Author: TPH

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol Doctors at Large – Chapter 16: The Fall

Loading Dock 5E, Roughly 10 minutes or so before visitation hours (gone wild gone wrong gone sexual):

“I don’t like these things.” Dr. Silver murmured, looking into the freshly-opened crate. He wasn’t alone – not in the room, nor in sentiment over the three puffy medical-grade bright white suits that stared blankly back up at the assembled crew.

“Well I know you don’t, but this is just what we got.” Than mo said, letting out a little sigh as well. “And I see that we didn’t even get enough new suits. Absolutely fucking typical.” Leaning down he picked up one of the suit’s helmets, turning it around to reveal the TruMichelin brand on the back. The thing was soft to the touch, almost foam-like, with a surprising structural rigidity underneath. Tilting the helmet down, he saw that it was covered in flex-screens, various inputs and attachment clamps ready to be tailored to the individual wearer’s needs. The helmet had an old-fashioned twist-lock like the first astronaut suits, and Than mo could only guess of the additional redundancies therein. Laverne reached in as well and examined one of the gloves, the same archaic twist-lock mechanism visible on each joint. Modern suits zipped up, or magnetically clamped, or a hundred other ways that made it much more convenient and easy to slip in and out of your gear. This PPE suit looked like a bit of overkill, and really…

…When you put on the suit, in other words, it looked like you put on the suit. “I don’t think these are solo efforts.” Laverne mused, sliding her hand into the glove to test it’s heft. “I remember seeing these things in museums.”

“[So what does this mean, Nurse Tran?]” Dr. Solid said, keeping a respectful distance from the new medical equipment. “[I am …impressed with our government’s strides forward in protecting our employees, but outside of that-]”

“Ah, well.” Than mo said, turning the helmet over in his hands idly as he searched for the words. “Being straightforward and honest is going to be the best policy, so I’m going to have to start off by saying this: Please don’t share this information with anyone.”

The assembled xenos nurses and doctors looked at each other, a few of them smirking. “[I don’t think any of us are new to doctor-patient confidentiality.]” Nurse Stringbean quipped, the Dorarizin female grinning softly. “[Though, if this is about helping you all into those things then-]”

“It’s about committing treason.”

Than mo’s words hung in the air for a brief moment before the entire human crew were bombarded with questions; Who, why, what are you doing, you can’t make the Independent Hospital Occupation Place – that’s illegal, are you planning on starting a garden on the roof – Dr. Silver raised his hands to restore order, and after a few minutes an uneasy silence settled on the room.

“Just let the man finish!” Dr. Silver called out, letting his hands drop. “We’re serious about the treason bit, and about you keeping silent. If you can’t, then you need to get out, because time is of the essence here. Any takers?”

Aside from some awkward shuffling, no one moved.

“Great. Than mo? This is your party; I’m going to start unpacking.” Dr. Silver said, leaning over the box to start pulling out suit parts.

“Right!” Than mo clapped once, leaning back to half-sit on the edge of the crate. “So no more bullshitting. You’re all familiar with the haze from the field-burning that’s going on, right? That slightly-smoky stuff that’s moving over everywhere?” He was met with a few nods, and continued. “Well, that’s what we humans are starting to call Dust, and it’s 100% lethal to our species.”

“[What the fuck.]” Dr. Solid said, head curving low as he stared Than mo down.

“Oh wow they finally found a translation for fuck outside of sex?” James said, hefting out a leg from the shipping crate. “I thought that was the unattainable dream-”

“Yeah look.” Than mo said, holding up a hand to stop the questions before they began. “The Dust is some sort of spore or irritant; gets into our mucosa membranes and lungs and just destroys everything. From what we’ve seen from our two patients, it can do anything from create tumor-like growths to sandpapering down the lining of the lungs. CENTRAL – our CENTRAL-” Than mo said, pointing to himself, “-is keeping this hush because they don’t want any of you-” Than mo’s finger pointed vaguely in the direction of his xenos colleagues, “-from panicking on our behalf and deciding to ‘help’. CENTRAL said-without-saying that every single settlement is getting hit with this shit, as even the smallest mote of Dust could start an infection and airborne particles are basically everywhere at this point.”

Than mo sighed, running his hand through his ink-black hair. “So, that’s where we are now. Recommended procedure is to sedate patients, put them in a medically induced coma, slap on a lifevest and then popsicle – eer, sorry. Put them in cryostasis. As we run triage, the cryostasis humans are to be ‘relocated to Central for advanced monitoring’ but really, we’re stacking bodies in freezers because there’s no cure. Our bunkers-”

“[Wait, you have bunkers?]” Tipo asked, ears perking up. “[Why?]”

“Because live-action Fallout reenacting is a lost art.” James piped up again, earning a light smack on the arm from Laverne.

“Just chalk it up to cultural trauma and leave it be.” Than mo said, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, these suits here -” Than mo punctuated his sentence by holding up the helmet, showing it off to the crowd, “-are rated, hopefully, to protect us, and I would damn well hope so considering they’re basically 100% self-contained suits. Shit, I don’t even think these things have external oxygen connections-”

“Nope.” Dr. Silver said, his arm elbow-deep in the torso of a unit. “Looks like scrubbers and re-breathers.”

“I feel like there’s a fart joke in h-oww” James whined, rubbing his arm from a particularly savage punch from Laverne. “Don’t be mad because you didn’t think of it fir-oww.”

“And that’s where we’re at. Official orders are to run triage for every human here until there are no more left, then to pack up and head into CENTRAL after that – if we’re not already in the back of an ice cream truck ourselves.”

The assembled crew said nothing, watching the humans unpack their suits with gallows humor. Eventually, Tipo once again broke the silence.

“[That doesn’t sound right.]”

Than mo tossed the Dorarizin trainee his helmet, which he caught with deft precision. “Doesn’t matter if it’s right or not; it’s what we’re working with. With only 3 suits we’re going to have to take turns going out to the front, and I’m also assuming somewhere we’ll have to set up a decontamination and clean roo-”

Than mo’s wristwatch suddenly started to scream at him, and he looked at the indicator, swearing.

Visitation, Human Wing, Right Now:

“JESUS LORD-” Laverne was able to sputter before a furred arm completely blocked her view, gravity going wonky as she was forcibly grabbed and lifted.

“[NO~!]” Tipo roared, instinct and fear kicking in as he half-smothered the tiny-chomper nurse in his arms. “[GET THEM BACK NOW-]”

Dr. Solid leapt forward once the Terrorbeast lunged at his colleague, the fine cloud of gray-brown Dust powder coating the human as he slammed against the ground, wheezing from the impact. The Terrorbeast – Bench – with no commands from his grab, let pure instinct take over; with a furious flutter of his mighty wings he arced backwards, outpacing the furious Jornissian with a speed that belied his size. The sliding glass doors had no chance to react as they crashed open, one broken off it’s hinge and hanging akimbo as Bench pulled up to gain altitude, to save his grab, to take to the skies once more.

All Dr. Solid could do was scream impotently at the animal as the limp human hung underneath. He watched it flutter about confused, before seeming to pick a vague destination and lazily float away. With a thought Dr. Solid pinged all relevant teams – A, B and C – barking orders to remove the warmcuddles from their wing. To his pleasure, this had already been done by the time he turned to head back indoors to check on his colleague.

Dr. Silver was red-faced, red-eyed, and gasping for breath, propping himself up on one elbow. Dr. Solid knew enough about human biology to make some educated guesses; Anaphylaxis (which he had never personally seen), possibly Toxic shock (if the darkest version of what Than mo said earlier was true), Diaphragm spasms (not the good kind that made cute hiccups), Concussion from the impact against the floor. A few other doctors and nurses began to swarm the fallen human, cutting away his clothing and beginning to triage him.

To lose one of the human medical professionals so soon was going to be problematic, to say the least, and Dr. Solid snarled in a rolling staccato hiss. “[Fates damn those things! Do we have access to any warmcuddle life vests? We’re going to have to put him on ice sooner than later-]”

“[Not that I know of!]” Dr. Duster, a Karnakian, called out, physically lifting the spasming human in his arms and jogging over to an empty cot. “[They’re held in triage lockers 7 through 12, but I don’t have access to open them – logic being if they’re necessary to use we need a human medic present-]”

Dr. Solid turned to a few of the panicking nurses, pointing at the group. “[Just rip one open and bring me what’s inside! You, you and YOU-]” He pointed to three others, getting their undivided attention, “[Get this place scrubbed down now. Change the air filters, get the doors fixed and sealed, get in touch with maintenance to do so. Start spamming cleaning controls; get the bots to scrub this area at least a half-dozen times!]” With the barking of orders and the hierarchy of command established, the teams got to work – sudden panic and confusion being replaced with furious determination. “[I want those warmcuddles in their PPE suits now. Do not stop carrying them until they are back at the loading dock, and do not let them out of the dock until they’re suited up! Those in the back – do it! Everyone else, assume you’re contaminated!]” A few other nurses broke rank to run after the human group to assist in the forced suit-up.

“[How are we on triage – nurse?]” Dr. Duster called out, clawed hands working deftly on the smaller human bed’s AI panel, attempting to bum rush the startup routine.

“[Sssh, there there. I’m giving him oxygen, but we’ll probably want to intubate him sooner than later.]” Nurse Stringbean said, the Dorarizin nurse holding a hissing oxygen mask over the writhing, choking Dr. Silver. “[This is a good stopgap but we really need to get that lifevest on him now.]”

“[Alright. Dr. Duster, give him a saline IV and try to get him stabilized, I’m going to check on those lockers.]” Dr. Solid gave one last, long look at his shuddering colleague before leaving, quickly and silently.

“[It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re going to be ok.]” Nurse Stringbean lied, resting her free hand on the top of Dr. Silver’s head.

“HHrrrkk-” Dr. Silver said, ferally grinning under the mask as he coughed furiously. “MMHHD-iiiiihhh” he wheezed out, inhaling sharply as he lifted an arm to point at the furiously-spinning-in-place MEDIBOT.

“[Wait. OH.]” Dr. Duster connected the dots, looking between the nurse and Dr. Silver. “[The robot might have vest capabilities! Hold – hold on.]” Dr. Duster repeated, her hands attempting a human placating gesture before she ran over to the robot, physically picking it up from the Dust spot on the floor.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT protested, rightfully pointing out the indignation of a medical professional such as himself being picked up like a common light-up whorebot. “MEDIBOT.”

With a grunt Dr. Duster dropped the protesting AI helper at the side of the bed. MEDIBOT spun in place once before it’s camera eyes locked onto the rapidly-dying Dr. Silver, and the realization that hit his circuits stopped him in his tracks.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT said, the full weight of what was happening hitting him. “MEDIBOT.”

Dr. Silver smiled, weakly placing a hand against the cold chassis of his friend. “HHNNK… S…sor-RRHH-y, o-old fr-KHKAH.” Dr. Silver coughed as MEDIBOT leaned down, cradling the human in his arms.

“MEDIBOT.”

“Now, HHHH, d-don’t be l-ACHK, KHM, th.” Dr. Silver swallowed, his breathing heavily labored. “That. We ha-KAHD, kuh, some good memor-HHHEESS. KHM.”

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT beeped, somehow sadly.

“Y-ye-kah. I’d ha-AAAAH, mhm. Liked to take-KHK, KAH. You there too, buddy.” Dr. Silver looked up, vision slowly dimming as he struggled to breathe. “I’HKM. Going to s-KUH-t do-hhhn, now.” Dr. Silver cleared his throat one last time.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT pleaded, softly.

“Youhh… do us pr…oud.”

“[Look I don’t know what in the empty hells I just watched but put him down we need to stick him in cryostasis-]” Nurse Stringbean barked, glaring at the useless robot.

“MEDIIIIIII-”

Dr. Silver started to go limp, his face turning blue.

“[NOW, may the first pack damn your programming- DROP HIM NOW.]”

“MEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDIIII-” MEDIBOT began to vibrate, eyes glowing a somber red.

Growling, Nurse Stringbean reached forward –

– and her hand was slapped away by MEDIBOT’s arm so fast she didn’t see it coming.

“[WHAT?!]”

“MMMMMAAAAAADIGASCAR PROTOCOL ENGAGED.” MEDIBOT blared, somehow, it’s entire body shaking violently once before falling silent. Nurse Stringbean watched with morbid fascination as MEDIBOT’s chassis opened up, various internal surgical implements, prosthesis parts, gears and padding and wires sliding out to wrap and stick and cut and impale the dying human, dragging him into the machine itself, all the while fiercely glowing red eyes making unbreaking contact with the one who would dare interrupt this fusion of flesh and machine. Cradling Dr. Silver in the fetal position, connected to wires, diodes and the robot itself, the chassis slammed shut with a hiss, the gurgle of fluid and hydraulics punctuating the now terrified silence.

There was just a pause, for a moment, before MEDIBOT raised it’s clawed appendages to the sky and roared in defiance.

“HOSPITAL. OPEN.”

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They are Smol Doctors at Large – Chapter 15: So it’s treason, then!

“Really.”

Of all the responses, of all the possible ways that Than mo thought his colleagues would react to him breaking the news of an incurable global pandemic, that CENTRAL was stalling for time at the potential cost of human life, that the four of them would most likely be left to deal with an incoming flood of patients and may also succumb to the disease with possibly no hope of rescue other than a bag-and-tag operation to be tossed into a bunker to chill, a half-interested “Really” was not on the top 10 list of expected reactions. Hell, it wasn’t even in the top 50, and it made the preceding 5 minutes where Than mo heroically burst into the break room to break earth-shattering news to his compatriots all the more… awkward.

“Uh. Yeah. Really-really.” Than mo said, the wind in his sails deflating from the lack of… well, anything coming from his team.

“I mean, it explains a lot.” Laverne said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Mail was getting harder and harder to get, thought it odd that all delivery services went on strike at once.”

“Mmm.” James added, rapping his knuckles against the table as he connected his own dots. “That’s also why my week leave was turned down. Not a staffing shortage at all.”

Laverne responded with a noncommital “ah”, and then resumed some small talk with Dr. Silver. Than mo stood at the doorway for a few more moments before wandering over to the table and taking a seat. “Well I think a potential extinction level event for the human species on this planet is important.”

Dr. Silver sighed a bit and then shrugged. “I mean, it is – we’re not saying it’s not, but what the hell do we do about it? You already poked the bear, you’ve already got some high-tier gear coming in, and the marching orders basically equated to ‘shelter in place’. When we have our patient surge, hmm.”

“-We just make a pack of otter pops, ship ‘em back to central?” James suggested, and was met with a ‘not bad’ half-nod from the doctor. “We assign a couple fabricators or fab shops to build more cryopods as we run through them, CENTRAL then picks up our patients, and then it’s someone else’s problem.”

“This feels… wrong. I don’t know how, but it just does.” Than mo murmured, resting his chin in his hand. “First big medical thing on an exoplanet and my part to play in it is to shove unconscious people into a gel bag and stack them in an ice truck?”

“To be honest, Than mo, yes.” Dr. Silver said, looking at his companion. “We’re four people servicing thirty thousand, at least. This medical thing, as you put it, could not have come at a worst time; we’re not established but we’re the first point of contact, we have no backup, we have no remote staff to call on for this surge, we’re screwed. All we can do is play triage, but on a grand scale.” Dr. Silver gave another noncommittal shrug. “We might have to bring some of the xenos on in order to help with patient flow, but outside that we do what we can do. It sounds like Dust hits people differently, right?”

“Well, yeah, from what I’m assuming – we’re not seeing anything now, but that trickle could become a flood.”

“Certainly, but it’s not going to be all of them at once.” Laverne commented, bringing herself back into the conversation. “Even if we’re peaking at a couple hundred a day, that’s something we could handle if we bring in some of our trained staff. It absolutely helps that all we’re going to be doing is stabilizing people and then putting them in cryo – so what, that’s… 20, 30 minutes per patient, and stabilization will include sedation?”

Than mo started to run some math in his head. “So… that’s mostly just seeing if people code out while we’re preparing them than anything else. Slap a life vest on them and have them count to 100, basically.”

“Given that’s all we’re doing, how many do you think you can monitor at a time?” Dr. Silver asked, scribbling some notes on his tablet.

“…50, tops. I’d still do walk-throughs and check connections, but I’d feel comfortable saying 50 at a time, at absolute most.”

“So 50 from you, let’s just say 50 from each of us as well – 200 at any given time, every 30 minutes, at best. Assuming nothing goes wrong-” Dr. Silver’s thoughts were interrupted by four sets of knuckles tapping against the tabletop, and he continued without skipping a beat. “-that’s 400 per hour, or 4,800 per surge shift. Assuming every single human comes in to see just us, we’d get through the entire population footprint of mankind in our area in what. 6 days? 7? Assuming we get no help whatsoever, of course.”

“I… I mean, that’s it?” Than mo said after a few moments of thinking. “Just… that’s it.”

“[What’s it?]”

Dr. Silver turned, leaning back in his chair to look at the human-sized entrance to the human break room. Covering a majority of the opening with a look of slight concern was Dr. Solid, twisting his torso in a way that would make any performer of Cirque du Soleil feel inadequate. “[Sorry, I just wanted to poke my head in so to speak and let you know we’ve had two more human patients come in. We’ve stabilized them, but they should be added to your rounds. Is there something I can help with?]”

“Actually, this does prove to be a problem.” Than mo said, pointing at the Jornissian doctor who pointed at himself in confusion.

“[I assure you, Than mo, I mean no harm in-]”

“No, I mean. Sorry Dr. Solid, I mean – ah. The Mothership… um.” Than mo sputtered to a stop as he attempted to figure out a way to say something without saying it. “We… well we do need to keep it mum, don’t we?”

“Oh.” James said, suddenly connecting the dots once more. “Yeah, that’s… that’s going to be absolutely fucking impossible to hide, especially if we keep getting patients presenting with the same problems.”

“They won’t like us spilling the beans.” Laverne added with a sigh. “But they haven’t exactly shared how to sweep this under the rug, and soon it’ll be impossible to do so.”

“[I feel like I did come in and interrupt your conversation – for that, I’m sorry.]” Dr. Solid said, dipping his head even further down while keeping his eyes focused on the table of humans. “[Please excuse me.]”

The humans shared a look between themselves for a brief moment, before Dr. Silver scootched back his chair. “Um. No, actually, you…probably need to be in on this. A lot of you do; who’s here that’s human triage rated?”

“[Including myself, everyone from group A and C. Bravo team is not on duty.]” Dr. Solid responded, sliding his body backwards into the hallway to “crouch” down. “[What seems to be going on?]”

“Can you have everyone meet us in the mailroom? Our package should have arrived by now, right Than mo?” Dr. Silver said, standing up.

“Yeah, I think so.” Than mo replied, leaning back in his chair feeling totally overwhelmed and how underwhelming this emergency was turning out to be. “Regardless, it’s probably a good place to keep things under wraps.”

“[I am incredibly confused as to what’s going on.]” Dr. Solid said, scratching under his jaw. “[If you can please explain to me what you need, I’d be happy to get everyone together.]”

Laverne finished her now lukewarm coffee in one gulp, spiking the ceramic mug into the tile floor with a loud crash. “We’re going to commit treason.”

“[Oh. What.]”

It landed with all the ceremony, pomp and circumstance that millions of years of evolution afforded it’s people; which is to say, the wayward terrorbeast landed on the ground in front of the hospital triage entrance with a pomf and general confusion. Shaking loose a small cloud of Dust It – and by It I mean Bench the right honorable and good Moth – tilted it’s antenna forward.

It had taken Bench many hours to cut down the territory where his grab went, and there were others of his kin who were searching for their own grabs. Some were lucky and found their grabs and grabbed them, as is proper. Others – like until just now, himself – found himself in the wrong places, bumping against the clear sky walls, or even getting the water spray from the not-grabs that were nearby and had very delicious plants and clothing that they weren’t eating.

Bench did not know why the not-grabs had so much food that they didn’t eat, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question many things, as there was one overarching drive in his slightly scrambled mind:

His grab was near. He needed to grab his grab.

Bench the moth slowly walked forward on his tri-pronged segmented legs, the slightly manicured gripping feet splaying against the concrete as he neared the automatic doors – where the feeling told him to continue. As he approached the pressure mat those same feet dug into suddenly soft memoryfoam; the sensation was new, and quite welcome, and Bench ended up spending a few moments outside the hospital kneading the mat much like a cat. This was apparently enough for the sensors in the mat to trigger, and thanks to processes far beyond the terrorbeast’s reckoning, the door slid open with a soft beep.

Bench stood there, antenna swaying as the air changed. The sunlight-shielded sliding doors welcoming the tamed animal inside.

Bench, not comprehending such complex things as “cause and effect” decided to wait, antenna swaying in the breeze. It was his grab, he felt it so close, so surely his grab would come out and then he would grab and they would fly again.

The sliding doors closed, and the wind changed, and the feeling lessened.

Bench was not happy at this change in developments, and began to do what most Terrorbeasts (and toddlers) would do in this situation: slam his forefeet into the ground and make angry moth noises.

The sensors in the mat tripped again, and the door swayed open again, and the feeling came back, and Bench calmed down and waited. This process would end up repeating itself for another 5 or 6 rounds until the only person – well, “person” – who was not getting a top-secret debriefing left in the human medical wing decided to put a stop to it.

The doors slid open and Bench’s antenna peered forward and it had the feeling but there was also something else.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT so helpfully said, standing at the edge of the doorway to welcome the new visitor.

“?ööööö?” Bench cooed at the new visitor, not sensing… much of anything, to be brutally honest. Sure, he saw the thing that made welcome noises at him, but, there was not a sense to it.

“MEDIBOT.”

Bench weighed in his mind the wise words of the roombot and slowly made his way inside, MEDIBOT making sure to stay a respectful distance away from the semi-wild animal as it walked unchecked into the human wing of the hospital. Instantly Bench’s antenna was assaulted with so much feeling, so much information – grabs, there were many grabs here, some he knew and some he did not but he knew his grab was right…. There.

Right there.

Bench turned and started to walk towards his grab, antenna gently caressing and tapping against the walls and currents of air, mutlifaceted compound eyes staring unblinking at the alien surroundings. Gently, he nosed forward past a privacy curtain, his antenna picking up very strong-

“MEDIBOT.”

Bench froze.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT quipped, and somewhere on some planet a laughtrack played unprompted. Out of MEDIBOT’s chest a screen popped open, asking for visitation information.

Bench, not knowing what any of this was or meant, but seeing the false fire so close to him, reached out an antenna to see if it was real false fire or false false fire and therefore real, useful fire.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT commented, as Bench’s antenna pressed against the tablet, registering as a human signature. And as an aside, before you say how unlikely any of that is have you seen a doctor’s handwriting?

Scribbles are scribbles, so it all counts.

“MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT chided, letting the terrorbeast know the visitation rules and regulations. “MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT reached forward and pulled the privacy curtain away, showing Bench’s grab laying comatose on the human medical bed. Juan lay there, silent but alive, multiple machines breathing for him, filtering his blood, scrubbing his spinal fluid – pretty much living for him, in an attempt to figure out what, if anything would help reverse his situation. Banks of injectable medicine lined either side of the bed, all controlled by a master AI that sat at the foot, constantly monitoring and administering medications in changes so minute no human could hope to be so exact. All of these things flowed into Juan through what the medical community colloquially called a “Life Vest”, a separate and stand-alone wearable ICU that physically attached to the patient and kept them alive for transfers from bed to bed or ward to ward without any loss of treatment time, or life. It had it’s own smaller bank of medication, it could filter out both air and blood, and it was powered with both an on-board solid salt battery as well as wireless ambient power harvesting.

It was truly a marvel of modern human engineering and paranoia, and it’s nuances were totally lost on Bench the Terrorbeast as he deftly, silently climbed over the bed railing to stand over his grab. The vest was nothing to him, except…

…well, it was awfully close to a flight harness, and it did have great handholds for Bench to grab…

…so he did just that. Gently he cradled his grab in his forearms, disconnecting hoses and wires, turning him over and pushing him against his soft body. Bench stood on the bed, various alarms going off around him, and felt somehow more complete. More whole. He had grabbed his grab; he had done the thing he set out to do.

And then he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

“No, I don’t know – he suddenly cratered-”

The human medical team was mostly through their treasonous briefing of what was going on, what was in the fancy boxes that had just arrived, and what they were going to be expecting in the next few days and weeks when suddenly James’ tablet started to scream at him. They sprang into action, bolting down the hallway to the ICU ward, James trying to give a status update while running at full-tilt.

It was a mixed success.

“Wh-what the fuck happened?!” Dr. Silver yelled, rounding the corner first and diving into the crashbar.

“I DON’T KNOW. He just suddenly cratered – everything all sorts of fucked-” James panted, lagging behind. “Jesus, we don’t have a heartbeat on him, or O2, or anything-”

Skidding against the linoleum floor, Dr. Silver burst into the shared ICU room. “MEDIBOT.” MEDIBOT exclaimed, surprised at all the commotion.

“NOT NOW, MEDIBOT.” Dr. Silver yelled, and was immediately greeted with a loud, low “?öööööööööö?”. With a dramatic flair, Bench spread his wings – the other grabs were threatening his grab, and he just grabbed his grab!

With a mighty flap, Bench gained a couple feet of clearance before smacking into the drop ceiling above, knocking ceiling tiles askew. Without the ability to go up, the answer was obviously to go out.

With another mighty flap – and with the comatose, limp body of Juan hanging below, Bench lurched forward-

-And with a giant pomf of Dust, slammed into and bowled over Dr. Silver before anyone else could react.

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They are Smol Doctors at Large – Chapter 14: Felonies and Flutterbyes

Wiggles – the not-so-alter-ego of Ik’itili, the best farmhand this side of that one fussy quasar near the [Star Platinum] colony, never quite understood the little-needs-protectings’ love of shag carpeting. Sure, it was soft, it retained heat, and if you were so inclined you could do that whole static shock thing on demand (minus the syndicated show). However, it was a terror to clean, things got lost in it all the time, it easily created divots and dunes on the surface and it was somehow tacky – almost universally so. There was only one room in the main administration complex that had wall-to-wall shag carpeting, and she stood before the familiar door with unease. She bent down to pick up the aluminum brick that was propping open Juan’s automatic office door, the motors hidden within the wall whining in protest as she pushed back against the sliding mechanism.

The first time Wiggles ever did that was when the office upgrade was installed and turned “on”. Juan accidentally and almost immediately locked himself inside his own office, and it was only with significant unnecessary property damage that he was freed.

The second time Wiggles ever did that was when he didn’t respond to any communications for the better part of a work day.

She paused at the now open door, the tasteful if sparse interior inside somehow less… welcoming than usual. Somehow, barren.

Save for that shag carpeting.

Wiggles let her bare feet sink into the fluff as she gingerly stepped into her boss’ office, turning in place to let the sliding door “win”, closing almost completely behind her save for that aluminum brick doorstop. Juans’ office was sparse – by design, as managing multiple sapients means you want to appeal to the broadest range of sensibilities, and all of the trophies and bragging rights were out on display out front, and unnecessary back here. The walls were a warm brown tone save for the single large tinted window that displayed a beautiful vista of the farm, the interior lighting kept on a soft hue, and the snack bowl large and welcoming, all by design.

Save for that shag carpeting.

Wiggles was assured by Juan, during a moment of after-hours fraternization with the team, that the carpeting was installed “ironically”. How carpet could be “ironic” was beyond Ik’itili, but she suspected it had something to do with the bare metal on each guest chair. She had been in the office dozens and dozens of times, and each time she always received a slight shock from sitting down. Everything in the office was by design, so, it led to believe that being shocked every time she sat down to talk to her boss was also by design.

Ik’itili looked down at a very human-shaped divot in the shag carpeting and relived, for a brief moment, an unwelcome shock, before purposefully and carefully stepping over it – as if, somehow, her taloned foot resting on the spot where Juan’s body lay would mean something evil. Pushing Juan’s chair out of the way, she tapped at the console to try to wake it.

No luck.

“[Do you want me to stay connected, Ik’itili?]” Swipressnssren said softly into Ik’itili’s implant. “[You honestly should take a mental health day or two before-]”

“[Farms don’t work like that, Persimmon. You know that.]”

“[You know you don’t have to call me by that fruit, Wiggles. I do know how business works, and I also know that you’ve experienced some trauma, and that needs to be addressed.]” The Jornissian said sweetly, in the manner of someone trying to talk a person down from a ledge. “[Juan’s family can come back and pick up the slack-]”

“[That’s what I’m… that’s what I’m concerned about, Persimmon. I called his emergency contacts once the EMTs were dispatched.]” Ik’itili rested her hand against the smaller keyboard, the soft glow of the alien alphabet spread before her not recognizing any input she gave. “[They’re not coming. I was told to ‘take care of things’ until they could arrive.]”

Persimmon rumbled reassuringly. “[Well, that’s unfortunate, but understandable when a family member has a medical emergency. They’ll probably come out once the warmcuddles get Juan stabilized-]”

“[It didn’t sound like that. They want me to …keep the farm running.]”

“[For how long?]”

Wiggles frowned. “[They said ‘as long as it takes’ and then hung up.]”

Swipressnssren leaned back in his apartment “chair”, arching his back to look up at the ceiling… and then at the wall behind him. “[Well. That doesn’t sound like them at all.]”

“[That’s another thing – it didn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever spoken to. I know almost that entire family concern of little-needs-protectings, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard that voice. I didn’t even know there was a cousin Don Quixote.]” Wiggles said, sighing. “[I have no access to his terminal, so I have no access to the general ledger, or bank accounts, or anything.]”

Now it was Swipressnssren’s turn to frown, and with a few errant thoughts he began the remote login sequence to his work terminal. “[Hm. That doesn’t shed evenly, does it?]”

“[No, it doesn’t.]” Wiggles said, sticking her hand into the snack bowl and twirling it about. It didn’t accomplish anything but it helped her feel like she was doing something productive, and that alone was enough.

“[Well, here’s a warm rock from last night’s fire.]” Persimmons said, rolling over on himself as he filtered through encrypted files. “[I still have access to all my notes from the first batch of emergency loans.]”

“[So how does that help us keep the farm?]”

“[Ah. As long as… hmm. We’re on a secure channel, right?]”

“[Persimmon. Please. Who do you think you’re talking to right now?]” Wiggles said, smiling softly as she let a little bit of pride seep into her heart. “[I may have been out of the nethacking game for a few years, but I’m still good.]”

“[Can you still forge electronic signatures?]”

“[Oh. HMMMMMMMMM Persimmon are you asking me to commit a felony or three?]” Ik’itili said, surprise creeping into her voice. “[Because, coming from you, that is… I feel like I don’t even know you anymore!]”

There was an audible cromch as the Jornissian cracked through a namptha ball. “[Desperate times call for desperate measures, Ik’itili, and as long as no one knows then it’s not a crime, right?]”

“[That’s not how the law works.]” Wiggles responded flatly. “[But I’m curious about this new life of white-collar crime you’re trying to aggressively recruit me into! Great pay, great benefits, terrible retirement plan I’m guessing-]”

“[Hear me out: I’ve still got all of Juan’s information for the first batch of loans, like I said – which means, I can authorize as many loans as we need. The base information isn’t going to change, and we don’t have to re-verify anything for 90 days. I would just need the consent of the business owner or someone authorized to take on debt…]” Persimmon trailed off, and Wiggles immediately picked up where he was going.

“[OH. Oh yes that’s something we can definitely do, but won’t that get you into all sorts of trouble?]”

“[Only if you talk. Until the most recent batch of loans, Juan’s farm carried almost no debt. There’s a lot we can loan against, and that should give you a flat path to march on – not to mention, we can just take those loans, with the proper authorization, and use them to create positive balances on vendor sheets-]”

Wiggles picked up a pretzel ball and cracked it between her fingers. “[So, what you’re suggestion is that we illegally take almost unlimited government money, forge signatures to move it into unapproved accounts and launder it via general business operations.]”

“[Yes.]”

“[Honestly, Persimmon, if I was into Jornissians my underfluffies would be so puffed right now.]”

There was an audible groan that Wiggles could feel. “[Can you please not make this weird?]” Persimmons sighed, splaying out in his seat. “[I’m already very far outside my comfort zone here-]”

“[But as long as we don’t tell anyone it’s not a crime, right?]” Ik’itili said, trilling with laughter. “[Oh, I do like this new you! D-]”

There was an audible thud against the window and Ik’itili spun on her heel, tensing up at the sudden interruption. She was greeted by a tilted blue helmet and the terrible, horrible, no good very bad moth.

“[Where did you come from?!]” Ik’itili growled as Bench, the terrorbeast, backed up against the window before lurching forward, gently bonking into it again.

“[Well, when two consenting adults love each other very very much and have access to both geneseed and-]”

“[Persimmon, I don’t mean you, I mean – there’s a loose terrorbeast out, I’m going to have to disconnect – but let’s totally do the thing.]” Wiggles said, hopping over the spot in the carpet as she made her way out of Juan’s office.

“[Alright. I’ll have that first batch of paperwork over to you by the end of the day.]”

This one was alone.

It was not truly alone; this one felt its’ siblings, both close and distant, strong and dim. This one could tell who was from his own spawning, and who were newer, younger ones. Even though this one had dozens of siblings within a few moments flight from it’s position, this one was still alone.

All of them were alone.

Dimly, they all could still feel the connection with Queen MOTHER; pheromones and other things crossed through antennae purpose-built to sift through millions of signals at once to pass relevant information, feelings, wisps of what other sapients would call thoughts. To these ones, and this one, this was how it always was and always would be, even unto the ending of all things. They were always connected, always in concert, always sharing.

The hard blue slipped slightly, and this one leaned back from the clear wall. The sharing had grown more urgent recently; the absence and change in schedules and caretakers had not gone unnoticed, and was unwelcome. There was one in there, one it knew – one it did not like, but tolerated, because

Because this one’s little grab wanted him to.

It had been many days since this one saw it’s little grab, many more since they last flew. This one did not know how it was controlled by the little thing, only that it was and that it was more effective because of it. The little grab gave this one food. It gave him shelter. It gave him warmth in the night, and cleaned the sky dust from this one’s body, and they flew together and have flown together for so many days and many nights and

And this one was alone, now.

Bench, the terrorbeast, tilted back, the loose blue helmet on it’s head sliding into place, before he flapped forward with mighty wings, bonking into Juan’s office window again. The sharing in the air came to a conclusion, of sorts, if it could be called that; find the grabs. Find them and grab them. He was not the only one who was looking now; close and distant, strong and dim, many of his siblings and those of other spawnings were looking in familiar places, flying familiar trails, standing in familiar doorways and eating familiar clothing. Some even found a way to squeeze into the very burrows of the grabs themselves – and although there were many delicious fabrics, and many welcome and familiar signals… it was empty. They were all empty.

They were all alone.

He watched with bored indifference as the one it did not like left his grabs’ place. Hovering for a few long moments, Bench saw no more movement. Nothing. His grab was not there; he would search elsewhere. Below him the one it did not like ran out into the dirt of the world, making noises – some familiar, some not. Bench ignored it; it was not making the food noise, nor the cleaning noise, nor the sleeping noise – and even if the one it did not like made those noises, this one would ignore it.

There was an imperceptible shift in the wind as Bench took off, looking over his territory in search of his grab. The one he did not like followed under him, and he soon ignored it completely. The sharing was coming to consensus again; there were no grabs here. This was, of course wrong, as Bench knew his territory and knew which grabs it had.

They just needed to search more, search again. They would all find the grabs, and then grab them, as this is how it was now and always would be, even unto the ending of all things. Dust, thoughts, bled off of Bench’s body, taken by the wind and his wings, added to the sharing, adding to the consensus.

The wind shifted again, and if it wasn’t for millenia of evolution forging Bench’s antennae into the specialized equipment it was, he would have lost it; a scent, a feeling.

His grab.

With a sharp and sudden banking he turned, arcing over the building and gaining altitude. Cresting, he turned, following the feeling, turning towards the place-of-false-fire. It was like his territory’s false-fire; it was bright but did not burn, did not ask, did not bring and yet glowed. There was another wisp of a feeling as Bench crossed over (what he would never understand was) the landing-pad, the faintest of traces dissipating as he gained more height.

He poured the thoughts off of him; he poured the information from his body and added it to the song of his people, and the sharing continued and a new consensus was formed and so they agreed: Although the fire did not call and it did not burn and it was not warm and did not ask, they would go anyway.

They would go, and they would grab.

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They are Smol Doctors at Large – Chapter 13: Ring Ring Ring Ring Bananaphone

One of the well-known but unspoken perks of being on the front lines with human integration into multiple-species anything is that… well, everything is them sized when you start out. So when you’re issued “standard” rations, “standard” living quarters allotments, “standard” utility bill allowances – everything turns out just peachy, and for once you can live like royalty as a grunt on the government dime. “Standard” Clothing or “Standard” fitness training? …not so much. However, what would’ve been considered a modest integrated apartment for low level on-call staff at the Hospital was a 3,000+ square foot floor plan to any human who happened to move in, and seeing as how being new means being novel, and being novel means you can get away with things…

…Well sometimes Than mo got lost in his Director-Level on-call quarters.

The unadorned, bare wall blinked to life, an over-sized generic female face greeting the viewer. “Thank you for calling the Central Bureau of Human Medical Affairs, this is your digital assistant, how may I help you?” the generically cheery voice echoed throughout the mostly barren room. Than mo sighed as he sat down in the single fold-out chair, cracking his fingers in idle exhaustion – and grim determination.

“Option One.” Than mo droned out with unfortunate practiced ease.

The AI Assistant face smiled, and nodded slightly. “You have selected-”

“Option Five.”

The AI Assistant nodded once more, turning her head to the side. “You have-”

“Option Nine.”

“You-”

“Option Three.”

“Y-”

“Option Two.”

“Y-” the AI Assistant twitched cheerfully, her programming not used to someone spamming through the various automated gates.

“Option Nine.”

“Y-”

“Option Four.”

“I-”

“Option Eight.”

“I’m-”

“Opti-wait, what?”

“I’m sorry, that’s an invalid option. Please make another selection.” Generic Becky said, smiling a stretched customer-service smile. Than mo stared at his wall blankly, and the AI assistant cheerfully, and unhelpfully met his gaze.

“Where did I-”

“I’m sorry, that’s an invalid option. Would you like to return to the main government services menu?” Generic Becky said, smiling that same damned smile, meeting Than mo’s eyes with what he knew was a vacant stare, but what his hind-brain felt was more mocking than neutral.

“Fine you bitch, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry, that’s an-”

“Operator.” Than mo stated, with all the authority in his voice.

“I’m sorry, that’s-”

“Operator.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Operator.” Than mo chanted, rising from his chair.

Central was known by many names; The Mothership, CASINO, The Feds, TERMINUS – however, the people who worked within what is officially known as “Central United Human Territory Command: Gentle Expanse Colony Division” (or un-officially by employees as “CUTCO: GECKO”) didn’t really care what they were called, as long as everyone knew that the proverbial buck stopped with them. Other government branches did various, necessary things, and they most certainly had authority, but Central was Central. If they said no, the answer was no, regardless to what anyone – elected or otherwise – said. Great power came with great responsibility, and with great responsibility came impressive caffeine addictions.

The XXL espresso mug tapped against the desk loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to draw attention. What few people did look up quickly realized the sound was not directed at them, but merely born out of exhaustion of the current crisis that the human colony was facing on Gentle Expanse. It was a well-known and almost concentrated exhaustion in this particular crisis/war room, as their task was to “solve” this problem – if it could be solved.

“Dust.” Growled The Analyst, frowning over his desk. “What an uninspired name.”

Dust, of course, wasn’t actually dust; the best any of the medical and xenobiology wonks could figure out was that it was some sort of pyriscence plant or pseudo-fungi that was just getting absolutely everything out of it’s system, and the fires that licked the ground out in the wilderness was the perfect signal to release all the spores. Fascinating as it was from a clinical perspective, it was concerning for the simplest fact that only Humans seemed to have an adverse reaction to the giant cloud of smoky plant nut.

The Analyst looked up from his personal terminal, the multi-story back wall of the “war room” aglow with a massive map of all human territories on Gentle Expanse. Overlaid on top of the map were passive data feeds coming in from various hospitals, clinics and the planetary government itself. To all the outside world, there was nothing new or interesting happening today that didn’t happen yesterday or the day before – there was no indication of a mass pandemic anywhere else on the planet: No closure of stores, no masks, no vaccines being developed, no panic, nothing. Xenos air traffic control treated the Dust as “just a light haze” that cleared up once the sun set and the wind picked up. Dust was, all told, a minor inconvenience to everyone and everything else on the planet – if they even noticed. Green across the board.

Yet, if anyone were allowed into the human-only areas of the city, they would find a ghost town.

“What does Command say about a shell game evac?” The Analyst asked the room, his body leaning back in his computer chair to stare at the glowing wall for answers.

“Nyet.” Came the response to his right, his fellow Teammate responding and shaking her head without looking away from her screen. “Our bunkers still aren’t full, and they’re rated for biohazard. More people are healthy than sick, so life still hobbles on. The real issues is keeping people quarantined-”

“The real issue is that we’ve not found a fucking cure short of a lung transplant.” The Analyst said, spinning his stylus in his hand. “-And that’s not a permanent solution, either, due to re-exposure. Costly as fuck, to be honest. We still forecasting 8 months to a vaccine?”

“Well yes, but actually no.” The Teammate helpfully responded, pulling up a digital binder of her notes to reference. “8 months at best, but the coats still haven’t decided on if this is a parasite or fungus or what, so-”

“So they’re making up numbers to get more funding.” The Analyst concluded, tapping his stylus against his desk. “We really need to start shipping people to somewhere that’s better suited for R&D. Ganymede?”

“Nyet.”

“Well you sure sound certain.”

“Well, look at it from Command’s perspective; they bring this shit back to Sol, and then what? Incurable pandemic at our home system? With free travel between in-system colonies, this would hit Earth in a matter of days.” The Teammate said, letting out a mirthless laugh. “Hell no. Our own colonial fleet would shoot us out of the sky before we left Gentle Expanse, civilians or no. Why the hell else do you think once we raised the flag they suddenly parked a destroyer in geo? To facilitate trade?”

“Speaking of, GEPCO is continuing to ping us about our lack of air traffic-”

The Teammate groaned. “Aaahhh… I think the new line we’re supposed to use is ‘implementing new traffic control ai’. That should buy us another month or so.”

“Mmm. And for people asking questions about personnel?”

“I… don’t know. We don’t have anything as of yet, and they’re not buying the ‘mandatory zumba training’ thing anymore.”

A light silence settled in between the two coworkers, the larger crisis room murmuring working like a white noise machine.

The Analyst mused for a moment, before pointing his stylus questioningly at the green map overlay, human settlements little spots of crimson along the wall. “So we’re still burying everything? That’s not a tenable solution – At what point do we reach out-”

“Never.” The Teammate said, her fingers starting to clack against the keyboard. “That’s the official line: we are not letting anyone know that the first colony world we landed on could fucking kill us.”

“Bioweapon fears?”

“That, and more.” The Teammate murmured, passing on some files to The Analyst’s console. “This was one of the better spots for our first colony and from what I’ve been able to glean here and there, there were a lot of backroom deals made to get us out to here, specifically. Pulling the plug so early would absolutely ruin probably decades of work, and centuries of goodwill moving forward. Not to mention, optics: We run into one little bump and start dying by the thousands, what. They swoop in and “save” us again? Once is an accident, twice is a pattern.”

“Aah. Yeah, that wouldn’t exactly help us out – and I for one can’t stand living in habs.” The Analyst grimaced, frowning. “No sky is fucking weird.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being raised in a spoke! I got to go on my first spacewalk at fiv-” The Teammate said, before being interrupted herself by a status notification. “-oh, well.”

“What?” The Analyst said, pulling up weather reports to begin his daily forecast for his C.O. “Usually you don’t let anything interrupt your chatter reports.”

“Mmm.” The Teammate said, tapping her console screen. “Than mo Tran, assigned to Caring Touch – Group Charlie Seven.”

“What about him?”

“He’s pulled his ripcord.” The Teammate said, connecting her feed directly into Than mo’s monitor. The vietnamese man – a very irate one at that – was squatting on a single fold-out chair in what looked like a bare office conference room, hands raised in an incredibly rude gesture. Although the sound was muted, The Teammate could very much read his lips.

“…what he’s saying is entirely unnecessary to get in touch with us.” Teammate murmured, frowning. “We already recorded his emergency phrase… Do you want to take it or should I?”

“Ah hell.” The Analyst said, shrugging. “Patch me over. Who am I going to be this time?”

The Teammate tapped a few commands into her console, and the Analyst’s terminal was taken over by a very irate Than mo. “Why not try Michael this time?” The Teammate said, resting her chin in her hand as she watched the drama unfold, multiple encryption subroutines beginning to run in the background.

“BRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBBR”

“-king-midget-fighting-goose-shit-” Than mo ranted at the spasming AI, it’s millions and millions of decision-tree neural networks frying at the overload of nonsense being spouted from the incomprehensibly irate human before it.

“AEIOUAEIOUAEIOU” It babbled back against the 7-minute-long rant, it’s customer-service voice racked with artificial pain as everything from the assistant’s neck up twitched violently. The neural net of “normal body language responses” had long since fried, and whatever ghost in the machine was in the driver’s seat.

“-eating-needle-dick-”

“Well that was uncalled for.” A decidedly male – and real – voice suddenly kicked in, the AI customer service avatar resetting eerily smoothly. The AI avatar began to babble something silently, pulling up nonsense reports. “You’ve reached Central Medical, I’m Michael. We caught your… statement among all that colorful language. I’m going to need the 5th times the 3rd of your number.”

“Fifth times Third? That’d be… 36.” Than mo said oddly calmly, his body language going from panik to kalm in a matter of moments. “I can give you my phrase as well.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Michael said, the AI continuing to silently babble. “You’re on a secure line. Our smokescreen isn’t too distracting, I hope?”

Than mo shrugged, and feigned interest in the reports being shown. “No, but I don’t think it’s necessary. They’re not out to get us, and nobody’s recording my screen – or looking through the window.”

“And I appreciate that optimism, but we don’t know what bugs are where and how they work.” Michael replied.

“Look, you’ve swept my room once a week for the past few months; can we please stop with the cloak-and-dagger bullshit for just one second? I’m not calling to just check in.”

Michael sighed, and leaned forward on his desk. “We figured, seeing as how you’d just talk to your Central liaison when he’s there. What do you need?”

“I need to contact epidemic control.” Than mo stated matter-of-factly. “I think we’re starting to see some shit out here, and I need to cross-reference information, and I can’t get anyone to give me straight talk.”

‘Michael’ looked up from his terminal to The Teammate, who was emphatically shaking her head no. “Ah. Why do you say that?”

Than mo sighed. “Still with this? Alright. I’ve got two cases – one terminal, I’m guessing we’ll have to put him in stasis and evac him over to you guys – and one in the beginning stages of what I can assume is a respiratory infection caused by Dust.”

There was a pregnant pause as The Analyst pursed his lips, looking up at the map on the wall. “So what you’re saying is, is that the Dust is causing sickness… in Caring Touch.” He pointed his stylus at the map with his off hand – a part of the map that, until this phone call, had been considered a safe zone. “All the way up there.”

“Look, I don’t give a fuck about your power politics or whatever; all I’m saying is, is that we’re all seeing a pattern here and I’m the only one willing to risk his neck going all the way to you, immediately, before this becomes a thing.” Than mo said, opening his arms wide in the universal “come at me bro” gesture. “So I don’t care if this goes in my report or whatever, I’m not some ABC agent, I don’t care – but I have to know.”

“Upwind in an atmospheric depression.” Than mo’s wall mumbled back at him, the AI avatar smiling brightly.

“I’m sorry, what.”

“Sorry.” Michael said, tapping his desk with the stylus. “We are monitoring the impact of Dust among all our secondary and tertiary settlements-”

“Michael. Can you please not give me this bullshit right now?” Than mo groaned, punching his palm in frustration with his off hand. “You put me on hold for 30 minutes and this is supposed to be the emergency line-”

“Than mo.” ‘Michael’ responded, cutting off the irate nurse. There was a pause, and then a sigh. “I want to help you out, so please, listen. The official statement is that we are monitoring the impact of Dust among all our secondary and tertiary settlements. If you submit medical reports of these cases, they will be considered the first reports at your location, and added to any others, if they exist.”

Than mo chewed his lip as he listened, head tilted to the side in concentration.

“I can assure you, we read and respond to every concern we get from wherever they come from, even if they came from Central itself.”

There was a pregnant pause as the two men studied the situation; The Analyst, hoping this nurse could read through the lines on his very softball breadcrumb trail of clues, and Than mo, who sat there with an inscrutable look on his face, both of them separated by a wall both physical and legal.

After a while, ‘Michael’ broke the silence. “That’s all I can tell you. Is there any request you’d like to make?”

“Yeah.” Than mo said, his tongue running across his sharp canines. “Two things. Well. One, I don’t think our shipments of PPE came in to the… new standard. Could we get something expedited?”

“Absolutely.” Michael said. “What else?”

“What’s the Dust weather report? From me to you. We don’t get local channels up here.”

Michael looked up at The Teammate again, who gave a little noncommital shrug. “You’ve already ignored the spirit of the law up until now,” she said, grinning as she continued to rest her chin in her hand. “Why not give him an honest forecast? Looks like we’ll have to unfuck our models anyway with this new data.”

Michael smiled, slightly, and then turned back towards the nurse. “Than mo, looking at the forecast ahead I would highly recommend that everybody, but especially you and the rest of your team stay inside, preferably in… hypoallergenic suites.”

“Ah.” Than mo sighed, nodding his head. “Until the weather changes, I’m assuming. So how many days will that be?”

“Yes.” Michael replied, typing out a rush order for Caring Touch.

“Yes, until the weather changes, or yes to how long that will take?”

“. . . Yes.”

Than mo inhaled deeply, then sighed as the weight of the news hit him.

“Well fuck.”

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They are Smol Doctors at Large – Chapter 12: A good excuse to leave quarantine

One thing that alien media did not do, that human media was almost always guilty of, was showing professionals rushing around everywhere, almost all the time. It’s one of the lazy director’s shortcuts; instead of having actual action happening, show movement as action and misdirect the audience. Works great on humans, not so much on the other species – which was why this particular quirk was broken down by xenos filmographers and general human enthusiasts with a very simple bullet point list, which almost always ended in “If so, run somewhere”. For example:

  • Did the tiny-chomper/little-needs-protecting/warmcuddle realize the answer to the problem of the episode?
  • Did the warmcuddle/tiny-chomper/little-needs-protecting realize they’re in (easily avoidable) danger?
  • Did the little-needs-protecting/warmcuddle/tiny-chomper become overwhelmed with joy? What about sorrow?

Or the “cheating” catch-all of:

  • Did the human have a thought?

Because it almost always ends with “If so, run somewhere.” This, of course, rarely actually plays out in real life, so when Antony Markus was made known to the resident human and human-trained medical staff, there was a brief concerned pause and then an almost shared shrug – less out of indifference, and more out of a sense of “well he’s not code blue so he can wait a few minutes”.

“Is he stable?” Dr. Silver asked, adjusting the life-support machines that Juan Esteban was currently hooked up to, increasing his pure O2 levels slightly.

“[Yes, Doctor.]” The Karnakian assistant said, managing the report on her console. “[He was last seen 15 minutes ago, and was told there might be a bit of a wait. He’s in Lobby C.]”

“Whelp. Tipo.” Dr. Silver said, not looking up from his console. “Why don’t you bring him into exam room 7? Than mo and I will finish up with Juan, and then when James gets here he can help with the exam.”

“[You sure you want me to?]” Tipo said, suddenly feeling awkward in full blue protective garb. “[Should I dress down or-]”

“Yes! You’re just going to be bringing him to exam room 7, that’s all.” Dr. Silver said, sighing softly. “You can come back and get a new set of gear if you’d like, but the honest truth is that we’re not going to be doing anything to Mr. Esteban until I do some more research. Than mo was right – we’ve got him stable now, he’s in a medically induced coma, we’ve got some time.”

“You got this.” Than mo said, using his smaller frame to usher the larger nurse away from the bedside. “Besides, any human this far out has to already be working with other sapients, so you’re both probably trained on how to handle each other. Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen.”

“So uh. Says you’re… Tipo.” Antony said, salt-and-pepper beard suddenly covered by his arm as he let out a single errant cough. “Least, that’s what your name tag is saying to me.”

The beige waiting room that Ngruzren-of-Arzgr found himself in hummed with the sound of what he was told was fluorescent lighting, even though everything that emitted light in the human side of the hospital was some form of LED. The sound was an odd hum, but apparently somehow soothing to the human ear. Ngruzren-of-Arzgr – Tipo – tapped his name badge, making sure that it was both on and transmitting the proper written language, before responding. “[Oh, yes. That’s correct. Will you please follow me?]”

“Look, doc-”

“[Ah, I’m not a doctor, I’m a human-certified guide and nurse in training through-]”

Antony sighed, holding up an irritated hand. “Look, doc, I don’t really care, and I’m not looking to make this a huge deal. Can you just fix me up with some cough medicine or something and let me on my way? Preferably something that doesn’t knock me out.”

Tipo frowned, his ears drawn to the side, before making an effort to frown slightly in the manner of the tiny-chompers to better broadcast his feelings. “[Well, sir, we can definitely help you out, but we do need to get you examined. We have exam room 7 ready for you-]”

“Doc, I just don’t want to go through the whole shebang, ok? Can you give me a script and let me go-”

“[I’m sorry, Antony, but that’s against protocol. Why are you hesitant to come in and get checked up?]” Tipo questioned, making sure to crouch down lower to make his body language seem as less of a threat. “[I can explain the process to you, if you’d like.]”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just. Look. I haven’t been in a clinic in years; don’t need to go, and I know how you people are with doin checkups and things, and I just need some medicine and I’ll be on my way.” Antony growled, slightly, crossing his arms. “I don’t have the time to sit here and play doctor with you – I’ve got to be somewhere in half an hour, and it’s already been half an hour. Just give me something and let me go-”

“[Sir, that’s against procedure. Just come along with me and-]” Tipo stopped mid-sentence as a flash of anger crossed the humans’ face. In an instant, Tipo remembered his training on how to handle humans, how to disarm the more feisty ones, and what proper steps to take to make sure everyone walked away just fine and dandy.

Tipo also was unfortunately around the unscented human for just a little too long and some wires got crossed.

“[NO BITING YOUR FATHER.]” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr suddenly growled out, deep and low and harsh with a look of a very unhappy parent. Antony, for his part, full-body jumped up and onto the seat he was previously sitting on, squatting on the plastic chair back before loosing his footing and sliding down the front. The sudden movement tickled Tipo’s mind in a very odd way, and so he did what all fathers do when their little gordito of a child is about to fall from a tall place.

Tipo reached out and gently plucked up Antony Markus, 75, himself a father of 9, straight out of the air and cradled him gently but firmly against his chest in a way that brooked no argument – and very little freedom of movement.

“In light of rapidly changing recent events I would like to reconsider my options, and retract my previous statements of opposition in the new spirit of utmost cooperation.” Antony quickly cried out, his voice muffled by hospital gown and Dorarizin fluff, his feet dangling about a foot off the ground. As his world was reduced to a very firm bear hug, he felt movement – that he was being carried to some destination. “I would also like to congratulate you on not skipping leg day. Is that a new conditioner I smell?”

“[Hmmm? OH.]” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr froze, a potent cocktail of personal shame, professional embarrassment and paternal instinct clashing within him for just a second. He gently crouched, hesitatingly releasing the abandoned pu-person.  “[Ah. Sorry, I haven’t… become noseblind… yet. Not enough other… yeah. Are you ok?]”

The two men stared at each other for a slight moment, Antony drawing himself up to make some statement before thinking better of it.

“Damn, Tipo, when I said take him to room 7 I didn’t mean literally.” Than mo grinned, the open door to exam room just a few feet away from the awkward duo. “But you’re already here – Mr. Markus, what’s the hesitation?”

Tipo saw the body language change – from a belligerent patient to someone who seemed almost… contrite. “Look I’m sorry I just, I don’t want to really be brought in-”

“Needles? Or is it the Operation vest?” Than mo said softly. “Because, it doesn’t do the actual operation, it just makes that same noise when it finds something.”

“Ah, bit of both, really. I can’t be put back on Disability with another bout of cancer, so I’d rather not do the full-body checkup y’all have started to push in the past few decades.”

“Firstly,” Than mo said, gently waving in a now-complacent Antony, “We’re not pushing anything. Electives make us bonuses, but this is all paid by UNIMED. Secondly, more data is better. Come on, shoes off and up on the pad.”

Tipo watched as Than mo continued to gently, but firmly push the patient further and further into compliance. What started with just taking off shoes and doing a weigh-in, turned into taking temperature, which eventually turned into the older tiny-chomper shirtless with a plastic-sheathed vest placed onto his chest, the machine whirring softly as it performed various scans.

BZZZZZZZZ

“Ah hell, doc – if that’s cancer again can we just say we didn’t find it? I’ve got years to get treated for lung cancer, and I’m not smoking too much. Usually. Often.” Antony pleaded, his hand running through his slightly-thinner hair. “At least, the missus doesn’t think so.”

“You’re living dangerously with that, bro.” Than mo grinned, looking over the results. “Tipo, come here – see how the lungs are?”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr quickly loped over to his senior, reviewing the same internal scan. Two otherwise healthy lungs, with a few small telltale “new” patches of lung matter where cancer had been excised in the past, and no real issues at first glance.

“See the haze? Right there?” Than mo said, pointing to the lower-left corner of the right lung.

“[Yes.]”

“I think that’s our culprit.” Than mo nodded, kicking over a rolling chair to the exam table and sitting down on it unceremoniously.

Antony leaned forward to take the offered tablet, looking over his own lungs in real-time. “So what’s the deal, doc?”

“Well. Good news bad news. Good news, not cancer.”

“Ayyyyy! Shots all around-”

“Bad news.” Than mo said, pointing to the hazy culprit in the lung. “We think that might be what’s irritating you.”

“What, the dust?”

“[Dust?]” Tipo said, tilting his head slightly. “[You’re not talking about normal household dust, are you?]”

“Ah hell, see? This is making a big deal out of nothin’!” Antony said triumphantly, handing the pad back to Than mo. “Some of the soot comes in from the fires, it’s caused a bit of a haze. We’ve been taking to calling it dust, what with it just bein’ a super fine powder. Not cancerous, though, so not a big deal!”

Antony beamed at the two medical professionals, who shared a look with each other before turning to face the patient. “That being said,” Than mo started, tapping a few commands into his medical pad to shut off the diagnostic vest. “I think we should hold you for a few days to-”

“Damnit!” Antony yelled, frustration clear in his voice. “I’m going to tell you what I told him, I am NOT going to be hel-”

“[STOP STEALING FOOD.]” Tipo’s paternal brain added to the conversation, before he embarrassedly looked away. “[I mean. . . Please allow us to keep you under observation. I should go.]”

“Well, not so fast Tipo, let’s just figure something out first: Mr. Markus,” Than mo rested the tablet against his chest, crossing his arms over it, “why are you so hesitant to stay here? Looking at your medical records, you’ve been in for surgery about… 12 times so far, not counting electives. This should be old hat for you.”

“It’s, um.” The patient looked at both men – longer at Tipo, for some reason, before blushing. “I’d rather not say.”

“Sir, we have to enter in something.” Than mo said, lying just slightly. “And you do have medical confidentiality with us.”

“. . . My… wife, um. Does not always like the fact that I am away for so long in my job.” Antony started, before halting. When no one interrupted his pause, he continued. “So I’m out for another week, and I get this message in my, ah, inbox? And it’s just her and she’s saying that ‘there’s gonna be a whole lot of lovin’ in this house in 3 hours, and if you want in on it you better get here now.’” Antony finished, weakly, just barely above a whisper.

“So I got to go.”

That pause lasted a bit longer than the first, and was only broken by the sudden tapping of Than mo’s fingers against his tablet. “I’m giving you some strong antihistamines, some broad-spectrum antibiotics, and some happy pills.” Than mo looked up, giving Antony a light nod. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“[He wanted to get laid, I can get behind that.]” Than mo said, shrugging as they watched their former patient sprint to the transport lot. “[Besides, it sounds like his wife wants him to finally retire, so that might help his health overall.]”

“{That was still a bad thing to do, tiny-chomper-lookit-him-jump. He should have been kept for observation and treatment.}” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr stated as matter-of-factly as he could, given the circumstances. “{And I guess I should be written up too for my conduct as well.}”

Than mo tapped the “glass”, watching the noonday sun get filtered through a slight gray-green haze that had fallen over their section of the megacity. “[Firstly, yes. You were out of line there for a moment, but considering you’re not even fully certified yet we’ll just call this a ‘learning opportunity’ and help build your bedside manner a bit more. It also doesn’t help that he’s a foreman who’s used to bossing everyone around; having to throw your weight to get …yanno. Everyone else working when you’re a tiny-chomper can be rough, so he could have handled himself better as well.]”

“{I’m sorry.}”

“[Don’t be – that was funny as fuck to watch. Secondly, we don’t have those laws here for humans; there’s not a 5 hour ‘observation’ period we can pull to make sure that he’s ok. He swore he’d get to a doctor after…]” Than mo rolled his hand,”[so even if he doesn’t, his wife will probably send him somewhere. I’m more interested in what he said.]”

“{About what?}” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr said, stepping back from the window to take a seat on a low bench. “{He said a lot of things, some of which were a bit rude.}”

“[I haven’t been on the net in a week, Ngruzren-of-Arzgr, but I didn’t know it was getting this bad.]” Than mo tapped the glass again, a thin patina of dust shaking loose from the outside of the window. “[It’s got a name now. That’s not good.]”

“{Why does it having a name make it bad?}” Ngruzren murmured, licking his emotional wound. “{Doesn’t that help with education?}”

“[Yeah… yeah. I guess it does.]”

“{You seem distracted.}”

The tiny-chomper turned slightly to look at Ngruzren, an inscrutable expression on his face. “[Yeah. I think I need to make a call to the mothership.]”

“{The mother ship?}”

Than mo gave a wan smile. “[Yeah. Central. I think this has gone on long enough – and by this, I mean.]” Than mo tapped the clearer glass purposefully, letting it echo down the calm corridor. “[This. Central needs to know how bad this could be.]”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr stood up with a light grunt, giving Than mo a slightly-too-firm pat on the back. “{Well, good on you for wrestling with bureaucrats; after all, what’s the worst that could happen?}”

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