M*M*A*S*H

“Why wasn’t this patient secured to the operating table? Somebody check on Op-Pod 3. Where’s Implant?”
    The light panels and the hanging operating robot in Operating-Pod 1 shook violently. Mars Army Captain Jaclyn Wu clutched the unconscious, young soldier on her operating table, a nineteen year old with blood matting his hair. The body of the soldier slid across the operating table. Jaclyn and a pair of nurses pulled the soldier back onto the table, and strapped in his arms and legs. The rattle of the instruments died down. Jaclyn looked through the large half-dome window at the other surgical pods and watched the nurses rush between them. Across the way, the doors to Op-Pod 3 opened and revealed Implant.
    “Here. Sorry, Wu. Fell in the hallway during takeoff,” said Implant’s voice over the intercom. Even from Op-Pod 1, Wu couldn’t miss Implant’s large, ocular implant. Implant secured the patient in Op-Pod 3.
    “What the hell was that?” asked a voice over the intercom.
    Dr. Wu looked over to Op-Pod 2. “It’s a roller coaster ride. What do you think, Welch?” said Wu.
    “I know it’s takeoff, but don’t they know we’re in the middle of surgery? Who’s supposed to be working on that patient, Implant?” asked Major Devlin Welch.
    “You, sir. Looks like a severed leg. It’s pretty mangled. Arteries are chewed up. We’ll need to remove a bit more leg. Also, prep a neural interface at the knee and ship them off for a prosthetic at base hospital,” said Implant.  
    Wu looked between the clock on a monitor and her patient. “Welch! Chop, chop. You’re slowing us down. Implant, I’ll take the leg after this. Start prep and get over here when you’re done. I’ll need a hand scanning this kid.”
    “I’ll be done here in a moment. I’m just double-checking my work!” protested Devlin, but no one listened.
    The soldier on Wu’s operating table had been ambushed at the dunes of Noachis Terra. Wu knew that outpost protected a mine. That supplied metals for the guns needed to fight this war. Which only seemed to make rich men richer. And young men and women die. A tale as old as time.
    Wu scanned the ID chip in the soldier’s neck. Private Evan Zhou. Wu smirked. Her uncle’s name was Evan. She shaved his head with a vacuum attachment that coiled out of the wall. Usually the soldiers were already prepped before making it tothe Op-Pod. What a mess.
    A robotic voice echoed through the operating room, “The 912th Mobile Mars Army Surgical Hospital has entered the thermosphere. Destination: Noctis Labyrinthus. Caution. Artificial gravity engaged.”
    The 912th MMASH was a Nebulae-class frigate that flew where it was needed. The hulking cube had four thruster feet that extended when landing on the battlefield. Originally, the Mars Army protected the Mars Nations against the Independent Colonies. Until six years ago.
    Mars’ original alien race emerged from underground bunkers across the planet—the Zyku. The Zyku were tall, bipedal hulks with elephant-like hide that wrapped tight around their jelly insides. The Zyku found refuge with the Independent Colonies, and now the Mars Army fought the Colonies and the Zyku.
    “We’re really booking it, huh? Why the hurry?” asked Implant as she entered Wu’s pod.
    Implant’s real name was Captain Leslie Gonzalez. She was the one who introduced herself as Implant. She had been shipped to four different MMASH frigates in the past two years, filling in where she was needed. She felt it was easier to drop into a unit with an easy to remember nickname. Plus, the ocular implant was hard to miss. The 912th was her fifth home, and Leslie wasn’t sure where she’d find herself next.
    “I would never say it to Devlin’s face, but he’s right. They’re supposed to give us warnings before takeoffs, not after,” said Wu.
    “I’ll let them know in ‘The Roost.’ I’m sure they’ll love the feedback,” smirked Implant.
    Implant synced her vision with the scanner attachment on the surgical robot. “There it is,” she said. Through her neural interface, she could see exactly where a fragment of metal had lodged itself in the parietal lobe. A nurse pulled up the image on a display for Wu.
    “That looks like a piece of Zyku flechette,” said Implant.
    “How much is in there? Those things are normally like a half a foot long,” said Wu.
    Wu was fascinated by Zyku tech. They’re designed to kill other Zyku, tumbling through their jelly. But they do a pretty good job on humans. Last month, Wu had treated a young woman—one flechette took the soldier’s hand clean off.
    “Three inches,” said Implant.
    “Private Evan, must have caught a ricochet,” said Wu. “Let’s get the laser up to temperature, cut a cleaner hole in the skull, and program the bot to pull that thing out the way it went in.”
    Wu cut the skull by hand, and programmed the op-bot’s surgical procedure on the soldier’s brain. An arm inserted a coil that snaked through the brain and carefully removed the flechette shard. The arm then inserted a probe to 3-D print brain tissue and neurons from within the parietal lobe.
    “Nurse, can you monitor the print cycle? I want to see that kid’s leg,” said Wu.    
    By the time Wu had finished her shift, she’d operated for sixteen hours straight. After scrubbing out, she beelined through the MMASH’s cramped halls to the surgeon’s cabins. She shared a common room with the other surgeons, but had a private room to herself.
    Wu flopped onto her bunk, and rolled over to her bedside table. She pulled open the drawer, and rooted through it. Bingo. Wu pulled out two vials with dropper tops, and opened the smaller vial. She put a drop in each of her eyes. This was one of her favorite batches. She had started developing her own hallucinogens in college thanks to a chemist boyfriend. She closed her eyes and laid back in bed.
    Lately, Wu found herself exploring past memories during her nightly micro-trips. Wu remembered when she was a young Jonathan Wu, growing up on Earth. On a farm in the San Joaquin Valley. When she fought with her parents constantly. How the wars on Mars started while she was in med school. How she met her chemist boyfriend in the labs. Wesley. How she poured her heart out to him. How he encouraged Jonathan. How she had personally programmed the op-bot for her own surgery and hormone treatments. How she later broke Wesley’s heart. How she was drafted four years later.
    She sunk further into the bunk. At least she could fight this war as herself. It was a change she was grateful for every day. Wu’s mind contracted and expanded pleasantly.
    BANG. BANG. BANG.
    “Wu! Wu! You decent?”
    How long had it been? Four hours? Twelve? Jaclyn Wu rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock.     
    Thirty minutes.
    “WU!”
    “Implant, what?” yelled Wu.
    The door slid open and Implant walked in. Wu swung her legs over the side of the bed, and opened the second, larger vial. Thanks to Wesley, she also knew how to create perfectly paired anti-hallucinogens to sober you up in an instant. Wu put three drops in each eye.
    “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt, but we’ve got a problem in triage.”
    Wu opened up her bedside drawer and pulled out bottles of pills, pads of paper, and an old family keepsake horseshoe. Wu turned to Implant.
    “Hey, can you have the pharmacy whip me up an antimigraine aerosol?” asked Wu.
    Implant shook her head. She scanned the inventories in a millisecond. “Looks like the pharmacy stock is out, and the drug fabricators are low on some of the necessary chemicals—Hey, you need to come with me.”
    Wu rubbed her eyes again. The side effect of the anti-hallucinogen was a mind splitting migraine that would rock her world for the next six hours unless she took antimigraine medication. She could feel a heat growing like a hot sphere of metal dropped into the middle of her brain.
    “Wu. There’s a Zyku in triage. C’mon.”
    “Wait. What?”
    The two raced down to the triage bay. Injured soldiers were loaded onto the triage platform whenever they landed, along with piles of the bodies.
    “It was hiding in a pallet of the deceased when we loaded up. It scared the hell out of the nurses and orderly on duty. It’s missing an arm.”
    Wu was having a hard time focusing. The migraine had captured all of her thoughts. Wu took a deep breath.
    “Implant, can you get me something for a headache? Something strong?”
    “Sure. It’s actually just its forearm that’s missing. It’s losing jelly fast. It looked like it made a tourniquet for itself. Pierced it’s hide with a—get this—a flechette, and twisted up the end. Gnarly stuff. As ‘military police,’ the MPs aren’t too keen on policing this one.”
    Nurses and orderlies clung to either side of the triage bay’s doors. Wu rubbed her head, and just walked straight in. Implant kept her distance behind Wu. Hunched over in the corner of the bay was the Zyku. It’s back was turned to the two MPs with stun batons in hand.
    Wu looked between the MPs and the Zyku. “I’m surprised you didn’t just shoot them,” said Wu.
    The larger MP gave her a scowl, and said, “We know better than to discharge our weapons in the vacuum of space.”
    Wu rolled her eyes. She approached the Zyku slowly. She’d never been this close to a Zyku who was still alive. The Zyku’s skin was rough, and a reddish-grey. They had a few coarse hairs sprouting from the top of their head. The Zyku turned and looked at Wu, and immediately stood up in response. They towered over Wu. Their deep sunken eyes were hard to see, but Wu could make out a hazelnut brown color.
    Drip. Wu noticed the Zyku’s wounded arm slowly seeped clear internal jelly onto the metal floor of the triage bay.
    “That doesn’t look so hot. You ought to see a doctor,” said Wu.
    The Zyku let out a roar in Wu’s face and the MPs jabbed their stun batons at the Zyku in response. The Zyku convulsed and dropped to the ground.
    “Hey! HEY!” yelled Wu. “Will you two knock it off? This Zyku needs a doctor. Implant, prep an Op-Pod for me, will ya?”
    The smaller MP said, “You’re going to try and keep it alive? Are you a fucking Indy?”
    Wu didn’t think the slur for Independent Colonists worked as intended. It sounded too cool. Wu knelt down and felt in the Zyku’s armpit. Their pulse was weak. Crap. Wu had to take another deep breath before standing back up. The stench of the triage bay was not helping the pain in her head.
    Wu said, “Look, I don’t care about your opinions right now. I outrank you. Get this Zyku onto a gurney, now!”
    It took Wu, the two MPs, and an orderly to lift the Zyku onto the gurney. The Zyku’s shoulders were so wide they bumped into every corner they passed. Wu noticed the Zyku’s body twitch slightly with each bump. A good sign, she thought. Still alive. Luckily, Implant had gone ahead and readied Op-Pod 2.
    While Wu scrubbed up, Implant ran a strap across the Zyku’s entire body, securing it to the operating table. The Zyku’s arm was supported directly underneath the operating robot. The operating robot’s arms extended and probed the Zyku’s wound, and undid the tourniquet.
    Implant synced her ocular sensor with the Op-Pod’s scanner and walked around the Zyku. Wu entered the Op-Pod while doctors and nurses peered its massive window. No one else was willing to enter the Op-Pod besides Implant.
    “It’s in cardiac arrest. I think? It has so many hearts. Are you sure it’s actually alive? Nothing’s pumping, but I’m getting the slightest signals.” said Implant.
    The Zyku twitched slightly. Wu tried a clotting agent on the severed limb. No reaction. Clear jelly dripped slowly onto ground from its severed limb.
    “It’s a special type of cardiac arrest. They lock their hearts in a way to prevent blood loss. It’s a great party trick. Now, shhhh. I’m trying to focus,” said Wu. She guided the operating robots arms to fold the Zyku’s skin and staple it. Clear jelly oozed out from the staples. Wu led the robot to suture an intricate pattern to further reinforce the skin.
    “How do you know so much about Zyku?” asked Implant.  
    Wu had a sharp, stabbing pain behind her right eye. Her hair was soaked in sweat under her surgical cap. The operating robot sutured the arm, but the clear jelly still leaked through.
    Wu said, “I keep up with the journals. Can you shut up? For a moment! Okay?!”
    “Sorry,” said Implant.
    CRUNCH. A smacking chomp came over the intercom system.
    “Who the fuck is eating out there?” yelled Wu. She looked around through the window and saw fellow surgeon, Captain Jonah Isles, took another bite from the apple. CRUNCH.
    Jonah said, “What’s up, Wu? Oh, by the way, Devlin’s here.”
    Devlin pushed his way through the growing crowd. “This is an outrage!” he sputtered. “We’ll have to decommission this Op-Pod and completely remove it. Sterilizing it won’t be enough. I’m going straight to Colonel Golubeva.”
    “Devlin, shut up,” moaned Wu. Jonah tilted his head and looked at the Zyku’s arm. Wu took a deep breath to keep the pain splitting her skull at bay.
    “Decided to watch the show, Jonah?” she said.
    Wu and Jonah were assigned to the 912th around the same time, two years ago. And since then, they had been sleeping together. Usually his presence was welcomed, but Wu was not having any of it.
    “Heard there was a Zyku. And there’s a Zyku. Go figure. The Colonel’s not going to be happy about this… Looks like your sutures are leaking. Zyku blood pressure gets pretty high with such thick blood,” said Jonah. He knelt down to get a better look and tapped the window to the Op-Pod.
    Jonah said, “You know, my brother, Ryan, is special ops—”
    “YES! Yes, you remind us all the time. He’s special ops,” said Wu. Jonah was very proud of his brother, even though every story made Ryan feel like an impossible hero.
    “—And he actually saw a Zyku medic once.”
    “What? He did? You never told me that.”
    “You always tell me to stop talking about Ryan. Anyway—a firefight broke out in a terraformed canyon. His entire squad was wiped out. He was laying low by the wreckage of a tank, waiting for rescue when he noticed a Zyku roaming around the battlefield. Medic symbol branded onto its skin, right in the middle of its chest and back. It found another Zyku wounded on the ground. Huge chunk missing from its thigh. My brother said the medic pulled a piece of armor off a tank and pressed it against the wounded Zyku’s leg. The medic attached a little black box to the armor—the armor got red hot started vibrating almost instantly. The Zyku yelled a horrible noise in pain, but after about ten minutes it got up and walked away with the medic. The armor had molded to its leg.”
    “You shitting me?”
    “I shit thee not.”
    For a moment, Wu’s migraine disappeared. The adrenaline shot through her body, and idea brewed.
    “Implant, does the motor pool have anything with a similar composition to tank armor?”
    “Uhh… Not really. Take a look at the monitor. Most tanks in the Mars Army use a carbon-fiber-reinforced-polymer armor. Emphasis on the carbon. None of our ambulances are armored like that.”
    “I’ve got a better idea. Borrow MO from motor pool and scrub them in. I’m going to the galley.”
    Wu rushed through the hallways to the mess hall. Nurses, doctors, soldiers, and flight crew filled the tables, eating their breakfast. Wu pushed through a line by the powdered eggs into the back galley. Between the silver ovens, counters, stoves, and fabricators, the Lead Culinary Specialist, Chief Petty Officer Giuseppe Savoy barked orders at the rest of the cooks.
    “Where are the goddamn potatoes?!” yelled Savoy. Savoy laid eyes on Wu.
    “Wu, I don’t have time for your bullshit. We’re behind on breakfast.”
    “I’ve got a favor to ask. Remember when you gave me a piece of that steak?”
    Giuseppe pulled Wu to a corner of the galley near the fridge.
    “Shhhh… Will you keep it down? Those are homegrown. I can’t be making those for just anyone.”
    “I don’t care that you’re growing beef. The real thing is better. You cooked that in a cast iron. Right?”
    Giuseppe looked proud.
    “Seasoned by two centuries of Savoy’s.”
    “Can I borrow it?”
    “For what?”
    Wu’s migraine was coming back with a vengeance.
    “I, uh… A patient gave me a load of vegetables grown on their base as a thank you. Pulled a load of shrapnel from his shoulder.”
    “Well, I’ll cook those up for you!”
    “NO! No. It’s for a date. With a nurse. I was going to cook in the lab over a Bunsen burner. I thought your cast iron would be the pièce de résistance.”
    “Since when do you cook?”
    “I grew up on a farm, Sav. I know my way around produce.”
    Wu did grow up on a farm, but she was an awful cook. Her sister was the one that cooked and baked.
    Savoy furrowed his brow and crossed his arms.
    “What’s in it for me?” he said.
    Wu rubbed her temples. She wasn’t looking to be in any position for favors.
    “Do you still have a thing for Implant?” asked Wu.
    “Leslie? Well, I wouldn’t call it a thing, per se…” Savoy mumbled.
    “I’ll set you two up on a date. You can cook her some of that famous steak of yours.”
    “Really, you’d do that for me?”
    “Yeah, yeah. To borrow the cast iron.”
    “All right. You got a deal.”
    Wu knew deep down Savoy was never going to see his pan again. She also knew that Implant was vegetarian.
    Savoy’s office was just off the galley. He unlocked a cabinet on the wall, and pulled out the black cast iron skillet. The shiny, black iron was ripe with carbon. He handed Wu the cast iron, as well as a bag full of salt, a small piece of chainmail, and oil.
    “Make sure you get it nice and hot before you start cooking. Do not use any soap when you clean it. Just hot water. And if there are any pieces of food, use the salt—”
    Wu wasn’t sure if she stopped listening or if she actually couldn’t hear Savoy. It felt like the blood vessels around her brain stretched to their very limits. Should she get higher? Would that help? She needed something. Any sort of chemical to disrupt the pattern of pain that had developed in her brain.
    Wu stopped Savoy. “I’m sorry, Sav. You got any coffee brewed?”
    Wu carried the cast iron and a cup of coffee into the sterilization room where Implant was scrubbing oil off of MO’s treads.
    MO-359 was a mobile engineering bot with a particularly advanced artificial intelligence. A large part of the MO series robots’ job was working with mechanics in the motor pool. No task was too small or too big. From grabbing tools to lifting ambulances, MO could do it all. There were a few other smaller bots in the garage, but MO-359 was certainly the most charming. Everyone called them by their first two initials—“MO”.
    MO had a transforming set of legs with treads at each end. His four legs could become two, become one. MO was effectively kneeling on one tread to fit in the sterilization room. His two arms were equally dirty, not to mention the oil splattered across his terminal screen and camera system. MO waved to Wu.
    “What’s up, Captain Wu?” said MO.
    MO’s language model was heavily influenced by the mechanics and soldiers that worked in the motor pool, yet the MO-series of robots were still programmed to address officers by their rank.
    Implant looked at the cast iron in Wu’s hands. “Is that sterile?” said Implant.
    Alarms rang out from the Op-Pod. The Zyku convulsed on the operating table.
    “We’re out of time. This is field medicine now,” said Wu.
    “Whoa! This is buck wild,” said MO.
    “Hold this,” said Wu. She handed MO the cast iron, and downed the rest of her coffee.
    The Zyku continued to convulse on the operating table. “Implant! Scan. Please,” said Wu.
    The crowd around the Op-Pod windows had returned. Wu didn’t see Jonah or Devlin. The inside of the pod was especially crowded with MO standing closest to the pod entrance. The doors wouldn’t close with MO hanging out of the Op-Pod.
    “Multiple heart rates have spiked. All different. Pressure’s rising. Sutures and staples are not holding.” Clear jelly squirted from a small rupture near a staple.
    “This is a Zyku heart attack,” said Wu. “MO, you’ve got a blow torch.”
    “Hell yeah, I do, Captain Wu,” said MO.
    “Get that cast iron red hot. Use small circles to heat up the entire surface area evenly.”
    A blow torch flipped out from a panel in MO’s left arm. The flame ignited immediately and MO made little passes across the bottom of the cast iron. Wu could feel the heat off the blow torch. It didn’t compare to the heat she felt behind her eyes.
    The ship’s robotic voice announced, “The 912th Mobile Mars Army Surgical Hospital has reentered the atmosphere. Touchdown in one minute. Destination: Noctis Labyrinthus.”
    The Op-Pod jolted and shook violently. A circle of red heat expanded from the black center of the cast iron spreading to the edges of the pan. The hanging operating robot rattled overhead. MO held the cast iron and their flame steady as everything else around them vibrated.
    Wu and Implant braced themselves on either side of the Zyku’s wounded arm. Wu pointed to the wound and said, “Okay, MO. I need you to be a surgeon for a moment, and press that pan firmly over the entire wound. Cover it all. Don’t let go. Got it?”
    MO nodded his camera system. “Loud and clear, Captain Wu,” said MO.
    As the Op-Pod shuddered, and the MMASH groaned and landed on the Martian surface, MO pressed the red hot metal against the Zyku’s flesh. It popped and sizzled on contact. The reaction with the Zyku blood warped the cast iron around the Zyku’s stump. The Zyku’s eyes snapped open, and it let out a guttural howl. It’s body tensed up against its restraints, startling Wu and Implant.
    “Keep it on!” yelled Wu. MO held the pan in place as the Zyku thrashed on the operating table. The MMASH finally settled and the instruments in the room quieted down. The temperature of the cast iron dropped and the red metal returned to black. The Zyku snapped against their restraints one last time before settling back. Their breathing softened. The pan warped around the end of the Zyku’s massive arm. Wu felt the heat off the pan.
    “Okay. Let go, MO,” said Wu.
    MO’s metal clamps let go of the pan. The Zyku’s arm rested back on the operating table with the cast iron pan stuck to it.
    “How’d I do, Captain Wu? Good shit?” said MO.
    “Real good. Thanks, MO,” said Wu.
    The two MPs from the triage bay entered the Op-Pod. The tall one cleared his throat and said, “Captain Jaclyn Wu, you are under arrest on the order of Major Welch for aiding and abetting a prisoner Zyku on a Mars Army vessel.”
    Wu closed her eyes and balled up her fists. Maybe if she decked the MP and blew off some steam here migraine would go away. Maybe a court-martial would solve all her problems. Maybe she’d end up in a Mars Army prison camp and fabricate rail gun rounds for the carriers in orbit around Mars. Three hots and a cot didn’t sound too bad. Wu sighed.
    “Lieutenant. Devlin Welch is as incompetent as an officer in the Mars Army as he is a surgeon. I don’t answer to him as long as there is someone else occupying the Roost. My patient is in dire need of recovery, so let’s take this conversation to the Colonel, shall we?”
    The Roost was the affectionally named bridge of the MMASH 912, where mother hen, Colonel Mikaela Golubeva, the commander of the MMASH, had her office and quarters. The MPs marched Wu past the flight deck to Golubeva’s office. Wu waved to the massive crew that piloted the MMASH.
    “Loving your work up here. I didn’t know landings could be so aggressive,” said Wu.
    The flight crew rolled their eyes. The MPs pushed Wu ahead into the Colonel’s office.
    Colonel Mikaela Golubeva sat behind her desk and reviewed performance data at her desk’s terminal. Wu dropped into one of the two chairs positioned submissively before the Colonel. The MPs stood at attention on either side of Wu.
    “Dismissed,” said Golubeva.
    “Major Welch—,” started the smaller MP.
    “Dismissed,” repeated Golubeva.
    The MPs huffed, but left the office. Wu rested her head on her fists with her eyes closed tight.
    “You look awful,” said Golubeva.
    “Thanks. You happen to have an antimigraine aerosol on you?” muttered Wu.
    Golubeva got up from her chair and went to her personal quarters. Wu slumped deeper into the chair and rubbed her temples. It was a dull, deep pain now. Wide too. The migraine wasn’t as powerful as it was before, but it was still relentless. Wu was exhausted. She swore off any hallucinogens for the next month. Or at least a week. Golubeva returned to the office and tossed an inhaler into Wu’s lap.
    “If I catch you operating in a state like this, I’ll see that you’re demoted to a sergeant and forced to work directly under Devlin. Stop fucking around with drugs and drink like the rest of us,” said Golubeva.
    Wu took a long puff from the inhaler and filled her lungs with the medicated aerosol. The pain in her head melted away. Her senses returned one at a time. Wu’s thoughts focused. Her breathing relaxed. Any headache was a memory now.
    “Do you know you have a Zyku onboard?” said Wu.
    “By the time word had gotten to me, you had already started surgery. I was watching on the security cams. Was that your first time operating on a Zyku?”
    “Alive, yeah. They made us dissect a Zyku at the end of med school. I hated it… But I’ve never done anything like that before. They’re my first Zyku patient. How do I know that they’re going to make it? What I did was some sketchy shit.”
    “Based off Jonah’s story, they might stand a chance. You did good. They’re sending a special team to pick up the Zyku this evening at 2100 hours.”
    “What?! They’re my patient. You ship them out before they stabilize, that cast iron might pop right off. And who knows what they’ll do to them?! Mikaela!”
    “Jaclyn, I don’t want to hear it. Intelligence has a right to question a prisoner—”
    “They’ll probably torture them by peeling that cast iron off what’s left of their arm. Like ripping a fingernail out. What’s the point of all this? What’s the point of fixing everyone if they’re just going to be pumped back into the grinder? Either the medicine’s not good enough, and we lose them. Or it’s too good, and they get shipped back to the frontline. They’re safest when they’re healing in this tin can, hurdling around this stupid dust bowl.”
    “That’s the job, Wu. We give them those few extra moments of safety, and we send them out in better shape than we found them.”
    Wu buried her head in her hands. The migraine was gone, but her head still hurt. Colonel Golubeva looked down at her best surgeon and sighed.
    “Wu, get some sleep. You can check your patient before they leave. Set an alarm for 1900, and don’t sleep through it. Dismissed,” said Golubeva.
    Back in her bunk, Wu did set an alarm, but she couldn’t sleep. Maybe she had done her part? She did save this Zyku’s life. That was enough.
    Had she saved the Zyku’s life though? She never did see them after surgery. Wu slipped out of her bunk.
    The brig was tucked in a dark corner of the MMASH near one of the landing thrusters. It was a violent place to be during takeoff and touchdown. Two new MPs chatted outside the brig door, but stopped as Wu approached. Wu peaked inside and saw the Zyku restrained on a gurney.
    “What do you want?”
    “I have orders from the Colonel to look over the prisoner before departure. Okay?”
    The MPs on duty grumbled but let Wu into the Op-Pod. The door sealed shut behind her. The gurney had sensors built into it and a monitor with all the readouts. Wu went to the monitor and read over the Zyku’s vital signs. They appeared stable. Wu was shocked at how resilient the Zyku’s body was.
    Wu looked down at the Zyku’s eyes. The Zyku avoided eye contact and stared blankly at the ceiling.  Wu walked around the Zyku and inspected every square inch of them. The MPs didn’t seem interested in what Wu’s examination, and carried on with their conversation.
    Wu tapped the cast iron bandage. The Zyku’s eyes rolled slowly to look at Wu.
    She unlocked the Zyku’s arm restraints and didn’t say a word. She stood there, frozen. The Zyku didn’t move.
    Wu backed away slowly, and knocked on the brig door.
    “Well, the prisoner is nice and healthy. Ready to be shipped off. Carry on,” said Wu.
    The MPs opened up the brig door, but Wu closed the door behind her. She strolled away and gave the MPs a little wave as she left.
    She walked casually to post-op and hummed a tune under her breath. It was late enough that most of the staff had gone to bed. A few nurses talked quietly in the corner of the post-op facility. Wu walked down the length of beds filled with wounded soldiers.
    She stopped at the face of Private Evan Zhou. Wu looked over his file and most recent brain scan. He’d probably have some discomfort and slight memory loss, but be back with his squad in a day. Wu added an extra day of bed rest to Evan’s chart. In this war? It was the least she could do.
    Lights flashed in the hallway, and an alarm went off across the MMASH. Wu stuck her head into the hallway. An MP sprinted down the corridor. As they passed, she heard their comm unit, “—Zyku has escaped the lower decks.”
    Wu smiled. Maybe she’d celebrate with a few drinks later.