Camp 91, Eastern Pavon continent, the Curiad Coast
New Pastor
"Say aah, Milo." Doctor Harold Sterning placed the sterilized tongue depressor into the boy's mouth, using a small light held in his other hand to peer into the young Oriyak's open maw. He checked for any of the signs of an infection, not of the pathogen, but of the various other diseases that had replaced the malignent fear that had set in after the outbreaks. Dysentery was becoming a major problem throughout the camp, just two days ago a whole family had passed away in their prefab housing module from the lack of palpable water, edible food and poor living conditions.
"Ya yne lyubu polukate ... ehti deprov chuvsto sebistranno ... " The boy muttered against the depressor, causing Sterning to roll his eyes and withdraw the piece of equipment; beside him, the boy's mother clicked her tongue and flicked an open hand across his shoulder.
"We need to check you for other diseases, Milo; we don't need to worry about an outbreak of IB-8 here, but there are other problems we also need to look for." He said, taking a data-assistant from a standing table beside the inspection seat and reading through a digital medical file containing the entire family's history since their evacuation from Pastor.
"Misses Iliyich, it still doesn't look like he's taking his prescription; discoloration of the tonsils is often caused by bacteria collecting at the back of his throat. He needs to be taking his Midoropropin, ma'am." He responded, showing her an image of the small pill capsules and then pointing to a cabinet holding a whole plethora of medical drugs and anti-biotics.
"You see doctor, he does not like taking them. I have told the boy he needs them to stay healthy, but he will not listen. I've tried putting it in his food -- "
"You can't hide it in food materials, ma'am, that may cause complications." Sterning remarked, stooping down to the boy's level and putting his hands on his knees.
"Milo, you need to be taking your medication. At least once a week, please? Pozhalusti obitiay vashe leksotine?"
Milo crossed his arms and folded his ragged jacket over his chest, his lips pouting a bit while his young eyes flared with resistance.
"Khorosho, fiiine."
"Thank you, Milo. I have some business I need to take care of at Fort Pastor so I won't be here to hound you. I want you to listen to your mother, Milo. Have to stay up with your medication." He said, holding a hand out for the boy as he hopped down from the table and took position beside his mother.
"Thank you Doctor Sterning." The mother responded, one hand clutching at the fabric of the hood wrapping around her neck before the Doctor tucked his data-assistant into the pocket of his coat.
"Not a problem, Misses Iliyich; the buses will probably be leaving soon back to Sector B, I would hate to have you walking all the way there," He said, leading the two to the door and watching them leave the room for the main hospital complex of the Camp. With enough beds to support nearly 10,000 people, it was one of the largest aide structures in Camp 61, which itself was the largest refugee camp on the entire planet. With a population just breaching 23 million, it housed the largest amount of aid workers and displaced persons combined.
"Doc! You seen the toxicology data from Fort Pastor? They telephoned a while ago, like four in the morning, said they need someone to help go over the results. Said something about the Bug." A young Medical Technician shouted as he jogged down the hallway, waving his hand through the air to catch Sterning as he locked the inspection room with a key.
"Toxicology, huh? Who ordered that? Dear General?" He remarked; a spiteful tone at the mention of the retired "General" Norman Shrike.
"You seriously think they're looking into the Bug? They're too busy negotiating tourist numbers for Ring City." Sterning said as the technician handed him a computer tablet with an executive order from the Provisional Government of the world.
"'Government' my ass ... " He stated at the 'seal' of the order at the top of the page, using one finger to scroll down the information. Not much headway had been made, if any at all, into the possibilities of a treatment. Sterning had seen attempts at stalling the disease with unethical treatments, immediately severing the limb, cauterization with ineffectual equipment, methods that often did more harm than good.
"'Eh, all we got left sometimes, Doc. The Coal sure isn't out here." The technician said, leaving Sterning to his own devices as he joined a gurney rolling through the hallway, and a team of medical specialists tracking the vitals of an unconscious man. Holding the tablet under his arm, Sterning quickly departed the hospital complex through a quick-access hall that lead out to a street holding a small fleet of civilian buses.
Ring City, Northeastern Pavon, 180km from the Curiad Coast
"Mister Riley ... hello? Can you hear me?"
Blinking his eyes as a bright light stabbed through his vision, his first breath caused his chest to heave upwards as he took in a gulp of air; then, he felt the invisible hand of the electronic respirator flood his lungs with artificial breath. Groaning out slightly, he felt a jolt of pain shoot through his chest, and then discovered the physical cord leading through his ribcage and into his body.
"Don't struggle too much, Mister Riley; you're intubated at the moment -- you have been in a coma for the better part of two weeks." The observing physician withdrew the bright light from his eyes, one hand moving down Riley's chest and adjusting the tube leading into his cavity.
"Don't try and speak, Riley, now that you're awake and breathing on your own we can remove the intubation tube.
Riley groaned out loud again, rolling his eyes back as he suddenly felt a wave of pain burn through him, images flooding through his head. He fell away from the hospital room around him as he felt his feet pounding through the foyer of an office building, the windows beside him framed with the horizon below. He gurgled again before feeling a familiar hand on his shoulder. Returning to his bed, his eyes fluttered open to see the face of Eli Horne.
"Just hold on a minute and we'll get that tube out of you. In the next few these meds should be wearing off." Horne's stern face was softened as he rested a palm on Riley's shoulder, hoping to steady the man. Riley felt his chest burn as the mechanical tube was removed from his lungs, a film of nanoabsorbant paste, billions of tiny robotic 'cells', spread out over the incision and into the cavity of his body. A painful bite rippling over his torso before his eyes fluttered twice and he passed out.
Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/Zdmf_nujaxc/viewtopic.php
dennis the menace dylan ratigan dylan ratigan occupy occupy midnight madness midnight madness