Throw Another Rat on the Barbie
by feldman
"Decrease the spin, and increase the chair and room temperature."
Pol adjusts the output of the velocity and thermal servos. She accesses the passive monitoring array and moves more of the subject's biological functions to her main display.
The subject's thermal tolerance is extraordinary, but the possibility of heat delirium cannot be ruled out. Especially now that there is increasing chaos in many of the biologics that had been homeostatic at baseline.
She is working with a sample size of one. There is no room for negligence.
Scorpius glances at the display and nods. His eyes linger, and his hand comes up to her neck slowly. With warning, with respect, as one would touch a battle-trained soldier. His way of praising her is to treat her as more than a medical tech.
"You are beginning to sweat." His fingers find the embedded tab in her collar and he activates the coolant function of her suit. He smiles, "The brain must be kept cool."
A chill runs down the ribs of her corset and diffuses through the panels of the suit, bracing her, clearing the fog. "Thank you, Sir."
"You are most welcome, Pol."
The subject's shivering has abated, and the display indicates that a portion of physical stress has been removed. The readings are still too spiky. The baseline recording indicates that the subject should not have been cold in the first place. "My report is ready, Sir."
"Proceed."
"This is a summary of the first three sessions." She initiates a holographic. "As you can see, the subject exhibits unusual thought patterns, webs of association that obscure precise meaning." She calls up a smaller comparison display. "I believe this explains why the translator microbes are not as efficient."
Pol does not add that after three sessions, she can sometimes grasp meaning from obscurity, like seeing movement at the edge of the visual field.
Scorpius converts the comparison to false color, and a shaft of blue runs through the image. He tilts his head toward Pol.
"That is one of the calibration recordings we made, Sir, of you speaking Scarran."
"Rich in allusion, and hence difficult to translate." Scorpius watches the subject through the holographic display.
"The Aurora Chair is extremely taxing in ways that are difficult to monitor and control. I believe longer periods of recovery time are necessary if the subject is to remain alive long enough for a full course of interrogation "
His eyes meet hers, his chin rises.
"Due to these similarities in thought patterning, I believe the subject would respond well to the probe that we have compiled. I respectfully suggest that we pursue a full neural mapping during recovery periods."
"What's she telling you Scorpy? That I'm only medium rare?"
He is quite rare, and Pol is uncomfortable gambling with such a singular source of knowledge. "Sir, I have taken the liberty of loading probe seed into a sterilized spike."
Scorpius draws in a breath to match the one Pol has caught in her ribcage. "I concur."
He takes the spike, and waits while she stops the platform. Pol follows him with her datapad. The subject is straining to look behind, and the biologics are peaking again. The lengthened recovery periods cannot begin soon enough to please her. She goes through a quick visual assessment of the subject while Scorpius programs the surgical spike.
"What did you give him, Morticia?"
Fear in his voice, and something about death. She approaches slowly, gently tilts and tightens the halo restraint. His chin is against his chest, which opens the space between the base of his skull and the primary vertebral body. She palpates the skull, just posterior to the spinal channel.
"Oh God. Alex...Alex told me about...God, you're going to pith me like a frog..."
The procedure he describes is enigmatic, yet his osteo-anatomy is reassuringly familiar. Pol pulls a stylus from the datapad and inks guide marks onto the back of the neck. She presses down, writing through the sweat.
"There's another dead bishop on the landing, Dad."
The microbes fail her entirely this time. Something makes her respond anyway. She tells herself that she's monitoring his heart rate and the dilation of his pupils. She lays a hand on his wrist and looks into his eyes. "The pain will only last a microt. Then you may rest."
Unaware of Scorpius raising the neural spike behind him, he holds her gaze and enunciates each word. "Frell you, PK Barbie."
Bar-bee, pee-kay bar-bee. Shades
of meaning filter through; something pink...or something sharp...or something
hot. Interesting. When the neural map is complete, she will explore this concept
further.