Their Memoriam: A Reverse Harem Romance (Utopia Inc Book 1) Page 3

  “And?” I didn't want to pick a fight; however, I was the expert in the room.

  “I required three full IV bags, about 180 milliliters of water, and two protein bars to begin resembling something I might call human after a night of binge drinking. I've been out of the pod a full twenty-four hours, and I still have a bit of a headache.”

  “Then you'll be my first patient,” I told her and smiled. Smiling might not take the sting out of bad news, but it went long way toward offering comfort. “I'm going to guess, from the way you described it, that you didn't have a doctor to wake you.”

  It wasn't a question

  “No, I did not, so please take care of yourself. I'm doing all right looking after myself and the other two patients, but I don't need you to collapse as well.”

  “Understood.” I agreed before setting my head back and closing my eyes. Several meditation techniques could provide me with the facsimile of rest, even though I wouldn't be down more than fifteen minutes. Based on what the doctor told me, I was needed on duty more than ever.

  “I'll be back soon,” she said. The hatch hissed closed behind her, ending our unsatisfactory conversation.

  I didn't say anything when she left, preferring instead to work on feeling better, particularly because she described patients in need. Trusting my internal clock to keep time, I pursued my meditation with vigor. My doctor would not be on her own for long.

  Chapter 3

  Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.- Paul Bausa

  Valda Bashan

  The doctor handled the emergence beautifully. Intellectually, that made sense. I didn’t specialize in lifepods, but I had read my share of articles on the devices over the years, from concept to early tests. Possessing a rough knowledge versus actually experiencing one like a human guinea pig were two entirely different things. Documenting my objections would take several pages.

  First, however, I needed to finish assisting the rest of my team. Though I initially questioned why they’d woken me twenty-four hours prior to rousing the others, I no longer held any doubts.

  Hatch’s immediate and violent bout of emesis clarified my hypothesis. I was given twenty-four hours to recover so I could treat the men. How fortunate for them, I supposed. Even now, standing before the AJ’s lifepod as the computer ticked off the seconds to emergence, the irony wasn’t lost on me.

  Had I been similarly encumbered, I would have had to wait more than a full day for assistance.

  At the hiss of the pod’s releasing mechanism, I filed the concerns for another journal entry. I would get the answers to my questions. The waking process affected individuals in different ways—nausea, aphasia, cortical visual impairment, sensory overload, and in some cases, sleeper psychosis.

  Those studies were high volume in the early work with lifepods. Causation had yet to be determined, but I’d read between the lines of correlation on the patients who exhibited the signs. Fortunately, the only severe side effects I’d witnessed were Benedict’s emesis. He was half asleep on his bathroom floor. After I got AJ settled, I’d work on getting the man into a bed—but only after I was sure the vomiting had passed.

  The door opened. White mist forming as the cold air of the interior struck the warmer temperatures in the suite gave the moment a surreal element. In the three earlier instances, the men stumbled out under their own power, weak and trembling.

  Thirty seconds after the door opened, the patient still hadn’t taken a step. I waited. Emergence was better handled under the patient’s own power. The brain needed to wake—it needed to ignite those autonomic pathways and initiate motion. Cognition would take longer, but he needed to walk out.

  The computer repeated the instructions about the IV port and inserting the tubing from the banana bag awaiting him. When the clock hit fifty-nine seconds, I moved. The alarm sounded. One full minute and the patient still hadn’t moved, which upgraded the scenario from standard to critical.

  No groan. No lean forward. Nothing.

  Abandoning my position, I went to work. The interior air of the lifepod was several degrees below what most humans found tolerable. The need to escape freezing often provoked physical response before cognition fully engaged. Anticipating the weight about to fall on me, I stepped one foot inside and braced the other against the tiled floor.

  The mist cleared enough that I could make out the tattoos through the white bodysuit. They twisted and twined along his forearms—a pair of dragons, one blue and one green. No doubt, he had a story behind those. As I tracked my gaze upward, I looked for any signs of obvious injury, atrophy, or issue which might be causing the man distress. Touching two gloved fingers to his pulse, I tested what the machine reported as sluggish vitals.

  Studying the man’s features, I wasn’t disappointed. He was just as fierce as his image promised. His eyes flashed open, and his hand snapped out. The tautness of his fingers closing on my throat lifted me off my feet. Then he rushed forward.

  Even as he slammed me into the wall, he kept my head from impacting. The bruising force knocked the wind out of me. AJ’s pupils were dilated, his gritted teeth visible, and his strength impressive.

  Twisting the hypo in my palm, I brought it up and injected his arm, directly in the flexed portion of his bulging biceps.

  “Who are you…” The snarl, so close to my face, promised swift retribution if I didn’t answer. The force of his grip, however, trapped my ability to breathe. I punched the depressor on the hypo. The injection included a swift moving sedative.

  The man’s eyes, a surprising shade of green, squinted closer, and he tightened his fingers. Loss of consciousness threatened as my lungs struggled for even the smallest gasp of oxygen. The sedative should have worked, unless…

  All at once, he staggered, his hand opening. I slid down the wall even as he collapsed. I barely managed to keep his head from slamming into the tile. Like a bad drunk, he raised his head, still fighting against the medication putting him down.

  “I’ll…kill…you…”

  Closing my eyes, I swallowed past the soreness in my throat. The man finally gave in, and his cheek rested against my thigh. It took me several breaths to even my respiration and pulse. When I thought I wouldn’t blackout, I shoved him off me and onto his back. Getting him into the chair would be a task. Fortunately, the sedative kept him down as I dragged him over.

  I was pretty sure I pulled a muscle in my glutes as I got him into the chair. Pulling his legs out, I checked the vitals being reported on the screen. The computer had all manner of flashing alarms. Dehydration, low blood pressure, decreased pulse, and respiratory distress.

  “Computer, scan medical records Rossi, Dirk for allergies.” Verifying the sedative earlier wasn’t the same as scanning the rest of his medical history for potential allergens—although their sterile environments would indicate a lack of environmental stressors.

  “No known medical allergies.” The computer reported as I got his IV open and running full bore. I wouldn’t normally want to blast his system, but he was clearly struggling. The sedative had been intended to keep him manageable, and I’d give him the full dose when he’d assaulted me.

  Compartmentalizing the radiating pain of the bruise I was sure would appear sooner rather than later, I focused on getting his physical distress eased. Attaching the leads to his forehead, then to his fingertips, I went in search of the stethoscope. The computer could list the basic information, but medicine was as much an art as it was a science.

  Neural activity reported normal. Setting the stethoscope in my ears, I put the dial to his chest. The uneven beat of his heart steadied as I listened. Respiration rates were returning to normal. I removed the stethoscope and straightened. The IV was half empty, vitals stabilizing.

  What the hell had gone wrong?

  The man was easily taller than the others—broader chest, well-defined musculature despite the normal atrophy to be expected from his time in the pod. Weight, metabolism, and health wer
e all factors. Had they used too much or too little when they’d put him in the pod? I skimmed through the medical records listed on the desktop. They were sketchy on the specific instances, maintaining only the indicators recorded at each visit.

  Dammit, I would need to do blood work. He might have an underlying issue. Leaving him, I opened the cabinet, which contained pharmaceuticals in my suite, including syringes and needles. The weapons inside the cabinet startled the hell out of me.

  A dozen different handguns, blades, and what looked like a rifle case.

  Closing the door abruptly, I backed up a pace. We were in a damn biosphere, so why had they provided him with heavy armaments? Apprehension might be a normal reaction to evidence of potential terror, but I didn’t have time for it. I needed a blood sample while he was still unconscious and perhaps in the late throes of whatever reaction he’d suffered.

  Leaving his suite, I retreated to mine and gathered the items I needed. I’d just made it to his suite door again when another hatchway opened. Andreas Kenton stumbled out.

  “You should go back to bed,” I told him. “You have several hours of recovery in front of you. Don’t push it.”

  Unfortunately, I already had two patients down. If Kenton could walk, then he could damn well look after himself for a few minutes. Back inside Rossi’s suite, I drew the blood I needed before swapping his IV out for a fresh bag. I then slowed the drip. By this stage, all three of the others had been somewhat coherent—even the pilot. Though, arguably, the pilot had been vomiting.

  The door to the hallway hissed open, and Kenton leaned against the entryway. The man looked terrible, his skin sallow beneath his dark hair and natural tan. “What are you doing to him?” His ragged voice suggested the journey from his suite to this one exhausted him.

  “I’m taking a biological sample to test because he had a powerful reaction to waking.” I completed my notes on the samples, then stowed them in a cold bag until I could find my lab. If I was here, I had to have a lab, even if my memory of taking the assignment remained absent. The video had been of me, my voice, my intonation, even my words.

  “No, I meant what are you doing to all of us? Are we some kind of insane experiment for you?” The accusation landed like some medieval knife thrust in the dark.

  “Mr. Kenton, I do not have time to debate the morality of our current situation. I did not select any of you, that I can recall, nor did I make the arrangements for the situation we find ourselves in currently.”

  Facing him after I’d schooled my features, I met his gaze evenly. The man was still in his bodysuit and barefoot. He shouldn’t even be out of his suite, much less wandering around.

  Snap judgments were not new in my experience. Most people didn’t trust science anymore. Even scientists struggled with the ethics of what they did. I’d learned from two masters. Science was neither inherently bad nor good. It simply was. We were to be trained observers, to interact with our environment, to experiment, and to understand.

  Kenton opened his mouth, then his gaze seemed to zero in on my throat. “What the hell happened to you?” If I’d thought his earlier tone to be hostile, his newly adopted one bordered on cool rage.

  “My patient had a minor psychotic break. They happen sometimes when being woken from the cold sleep the lifepod places a body in. I’ve sedated him, and I am treating his symptoms. I want to make sure he normalizes before he wakes again or we may have a larger problem than a few bruises. Now, please return to your suite. Recovery from the cold sleep can take up to twenty-four hours or longer.”

  I was leaning on longer, because I was still nursing some weakness in my limbs. The throttling of my neck hadn’t helped. Those bruises were going to hurt. From the look on Kenton’s face, and the softening of the harsh light in his eyes, they already appeared to be ugly.

  Instead of accepting my answer and leaving, Kenton pushed away from the door and walked gingerly into the room. His gait wasn’t even nor steady, but he corrected when he began to sway. “What can I do to help?”

  “Not become another problem.” The man behind me groaned and I sighed. I didn’t have time for this argument. “Mr. Kenton, sit down. You should be on IV fluids. I would recommend at least four full bags. You should also be eating and drinking. Your body will need a great deal of support to shake off the after effects.”

  If he planned to continue standing there, then he could deal with his own consequences. I faced AJ again and debated whether I should find restraints. I did not need another round of choke the doctor.

  Still wrestling with the decision, I drew out another dose of sedative. I didn’t think it possible for the man to shake off the amount I’d already given him. At the same time, I didn’t I want to be surprised.

  The second IV bag was about a third empty when the man began to blink slowly. At least he didn’t launch out of the chair awake and enraged.

  “Welcome to Biosphere One, Captain Rossi.” I kept my tone as neutral and soothing I as I could. Just because I didn’t really like working with people didn’t mean I was unaware of how those interactions should proceed. “My name is Valda Bashan. I am here to help you.”

  I gave him a moment to absorb the information. Kenton had joined us, but he didn’t loom next to him. Instead, he settled into one of the other chairs, so I left him alone.

  “You may be experiencing some disorientation and nausea. I gave you a dosage of pain reliever, anti-nausea medication and a mild sedative.” Maybe I should have gone with the stronger one. “The sedative can add to the feeling of disconnect. Your vitals, however, are improving.”

  “Why?” The rasp of his voice sanded over the harsh edge of his earlier reaction. Pain reflected in the single discordant note.

  “Because you’re having a reaction to waking from the lifepod. I’m not certain about the source of the reaction. I need to run your blood work. In the meanwhile, stay here. I’ve set up another IV bag, so all you have to do is switch the tubing when this one empties. Can you do that?”

  “I can.” Kenton said when Rossi didn’t answer immediately. Thinking of the men by their surnames gave me some clinical distance. Sympathy could be saved for later, once we were all on our feet. “I mean I can trade out his IV bag, if you’d like…”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Rossi still sounded like he’d swallowed broken glass.

  “Andreas Kenton,” the other man answered wearily. “I’m—I’m in the same boat, just not as bad off.”

  So he thought. I paused to take Kenton’s wrist and checked his pulse. It was elevated, but not racing. Surprise creased his face, and he gave me a puzzled look.

  “Did you finish your IVs?”

  “Three of them.” Kenton assured me. “And I ate the dry protein bar.” He raised a hand and it trembled faintly. “Almost steady.”

  Fine. “Then stay seated as much as you can. Don’t do more than change his IV or give him water.”

  Returning my attention to Rossi, I found him studying me. The sedative seemed to have helped with whatever psychosis he’d been experiencing. I couldn’t be certain about his visual acuity, though I guessed his narrowed gaze said he’d already regained it.

  “Mr. Kenton will assist you, Captain Rossi. I have two other patients to check on, and I need to run your blood work. The computer should be able to contact me.” None of them had used it as yet, but it seemed a safe enough presumption. “I’ll return shortly.”

  He raised two fingers, then moistened his lips before he said, “What happened to your neck?”

  “A hazard of the profession, I would imagine.” No sense in pointing fingers. The man hadn’t been in control of himself, and he did seem to be far more lucid. “Computer, continue monitoring Rossi and feed the stats to my tablet, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Acknowledged.” Well, that was handy.

  “Computer, do you have access to Kenton, Andreas’s vitals still?”

  The screen altered, and Kenton’s information scrolled across. Signs of elevated B
P and heart rate, though his respiration had improved.

  “Please filter relevant data on all patients currently under observation to my tablet.” I checked the device and, one by one, the men’s vitals appeared. Benedict showed lower levels of respiration and pulse, all consistent with sleep. Doctor Morgan’s remained steady as well. At least two out of the four were cooperating.

  I spared the men another look, then carefully didn’t stare at the gun cabinet. The more I thought about it, the presence of that many weapons made me uneasy. I didn’t have time to dwell.

  Blood samples and tablet in hand, I returned to the hallway. “All right, computer, where is my lab?”

  The longer I went without taking something for the bruising on my neck, the worse it was likely going to feel. I had too much work to do and not enough time to do it in.

  “Dr. Bashan, your laboratory is located one level down. Please follow the corridor to the lift.”

  Light panels along the floor illuminated in one direction. It wasn’t a yellow brick road, but it would do.

  Four hours later, I was no closer to any answers. My lab proved to be impressive. It had all the toys I might have picked out for myself, including a mass spectrometer. Interestingly enough, we also had the power supplies to continue running the computer, the network, and the tools of the trade.

  Rossi’s CBC showed a decreased red blood cell count versus his base record. Whoever set this up had at least had the forethought to include baselines for me to test against. The white cell count was elevated by comparison, but the numbers were still on the edge of normal. Hemoglobin, hematocrit, and platelets all normal. Proteins were low, but also within expected range, considering our circumstances.

  Allergies—none.

  General physical health—all within normal ranges.

  No history of addiction or listed problems.

  The man was a model of good health.