T-Minus 8

  It was too quiet in the Section Clinic. Squeezed in between two different research labs and the Engineering Department, there was often someone coming in shouting for medical help from some scientific mishaps. The past week had been relatively quiet since several of the boys from Engineering went out on break. Today should’ve been their first day back on the job, and yet it was still empty in here.

  Having to sit in a white room all day, the only touch of color were the plants in the corners and on the desk, both being a personal touch to the dreary room. The walls themselves were soundproof, so unless the door opened, not much got in here from the busy hallway outside. At this point, there wasn't much of a difference between this place and a sanitorium. Perhaps it was time to petition for some artwork or something or a screen, something to stare at instead of blank, white walls. All for the patients, of course.

  The door to the clinic burst open and one of the clinic’s regulars came in shouting. Who went and jinxed it?

“Doctor! Doctor! Hensley, he-”

“I know, I know, just toss him on the bed,” the doctor on duty said, standing up from her wheelchair.

  She crossed the room, her hand lightly steadying herself against the wall as she went. The Russian, Kuznetsov, tossed Hensley onto the nearest bed before stepping away to calm his panicking boss. All three were regulars, although the one usually getting hurt was always Hensley.

“What happened this time?” she asked, leaning over to look at the burns crisscrossing Hensley’s face and arms.

  This was the worst she'd seen him in a while. Usually, it was only as serious as minor scratches or scrapes that were easily fixable with a bandage. This was would require some assistance from her stock of medicines.

“Uhhhhhh...”

“One of the drones exploded,” Kuznetsov supplied. “Monopropellant tank rupture. Bacon must’ve forgotten to drain the tanks before returning it to storage.”

“Ah, so that was why the depressurization alarm went off. Were you guys racing drones again?” she accused, glaring at Vaughn.

“N-No?”

“They were already damaged from a failed experiment of his two weeks ago,” Kuznetsov said, continuing to leak his boss’s secrets.

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side!”

“You’re not supposed to keep secrets from a doctor.”

“Grrrrr. Dr. Emerson, how’s Hensley looking?”

“He’s got some bad looking burns, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. He’s only unconscious from the concussive force of the explosion. Hmm. You said drone monopropellant right? That means hydrazine poisoning as well. I’ll need to treat for that. He’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Now you two go back to your lab. I’ll send him back to Engineering once he’s up.”

“Are you sure, Doc?” Vaughn asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Yes. Now leave, you’re in the way.”

  The two engineers left after making positively sure he’d be alright. She sighed with a shake of her head. Every single time, one would think the engineering chief would rotate who took on the babysitting role, so one man wouldn’t take so much of a battering. And yet here Hensley was, his name having the record of most times in a clinic in a week. Maybe this is why they promoted him to a senior technician. The higher paygrade was his due reward for having to deal with them every day. 

  She began the treatment for hydrazine poisoning first. Consulting her medical computer, she brought up the symptoms. The computer sent a database request to the main medical computer the next ring over, and returned a list of treatments.

“Let’s see here. Hydrazine... 25mg of pyridoxine. A little bit of benzo. Hook up the IV drip here… Okay, now we wait.”

  She dragged herself back over to her wheelchair and plopped back down. She rolled back over to his bedside, keeping an eye on his vitals. It was going smoothly, so she didn’t really have much to do. She surveyed the room. It was a metallic light-gray, but light enough to almost be white, like much of the space station, with two sick beds for emergencies. The desk where she handled her work was where she spent most of her time in here. 

“Hmm...”

  The desk plant, a small cluster of lucky bamboo, probably needed a change of water soon. If her regulars didn’t come barging in tomorrow, she would go do that. As for the bush of aloe vera in the corner, she needed to give it its biweekly watering. The last plant, and her personal favorite for the color it bloomed, was an azalea. Although they were beautiful when they did bloom, it was just past that season now, and she needed to trim its leaves before it become a hassle.

  As her thoughts drifted from plant maintenance to personal chores, the clinic’s door opened again.

“Ah, Esther! It’s time to change shifts. You want me to take over for you?” asked her coworker.

  Esther shook her head with a thanks.

“No need. Go eat your own lunch.”

“You sure?”

“On second thought, hold the fort for a second. I’m going to go tell the Engineering chief one of his members is over here.”

“Hensley?”

“Yeah.”

“Again?”

  Esther nodded and rolled her way over to the Engineering Bay. Most would just call, but the Engineering Division’s phone lines were always busy. And as she expected, once she arrived at the door there was a constant influx of people in blue and white coming and going. Just from standing outside the entrance, the ruckus from within came at a full blast. Shouts and calls from one room to the other could be heard even from out here. The hallway straight down was fully lit, revealing the mess of people running in and out of rooms, either carrying boxes of documents or readying themselves to go repair something in one of the labs. Even if she wanted some color in her day, this was a bit much.

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  She caught one of them holding a toolbox going in.

“Hey, tell your chief-”

“Oh, Doc! Hensley’s out again?”

“Hydrazine poisoning. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The technician nodded, continuing on his way.

“I’ll tell him!”

  Now, she needed to go grab herself some lunch.

***

  Oliver woke to the sound of munching. Breadcrumbs and condiments dripped onto the paper plate situated on his chest. The smell of mustard and ketchup with a tinge of mayonnaise filled his nose. He rubbed his face and sat up.

“For fuck’s sake, Emerson, come on!”

“Good morning, Hensley.”

“How long was I out for?”

“A few hours.”

“What happened?”

“Monopropellant tank rupture. And on the first day back too.”

“Ah. Right.”

  They sat in silence with the exception of the good doctor’s chewing. The smell of her burger, or more like the condiments thrown in with it, roused a growl from his stomach. He coughed, attempting to slide off the other side of the bed.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” the doctor warned through her chewing.

  He managed to stop himself right before he actually left the bed. The light tug of the IV still in his arm, stinging with pain as it was pulled, made him settle as her table once again. Emerson gestured for him to lean over towards her. He complied, and with a smooth movement, she pulled the IV out, and set it aside. Oliver rubbed his arm, wincing at how sore it felt from the needle. He'd be feeling that tomorrow morning.

  Emerson leaned down beside her wheelchair and handed him a bag.

“Here. Lunch.”

  She placed the burger on the plate and practically shoved it in his face. Oliver grabbed the burger and pushed the empty plate away from him.

“Alright, alright geez. What did you order this time?”

“Instant Meal Type 5: Vat Grown Beef Burger.”

“My favorite, ugh.”

“Would you prefer Type 4 space omelettes?”

“No, thank you.”

  Despite his supposed disgust he still dug into the burger greedily. After a week spoiled by surface food, this wasn’t the most appetizing, but it was the only thing he’d eaten all day, if you didn't count the nutrients from the IV. He tried not to remember the magazine he read about what they actually put in vat grown meat.

  As he chewed through the half-eaten burger, the door to the clinic opened yet again.

“D-Doctor!”

“Again?”

  In came the usual trio of Toast, Soup, and Bacon, although for once they weren’t carrying him for obvious reasons. Bacon was crying as she paced back and forth by the door, chewing on her nails as she followed the other two in. Soup was carrying Toast. And Toast was, well, burnt. Burn marks criss-crossed his lab coat, and a particularly nasty one ran down the length of his arm.

  They lowered Toast onto the other bed. Emerson stood, supporting herself by bracing her fingers against the wall as she walked. Oliver continued eating. It was rare for him to watch a medical procedure that wasn’t on himself. Although, the smell of burnt flesh that began to permeate the room wasn't doing much for his appetite. He put the burger down. That was enough for today.

“What happened this time?”

“He ran into a laser,” Soup said plainly.

  Toast sat up with a groan and gave a protest.

“It’s more accurate to say that the laser ran into me!”

“It’s my fault,” Bacon sobbed. “I calculated it wrong, so the laser refracted in the wrong direction and made Toast toast.”

Idiots, the doctor and technician thought at the same time.

***

  The work shift’s end came as an automated announcement.

“Attention all Shift One workers, the work day is now over.”

“Oh, it’s that time already,” Oliver muttered.

  On doctor’s orders, he wasn’t allowed to go back to work, so he had spent the afternoon in the clinic keeping Emerson company. They had kept a conversation about his recent vacation going the entire time: what the latest trends were on Triton, how he'd found his apartment down there a dusty mess, and how he spent a good chunk of his week down there cleaning said apartment up. It was mostly him talking, now that he thought about it, but that was okay. It was good to see her laugh, okay, so maybe it was a smile, a change from the stoic, aloof look she usually kept on her pretty face, even at the expense of his own pride. She was currently cleaning up her desk, readying it for Shift Two’s doctor. He swung his feet off the bed and went to tap on her desk.

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

“Sleep then go to work tomorrow,” she said briskly as she swept crumbs into the wastebin.

“Need help?”

“No, now get out of my clinic.”

“I’ll wheel you back.”

“No need. I can go myself.”

“I insist. As thanks.”

  Emerson glared at him as she set the final file down in the drawer. She leaned back in her wheelchair, her hands poised over the wheels. He quickly grabbed the handlebars and pushed her out the door before she could wheel herself past him. She turned around, shooting him a death glare. Oliver quickly gave her excuse.

“We’re going the same way anyways.”

  After taking the elevator down, which was situated between the labs and the clinic, Oliver rolled Emerson out. Outside in the corridor, the others on Shift One were waiting for the lift to come and take them home. They blended in with the crowd of blue uniforms and white lab coats. The atmosphere was livier than earlier, and conversations were charged with scientific jargon. Oliver wheeled Emerson closer to the edge where they were a bit more out of the way.

“What’re your plans off shift?” Oliver asked.

“Sleep.”

  The conversation ended. Oliver nodded in vague understanding. Okay then... The awkward tension was broken with the arrival of the lift. He wheeled her onto her exclusive seat, the handicapped zone. He took a seat beside her against the window. During the silence, she had started reading something on her tablet, and even now her gaze was intent on whatever interesting content was contained within.

  Her light brown hair was tied in its usual ponytail, although some tendrils had come undone during the day. Her hazel eyes were glued to the screen, flicking back and forth as she scrolled down. Her white lab coat, which was pristine usually, had some stains from today’s work. Miniscule specks of leftover ketchup was caught on the edges of her sleeves as well. However, her most distinctive feature was her wheelchair.

“Are you done staring?”

“Oh-I wasn’t-”

“I don’t mind.”

  She gave him a little smile that could’ve killed him.

This woman is dangerous, he thought.

  The lift slowed to a stop. Something about today’s timing was impeccable. He hurried to wheel her out and to her room. It wasn’t a far walk from the tram station: Residential Area 3A, Room 187. Like his, her room was situated down one of the hidden corridors, but hers was the first one to the right upon entering.

“See you tomorrow then?” he asked as she carded herself into her room.

“Of course.”

***