GIFT HORSE
Constant labored breathing filled the room, each breath a prolonged liquid gasp. A bubbling catheter kept his throat and mouth free of the leakage welling up from his shattered body. His massive torso occasionally heaved with an uncontrolled spasm but straps on his ravaged arms and legs kept him restrained. Innumerable tubes and probes penetrated his skin, monitoring, testing, stabilizing. Beneath the bandages his burned-out eye sockets throbbed with pain. Pain that pulled at him from the depths of oblivion.
Indeed, he loathed the intermittent lapses of consciousness, when the agony was so great his tongueless mouth strained to scream. He struggled vainly, his handless arms sending unbearable jolts of pain to his overwrought brain, plunging him happily into a psychotic dreamland of bizarre imagery.
Tweedle Dee dies as his cell bars bend him the wrong way, a propeller beanie spinning on his broken head. Fear coils like a snake in his bloated gut, darkness emanating from Dee's eyes. Light, searing, burning, unbearable. It advances on him, taking the shape of a bullet, seeking his heart. He struggles but many hands, tentacles, hold him down. He squirms, sees Tweedle Dum’s body floating in a pool of blood that teams with piranha. Pain, weakness. He cannot fight. The stench of burning flesh, his own flesh! Noise, voices. "Time to die, fat man." Fear, terror. Cool, sticky liquid flowing over his skin. Sizzling …pain…
"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson, but Worldwide Detention Services has not authorized any further expenditures on this patient. Nor has his originating judicial jurisdiction, Regional Atlanta Metroplex Department of Detention, stepped in to provide any additional funds." Doctor Brant spoke to a dark-suited man gazing through the glass into the ICU. "Also, the globally mandated medical budget for this criminal was depleted three hours ago. Therefore, we have been ordered to remove all life-sustaining equipment."
Johnson watched the 200-kilo body of Marco Vance shudder with yet another paroxysm. He floated in a tank of antiseptic nutrients and medical nanobots. The monitors surrounding him blinked ecstatically then calmed. Johnson read the report on the ICU screen near the window. Collapsed lung, ruptured spleen, punctured kidney, multiple amputations, eyes seared away, broken jaw, tongue ripped out. The details ran like a Freddy Kreuger XLVII shopping list. Someone had been sadistically efficient with Vance. Yet the fat man still lived. Despite the massive damage to his obese body, he lived. He fought death to the last.
"How long before he dies?" Johnson asked.
"If we had authorization for surgery and organ replacement, we could probably save him," Dr. Brant said, his voice lacking any hint of emotion. "With the equipment currently in place...he may last one or two days. However, all equipment is to be removed by midnight tonight. When that is done, he'll die within minutes."
Johnson turned to look at the doctor, removing his dark glasses. "And you will remove the equipment at midnight?"
Dr. Brant did not meet Johnson' gaze, he pointed to the official termination order on the ICU display. "That's right, Mr. Johnson. The hospital only has so many resources and so much funding, and the equipment on this man could be used to save someone that contributes to society. DoC will not provide any more funding for this felon, and the hospital administrators have decided not to assume the cost to keep such a convict stabilized."
"In other words," Mr. Johnson still stared at the doctor, "someone has decided Marco Vance does not deserve to live. They're right, of course. But many who do not deserve to live, go on living. Some for a very long time."
The doctor remained silent. On the other side of the window, Marco Vance’s obese and shattered body trembled yet again.
"Keep him alive, doctor," Mr. Johnson ordered. "I will return with the proper authorization for continued medical expenditures, as well as paperwork to remit Marco Vance into my custody. When his condition is stabilized, I will take him to a specialized clinic. Do you understand?"
Brant nodded.
Dead Dwarves, Dirty Deeds Page 4