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I made my way back to the launch bay, climbed aboard a large, enclosed platform lift, and headed to the second of the ship's five levels. The doors swooshed open on a low-ceilinged, narrow vestibule with light green walls. A trail of muddy footprints and bloody splotches marred its white-tiled floor.
I followed the footprints, then, sounds of moaning and weeping down the vestibule, thinking I'd find the entrance to an operating theater. At the vestibule's end, however, where red arrows inlaid in the tiles pointed the way to the operating rooms, the muddy tracks veered in the opposite direction—through an archway that led to a large staging area. Lining its rear wall, bays, their doors similar to those of the holding cells, quarantined the untreated.
Fixed treatment tables—immovable, but adjustable white stretchers—sat in the main room. Long white curtains between two of these, tied back, formed the main treatment area. Bustling about the tray tables set up by each of these were Lee and Kim, while Tucker and a stocky, red-haired man I didn't recognize tended to others in the curtained stretcher queues. The open area allowed Satoshi and Jo to work in tandem.
I selected a spot that allowed me to watch them work, but where I also could keep close tabs on the serum. The last thing we needed was another theft. Satoshi didn't look up, but Jo nodded in greeting and the corners of his eyes crinkled above his disposable surgical mask. After spending so much time in comparatively dark surroundings, the stark clinical space with its bright examination lights and glaring metal surfaces felt strangely foreign to me. Even the smells that permeated the room—bitter antiseptic, burned flesh, and the coppery stench of spilled blood—seemed alien, at first.
The treatment process was far more arduous than I'd imagined. After administering a local anesthetic, the fractured implant's location had to be pinpointed, using portable ultrasound units. Once located, a lengthy extraction via scalpel and tweezers followed. When all pieces of the implant were removed, then the site could be cauterized.
Once thoroughly cleansed and bandaged, the injured then received an injection of the Idoron. Again, what I'd imagined as a simple jab in the arm or butt turned out to be a bit more complicated. The braver patients endured the procedure sitting up, while others needed to assume a more horizontal position.
After standing on tip-toe and craning my neck to observe a handful of these minor surgeries, I opted for a seat on a nearby counter. The added height provided a better view, while proximity allowed me to overhear Satoshi and Jo as they worked. In their shapeless disposable gowns, masks, and gloves, the two looked nearly identical. Jo, however, possessed a deftness, a certain confidence in his movements, while Satoshi worked slowly, almost clumsily at times.
"It's a viscous solution, extremely painful if injected into a muscle, so you need a large vein," Jo explained, as much to Satoshi as the older man who lay beside him on the stretcher. "The antecubital fossa's your best bet. If you can't find a decent AC, use the cephalic vein."—he indicated a spot on the man’s forearm above his wrist—"It's on the medial—"
"I know where it is, Dad," Satoshi said, the tone of his voice already frayed.
"If the vein's too small or torturous, you can administer the serum—"
"Subcutaneously—five separate doses in the fatty tissue—which isn't ideal, since it requires using more needles and will have a slightly longer absorption time, just like you said," he replied, adding under his breath, "for the millionth freaking time."
"What'd you say?"
"Nothing." Turning his attention back to his patient, he said, "Okay, Eri, was it? Okay, Eri, you're going to feel a little pressure."
"You sound tired, Satoshi," Jo murmured.
"I'm fine."
"I'm not! Shit! That hurts," the young woman groaned.
"Well, hold still, then!" Satoshi barked.
"You should've had this guy. I didn't feel a thing," the man on Jo's stretcher replied.
"Hold on, almost there... got it!" Metal clinked on metal, as he deposited a piece of implant from the back of Eri's reedy neck.
Jo held a syringe of yellowish fluid up to the light and flicked its side. "If you'd like to take a break, Satoshi, go ahead, I can manage."
"I said, I'm fine." He flung a wad of soiled gauze pads at the metal bucket near his feet, then snatched up a syringe.
"Still a lousy shot, though," I said, adding to Jo, "You should see the floor of our bunker after he's given a tattoo."
Brow beaded with sweat, Satoshi glared up at me. "Renata, don't you have something better to do?"
"I think Renata's done enough for one day. She's right about your technique though, it is quite sloppy."
"First I don’t know anything about anatomy, now I'm sloppy," Satoshi shot back. "Once they're given the Idoron, they'll heal without any threat of infection, so what difference does it make?"
"Surgery is an art form, Satoshi. You must honor the process while respecting the individual under your care."
Erin sucked in a breath through clenched teeth when she saw the needle. As Satoshi advanced it, Jo winced. "Bevel up— and slowly, slowly! The serum is thick, so you need to—"
Satoshi's head shot up. "I know! I know, okay? Stop treating me like an idiot! Since when did you become a surgeon, anyway? Last I knew, your specialty was pharmacology."
"Son, I'm only trying to provide some constructive—"
"And don't talk to me like a father!" Satoshi fumed, "I've been doing just fine without you for the last twenty-four years! Just ask Renata." Tearing of the stretcher's disposable sheet followed, although it failed to muffle my brother's muffled curses or dispel the uncomfortable silence that had suddenly fallen over the room.
"Satoshi, that's not fair."
"Easy for you to say, Renata, he's not criticizing your every move," he shot back.
"He's only trying to—"
"Just shut it, okay! Stay out of it! This isn't your fight, Renata!" Satoshi stripped off his gloves with a loud snap and slammed them into the bucket. His disposable gown, wadded into a tight blue ball, followed.
"Why does it have to be a fight, at all?" I called, as he stomped into the hall. Turning back to Jo, I said, "I'm sorry. I don't know why he's acting that way. The two of you have so much in common, I thought you'd get along better."
"I think that's part of the problem," Jo said, his eyes crinkling again. "He'll come around." Then, nodding to the man on his stretcher, said, "All done. If you'd like to stay aboard the ship tonight, Buster will help you find a place to rest."
"No, I'll go back to camp. How long will it take to work?" he asked, fingering the bandage on the side of his neck.
"You should see signs of improvement by morning, if not sooner."
The red-haired man strode over to him. "I'll walk you down to the freight shifter," he said. "Anyone else need a ride?"
Murmuring assent, most of the patients quit their berths and padded chairs to follow Buster. After resetting his area, Jo said, "Your turn now, Renata. I need to take a look at your wounds."
"No need. They're gone."
"Gone? That's impossible. I didn't give you the Idoron in the forest, only a strong antiseptic. Your neck and the scratches on your arms have not had enough time to heal properly."
"See for yourself." I traded my seat on the counter for one on the examination table and pulled off my sweater. "I think it must've happened when we fought. Your blood got into the dressing and the scratches on my arms. I noticed it earlier."
"My blood? No, you must be mistaken." But after assessing those areas for himself, the corners of his eyes crinkled again. "Interesting..."
"Think I'll live forever now, like you?" I joked.
"As I said before, I'm an anomaly, and the status of my immortality still debatable," he said. "Would you really want to live forever?"
"No thanks." I shrugged my sweater back on. "I'd just be happy to live out my natural life without having to look over my shoulder every five seconds—and I will, once Mazawa's defeated. Anyone else ask you for immortality tonight?"
"No," he said, chuckling. "Most of them don't want to end up with nokuru." Then, he sobered. "Did they catch the thieves?"
"And more." I told him about Umeji, as well as Juno's connection to Satoshi. "Mazawa's making good on his promise to kill anyone who gets in his way. Luckily, most of our allies steered clear of New Edo."
"Most of them, yes..." Brows furrowed, he strode over to the cartons of serum. One box hadn't been opened at all, while the other was nearly empty.
"Jo?"
"Why don’t you get some rest, Renata," he said, gathering up the boxes. "I'm going to see if Tetsuo has a secure cold storage area aboard."
After he left, I realized I hadn't sworn him to secrecy.