The Insane Journey

Chapter 48

 “How long do you expect Maxwell to be in surgery?” asked Vivian.

 “At least another two or three hours. We’ve got two top robots assisting the doctor, but the damage is severe,” said the nurse.

 “Why don’t we go visit Wendy?” Vivian suggested.

 Lucy agreed and they wandered the extensive corridors of the hospital for some time before they came to a sign welcoming them to the Sentient Non-Human Terrestrial Unit (SNHTU). They walked over to the reception window, which was vacant except for a cat dozing on the ledge. The women peered in to see three desks, each with a computer and several stacks of paper sitting on it. The women looked at each other. Vivian checked her watch. Lucy stared at the cat, a curious addition to a hospital.

 “Can I help you? Or do you intend simply to hang out on my window all afternoon?” asked the cat.

 Lucy jumped and even Vivian gave a start. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise...” she trailed off.

 “That I was a talking cat?” asked the feline.

 “Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Vivian.

 “You are aware this is the Sentient Non-Human Terrestrials Unit, are you not?” asked the cat.

 “Yes, of course,” said Vivian.

 “Well, that’s pretty much talking animals,” said the cat.

 “You strike me as having an attitude problem,” said Vivian, attempting to take control of the discussion.

 “Have you ever met a cat who doesn’t?” asked the cat.

 Vivian laughed for the first time since the phone call. “That’s true,” she said.

 “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up, human. Now, I assume you are enquiring after one of the patients, since both of you look human,” said the cat.

 “Yes,” said Vivian. “Wendy, a kairuku penguin.”

 The cat hopped from the ledge to one of the desks, where she moved her nose around on the computer screen.

 “She received a number of injuries, including a cracked beak, broken wing bones and a fractured ankle. The doctors have fixed her up and she’s resting now.”

 “May we see her?” asked Lucy.

 “Yes, but not for too long. She needs her rest.”

 They found the room in question and peered in. In the bed was a bandaged Wendy connected by a black cable to several machines whose displays seemed to indicate that things were happening inside the penguin’s body. Her beak was in some kind of cast. Crisp, clean blankets covered the rest of her.

 “Wendy?” asked Vivian.

 Wendy nodded her head slightly and the two women walked in.

 “How are you doing, old friend?” asked Vivian.

 Wendy crinkled her eyes slightly.

 “Hi, Wendy,” said Lucy, feeling slightly awkward; she had only known Wendy a short time, but liked her and respected her tremendous knowledge.

 Wendy crinkled her eyes again.

 “We’ve just been to the ICU. They are operating on Maxwell now. So, he’s still alive, and we both know he’s a tough bastard when he has to be. I’m sure he’ll pull through.”

 A tear welled up in one of Wendy’s eyes.

 “Don’t worry, old friend,” said Vivian, gently brushing Wendy’s cheek. “He’ll be okay. It may take a while, but he’ll be okay.”

 The women sat with Wendy for a half hour. During that time, Lucy talked about current research into the lattice structure of dark matter, which seemed to cheer Wendy up.

 When the cat came in to shoo them away, they both bade goodbye to Wendy and promised to keep her updated on Maxwell’s situation.

 In the ICU waiting room, they waited another hour and a half before Dr Ihonen came out. “You are Maxwell’s sisters?” she asked.

 “I am,” said Vivian. “This is Lucy Heisenberg, a family friend.”

 “Very good,” said the doctor, a pale woman whose granny glasses and dark dreadlocks gave the impression of being more of a hippy than a doctor.

 “As you know, your brother has been very seriously injured. He was shot in the chest, shattering a rib, breaking another and damaging one of his lungs. He also fractured his skull when he fell from the bicycle. The good news is that the bullet missed the heart.

 “As we speak, a team of robots is removing bullet and bone shrapnel as well as repairing the lung using artificial tissue. Once that is functioning, we’ll graft an artificial rib into the stub of the shattered rib.”

 “And will he....?” began Vivian.

 “We hope so. I reckon he has better than a 50 per cent chance,” said the doctor.

 “That’s, well, something, I guess. When can I see him?” asked Vivian.

 “The operation will take three or four more hours. Then he’ll be in an artificial coma until we can replace the rib. You can come during visiting hours tomorrow, but he won’t be conscious.”

 A buzzing sound emitted from the doctor’s jacket pocket. She pulled out a phone, read the screen and raised her eyebrows just enough to be observed by a sensitive Lucy.

 “Oh, dear. I’ve got to go,” said the doctor.

 “Is it Maxwell?” asked Lucy. But it was too late. The doctor had already disappeared back into the innards of the hospital.

 “I don’t have a good feeling about that,” said Vivian, nodding towards the door through which the doctor had just walked.

 “Neither do I,” said Lucy, “but there’s nothing much we can do for now. I suggest we go have a drink. It’s been a long day.”

 Vivian looked at her watch. “But it’s not even the aperitif hour.”

 “Never mind,” said Lucy, taking Vivian’s arm.

 The doctor returned to a computer terminal inside the operating chamber. It displayed a series of numbers representing Maxwell’s various vital signs. Unfortunately, the numbers were slowly but determinedly sliding towards zero.

 The robots were calmly attaching a series of tubes to Maxwell’s chest. Robots were good that way. They could work intricately, never tired and stayed calm no matter what happened. The doctor watched them for a moment and then checked the data on the computer screen. That 50 per cent she cited in the waiting room suddenly seemed optimistic.