Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Play Me Some More of that Old Blues ❯ Chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

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She remembered the first time she saw him. That stupid casino. She thought he was her contact. What a joke! Her real contact was some scruffy little man that wasn't even close to Spike in appearance!

 

She remembered when he came to play her table. She'd found it odd, on reflection.

 

Never once did he look at his cards.

 

The whole time he played her table, he just… looked at her. His eyes had an expression in them that was so different from the one she came to know. It was… it was as though he was looking right through her.

 

Like he was really seeing her.

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“Sand sand sandy sand! Yeeeeeeeeee hahahahahaaaaaaa!”

 

The high-pitched voice screamed with glee, kicking through the scattered dirt and dried grass on the breakdown lane of the highway. The small dog at her feet would leap at the flying debris, barking loudly as she raised her voice. They made quite a pair.

 

A car was approaching.

 

Ed grinned at the closing vehicle. This was the one!

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Chester Biggs shifted into second gear as he crested the hill. Before him, the wide landscape filled his vision. He sighed. He really hated driving. Unfortunately, his father hadn't been too pleased about him crashing the zip craft; so here he was, demoted to something that killed the miles on four wheels.

 

Something was in the road.

 

Chester screamed as the something suddenly manifested itself into a kid. “What the hell… GET OUTTA THE WAY!!” The kid, instead of diving out of the way in terror, grinned manically instead. The bumper stopped two inches from her legs.

 

“WOAH HO!!! Edward has a new car!”

 

Chester was still shaking when his passenger door was yanked open. In a flash, something furry launched itself at him.

 

“YEEEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

 

He threw his arms up madly, struggling to escape whatever it was. There was a sharp yelp, and suddenly fangs sank into his hand.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

 

“Ein! No no, we must be nice to the man person! He can't drive us if his hand is hurt!”

 

Chester peered over with frightened eyes. A mini maniac with golden eyes was staring at him… one inch from the end of his nose.

 

“Hey mister, can Ed and Ein ride with you in your car?”

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One day earlier

 

Mathis was pulling at his tie again, and made a conscious effort to quit. The last thing he wanted was to have Wilde privy to his agitation. The service elevator halted with a small jolt, and seconds later, the smooth door slid aside to reveal the first of several rooms that led to the heart of the medical complex. Ignoring the small cameras that recorded his movements, Mathis brushed his hand down his tie one last time, and entered the first set of doors.

 

Ten minutes later, Wilde stood as Mathis entered the lab. Everything looked the same as before. Dull gray walls lined with countless shelves surrounded the room, reflecting back a bit of the light that glowed from overhead fixtures. Several cabinets stood readily at various corners, filled with every possible piece of scientific equipment woolongs could buy. And, of course, the centerpiece of the room; the giant horizontal cylinder. Mathis walked up to the device, peering through the upper half, which was composed of one-inch thick clear poly-substrate. The chamber was filled with thick fluid, in which floated a slender body. Mathis noted that the hair had begun to grow back on the head, which was still bristling with fine needles. The follicles were dark, for the most part, save for a patch near the brow that appeared to be coming in white. For half a second, Mathis thought he saw the eye twitch. When it didn't repeat itself, he wrote it off as a bubble rising to the surface. Dr. Wilde cleared his throat.

 

“I have the preliminary data for Mr. Caulder.” Mathis tilted his head, waiting for the doctor to continue. Wilde glanced down at his pad.

 

“I ran a series on both subject B, as well as C. Not surprisingly, subject B showed the same reaction as before. However, under intermittent electrical pulse, subject C reacted… remarkably. Unlike subject B, which halted its mitosis after 40 replications, subject C, has continued division. In fact, even with the removal of the electrical pulse, the devices are continuing to divide.” Wilde inhaled sharply. “I think this is the one.”

 

Mathis, unaware he'd begun tugging at his tie again, strode to the draped microscope. “Is the slide still there?” Wilde nodded. “Just let me turn on the switch.”

 

Through the bright lens, Mathis watched the activity taking place. After several seconds, he stood away. “Good work Doctor. Mr. Caulder will be very pleased.”

 

Wilde stepped closer to the other man. “Mr. Mathis, about the other subject. I, I think something is going on with him.”

 

Mathis glanced at the distance cylinder. “Oh? Well, that really isn't your concern any longer, is it Doctor. We have the new subject; we really don't need him anymore. Once your study of miss Valentine's blood is complete, and you've confirmed the status of the devices, I'll send someone down the remove the other subject.”

 

“Remove?”

 

“Doctor, this isn't a hospital, or a charity organization. If subject B doesn't have anything to offer, we have no reason to keep pouring woolongs into his care… do we?”

 

Wilde stood still as Mathis turned and left the room, his fingers wrapped around the tip of his tie.

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Wilde worked quickly, yet very, very delicately. The wires imbedded in the brain had to be removed in a specific sequence. If he deviated in any way, the subject could die. Sweat ran under his arms and at the small of his back. Even now, he wasn't completely sure if the subject would survive once off life support. His body had been in devastating condition when Wilde had first seen him. Injuries, ranging from gunshot wounds to long gashes that looked like they'd been made by a sword, covered his trim form. The deep slash across his gut had been the worst visually, but it was the gunshot wound to his head that nearly cost him his life. The bullet had entered near the left temple, scraping across the surface of his brain. It had lodged itself deep in his skull. Even after its removal, the damage left by the bullet continued to cause problems for months. Between the hemorrhaging and swelling, Wilde was amazed the man had managed to survive.

 

He was down to the last three wires.

 

 

Before he could remove the final wires the lungs would have to be started again. Clicking a switch on the side of the chamber, Wilde began draining the fluid that encased the figure. While the viscous substance flowed away, Wilde activated another dial, slowly inflating oxygen into the chest. Weakened from lack of use, the lungs wouldn't immediately take up their work again. Wilde would have to attach a temporary stimulator to encourage the lungs to continue processing the air. With only a puddle of liquid left in the chamber, the body within looked like a discarded rag lying on the floor of the unit. Wilde pulled down a lever, disabling the lock, and slid the cover open with a hiss. Tepid warmth washed out of the chamber. Wilde rubbed at his clouded eyes, ignoring the vapor that rose around him. Quickly attaching the oxygen stimulator, Wilde returned to removing the final wires from the skull.

 

The man lie still on the metal floor. The only sign of life was the chest, rising and falling mechanically with the stimulus of the device attached above his heart. Wilde took a small penlight from his coat pocket, shining it into a hazel eye, and then into an eye tinted the color of red wine. Pleased with the results, Wilde pocketed his light and placed a hand on the man's pulse. It was steady and strong. With time, he would probably wake up on his own.

 

He didn't have time though. Wilde depressed a stimulant into a vein.

 

The reaction was instant.

 

Startled eyes snapped open, staring wildly at nothing. One hand snatched out, lightning fast, and latched onto the edge of Wilde's coat, gripping with knuckles white. After a second, the body relaxed as the initial shock began to fade. The eyes blinked, and turned to look at Wilde. The doctor shook his head at the confusion he saw. “I'm sorry, you won't be able to speak yet. You've been under for quite some time, it affects most of your body's systems. I had to attach a stimulation device to your chest to aid your breathing. If you remove it, you'll suffocate. I did my best to keep your muscles intact with regular stimulus, but you'll find some weakness, and will find walking difficult for a while. You won't be able to eat anything solid for about a week or two either.” While he spoke, Wilde continued checking the man's condition, pinching him several places to check for lividity and sensation. The man jerked sharply when he pinched a particularly sensitive spot. “Good, no real atrophy; lucky you were as healthy as you were. As it was, your diet could have been better.” What sounded like a strangled growl rose from the man's throat. Wilde looked down at him with a small shake of his head. “Don't force it, it will come soon enough.”

 

Kneeling near the man's head, Wilde positioned his arm under his shoulders. “Ok, now for the hard part. I need you to stand.” The man looked at him, startled. Wilde nodded. “I know, and ordinarily I'd be the first to say you should be on bed rest. However, if you lay down in this facility, there are people around who'll make sure you never stand again. Now, at the count of three”

It wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. The man actually managed to keep his feet for a couple of seconds before dropping to the floor. With persistence, Wilde got him upright again, and propped him against a wall while he went to find a pair of `secondary legs'. Returning, he handed the modified crutches to the man, showing him how to activate the small switch on the sides that would stimulate the muscles of his legs.

 

“I'll get you out of the facility. I'll even give you a few woolongs to get a ride, some food, whatever you need. But we need to hurry.”

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The escape, it turned out, wasn't as complicated as Wilde had first thought it might be. It was just a matter of outfitting his patient with an orderly's white coat and pants. With the metal crutches hidden under the pant legs, the man just appeared to be walking with a stiff gait. The small growth of hair on the scalp was enough to cover the scars left by the needles, and the skin color wouldn't even turn a head. Most of the medical staff were hermits, spending so much time indoors, underground, that their skin had been leached of most of its color.

 

Even so, the ride up on the elevator was agonizing.

 

It wasn't until they'd actually exited the building and stood together under the sun that Wilde dared to take a breath. Quickly, he pressed the money card into the other man's hand. “I don't know who you may have out there waiting for you… and I don't want to know. I can't do more for you and remain alive. As it is, my life may already be forfeit.”

 

Wilde looked up into those strange eyes. “But my first duty is that of a doctor. I will not have your death on my hands, not after fighting so hard to save it.”

 

The man stared into his intense gaze, an unreadable emotion crossing his face. Reaching up, he grasped Wilde's palm in a weak handshake. With a nod of his head, he turned away. Wilde watched him as he disappeared into the crowd. With a final, shuddering breath, he returned inside. Time to type up a report, a death certificate for a man known only as Subject B.