I know what it's like to feel trapped, believe me. I live indefinitely in a run-down submersible with no hope of returning to the surface. I've never seen the sun, breathed anything but stale, recycled air, drunk anything that hasn't been run through a purifying plant a hundred odd times. I've been drafted into the senior engineer position on a ship whose curved sides create walls and passages as constricting as the ant tunnels in the laboratories of the research vessel Selene. I wear a stifling, one-piece, faded blue jump-suit at all times in the hottest, most crowded rooms on board. I see the same people, run the same routine every day. It is therefore not a particularly unnerving experience, however rare, for me to also be trapped in the poorly kept crew infirmary on the lower decks of the Io, under strict instructions to remain motionless and cooperative. I sigh, not out of exasperation but exhaustion, and smile reassuringly against the effects of my painkillers' expiration time in the direction of my dear friend and partner Lyle.
Lyle is, reliably, by my side. I have faith that he's cleared things up in the engine room during my incarceration in the sickroom. Though disciplined and efficient, we're not military, so the chain of command gets blurry right around us two. We take each other's advice and orders and rely on each other's skills and knowledge as much as we rely on our own. We are a machine, born and raised by the ones we work on together. I'm glad he's here with me.
"Feeling okay?" He reaches out a hand to touch my forehead. "You're sweaty again."
"That's probably nothing to fret about. Just the meds. Maybe a slight reaction to an overdose or a mild infection of the wound. Nothing a few shots won't fix."
"An overdose or an infection can be serious business... Maybe we should call a doctor."
"Nonsense. They're busy enough over on the Selene. We can make do with the drafted health staff. Let them deal with keeping the important biotic creatures alive and well."
"And I suppose we'll deal with the machines and robots?"
"You know the spiel." Anyone with a student's biomedical background often gets drafted into the first-aid staff on the industrial ships. Seasoned doctors and scientists and those interns too rich and well-protected to be affected by the draft tend to end up on Selene researching disease control and sources of plant and animal matter that the remaining population can consume and/or use to cultivate crops and livestock aboard the submarines. Engineers, architects, mathematicians, technicians--people like Lyle and me--end up on those dilapidated fuel and manufacturing ships that support the rest of fleets by synthesizing hardware and energy to help them run smoothly. On the side, we work with robotics and more refined, advanced electronic inventions to make life easier down here... "So when do I get out? They don't tell me much..."
"Well, your arm's in sorry shape. They'll have to fill in robotics and nervous aides temporarily to restore movement and muscle control, and it will be months before you can go natural again."
"Not a problem... Heck, we designed a lot of those parts. I'm pretty confident they're not so outdated... Yet."
"Well, you'll be fine. They're letting you out almost immediately after the surgery, which should be tomorrow morning." Lyle smiles reassuringly and pushes his unkempt hair, slightly greasy with sweat and engine oil, behind his ears.
"Glad to hear it. Say, haven't you got work to do?" I'm suddenly serious, worrying again about how smoothly things are running below. Without Lyle and me, can the backup team run things on their own?
"Nope! I'm here all night... Stop worrying!" He grips either side of my cot with his hands and leans down so that his nose is almost touching mine and his his hair falls around his grinning face again. I giggle. We are the only people in the infirmary, and I let my guard down, reaching up with my good arm to push the stray fringe out of his eyes and touch his face. Outside of our private moments, our relationship is strictly professional and comradely, but our compatibility and easy cooperation on the job are closely linked to our symbiotic personal life. He leans down further to kiss me and I smile to meet him halfway.
"All night sounds good..." I murmur, my lips brushing his...
"Ahem..." From across the room, someone politely coughs, interrupting our conversation, and Lyle and I jerk to attention. With a jolt of sharp pain through the left side of my body, I sit up sharply on the cot, and Lyle blushes and stands awkwardly to my side. The "cougher" is a young girl in the white uniform of a medical aide. She is obviously older than us, possibly in her twenties, but her demeanor is that of an embarrassed child, not a disapproving elder, so we relax a little. "Erm, sorry to interrupt, but, um... The patient sort of needs her painkillers. I'm sure she agrees." She looks from me to Lyle apologetically, and I smile amicably.
"Yeah, of course. I'm actually in some pretty excruciating agony right now. It did help to be... distracted." My eyes shift playfully to Lyle and he answers with a wicked grin. The poor girl tries not to get between our flirting as she busies herself preparing the injection. "So... You a draftee?"
"Yeah, I was a premed student on one of the other vessels and my biomedical engineering degree qualified me for a draft position on board the Io. It's okay, I guess, but I miss, well..."
"Go on," I prompt. So sue me, I'm interested...
"Well, I miss all the sappy stuff, my friends and family, but also the laboratories and resources we had back at school. I mean, call me a nerd or a romantic or whatever, but I miss having an organized medical facility with professionals and teachers on hand to help me improve. I was going to go to med school and become a surgeon, but now I'm stuck here and I wasn't even allowed to finish senior year..."
"Well, you're among friends and empathizers. We were drafted as engineers, technicians, and designers. We work down in the engine room."
"Would you believe this one here designed the system in the engine rooms?" Lyle pipes up, gesturing proudly to me.
"Mostly, I suppose," I concede modestly. "I was enrolled in a scholarship program for math and science before they brought me here. Lyle lost his educational opportunities, too, and his hopes of being a sub captain. Though, I have to say... Where would this ship be without him right where he is?" I reach out my right hand and Lyle takes it. We're still smiling like idiots at each other.
"How old are you two, anyway?" asks the ex-premed student, swabbing my left arm with a sterilized wipe.
"Fifteen and sixteen," answers Lyle.
"Whoa. They just keep drafting younger, don't they?" The needle is in and out before I really notice it, and I feel a wave of numbness spread through my system as fast as my heart can pump the meds through my blood stream. "Even so, I think we'll get along fine. They've assigned me to take care of your surgery tomorrow, you know."
"Really?"
"Yep. It's my first surgery, but don't worry. It's only a minor embed project. In and out what with all of the wonderful technologies of the day, yes?"
"I feel safer already, ..?"
"Lydia. Call me Lydia."
To be continued...
Copyright 2008 C.B. Sanders
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