After staring at the ceiling of his infirmary bed for a while, moping, Max finally decided wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t hasten his escape from Prometheus Academy. Not winning the Capture the Flag tournament was a setback, not the final arbiter of his destiny.
His mind kept returning to how squirrelly Doctor Asclepius had been both about Molly and why he had reviewed the drones’ footage.
Max got to work.
He grabbed the computer tablet from the nightstand. There was a similar tablet in the dorm room he shared with Damian. It wasn’t connected to the Internet—if it were, Max would’ve already sent a message to the wider world about the existence of Prometheus Academy—but it could tap into the school’s extensive database.
Max used the tablet to do a bunch of research. He didn’t know if any of it would come in handy, but keeping his mind busy was better than lying back, marinating in his own sulk.
In a few hours, the infirmary quieted down. Its calming blue lights transitioned to night mode, dimming automatically. Doctor Asclepius left for the evening, replaced by a stout duty nurse with a permanent frown and the bedside manner of a honey badger.
Nurse Blanche glared at him as he washed down with a glass of water the light sedative Doctor Asclepius had prescribed, and scowled at him as she turned off his lights. “Go to sleep,” she ordered him peevishly. “I’ll brook no nonsense from you tonight.”
Maybe, Max thought as she practically slammed his door, she was sour because she didn’t get to administer the pill rectally. The battle-ax looked the type to enjoy such a thing.
Max spit out the sedative he had hidden under his tongue, and dumped it in the wastebasket, concealing it under tissues. He smacked his lips with distaste, wishing he had a Coke to drown out the bitter aftertaste of the pill’s coating. The beverage served with dinner had been milk. He’d drank so much milk since coming to this blasted place, he was starting to wonder if it was possible to die from too much calcium and Vitamin D. Maybe the D in Vitamin D stood for “overdose.”
After waiting a few moments, he crept to the door, cursing the infirmary gown which left his backside exposed. With all the futuristic technology this school has, you’d think their infirmary gowns would provide more coverage than a stripper’s ensemble. For the first time, he longed to return to his school jumpsuit.
He pressed his ear to the door, opened it after hearing nothing, and cautiously stuck his head into the darkened corridor.
The coast was clear.
He shadow hopped to Doctor Asclepius’ office door, further up the hall. It was closed and locked. With his ear pressed to it, Max rapped on it gently.
No one answered. No one inside stirred.
Max shadow hopped into the office. Though the overhead lights were off, various displays shed plenty of light, letting Max see without a problem.
The space looked more like a futuristic research lab brimming with bleeding-edge technology than a conventional office. Its walls were lined with sleek computerized panels, each blinking with an array of multicolored lights and displaying streams of complex data. In the center of the room stood a large holographic table projecting a three-dimensional model of a human brain, its sections lighting up in rhythmic patterns.
Around the room, various experiments were in progress, automated by advanced machinery. One corner housed a series of fluid-filled tanks, each containing what appeared to be synthetic organs, pulsating gently. Another area was dedicated to a half-simian, half-robotic arm meticulously assembling tiny components that were too small for Max to discern their purpose.
The overall effect was of stepping into a future where medicine and technology merged seamlessly. Maybe Doctor Asclepius was a time-traveling Doctor Frankenstein.
A desktop computer was atop a corner desk, next to a coatrack from which dangled the doctor’s white lab coats. Despite the computer looking like it belonged to Buck Rogers, Max finally figured out how to turn it on.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Its welcome screen demanded a password. Protecting his records from prying eyes made sense for someone as concerned about doctor-patient confidentiality as Dr. Asclepius was.
Max was undeterred by the obstacle, having anticipated the likelihood of a password. Asclepius was the name of the god of medicine in ancient Greek mythology. Therefore, Dr. Asclepius had to be an alias, not the man’s real name. Max’s earlier research had been to figure out what someone who dubbed himself “Asclepius” might use as a computer password.
Chiron, Max typed. Chiron was the centaur who had taught the Greek god Asclepius the art of medicine.
Access denied, the computer screen read in response. Attempt 1/6.
Panacea, Max typed. Panacea was Greek Asclepius’ daughter, whose name had made its way into modern English as a term signifying a universal remedy.
Access denied. Attempt 2/6.
Max hadn’t anticipated he would get a limited number of tries to guess the password, but there was no point in crying about it. He pressed on.
He entered Hygienia. She was another of Asclepius’ daughters, this one the goddess of health and cleanliness, whose name was preserved in English by the word “hygiene.”
When Hygienia failed, he tried Epidaurus, the location of Asclepius’ most famous temple.
Access denied. Attempt 4/6.
Max sat back, frowning. Crap!
He had only two tries left. After that, the computer might shut down for good. Or worse, alert school authorities an unauthorized person was trying to access Asclepius’ computer. Heck, for all Max knew, the computer was booby-trapped and would explode in his face. At this point, Max wouldn’t put anything past this hellhole of a school.
He thought hard. His head still aching from his injury wasn’t helping his synapses fire.
Maybe he was on the wrong track entirely with words related to the Greek god Asclepius. What other password might the doctor use?
He flailed his brain, going over everything he knew about the doctor.
Max suddenly remembered a word the doctor had used to describe Prometheus Academy students. It wasn’t a commonly used word—or at least it wasn’t where Max was from—but Dr. Asclepius had used it multiple times, both today and the first time Max had met the doctor.
Hooligans, Max typed.
The lock screen faded, replaced by the computer’s desktop. Fist-pumping, Max silently hoorayed.
He poked around until he found the doctor’s patient notes. Fortunately, the computer system was well-organized and logically laid out.
He found the doctor’s notes about his own injuries and read them:
> The unconscious patient presented with a contusion located on the lateral aspect of the cranium, specifically near the temporal region. The hematoma’s size, coupled with the absence of abrasions typically associated with a fall, raises questions about the reported etiology of the injury.
>
> The morphology of the contusion suggests an impact with a small, hard object, inconsistent with a fall on an uneven surface, such as the ground. Additionally, the angle and localization of the impact suggest an external force was applied with considerable velocity, rather than a fall induced by loss of balance.
>
> Upon palpation, the patient exhibited tenderness localized to the site of impact, without evidence of skull fracture or neurological deficits indicative of more severe cranial trauma. However, the absence of other injuries typically concurrent with a fall (such as abrasions or additional contusions on other parts of the body) further supports the hypothesis that the injury was inflicted, rather than accidental.
>
> Given these findings, it is my medical opinion that the physical evidence more strongly indicates that the patient was struck with an object rather than having sustained the injury after a fall.
>
> In furtherance of investigating my hypothesis, I shall request that Pantheon produce the footage of the supposed accident. I will formulate a plan of action after my review of said footage.
Max read the notes twice, able to grasp some of the medical terms only because of the context they appeared in.
His second reading did not change his general understanding of the thrust of the notes:
Doctor Asclepius thought that Max had been slugged, not that he had tripped and been injured by the fall.
Max wasn’t surprised. He knew he didn’t remember tripping. It was good to have black and white confirmation he wasn’t crazy.
Now the question was, who had slugged him?
Max dug further, this time looking for the doctor’s notes regarding his examination of Molly. Those notes were terser than the ones about Max:
> Molly Tanaka was presented in an unconscious state with a singular contusion on the cranium, superficially similar to Max Blackwood’s injury. She was psychically linked to Mr. Blackwood at the time of his injury due to her Unreal power, sharing his every physical sensation, an ability Ms. Tanaka refers to as “perspective shifting.”
>
> Upon examination, her vitals were stable, and neurological signs normal.
>
> Notably, her contusion’s characteristics slightly diverge from Mr. Blackwood’s, both in severity and precise morphology.
>
> Based upon my examination, despite the patient’s claims, it is extremely unlikely her injury is a psychosomatic side effect of her psychic link with Mr. Blackwood at the time of his injury.
>
> Based on the angle of the blow which caused her injury, it is far more likely Ms. Tanaka’s injury was self-inflicted.