The TML PBeM

1992, Turn 3 - Part 11 (of 11)

Alcyon Sickbay

Having been moved out of the Low Berth compartment, and into Sickbay, Bishop makes no attempt to move from the grav-chair Drs. Van Der Merwe and Yorblin have arranged for him. In fact, he seems singularly self- absorbed, moving his arms, flexing his hands and fingers, turning his head from side to side, almost as if performing gross neuro-motor checks on himself. For the most part, he seems content to initially observe the scene in sickbay, as Yorblin attempts to single-handedly assess and care for all three, now four, of his patients. Greyson, by far the healthiest of the lot, seems to also be the most vocal and inquisitive.

> "There must have been some changes over the last century and a half, eh? > Who's the emporer now? How much has the Imperium expanded since Styrix? How > did he turn out? I always had my doubts about him, but some of the top brass > on base were confident that his advisors would get him up to speed. Did they > ever appoint an Archduke Deneb?" > . > . > . > "Perhaps you could tell me something about yourselves, or if you please, > answer my other questions about the Imperium. I'm actually pretty interested > in what's happened since I've been gone."

Bishop appears to be engrossed with the range of mobility in the fingers on his left hand. Without interrupting his exploration of his own functionality, he speaks up.

"Yes, Mr..." He pauses and closes his eyes for a moment. "...Greyson, there *have* been changes. You said Styryx. That would be 945 to 989. You're from, when? 950? 960? There have been three frontier wars with the Zhodani Consulate since 979 and one major war with the Solomani. None of the wars had obvious victors." Apparently satisfied with his left hand, Bishop switches to his right one, and proceeds with his dissertation.

"There have been three emperors since Styryx. Four, if you count the individual currently occupying the Iridium throne. A man that I..." Bishop pauses as if the though were new to him, "...*used* to work for." Flexing one finger at a time, Bishop adds, "Styryx never amounted to very much. He was forced to abdicate after the way the Third Frontier War as mismanaged, or so says the press of the day. As for Deneb, they finally did appoint an Archduke. His name is Norris. He's a good man."

Having finished examining his hands, Bishop begins to concentrate on his legs and feet, but without attempting to climb out of the grav-chair.

"Anyway," he continues. "Three years ago, Dulinor, Archduke of Ilelish exercised the long-forgotten 'Right of Assassination' and murdered then Emperor Strephon, only son of Paulo the Third. In a singularly inept attempt to take the throne, Dulinor was forced to flee Capital, leaving Strephons nephew Lucan, son of Strephon's sister Lydia... "Bishop stops his self-examination at the sound of his own voice. "...Lydia." A deep furrow forms on his brow, and he closes his eyes again. After a long pause, he mutters, "Why can't I *remember*?" A thin sheen of sweat begins to form across his forehead.

Shaking his head, he attempts to regain his original train of thought. "Where was I? Oh yes. Strephon's dead, Lucan's on the throne, Dulinor is barricaded himself on Dlan, everything behind the Claw has been isolated by Vargr corsairs, and the Imperium is in ruins."

Almost as an afterthought, Bishop says, "By the way, my name is Bishop. Adrian Bishop." He then pauses to glance up at Greyson and adds,"...or so I've been informed."

Bishop, by now, is sweating profusely. He puts his head back against the grav-chair headrest, puts his hand to his brow, and closes his eyes.

Tweel's head flips upside-down as he studies the newcomer carefully. "Own herrrr sirrr? No. I am captain of herrr, sshe iss the prroperrty of the IISSss. What'ss the prrroblem?" He then offers his three taloned right hand to Ralf. Ralf regards the hand with some distaste, and after an awkward moment it is withdrawn.

"My apologies. I've had custody of the Zephyr for so long I've come to regard it as my home, and evidently I unconsciously extend that attitude to other detached duty scouts." Ralf looks at Tweel's hand with interest. "My name is Ralf. I am also detached IISS, technical services division. Rank scout leader, but it's mostly honorary, so don't worry it. I spent most of my time with the hardware, so of course they stuck me in engineering." Ralf's hands turn palm-up in a what-can-you-say gesture.

"Dr. Krrresh Trrrweeeerrrl. Quite trrue. I doubt the Service much carrress what happensss to an old Tech twelve scout like the Berrrnoulli. But sshe iss legaly rrregissterred to them."

"The problem, to put it in a nutshell, is that your ship is derelict and we're in some sort of contained area where the only gravity well is the Alcyon. I'm sure you can see the rammifications. I've been given the job of making sure no danger results; I understand that the damage to your ship is mainly to the jump drive controls, and of course the lack of fuel. I need to activate the thruster plates long enough to dock the Bernoulli with the Alcyon." Ralf discards the idea of describing just precisely HOW it's going to be docked. "Once we've got it settled in, we can make repairs."

"Contained arrea?"

"I haven't finished analyzing the sensor data yet." Ralf's speech patterns shift subtly from the relaxed tones of his upbringing to the professional mien he developed in IISS lab work. "I'll be meeting with my colleagues after I finish taking care of your ship. Perhaps you'd be interested in giving us your opinions?"

"What I'm trying to get at is, I need to know if I'm going to get my cojonies zapped off if I try to patch a power lead and control line into your thruster plates."

It is then that Ralf notices that the backing of the Tweel is perched on has been nearly shredded by his powerful leg talons.

Ralf's mind boggles momentarily at the escherian posture Tweel is exhibiting, before he gently suggests "If you're uncomfortable, we could lower the grav in here. Or I could cobble together a grav suspension field for you."

"Point ssseven G is quite comforrrtable."

Tweel thinks for a moment considering the problem. Finally he flips his head upside down and peers at Ralf curiously. "Mr. Rrralf, I think you arre apprrroaching the prroblem frrom the wrrong heading... Linearrr thinking... You've apprroached the prroblem frrom one view and you haven't examined yourr assumptionsss."

Ralf chuckles quietly and shakes his head, "I assure you, Mr... Doctor? Tweel, I have considered the problem from several angles. This will be the optimal solution."

"You arre making the assumption that the Berrrnoulli musst dock with the Alcyon." Tweel then begins to chuckle. "Ssseya, if you will forrgive the analogy... Docking isss like... mating. If the male doesss not manueverr... then the female musst..." If Ralf knew anything about Aels, he'd recognize a leer.

"Maneuverrr the Alcyon to take the Berrnoulli aboarrrd. It shouldn't be all that difficult... A sstandarrrd sscout maneuverr."

"Except that the... 'female' in this case masses 500 times the male, and there's no room to maneuver. I did consider that option..." Ralf decides against mentioning his backup plans. "While I appreciate your suggestions, what I need information about is getting access to the Bernoulli's thruster plates." Ralf's eyes unfocus for a moment, "We have a while yet before it's a problem, but I have much to do in that time."

"Mass, Misterrr Rrralf hasss nothing to do with it. Asss long as the Alcyon hass ssufficient powerrr to give herr a delta V of one centimeterrr per ssecond, it sshould be sssufficient. How do you think an unpowerred X-Boat docksss with a Tenderrr? But if manueuverring rroom is the prroblem then you may be corrrect."

"While I've never stood X-boat Tender duty, I spent a year working on data compression algorithms and system security, most of it bouncing around the X-boat net the slow way. Trust me, this is not a viable option."

"Now perhaps you will tell me morre about thiss 'contained' spacce?"

"As I said, I haven't completed my analysis of the data yet. I will not have time to fully consider the matter until I have finished this problem. Am I to assume, then, that there will be no problem in accessing the Bernoulli's maneuver drives?"

Tweel guestures to the computer terminal, "Misterr Rrralf, I think thiss would be much easierr to worrk out if you would sshow me the ssituation."

(Assuming that Ralf can and will display the current location of the ships on the terminal...)

[ref note: the terminal is dead, but ralf's handcomp is more than sufficient for the task]

Tweel examines the holo of the two ships and the superimposed sphere.

For a moment he stares at the 'contained' space globe and then turns to the probem at hand. He fires off a few quick whistles and chirps to which Triple three replies "Full acceleration: Four point zero eight millimeters per second."

Tweel then quickly glances at Oscar and bobs his head.

A few more quick whistles with Triple three and an image of the ships appears on the robot's holodisplay. A small object detaches from the Alcyon and hums about the Bernoulli's image like a honey bee. The Bernoulli then backs across the screen to the Alcyon's stern and is maneuvered into the cargo bay. Tweel whistles again.

Triple three responds. "Total elapsed time for maneuvering: one thousand, nine hundred and seventy eight seconds: thirty two minutes, fifty eight seconds."

"Therrre Misterr Rrralf, OSsF-4 can act ass a tug and have the Berrnoulli in posssition in half an hourr. Without trying to overfly your engineerrring talentss, I darrre ssay that it would take you longerr to get the Berrnoulli's computerr sssystem back on line, get herr refueled and warrrm up the plant. Bypasssing the ssystemss would take even longerrr, and have the possibility of damaging the drrrivess."

"The unit is built to move 100 ton ships under normal gravitic efficiences? Doctor, I'm impressed. I consider myself fairly familiar with gravitic technology and I wasn't aware that such breakthroughs had been made."

"Doctor, obviously you lack extensive experience with deep space gravitics. The lack of a gravity well to operate within greatly reduces the effectiveness of a grav module, to the vicinity of 10%. Here, apparently, we lack even the normal gravitic influences from far-distant masses - but that's something for the physical sciences team to explore, when opportunity is available."

"Fortunately we do have a gravity well to operate within, that of the Alcyon itself, but it is extremely slight. There is also a question of inertia. Your unit may be able to get the Bernoulli moving, but will the unit itself be able to survive the stress of bracing against the Bernoulli to accelerate and deccelerate? It might handle the deltavee in micro-g quantities, but that would take excessive time, and would HAVE to be monitored for safety reasons, again consuming excessive crew time."

Tweel's eyes stare, "The unit is built to be able to prrrovide ssuch thrrrust underrr normal grravitic efficienciess. Underr the rreduced thrrusst efficiencies thisss will prrovide a further lesssening of sstresss. Ass to crrew time, ass I just sshowed you no more than thirrty two minutess."

"You were referring to the "triple-three" unit earlier when discussing this proposal. Its capabilities are unknown to me, but it looks quite small and not necessarily built to handle rough treatment."

"Incorrect Misterr Rralf. I distinctively sssaid it was OssF-4 who would act ass tug."

"My error. I misunderstood your use of Triple Three. In any event, your robot masses something like..." Ralf's eyes unfocus as he checks the room's grav plates "...sixty-two hundred kilos, and assuming it's a standard model, has a 7-tons of thrust. Minus it's own mass is 730 kilos of thrust, 1-G. Factor in the degradation in gravitics efficiency and the mass of the Bernoulli, which looks somewhere between seven-fifty and a thousand tons, and the results look pretty obvious."

"The Bernoulli is about twelve hundrred tons. Accelerration would be about six millimeterrs perrr ssecond. Sslow, but sspeed iss unnecesssarry in docking maneuverrss."

"And as I just said, unless it is constructed to withstand considerable stress it will only be able to apply deltavee in micro-g quantities, which will take considerably more time."

Tweel's wings begin to flush red. The scars on his wings begin to resolve into large red eyespots. "The OSsF fourr unit iss only capable of putting out nine thoussand eight hundrrred neutonss. It massses overr sseven hundrred kiloss. The hull casse is heavily arrmorred. The ssingle sstandarrd grav unit it usses iss quite capable of prroviding the thrrust needed to prropell it under norrmal grrav well conditionss. Ass you point out with grravitic efficienciess rrreduced to ten perrcent (new rule on *ME* guys the book says 50%) hiss total thrussst will be only nine hundrred eighty neutonss. Orrr one hundrred kilogrrams thrrust if thosse units arre more familliarr to you... Grreat Hunterr! Osscarr can lift a hundrred fifty kiloss in his tentacless without having to brace hiss hull againsst it!"

"You *might* be a crreditable enginneer Missterr Rrralf, but you obvioussly know *nothing* about rrobots! Orr bassic physsicss. Applying thrrust and lifting an object arre two differrent thingss."

"I'm not interested in trading insults with you, doctor, nor in having you put words in my mouth. I have not compared thrust and lifting force, and I am not interested in continuing this conversation once I am assured the Beroulli is safe to work with."

Irritation flickers across Ralf's face. "Doctor, I have mentioned this before, I say again, I have considered the options and am attempting to carry out the optimal solution. What I don't need from you is second guessing; what I do need is assurance that I can safely work with the Bernoulli."

"What *YOU* conssiderrr the optimal ssolution iss *HOTWIRRRING* *my* sship! *I* do not conssiderr that the optimal ssolution. One doess not trreat nearrly fifty million creditss of IISSs properrty like a toy!" Tweel hesitates a moment to recover his temper and then he continues calmly, "The sship iss alrready damaged. Jerrry rrigging the ssystemss may make the prroblemss worrse."

Ralf's tone grows hard. "That may be doctor, but unfortunately you are presently unable to handle the situation due to medical concerns." He makes a visible effort to control himself. "I try not to make a habit of arguing with recently injured people, but the simple fact is that *I* have to handle this situation and *I* don't need somebody second guessing me. I don't intend to "jerry rig" the systems. I am a competent engineer, and I suspect I will be able to handle a power patch and thruster control override and chew gum at the same time."

"Ass to the Berrrnoulli'ss computerrr ssecurrity ssystemss. Yourr Missterr 'Vouf rrremoved the computerr corre. Therreforre all herr ssecurrity sssystemss arre rright herre." Triple three then retrieves the Bernoulli's computer core from Tweel's duffel.

"Then I have your assurance that I can safely work on the Bernoulli? There are no secondary systems maintaining security?" Ralf knows full well that starships typically have a distributed network of dedicated machines throughout the ship, to deal with catastrophic multi-system failures.

"Ssuch ssystemss werre disabled when the sship went into auto-disstrresss mode. Otherrwisse yourr crrewss would not have been able to boarrd beforre."

"Very well then. I will proceed. Relax. I look forward to speaking with you again in a few hours, when things have calmed down. Perhaps you can join us to analyze the sensor readings."

Tweel, closes his eyes a moment takes a deep breath and then looks Ralf in the eye. His tone drops back to a more casual and friendly one, "Rrralf. If it werre your Zepherr, I think you would be equally concerrrned. I'm sorrry, but I find it difficult to just hand overrr my ship to someone I don't even know."

"I understand your concerns, but you're not handing the ship over. I'm not a parking valet, I'm an engineer, and your ship will present a considerable hazard to the ship unless dealt with. As I said, relax, and in a short while your ship will be docked, and there will be no concerns."

Tweel looks unconvinced. "Verry well, but I will hold you rressponsible."

Ralf shakes his head. "No, doctor, you will hold Turnskaad responsible. This operation is being carried out under orders. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the admiral." Ralf turns to leave, muttering into his commdot "Patch through to Redd: Redd, we've got a green light on the power patch to the Bernoulli, start getting things ready in the Talisman."

"We sshall ssee."

"Right, yeah, whatever."

Tweel then deflates somewhat. He stares at the dead computer console. "Rrralf. Therre iss one concerrn... The Berrnoulli... iss not empty. Tweel's eyes close and his wings go pale. "I don't know wherre Doctorr Macin is. He wass headed aft when the bomb went off. I wisshed to be the firrst to boarrd the sship. He wass a Sscout alsso. Pleassse leave him to me."

After Bishop finishes bringing Greyson back up to speed for what he had missed over the last 163 years, the Lt. Commander glides slowly back to his bed and sits down, muttering something about having to think about what he was just told.

He then arranges his legs and arms in a meditation position. His eyes remain open, but aside from some very slow and very shallow breathing, there is no motion from him. Thus he sits, apparently isolated from all the subsequent comotion with Rednisky and Bishop. As the minutes tick by, he continues to maintain the exact same position and status. He hasn't so much as even blinked, nor do his eyes show any sign of watering over. The only expression on his face is that of complete neutrality to outside stimuli...

> Joachim Tabor strides in, all professionalism and calm. "Relieving you, > Doctor," he says to van der Merwe. "Better get to that meeting before the > Elf has you for lunch. Respectful greetings, Jan. Anything vital I should > see before I review the charts?" He then nods to the assembled wounded, > pausing for a long, searching glance at Bishop.

[ Christian storms out of his office and whips out a quick reassuring comment to Greyson. ]

Bishop weakly raises a finger to get Van Der Mer's attention, but fails. He opens his mouth...

> Christian is QUITE relieved to see a relief arrive, and such is clear by > his quick wave at Doctor Tabor. "Great timing, Joachim. Sorry to cut and > run... Hope I won't be long!" He then darts away to continue his preparation.

... and closes it. He turns to address Dr. Tabor, but...

> "I'm Joachim Tabor, Medical Team. I must say this isn't as much of a disaster > area as I'd expected to find from the intercom traffic, but **YOU**" He > plants a palm firmly on Casey's chest and eases him back down onto his bed > "Are not going anywhere just yet, unless you want your trauma worsened. > The problem with high-tech surgery is that the patient wants to run a > marathon before the scalpels have time to cool...."

...fails to find an opening. Turning then to Dr. Yorblin...

> "Thanks, Joachim. Yah, Christian kinda got excited about Bishop seizing. > Bishop is now doped up. I'll do a quick look at him. I've already checked > Dr. Rednisky's and CDR Greyson's charts and I'll fire up a care plan for them. > Why don't you take a look at our two merchant friends in beds 3 and 4. > Christian described them as stable with minor concussions, bumps, bruises, > etcetera.

"*Please*!" begs Bishop...

> Hitting his commdot, "Christian, I know you're in a hurry, but could you > advise the Ael Yael that _you_ are sending over a medic to look at his > sutures, and to remain calm. Thanks."

... as his arm drops to his side. As Tabor and Yorblin finally direct their attention his way, he implores, "Dr... Yorblin, speaking as the... dopee in question, I'd be immensely grateful if you could produce something from that magic pocket of yours to counteract... neutralize... get *rid* of whatever it was you shot me full of a few minutes ago." He pauses to wipe his forehead with the sleeve of his clean jumpsuit. The material comes away soaked.

"You see," Adrian explains, "I'm trying to metabolize it, and my current body temperature is..." he pauses and stares into space for a moment, "...already over one-hundred and one degrees."

Casey sighs..the effort of getting to his elbows a bit more than he bargained for.....

>"There must have been some changes over the last century and a half, eh?

"Uhhh...I guess so. I..."

>Who's the emperor now?

"Uhhh it's Emp...."

>How much has the Imperium expanded since Styrix?

"Well I suppose that's relative to wha..."

>How did he turn out?

"Who are you refer...."

>"I always had my doubts about him, but some of the top brass on base were >confident that his advisors would get him up to speed." >"Did they ever appoint an Archduke Deneb?"

"Archduke who...?"

Casey, a little bemused, * Wow, does this guy ever remind of that stumpy IISS guy that came to 'clean house' back when the Prosthetics Team went into it's second phase.*

And then a little puzzled, *What the hell WAS that guy's name anyway? Archie MacGuh...McGih...MaLeruh...*

>Then Greyson realizes that he's lapsed into his NI mode and straightens >himself up again. Smoothing out his uniform and brushing his hair back, >he takes a breath and continues. > >"Sorry about that. I guess it's just too soon since I was on base doing >debriefings."

"Uhhh...well, considering the circumstances, I won't be too hard on..."

>Jan heads toward main sickbay. And walks right into the conversation that >Greyson and Rednisky are having. "Carry on, gentlemen, don't mind me. Dr. >Rednisky, would you please stay in bed. "

Casey looking confused now, "I was...what? Get outta bed? Doctor I *think* I recognize extensive plumbing when I see it. However, I also recognize a patient's need to reorient himself when the major portion of his life has been turned tits up in someone else's backyard!"

Jan replies, "Just relax, doctor...I *know* you recognize surgery when you see it, sorry if I sound brusque, but it does appear you're sitting up and I don't want you making the next move until you can feel some of the damage you're causing your body. Aside from the TENS we've got you running on, Dr. van der Merwe has seen fit to give you 10 mg of nalbuphine."

Casey is preparing a minor head of steam, when assorted people too much for him sort out, going cruising to and fro through the Sickbay.

Of course, the steam goes no further than to hiss out in a rather breathy sigh, "Well SHIT! If you're all going to gang up on me...."

Muttering, *Damned Centre Admin should catch these guys' act, if they wanna see how doctors can interfere with the 'human function'!*

"Okay you fellas win. I remain yours, comatose in action, humble of of word, and quite murderous in thought I should warn you.", followed by a strainedly polite smile.

*I guess doctor's to make the worst patients -- I didn't know he was a doctor,* Tiblisi thinks. *Interesting... You don't expect a doctor to get agitated. But then again, he must have had at least 2 pots of coffee a day on the 'Glory'.*

Jan turns to Casey with his calmest look and his softest voice.

"Doctor Rednisky, you may chat your life away, and express yourself freely, coma is not required. However, you are around an hour post surgery, extremely medicated and not anywhere near 100 percent. You've had clear fluids PO, which is probably going to come back out or seep through somewhere, which means more infection prophylaxis. Which puts more strain on that bod' of yours. I ask you to please be patient with us and your body."

As the drain of moving around sets in, Casey summons enough energy for one more retort, "Doctor, are you certain such atrocious puns are warranted? It's enough to pull sutures at 30 paces." Casey grimaces as he readjusts his position and then, along with most everyone else turns his attention, with increasing interest to the man in the grav-chair.

*Metabolizing WHAT?*

After having spoken with Jan, Tabor comes back, and gives Tiblisi the same Father-Christmas smile he'd STARTED the exam with. "Sorry for the interruption, but examinations for blunt trauma go a lot more smoothly if the physician in attendance is made aware of what anatomy is supposed to be absent or present in any given locale...Now, where were we?"

Lee relaxes and tries to cover a slight smile.

*I understand that you have to know the anatomy of whomever you are examining, but I didn't know you can embarrass someone so inadvertently by them expecting someone of a different gender. It's interesting how differently people behave to people of different genders. In any event, he handled it well.*

He quickly finishes the exam, substituting a more extensive exam of Lee's abdomen for the rupture check he'd performed on Berana. He then examines the arm that Lee had said was numb. "Hmm, swelling in the carpal tunnel in one spot, probably due to trauma. Easy enough to fix." He puts the arm in a tensioning sling and injects a local anti-inflammatory. "Leave the sling on for about an hour, and work the muscles in your hand until you get all of your feeling back. And that should do it for you! Anything else you wanted checked before I see to the fellow in the next room?"

"Nothing else, Doctor. I want to thank you for your help with all of us," Lee glances at Berana and Rednisky, "from the 'Glory of Efate'. I appreciate it."

"Glory, schmory, a patient in need is a patient in need," Tabor says with a grimace. "Forget it." He then crosses the room to the CMO's quarters and lets himself in.

"Shit." Ralf throws a "why me?" look towards the ceiling and turns back. "Macin? Ael Yael, I assume? Or another race? I can't do anything with the power systems until I know where he is. For all I know he could be hipdeep in circuitry trying to repair it when I pump the juice through the thruster plates. Hang on." Turning his attention to his commdot once more, "Patch through to Redd: keep getting the hardware ready, but don't touch the Bernoulli. There's sombody else still inside."

Tweel looks at Ralf in annoyance. "Macin iss dead. Leave the body alone. Can you underrstand *THAT*?"

Ralf looks back at Tweel in annoyance and activates his commdot again. "Patch to Redd: Cancel that last, the subject is deceased, should be no problems." Then, turning to face Tweel. "I can understand anything you say, doctor, but you have to SAY it first. I'm not a bloody psi, although we're supposed to have one or two on the expedition and I suppose we could dig him or her up if you're getting tired of talking like a normal sentient."

A note of warning creeps into Tweel's song, "Grroundling, you arre WAY off courrsse..."

At that moment, Joachim Tabor lets himself into the CMO's cabin.

"Beg pardon, gentlemen," he says mildly, "But I've come to check on how the patient is healing up. Doctor tuh, tuh...." He looks at the chart in his hand, and makes a valiant effort, "Turrrr-weeeeeerrrl? I'm Joachim Tabor, Medical Team. Christian asked me to look in on you."

Half expecting another adversary, Tweel eyes the medic carefully.

Ralf turns away from Tweel with a sharp nod. He turns to leave and stops at the door. "I may seem insensitive to your loss, doctor, but I'm trying to keep the rest of this expedition from joining your friend. Until next time."

Tabor sighs as the door shuts behind Ralf, and then holds out a hand for Tweel to shake.

Three talons carefully grasp the doctor's hand. Tweel visibly relaxes. "Fairr windss... Doctorr? Taborr."

Tabor proceeds to go over the Ael's body with a rapid, professional touch, following that with a hand-held medscanner.

"Hrmmmmp. Some minor peritoneal inflammation, slightly elevated temp, nothing too surprising for coming out of trauma surgery, considering how active the patient seems to be...." He glowers at Tweel, who gets the distinct impression that the expression carries no real anger behind it.

Confusion passes over Tweel's features. He flips his head upside down to look more closely at Tabor.

"One thing that surprises me, though, is the suturing technique," Tabor frowns. "It's a damn good job, to be sure, but the stitch patterning is HIGHLY unorthodox. You may require another surgical pass at some point, to clean up any thickened tissue the stitches leave when they're healed. Purely cosmetic, of course." He looks at the hastily-mopped-up traces of blood on the bed. "Probably wasn't a major concern at the time. Who worked on you, do you know? I'd like to find out where he learned to do this kind of thing."

"It wassn't Doctorr van derrr Merrwe?"

"Oh, no," Tabor shakes his head. "You want to see an example of Christian's work, you'll have to examine Doctor Rednisky outside. I don't know who worked on you, but it definitely wasn't Christian, or a medbot with any STANDARD training...this is a prime example of what the military calls, ah, 'meatball surgery,' rapid and messy work to save a dying patient long enough for a neater treatment by a physician with more time and fewer dying people to worry about."

Tabor frowns. "There isn't one person on board whose dossier includes that kind of training. Not one."

"Pater, if you would be so kind, could you check Astrogation to see if they have that two-body plot laid out yet?" Ralf rolls his head to relax his tense neck and shoulder muscles, then heads down to the hold to check on the Pioneer g-carriers.

"Hmmm," Jan feels Adrian's forehead, "_None_ of the drugs we gave you could give you fever. You say your body is trying to metabolize this. How concious of what's going on in your body are you?"

"Not..." Bishop swallows with some difficulty, "...not very. Having to do all of this manually is something..." he begins to gulp air, "...something of a new experience for me." His breathing is becoming very deep and quite rapid. At the present increase, hyperventilation seems likely.

Jan glides Bishop to a gurney and helps him on to it.

"I'm assuming your body is now self aware, and for whatever reason, is trying to accelerate the elimination of drugs. Elsewise, you wouldn't be warming up. Do you know how your liver is performing?"

"I'm..." pants Adrian, "...I think I'm dumping glycogen. I th-think I must be burning the recovered glucose. I..." squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he grimaces,"...damn. I can't search the medical data- base fast enough. I'm sure phosphorylation is occuring; I'm finding very high concentrations of glucokinase." Bishop flops his head back on the floating gurney and forces himself to relax. His breathing seems to have stabilized somewhat, but the gulps for air are still rapid and very deep.

Jan wheels Bishop to the decontamination bay {one would assume there was one, what with all the hazardous materials around here :-)}.

"Pater, water temp 34 degrees C. Adrian, rather than give you a drug to cool you down, I'm going to try external cooling. Until we know why your body is reacting to drugs the way it is, I'd recommend we stay away from them."

As water jets come on in the small alcove, Bishop weakly attempts to peel himself back out the now thoroughly damp jumpsuit, but gets nowhere until Jan assists him. As Bishop slides underneath the cool spray, an involuntary shiver runs the length of his body.

"Whatever you say, doctor." Bishop almost whispers. Then he asks, "Would oxygen help? I seem to remember... something... about metabolic waste and oxygen depletion."

"Good call. Dulinor-O2 6 liters per nasal cannula, and an IV of Ringer's at 150 cc/ hour. Let's also get a tympanic thermometer in."

"If you can convince your brainstem to cool you off that'd be good too."

Bishop looks up at Jan and comments, "I'll try, Dr. Yorblin. I'll try." Then, more to himself then anyone else, he adds, "Assuming I can figure out what I'm doing in the first place."

He swiftly removes the muscle assist bands for Bishops arms and legs, then slides up the sleeve of Bishops jumpsuit and plants a Hemo-Assay Cuff at his left elbow. As the cuff automatically draws a blood sample and begins the analysis, Jan runs a BCS (Body Cavity Sonar) gun over Bishops abdomen. Quickly surveying the adjacent screen, he satisfies himself that no gross internal damage or abnormalities are visible. As he puts the BCS away, a beep signals completion of the blood assay. Jan quickly runs his eyes down the list of results.

Counts: RBC : 5352540 Retic : 2 Plates : 324011 WBC : 6214 Diff : neut.:53%/eosin:2%/bas:0.7%/lymph:37.3%/mono:7% Protein:Hemoglobin : 14.6 gm/dl Albumin : 4.1 gm/dl Globulin : 2.9 gm/dl Hematocrit : 46 Protime : 12 Sed. Rate : 10 Glucose : 189.2 mg/dl BUN : 11 Ph : 7.41

"I've seen worse numbers, stop the mobilization of glycogen and you'll be fine."

"Let us try one more thing." Jan starts rummaging through a nearby crash cart, "AH-Ha, just the thing."

He pulls out a small nanocyte programmer and quickly programs the critters to act as Fab antigen fragments to bind specifically to the benzodiazepine structure. {not unakin to digibind}

Jan will go ahead and administer the nanocytes if Bishop has not cooled down by the time he is done programming.

"Adrian, what I'm giving you is what you're body would produce, if it had the time."

Bishop, his eyes closed under the spray, just nods and says nothing.

Jan leans over at applies the jethypo to the antecubital. "This should take about a half hour to kick in." Jan checks the current vital signs. If Bishop's system can handle it, Jan kicks up the Ringer's to give him a 500cc bolus. If the sugar is still running rampant, go ahead with recombinant human insulin (which'll probably have to be cranked out by some more smart microbes).

>"Oh, and aenrra?" 'Vouf's tone softens. "Tell Doctor Trrweerrrl that >his engaging of OSF-4's tertiary locks is appreciated as a gesture >of his good faith, and that we'll try to reciprocate as soon as he's >well. And TRY to convince him to at least put OSF-4 on idle...."

Christian nods. "Aye, I'll do that, Subcommander. I think that now he's calmed down a bit, I can negotiate matters with him, per the Admiral's suggested quid pro quo." He smiles faintly at 'Vouf. "The sooner we get him working on our current problems, the better, wouldn't you say?"

He gets up from the table, sketches a salute, and moves off back towards his Sickbay domain, where he arrives a few minutes later.

As he enters Sickbay, Christian surveys the landscape, noting with evident satisfaction that all is well in hand. His eyes alight on Bishop's form in the alcove, and frowns. A few paces and he is standing next to Jan, noting with keen interest his nanocyte programming efforts. "Hello, Jan. Quick meeting. I see Adrian's kept you busy; can you update me?" He whips out his own medscanner to satisfy his professional curiosity.

After receiving Jan's update, Christian checks Adrian's chart. "Uh hmm. Guess it's to be expected..." He looks back up at Jan. "You've got him well in hand. I have to take care of Tweel before we have some paranoid security types stomping through here..." Christian looks somewhat pained at the thought. "Good work, Jan. Top-notch." He replaces the chart and pivots to address his flock, again.

At that moment, Ralf strides out of Christian's cabin, muttering something about feather-brained avians. Seeing Christian, he looks up, "Oh. Hello doctor. Doctor Tabor just went in there. Good day." and continues out the door without breaking stride. Christian watches him go with a brief frown, then shrugs.

He raises his voice just enough so that all can hear him without difficulty. "Hello again! The command team has finished our meeting, and I have good news for you all. I have obtained permission to brief all of you on the mission that Turnskaad sent us on and also regarding our current situation. Since fate has thrown us together, it is my hope that you will sign up with Turnskaad and join us as colleagues, as I am sure that each of you can make a valuable contribution." Christian is speaking very clearly and firmly, with a pleased lilt to his voice and face. "In the interests of efficiency, I will be giving the briefing to all of you here, later today." He holds his hands up in a gesture of restraint. "I know you all have many, many questions, but certain things must be taken care of first. If the briefing does not address your concerns, I will be happy to provide the best answers that I can."

Barring serious interruption, Christian turns to his cabin and takes the few steps necessary to take him within. The door flies open, and

A very short time later, Christian walks into his cabin with only a small trace of a stumble at the gravity transition. Mildly surprised, he greets his colleague. "Doctor Tabor, nice to see you checking up on this rogue patient of mine." Christian grins at Tweel. "Doctor, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a private conversation with Doctor Tweel. Not a problem, is it?"

"Not at all," Tabor says mildly. "But if you get a chance, I'd like to sit in on post-op when you go over Doctor Trrrweeerrrll... whoever saved his life has a suturing technique that I'd like to learn." Tabor leaves.

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END OF TURN 92.03

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Questions? Comments? Complaints? Suggestions. E-mail them to me at markc@ssgfx.com


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