by Patty Jansen
At the sight of bloody footprints on the floor, one boy screamed, his hands clamped over his ears, a high-pitched wail that cut through everything. One of his brothers ripped off the patches Laura had just re-attached and jumped off his cot to join the injured brother. One of the emergency nurses hauled him under the shoulders, and he started screaming, too.
Melati rose, disentangling herself from the boys’ arms. "Stop! Stop fighting them!"
Silence.
The two emergency nurses looked at Melati with that familiar who-the-heck-is-that expression. They were men, both taller than her, and white. They were constructs themselves; she saw that in their perfect faces if not the cohort patches on their uniforms. Up until now, they had simply disregarded her, like they would disregard a cleaner shuffling about after end-of-shift.
She pushed away irritation and continued, "You can’t treat them like this. They’re vulnerable. They’ll remember."
None of the people in this room would have to deal with the inflicted trauma in her classroom; Melati would. And within four months, she would be expected to turn in a fully-educated and functional cohort for combat training.
Laura drew herself up. "Melati, didn’t your orders include the line that you wouldn’t interfere with medical personnel while you were here?"
"They did, and I’m sorry for my transgression." If they heard any sarcasm in that, that had to be their imagination. "My first concern is for the boys. Too much noise distresses them. They get scared and confused. Their first impressions after waking are very important for how they will behave later, in my classroom."
Dr Chee nodded, slowly. "It wasn’t really necessary to restrain them with force."
Laura said, her face stiff, "It was necessary from where I was standing. I'm responsible for the ward. They were wrecking my equipment."
She glared back at Melati.
Dr Chee waved at the emergency nurses. "Thank you for your assistance. Everything is under control now."
The nearest nurse released the boy whose arm he’d been holding. The boy sank down on the floor, crying. Melati pulled him up and enclosed him in her arms; he smelled of hospital and clung onto her shirt with bony hands.
She whispered, "Shhh, it’s all right. All right. I’m your teacher. You’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid. We're here to help you."
She met Laura’s glare over his head.
Meanwhile, a second boy came over and a third one, until all of them stood in a tight knot around her. The best way to calm a newly-woken construct was by letting him feel your heartbeat, so she took the first boy's little hand and placed it through the holes between the buttons of her uniform, on her chest.
His little hand was warm on her skin. The other boys gathered around him, holding hands, touching shoulders. Their expressions calmed and faces relaxed.
Melati ruffled their hair and spoke soft words to them.
Laura retreated to her desk, scowling.
The boys clung onto Melati or each other, staring at their ninth brother on the bed. He lay limp on the pillow, his cherubic dark curls in a mess. Blood ran from the drip hole above his wrist onto the white bed cover.
One of the boys said, "What’s going to happen to him?" His voice trembled.
"He’ll be fine," Melati said, but she was by no means certain. She’d never experienced anything like this before. She could still see him trying to open the door; she could hear his shrill voice Where is the fucking bastard? Where had he even learned that language?
She raked her fingers through his hair, feeling the gazes of his brothers on her as if they could sense her doubt. She repeated, to convince herself, "He’ll be fine. The doctor is going to look after him."