Guardian Program Ch 39

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Guardian Program Ch. 39

A novel by R.C.PeterGabriel, all rights reserved.

I was completely worn out. I had been on almost pure adrenalin for nearly seventeen hours after very little sleep. The stress letdown was leaving me feeling like I'd run ten marathons.

We were all de-briefing via the TV in Laura's cabin, and I was in the middle of a sentence when I fell asleep in the recliner I was sitting in. I was allowed to sleep the hour and a half it took our transportation to arrive. I awoke, feeling refreshed as if everything was right with the world. I noticed that during my nap, someone had reclined my chair and covered me with a blanket.

I answered a few questions for the constabulary and promised to answer as many as necessary once Constable Connelly was seen to. I knew we had all the video proof we needed for showing self-defense, and because the locals were as eager to be there for Connelly as we were, they agreed to hold any further investigation until her outcome was known.

I knew I could allow pressure to come from the US government to close the case, but I honestly didn't think it would be necessary. Several Mounties had witnessed things either in person or via video and so far, the chatter was of an open and shut case.

We piled into five vehicles, all with lights flashing, and raced back to Fort Nelson. Several of us headed straight to the airport to pick up the sarcophagus from the plane's hold, while Pierce went to the hospital.

When we arrived at the airport, I discovered several stowaways were also in attendance. I'd been expecting Sam because she had asked permission, but the plane also carried Jones; her assigned security escort, Special Agent Heidner, Special Agent Richards, and the two Secret Service Agents assigned to us, Gordon and West.

I was elated to watch Toni's and Jessie's reactions to seeing Sam. They ran and enveloped her in a crushing three-way hug. They realized that they wouldn't have been found as quickly without her. And when I eventually found them, I probably wouldn't have been the same man I am. Sam had saved my life as surely as she had theirs. They knew that and five minutes later, after at least a gallon of tears and a conversation that no man could possibly translate into real language, the three of them simultaneously turned and gave me looks of complete love and devotion. I could tell that they had bonded as close as any set of sisters could. There was no longer any doubt that we could all be together as a family.

When we arrived at the hospital, security had given up on containing all the people with weapons and simply tried to separate the civilians instead. It was a small hospital and by the time we had all arrived, between Bridge Security, FBI, Homeland Security, Secret Service, my girls, myself, and every Mountie in a two-hundred-mile radius, we outnumbered the staff by at least twenty percent.

I was directed to the surgical waiting area, where Dr. Pierce was in a heated discussion with the hospital's Chief of Staff. "I gave explicit instructions not to use anything but pressure bandages! I also told you not to allow the removal of any more tissue from her arm!"

"Doctor, you were not here, and you don't have privileges at this hospital! I oversaw the surgery and can assure you that nothing was amputated that could have been saved. The use of pressure bandages in the way you described would have kept the wound open, and not allowed the skin to heal over the stump! You would have caused more amputation in the long run! As far as I'm concerned you are not the kind of doctor, I'd want working in this hospital, nor would I want you to practice on anyone I cared about!"

Dr. Pierce started to shout, "I TOLD ..." He paused, took a deep breath, and then started over. "I told you, that we could save her arm. Now I have to remove the staples, and the procedure itself will take considerably longer."

"I don't know what world you live in ... Doctor, but in this one, humans can't simply grow back limbs like a starfish, or a lizard's tail!"

I had Hal identify the man standing in front of Dr. Pierce. I had to give him kudos, he was standing his ground against a man five inches taller, wearing full tactical gear, complete with a sidearm, grenades, and a fully automatic FN P90, but I needed to bring the confrontation to an end.

Stepping forward I interrupted, "Excuse me. You're Dr. Curt Connors, is that correct?"

"Yes, and you are?" asked Dr. Connors, obviously eager to be pulled away from the confrontation.

"I'm Mr. Smith," I replied while shaking his hand, then introduced the crowd of people, security, and agents standing nearby. "I'm afraid the military and police convention we have here, is my doing. It was my family that Constable Connelly was attempting to save when she was shot. Now, I recognize that you and your surgical staff did everything with the best of intentions, however, you were somewhat incorrect in your earlier statement. Among other things, I head a company called Bridge Biotechnical and own a piece of equipment that can, rebuild Constable Connelly's arm, as well as heal her other wounds.

"So you see, Dr. Pierce was attempting to have her arm remain as fully intact as possible, so that she would be spared as much trauma as possible, as well as simply saving everyone some time. I apologize for any misunderstanding, and the heated words."

Dr. Connors stood stark still, while he stared at my face. The only thing moving were the wheels that seemed to be spinning behind his eyes. When he finally responded he suggested, "If this isn't some kind of joke, I think we should continue this conversation in my office."

I motioned for him to lead the way, but he continued to stare at me for several moments longer before recognizing that I was at least willing to carry the joke a little further. He led Dr. Pierce and me to his office, where he motioned for us to sit in front of his desk. He closed the door before taking his seat.

"You believe what you said is true, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I began. "But before I continue, you need to sign the document on your printer.

"Hal, print a nondisclosure contract for the doctor and please include an addendum referring to Constable Connelly."

Dr. Connors almost jumped when the printer behind him came on all by itself. He spun his chair around and snatched the page from the tray the moment it was completed.

He scanned the contract before facing us again. "How ...?"

"I'll be happy to discuss the situation, as soon as you sign the contract."

"This indicates additional clauses that can be referenced from a website. Why would I sign something like this?"

"I can assure you, Doctor, that other than the notation indicating Constable Connelly specifically, that is the standard contract that I have everyone sign before doing business with them. But signing it will limit what I can do to you, far more than leaving it unsigned. However, if you wish, I can have the other sixty-one pages printed, or you can read them online.

"Hal, display the nondisclosure supplemental, beginning with page 1A."

I watched as Dr. Connors' head swung to the left, and his eyes started reading the image on his monitor. He scrolled down several pages, scanning the headings, before letting go of the mouse as if it had shocked him.

He scooted his chair back a foot and reached down to open the door on his desk that housed his computer tower and blanched. "I arrived about three minutes before Constable Connelly. I hadn't been in my office yet. My computer is still off! How can you be using my monitor at all, let alone without my computer on?"

"Doctor, to be honest, I'm not going to explain how I can do any of this. You don't need to understand how anything works. What you do need to understand, is that it is in both of our very best interests for you to sign that contract.

"If you sign, your facility becomes the first hospital on the planet with a working 3D bio-printer. We can work out the economics of your lease later but at this moment, I'm only concerned with Constable Connelly. I will say that if news of this gets out before I'm ready, I will be too inundated with people from all aspects of life to get anything done. The greater good will lose ... in a major way."

"Just exactly how do I explain things if I do sign?" he asked.

I looked him in the eye saying, "People will believe the easiest explanation. They always have. They prefer to hide under a blanket of ignorance because they don't want to confront the truth. Either out of fear or sloth doesn't matter. All you have to do is keep knowledge of the sarcophagus under wraps for now. You tell the media that the Constable's arm was reattached surgically, and keep her covered in a mile of bandages for a few weeks until the media hype quiets ... It's simple."

"What's so secret about a sarcophagus, isn't that just another name for a casket? Why would you bring one here?" Inquired Dr. Connors.

I smiled to myself. "I'm sorry Doctor, that's what I call the device that will regrow Constable Connelly's arm and heal her of the other wounds she has sustained as well. The results are similar to a device from an old TV series, and I designed it to look the same. I even put hieroglyphics on it as a means of allowing my inner child to come out. I'm a very busy man, and need to find enjoyment wherever possible."

"Mr. Smith, what you're asking me to believe is a bit farfetched."

"Yes, Doctor. I do realize that, however, if she isn't healed, or worse, she suffers additional injuries, I'll be the one paying restitution, not you, not this hospital, and not your staff. You already have medical proof that you've saved her life. This would simply be transferring care of a patient to another doctor, a doctor that the patient already knows and had requested that he accompany her to your facility. Namely Dr. Pierce."

After several moments of hesitation, Dr. Connors took out his pen, checked and initialed all the appropriate boxes, and signed the contract.

I smiled saying, "Excellent, we would like to see the patient now."

The hospital's Chief of Staff, attempted to hand me the contract, only to have me hold up my hand in a stop motion. "That's your copy; I have all the proof that I need that you signed it." I stood as did Dr. Pierce.

"If you could please see to it that every staff member who has any knowledge of the constable's condition signs one. It would, however, be prudent to have everyone sign it."

When we stepped out to his office's reception area, his confused secretary was standing in front of her printer. Several dozen copies of the non-disclosure contract had already been printed with more continuing to print.

"Miss Stone, see to it that every staff member signs a copy of this stat, please. Start with the surgical staff but have the entire staff sign. If anyone refuses, send them to the lounge. I'll explain everything to them, as soon as I can break away. Oh, and Emma, that includes you. Thank you. I'll be in recovery."

We made our way to the surgical recovery unit, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the hospital was small enough that Constable Connelly was the only patient to have surgery that day.

Miss Stone was hot on our trail after signing her non-disclosure contract and started gaining signatures from the staff at hand. Dr. Pierce and I ignored her completely, except for a glance the good doctor gave her retreating form.

Our patient was due to sleep another fifteen to thirty minutes, so Dr. Connors started with the small talk. "Mr. Smith, what exactly is your medical expertise?"

I started to say something flippant but decided tact would foster a better relationship. I found myself closing my mouth and starting over.

"Well, I've read at least one text dealing with every medical specialty known to man, as well as all of the general study courses that would be required for a medical degree. I've studied extensively in the fields of cellular biology, genetics, and biochemistry but my main field of study, a least as far as the medical field is concerned, would be oncology."

Dr. Connors looked somewhat disappointed in me, before saying. "So ... you've never had any formal training, is what you're saying."

"No, doctor. I have not attended medical school; however, I assure you that I remember every word of any book I have ever read. Now, I realize that having book knowledge isn't the same thing as having years of clinical study, but I have no intention of going into practice, therefore a degree isn't required. What I do intend to do is repair the damages to Constable Connelly.

"If I didn't feel as if her suffering were on my family's behalf, I wouldn't be here. My technology, shouldn't be exposed to the world yet. The risk is far greater than you can imagine, hence, the non-disclosure contracts."

A deep inhalation and a stirring behind me caught our attention. "See, I told you she was strong," Pierce reminded us. I turned to see Constable Connelly, fluttering her eyes open.

She scanned our faces briefly before settling on Dr. Pierce's. Giving a weak smile and closing her eyes again momentarily, then she cleared her throat a few times before weakly saying, "You said you would be here. I guess that means your mission is taken care of."

"Yes," Pierce replied. "And just like I said, you came through just fine."

"Hmmm, yes," she replied, closing her eyes while raising her stump off the bed. "I feel just great." The latter being said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, noticeable even through her waning drug-induced lethargy.

"Constable Connelly, your injuries are just temporary," stated Dr. Pierce. "Mr. Smith is going to regrow your arm. By the time your family sees you, you'll be as good as new."

"Wow!" Connelly mumbled. "I've heard hallucinations were common when coming out of anesthesia. I must be on some really interesting medication. I could have sworn you just told me Mr. Smith was going to regrow my arm."

"Hello, Constable," I began, stepping forward at the same time as a nurse stepped around me to check the monitors. Dr. Connors interrupted her, saying the patient was in good hands and that they would call her if she were needed. He then proceeded to order her to find Miss Stone.

I continued, "I'm Mr. Smith. First of all, I'd like to sincerely thank you for your efforts on my family's behalf. You made a huge sacrifice. One that I hope to remedy."

Still fighting to wake fully, she rolled her head in my direction. She studied me for a few moments then smiled weakly. "I heard what you said about taking a risk to help me, Mr. Smith. I don't want you to feel obligated. I was just doing my job. Poorly, I might add."

"While I recognize you made some mistakes, I'd argue against your having done a poor job. Do you know what you did wrong?"

"I believe I do, but why would you ask?" she questioned while trying to sit up. Both Dr. Pierce and I reached for the bed's controls and soon had her reclined instead of supine.

"Because," I began. "You've proven your ability to think under extreme stress. You looked for solutions instead of dwelling on the problem, which is a rare gift. I'm always looking for exemplary individuals in all fields, and I'd like to offer you a job. Your response to a few questions is one of the final steps in your interview."

"I take it that you're Dr. Pierce's boss and that my interview involves a security position." Her deduction while still groggy from the anesthesia, made me smile as she continued without missing a beat.

"I made two, errors. The first being that I pulled the van over without a controlled environment or backup. Doing so could have endangered your family and was my biggest mistake under the circumstances.

"My second error was not staying behind the driver's door. If I hadn't been forward of the door, I would have seen his weapon, and he never would have been able to draw it. I lost my arm in the process, but, since you think you can regrow it, I won't worry about that unless you fail."

"Please, if you would, tell me what you were feeling," I requested.

She closed her eyes for a moment before deciding to respond. "I had an eternity to think about many things ... mostly that I was going to die, and what that might mean."

Her contented smile answered the question far more than her words, but the words reminded me of a quote. "We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out..."

She closed her eyes again, this time in concentration while continuing my quote. "... 'We creep in upon ourselves, and with big eyes stare into the night ... and thus we wait for morning.' Erich Maria Remarque, from 'All Quiet on the Western Front'. A very profound book. I think it should be required reading for anyone who has ever felt hatred, or given an order, or has chosen to follow blindly, no matter the cause."

"In other words, everyone." I chuckled. "I'm impressed. Not many know her work in today's day and age. Fewer still understand the message.

"Changing the subject ... your children are expected to get out of school any minute, do you want to see them before we begin, or do you think seeing you in this condition would frighten them too much?"

She glanced down at herself, then gave me a sardonic smile and asked, "Are you telling me that I'm no longer pretty?"

I chuckled and held my hands up in a surrender gesture. "Absolutely not Constable Connelly. I'd be lying if I said that. It's just that from what I understand, your husband is in Vancouver on business and has been contacted about your situation. I'm sending my plane to pick him up. I could give your kids a little adventure and fly them down to get him. That way they won't have to be alone while they wait. The procedure will take several hours, and will be long after their bedtimes before you wake up again."

"Call me Lynn, and I may or may not be a constable much longer," she stated while lifting her stump. "As for my children, as much as I want to see them, you're probably right. If they see me like this, it will traumatize them. Not to mention, if you manage to grow the arm back, you'll never be able to keep them quiet. Having them pick up their dad is probably the best option, but the sitter would have to go with them. Is that okay?"

"Of course. According to your contact sheet, a Miss Chris Parker picks up your kids, is that still correct?" She nodded, so I continued. "You'll have to work fast to arrange it. Hal, connect with Miss Parker." I instructed while holding my phone out for the constable to take.

She took my phone and after explaining that she'd be late, asked if it would be possible for her to take the kids to meet Mr. Connelly. After a brief pause, and having to admit that she was in the hospital and didn't want to scare the kids, she apparently was given an affirmative response. She then went into how the sitter should meet with my people at the airport, and that everything was arranged.

We wheeled Lynn back into the operating room she had recently vacated. Most of the equipment had been removed for cleaning and hadn't been replaced yet, which suited our purpose well. The sarcophagus was brought in, and I began the difficult process of preparing it for use. In other words, I plugged it into an outlet. We all watched as the lid split down the middle, with the two halves swiveling out of the way in opposite directions. Dr. Connors erupted in questions that I had to delay responses to several times.

When I was finally able to focus my attention back on our patient, she was staring at the seemingly empty box. "So, this is your magic box? Forgive my skepticism Mr. Smith, but other than the comfy-looking gel padding it doesn't look like much."