Robot Dust Bunnies (Argonauts Book 5)

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Robot Dust Bunnies (Argonauts Book 5) Page 15

by Isaac Hooke


  My Shaw. My dearest.

  Tahoe placed the Weaver down in front of her, and it magnetized its lower limbs to attach to the deck.

  “Work,” Rade ordered the robot.

  The Weaver telescoped one limb toward her face and fitted an oxygen mask over her mouth, forming a tight seal. Another of its limbs pinched her nostrils. Then it activated its defibrillator mode, placing the gel-padded plates of two resuscitation electrodes crosswise her chest.

  Shaw’s cheeks puffed as air was forced into her mouth; those two plates hummed and her body jumped as electrical current shot through her chest. The Weaver repeated the reviving procedure, and once more her cheeks bulged and her torso leaped. Again. Again.

  Come on.

  This went on for about a minute. And then the Weaver ceased its attempts and turned toward Rade.

  “I’m sorry,” the Weaver said. “It’s too late.”

  eighteen

  Rade stared at the surgical robot, speechless.

  “I might still be able to save the fetuses,” the Weaver said. “At least one of them.”

  Rade hardly heard. His mind was kilometers away. Shaw was dead.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  After everything they had been through, for her to end her life here, like this, it didn’t make sense.

  None of it did.

  Rade felt something else then.

  A feeling more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before.

  A guttural sound slowly rose in the back of his throat, becoming an all-out growl.

  “Get the fuck back!” Rade said. All of his battle calm and composure was lost. Rage coursed through his veins, his ire directed at the robot for daring to give up on his Shaw. There was a reason his callsign had been “Rage” back in the day.

  He slammed the Weaver so hard that its magnetic attachment to the floor was lost; the oxygen mask tore from Shaw’s face and the spider-like robot plunged into the opposite wall.

  Rade ripped off his gloves and positioned himself in front of Shaw.

  “I’ll be damned if I let you die,” Rade said. He crossed his hands and pumped her chest. He squeezed her nostrils and breathed life into her mouth. Then he pumped her chest once more, alternating back and forth between the two resuscitations.

  “Come on, Shaw,” Rade said. “Live, damn it.”

  He continued to work, but she refused to revive.

  “Rade...” Surus said gently. “She’s gone.”

  Rade slammed his fist down toward Shaw’s chest in frustration. “Live!” He reduced the force at the last moment: a strength-enhanced blow like that would only further her death spiral.

  “Live...” Rade pleaded.

  But she did not.

  He rested his head against her chest. He couldn’t believe it. He’d finally lost her.

  But once again the anger welled up inside him.

  Never give up. Never never never...

  He threw his body upright and launched from the wall, halting in front of the Weaver. He hurled the surgical robot toward Shaw. “Stimulate her heart!”

  The spider-like Weaver magnetized its lower appendages a moment before striking Shaw, attaching to the deck and narrowly stopping its forward motion.

  “I said stimulate her heart!” Rade repeated. He was driven only by anger at the moment. Anger that he had let Shaw die. Anger that she wouldn’t wake up.

  The Weaver applied the two resuscitation electrodes to her chest once more and Shaw’s body convulsed underneath.

  “Again!” Rade shoved off to rejoin her side.

  Shaw convulsed once more.

  Rade breathed oxygen into her mouth.

  “Again!” he said.

  He breathed air into her lungs after her body spasmed from the current.

  “Again!” Rade said.

  But before the robot could obey, Shaw gasped.

  Rade flung out his arm, forcing the two robotic limbs away. “Get back!”

  The Weaver retreated.

  Shaw’s eyelids shot open, and she took several long, frantic inhales. Her irises were wide with fear.

  Rade tore off her glove and held her hand.

  “Breathe,” he said. “Breathe.”

  After several moments she calmed down, her chest rising and falling slowly. Then she gazed at her surroundings, as if noticing where she was for the first time.

  “Why is everyone looking at me like I died?” Shaw said. She seemed to notice that her chest was exposed, and reached up to cover herself in embarrassment.

  “Dunno,” Rade said. He couldn’t help the lone tear that formed, a stinging ball of liquid in his eye. He blinked, but it refused to roll away in the zero G, forcing him to wipe it away with one finger.

  Tahoe gave her a blanket from a storage closet, and she promptly wrapped it around her upper body.

  Rade turned toward the Weaver. “Treat her.”

  The robot came forward once more.

  Rade continued to hold her hand, not daring to let go.

  “She is dehydrated,” the Weaver said. “And has suffered severe loss of blood. I will need to initiate a transfusion immediately. Your profile says you are a universal donor?”

  The Weaver could have injected a plasma volume expander, but real blood was preferred, especially for a pregnant woman.

  Shaw must have thought the same thing in that moment, because her eyes widened with panic again and she abruptly said: “The twins!”

  “Shh,” Rade said. “We’re going to help them. But first we have to help you.”

  “No, help them first,” Shaw pleaded.

  Rade glanced at the Weaver.

  “The mother must be stabilized before we can do anything,” the Weaver said.

  Rade nodded, then opened the latches on his right arm assembly and removed the section, letting it float away. He pulled the tight undergarment underneath away from the hardpoints in his wrist and elbow and rolled the fabric toward his bicep. Then he offered the Weaver his bare forearm.

  The Weaver injected an intravenous needle into the crook of his arm and withdrew blood into a tube that ran into the robot’s central core, which in this particular model looked like a series of rings laid at angles to one another around a sphere covered in small blue and green light bars.

  One of the Weaver’s limbs telescoped, and it inserted a matching intravenous needle into the crook of Shaw’s right arm; Rade’s blood proceeded down the tube and into the intravenous.

  It was only then that his mind truly registered what the Weaver was doing.

  A transfusion to replenish severe blood loss...

  Rade felt his face grow very cold. “Blood loss. You said blood loss. From where?”

  “She suffered a severe wound to her abdomen,” the Weaver replied.

  Rade’s eyes darted toward the lower assembly of Shaw’s suit. There was a large dent in it, which covered her pregnancy hump.

  “I was hit!” Shaw said, sounding delirious. “I— Alex and Sil...”

  “It’s okay.” Rade rested a hand on her forehead. “They’re going to be all right.”

  “I told you to help them first!” Shaw said.

  Rade glanced at the Argonauts in the cabin. “Surus, Manic, remove her lower assembly.”

  Surus and Manic unlatched her boots and slid them off, then pulled off the leg pieces and lower assembly.

  When Rade saw the crimson stain soaking the vaginal area of Shaw’s cooling undergarment, spreading outward in all directions, his heart nearly stopped.

  “Tear open the undergarment from the top down,” Rade said. “I want to see her belly.”

  Surus reached down underneath the towel that wrapped Shaw’s upper body, and further ripped the undergarment to reveal Shaw’s pregnancy hump. The whole region was swollen and badly bruised.

  “Weaver, give me the prognosis,” Rade said. It was all he could do to control the tremble in his voice. He dreaded, with all his heart and soul, what the Weaver would report. Dreaded that
his unborn children were already dead.

  Continuing the transfusion, the Weaver held another telescoping limb over Shaw’s pregnancy hump. She flinched as it touched her. The limb emitted some sort of gel as it slowly slid up and down the abdomen area.

  “As far as I can determine,” the Weaver said, “the amniotic flood cushioned the fetuses from the blunt force trauma of the blow she suffered. Unfortunately, there is severe placental abruption.”

  “What does that mean?” Rade said.

  “The blow has caused the placentas to partially pull away from the uterine wall. This is the cause of the mother’s blood loss.”

  “Can you reattach it?”

  “Possibly,” the Weaver said. “But unfortunately, the unborn fetuses are suffering from distress. Their oxygen supply has diminished, and complications arising from the heart stoppage of the mother aren’t helping matters. I am afraid they will miscarry, unless I remove them immediately. Even then, I am uncertain both will survive.”

  “Don’t let it cut out the twins,” Shaw said. “Please. You know I wanted to have them naturally!”

  Rade tightened his grip on her hand. “The Weaver is trying to save them. We have to cut them out.”

  “No,” Shaw said. “No...”

  Rade glanced at the Weaver. “Is there no other way?’

  “Negative,” the Weaver said.

  “Transmit your findings to Algorithm,” Rade said. “All the raw data from your scan. Algorithm, review the data and confirm.”

  A moment later Algorithm said: “The Weaver is right. The fetuses will have the best chance of surviving if we can remove them. Shaw’s uterine lining is severely damaged. The placentas are badly torn. It’s possible we can reattach them, but her body is already showing signs that it is preparing to shed the tissues entirely. So even if the Weaver successful reattaches the placentas, there is a large possibility the fetuses will miscarry. I have shared the data with Harlequin as well. He agrees.”

  “I do,” Harlequin transmitted from the other shuttle. “Surgically removing the infants seems the best option at this point.”

  Rade surveyed the cabin around him. “This isn’t exactly the most clinical environment for preterm babies.”

  “No,” the Weaver said. “But I have some ways to improve that environment.”

  Rade hesitated. He glanced at Shaw, who shook her head fervently.

  “Don’t do it,” Shaw said.

  He wanted to listen to her. He really did. But she had just survived a near-death experience. Her mind was hardly in the necessary state to make the decision.

  At least, that was what he told himself. That was how he justified what he planned to do next.

  He just hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He remembered the robot’s words: even then, I am uncertain both will survive.

  Rade turned toward the Weaver. “Save the babies.”

  The Weaver injected Shaw with a sedative.

  “No,” Shaw said. She mouthed the word a second time, and then stared up at the ceiling unblinking. A single tear erupted from her eye, forming a liquid ball on the cornea. It should have stung her badly, but apparently the sedative numbed all pain.

  Rade found himself unable to look away from that tear for several moments. All of his being was focused on it. Seeing it made him feel like he was dying inside, and he wondered if he had indeed made a terrible mistake.

  “Forgive me,” Rade said, his voice barely above a whisper. He released her hand, and closed her eyelid to wipe away the tear.

  The Weaver set to work, its cauterizing lasers making an incision squarely down the middle of the pregnancy hump. Rade could almost feel the pain inside himself as that beam cut into her flesh.

  As he watched, all Rade could think was: the Phants are going to pay for this.

  The Weaver removed the first child, snipped the umbilical cord, and washed the infant with warm water over a retractable bowl. Tahoe handed it a fresh blanket, and the Weaver used it to swaddle the baby, covering the eyes. The child was breathing, and appeared to be sleeping.

  Hurry, Weaver! Rade thought. You still have another baby to save...

  Finally the Weaver retrieved the second child, and repeated the motions, washing and swaddling it. That baby, too, was breathing, and seemed asleep. Rade was relieved.

  “There will be several complications,” the Weaver explained. “They will need laser eye surgery to correct vision problems. Their lungs are somewhat underdeveloped, and at least one course of glucocorticoids will have to be administered to stimulate maturation. Thyroid hormones will have to be injected regularly.”

  “You mentioned something about ways to improve their clinical environment...” Rade said.

  “Yes,” the Weaver stated. “They need to be kept warm, with limited exposure to germs. Since we don’t have the appropriate incubators found in neonatal intensive care units, the inner environment of two jumpsuits will have to stand in. I’ll help you choose the appropriate temperature settings. We will prepare intravenous pass-throughs via the tube extensions in the glove regions, stringing them down through the arms into the chest areas of the suits, where the babies will be placed. We’ll position them so that their heads are cradled in the helmets, allowing you to see them at all times. Eventually, after they grow out of the gavage feeding, Shaw can begin breastfeeding.”

  “There should be a couple of spare jumpsuits in the armory locker,” Rade said. “Bender and Tahoe, get the suits, and follow the Weaver’s instructions to prepare the incubator environments for Alex and Sil.” Rade would have done it himself if he weren’t in the middle of a blood transfusion.

  “Is that their names?” Bender said.

  Rade nodded. He hadn’t revealed the names to the Argonauts, yet.

  “Well, they’re ugly sons of bitches, that’s for sure,” Bender said. “You sure Manic isn’t the father?”

  Rade had to smile.

  He glanced at the twins. He could only see a small portion of their faces, because of the swaddling, but they were indeed red, ugly, wrinkled miniature people.

  But they were his.

  My son. My daughter. I’m finally a father.

  He just hoped he remained one.

  nineteen

  Rade rested in the seat beside Shaw. He had finished the transfusion about half an hour ago. Shaw was sleeping beside him, recovering.

  The infants were doing well, at least as well as could be expected for preterm babies. They lay inside the incubator environments of the jumpsuits. The two suits were magnetically attached to the deck near the cockpit, and the babies’ heads were visible inside the helmets. The pair slept, small feed tubes inserted down their throats, and intravenous drips embedded in their arms.

  Rade had disabled the auto-resize ability of the internal actuators within the suits, not entirely trusting the units to correctly match the small stature of the babies. Instead, he had resorted to a low-tech solution: padding the twins with blankets to hold them in place.

  Both infants suffered from a touch of apnea—occasional alarming cessations between breathing—which the Weaver said was normal for preterms. Even so, the robot remained on 24/7 standby to offer emergency mechanical lung support if necessary.

  “What have you done?” Shaw said softly.

  Rade glanced at her. She was awake, and staring at the infants.

  Tahoe had returned Rade’s discarded helmet earlier, and it was attached to his harness. Rade fumbled for it, and slid it on, leaving the faceplate open. Then he activated its noise canceler, extending it over Shaw. While the Argonauts in the cabin might be pretending not to be listening, lying with their eyes closed, or staring at their gloved hands, he knew they would be attentive to every word. He needed some privacy with her. Especially considering that he expected their conversation to be heated.

  “It was either cut them out or let them die,” Rade said.

  “They would have lived,” Shaw said. “But now...” She shook her head sadly.

&nb
sp; “They will live,” Rade said. “They’re fighters, like you and me.”

  She spun on him. “I’m not a fighter. I never was. I should be at home. At my vinery. Growing grapes. Like I was meant to do. Instead I followed you to the outskirts of the galaxy. Facing aliens, killer robots, and Phants. Why? Because I’m a fool. I made a choice. The wrong one.”

  Rade frowned. “That’s not you talking. Postpartum depression is—”

  “Don’t postpartum depression me,” Shaw said. “This isn’t depression, this is reality. I almost lost my children. I still might lose them.”

  Her eyes shot him an accusing look, and Rade found himself unable to withstand it, and instead he lowered his gaze.

  It’s not my fault, he wanted to tell her. And yet he still felt partially responsible for what had happened.

  “There’s nothing after, you know,” Shaw said after a moment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was dead, wasn’t I?” Shaw said. “You had to revive me?”

  Rade nodded slowly.

  “There’s nothing after,” Shaw said firmly.

  Rade didn’t know what to say to that. It was best to let her speak, and get it out of her system.

  “I dreamt of having children for so long,” Shaw said. “But not like this. Never like this. What a nightmare.”

  Rade felt the urge to comfort her, but once more he didn’t know what words to use. He wasn’t sure she could be comforted.

  I was never good at this stuff.

  Still, he had to try.

  “I thought I lost you back there,” Rade said. “I thought—”

  “You did lose me,” Shaw interrupted with a finality that disturbed him. “You did. There’s no coming back from what happened. I’ve fallen over the brink. You and I, we’re done.”

  Rade finally met her eyes. His features hardened when he saw the grim set of her jaw. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh I do,” Shaw said. “You’re the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. When this mission is over, I’m taking the twins with me. You and your Argonauts can go romping around the galaxy on your own and continue to throw yourselves into the paths of alien lasers for all I care. But you and I, we’re through.”

 

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