would notice, as the voice spoke, dripping with derision and malice, in her left ear.

  “No time to care for your own patient, eh? Far too busy, doing important things, than to do something as mundane as counseling? You think you’re just too good to spend time connecting with your patient, aren’t you, Miss ‘High and Mighty Surgeon’ who thinks she’s too good for the lesser folk? Well, let’s see how good you are with a big hole in your heart! You can’t talk your way out of this one, Dr. Lord, and there’s no one here to stop me from driving this deep into your chest. Any last words?”

  The hand covering Grace’s mouth lifted off her face and she took a deep breath and yelled, in her best imitation of Sophie Leung’s ‘Voice’:

  “STOP! HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY ROOM AND THREATEN ME?”

  Her assailant jerked back, startled at Grace’s outburst. For the briefest of moments, the grip on her was relaxed. Hoping for this reaction, Grace dove forward into a summersault across the floor of her quarters. She knew exactly where her stunner was, in the top drawer of her bedside cabinet, and she lunged for it. At that same moment and wholly unexpected by Grace, the door to her quarters slid open and someone grabbed her attacker from behind, whipping him out of her room. The door to Grace’s room whisked shut and Grace was left in darkness.

  “Nelson Mandela, quick! Lights, please!” Grace yelled.

  The lights came on, at half intensity, and Grace silently thanked the station AI for not blinding her. She raced to her door, stunner in hand, and prayed that her would-be assassin had not yet come to any serious harm.

  The door quickly slid open to reveal Bud, embracing the tiger soldier in a bear hug from behind, appearing to be squeezing the air out of the huge man’s lungs. There was no one else around, for the moment.

  “Don’t hurt him, Bud. Please,” Grace said to Bud, her arm outstretched.

  Bud stared at Grace, his crystal blue eyes enormous, fury and puzzlement at war on his face. He did not let go of the tiger, even though it was obvious the man was now unconscious. Grace’s attacker hung like a lifeless stuffed toy within the android’s arms.

  Grace grabbed Bud’s arm, which felt like it was carved of marble, and said quietly and calmly to him, “Bud, please put the patient down inside my quarters. Gently. I am positive this is not his fault or his idea. I suspect he may not even be truly awake and will probably have no memory of this event at all.”

  With a frown of confusion on his flawless face, Bud entered Grace’s quarters with the enormous, unresponsive tiger still wrapped in a bearhug. He gave the tiger assailant another firm squeeze, before slowly lowering him to the floor. Captain Damien Lamont was finally able to suck in an enormous breath, but he lay, stunned and unconscious, his breathing heavy and slightly labored.

  Bud straightened up and looked at Grace. She could see his body was trembling again. He reminded her of a spring, coiled far too tightly.

  “Would you care to explain, Dr. Lord?” Bud asked formally, in a very flat voice.

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but Grace had the impression Bud was shaking with suppressed fury. Were androids even capable of fury? She did not think they were capable of killing a human being, due to their programming, but she now harbored some doubts about this, with regard to Bud. He had an expression, on his chiseled features, that could certainly have been interpreted by some as ‘murderous intent’. She wondered if the android had possibly been harmed in the struggle. Why else would he seem so infuriated?

  Grace looked down at poor Captain Damien Lamont, sprawled unconscious on the floor of her quarters. He made her room look so tiny. She stuck her stunner in the back pocket of her scrubs and knelt down to check his pulse. It was bounding and steady.

  “Careful,” Bud growled, stepping very close to her. “He may come to, Grace.”

  “After you almost squeezed the life out of him? I don’t think so, Bud,” Grace snapped. Then she sighed.

  “I’m sorry. That was . . . uncalled for, Bud. Thank you for coming to my rescue . . . again. You are probably getting tired of this, and of me. I probably owe you for saving my life at least twice now, if not more.”

  Bud said not a word but just stared intently at the tiger, as if he wan
ted to pummel the captain to death. She watched the android clenching and unclenching his powerful fists.

  “Bud, I believe Captain Damien Lamont was acting under either the power of suggestion or a post-hypnotic trance. I know he was undergoing a mind-to-mind link up today for his counseling session and I do not believe he knew what he was doing here. For one thing, the words he said to me were ones from a conversation I had with someone else last cycle, someone who did the inter-cerebral link with the captain here. The poor captain, I believe, is an unwitting pawn, under a very powerful mind compulsion. The real question is, ‘Was it planted there on purpose or inadvertently?’”

  “Who was it?” Bud asked, again in that very flat tone.

  Grace looked up at the android.

  “Nelson Mandela, you will not tell Bud who it was,” Grace ordered.

  “You are five hundred and eighty-six milliseconds too late on that command, Dr. Lord. I do apologize.”

  “Bud, you will not act on this! Not until the Captain awakens and we can confirm our suspicions. In the meantime, I think we will set up a nice little trap for our ‘head doctor’ and try and catch him up. Nelson Mandela, can you create a little vid of me almost getting killed in my quarters by the Captain?”

  “You mean, like, a snuff vid, Doc?”

  “Is that what you call them, Nelson Mandela?”

  “Not me. It’s what you humans used to call them. I discovered them when I was searching for old videos of my namesake. You humans are sure capable of doing the most despicable things to other humans.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t really argue with you there, Nelson Mandela,” Grace sighed. “Are you able to access the records of the counseling session between Dr. Jeffrey Nestor and Captain Damien Lamont?”

  “All that can be seen, Doc, is the two being wired up and then the two of them lying down on couches for the entire session. What happens in the minds of the two participants is recorded, but I have to hack in to Dr. Nestor’s encrypted files to get at it, as it is all passcoded and multi-encrypted and triple-guarded. I assume you do not want the dear doctor notified of our trespass.”