Magus Star Rising

No sentient being shall be turned away from our services regardless of race, religion, sex,

physical or mental condition,

financial situation, or species designation.

UNIFIED BROTHERHOOD OF INTERSTELLAR HOSPICES OF NEW TERRA MISSION STATEMENT

The Patient

Brother Luis Ortega paused with his ear toward the door. What was that noise? he thought. A nervous tingling danced across the back of his neck. Surely... No, no, the surveillance cameras would have picked up any irregularity, he knew. A warning alarm would have been sounded by the monitoring crew. He just wasn’t used to these late-night hours. Sometimes, Ortega felt, albeit reluctantly, that things really did go bump-in-the-night. His mother had shown him how true that could be.

“Nicolas just medicated her a little while ago, Luis.” Ortega turned to see Sister Marsha Rusinovich climbing the faux-marble staircase. He smiled indulgently at her informality. “According to the day-shift, she had a restless day today so Hideshi allowed us to...”

“With all due respect, sister,” Ortega interrupted, “that’s Director Namaguchi. Hideshi is the head of this hospice, after all.”

Sister Rusinovich smiled, her face all dimples beneath the skull cap all nurse/attendants wore. Her plump figure neatly rounded out her white hospice robe. “Oh, very well, Brother Ortega,” she said. “Director Namaguchi.” She cocked her head to one side, her hands perched on her ample hips. “You know, Luis, you should lighten up a bit. We’re not officially a member of any religious order, you know. All of our so-called titles are discretionary.”

Ortega sighed. He and the sister had had this discussion before. “We are a sanctioned affiliate of the Unified Brotherhood of Interstellar Hospices of New Terra.” He paused for breath. It was, indeed, a mouthful. “Which is a fully vested company of the Rim World Conglomerate.”

“Who are, in turn, the bully boys of the Galactic Nexia. But if you keep on being such a stiff old turd, you’ll end up as one of our patients instead of an attendant.”

Ortega frowned. Rusinovich had never resorted to name-calling before. “That’s enough, sister. No need to be vulgar. Tend to your duties. I’m just going to check on the patient.”

“I’ll get an orderly to accompany you.”

“No, no. I don’t need a guard. I’ll be in an out in a flash.”

Rusinovich shrugged. “I’ll get one anyway. I know she’s become an interest of yours. There’s been no change, but that’s no reason to ignore safety precautions. I wonder why the family doesn’t just let her go. It would be a blessing.”

Ortega sighed. “You know why. It’s part of their religion, spirit-worship. The Great Spirits demand...”

“Yes, yes. I know. ‘A balance in all things’.” Rusinovich rolled her eyes. “That’s the problem with this planet--too many religions! Spirit Worship. Inborns. Vanera. The Third God. Why don’t they just follow one and be done with it!”

Too many religions. Just like Old Terra. Ortega frowned. “Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it? In the past, we Terrans tried to convert any outside race to one religion or another by any means possible. Post-Contact regulations strictly forbid that practice now.”

“Of course, of course. And it’s probably for the best, but it still makes it difficult sometimes to treat the patients.”

Ortega punched in the door code, opened the door and then, almost as an afterthought, shouted back over his shoulder, “And, sister, that’s attendant/nurse!”

Rusinovich snorted, waved her hand and walked down the hallway. Ortega crept into the room, his tall, gaunt figure a contrast to Sister Rusinovich’s full one, throwing skeletal shadows on the walls. Only one candle lit? he wondered, smelling smoke. Why...?

Too late he saw the bed was empty, the restraints unbuckled. Why hadn’t an alarm sounded? Had the monitoring crew fallen asleep?

A low snuffling sounded from the shadows to his right. Dear god, no... Before Ortega could react, a figure erupted from that dark corner. Arms outstretched and hospice gown flapping, it flew toward him like some nightmarish raptor.

Instinctively, Ortega crossed his forearms in front of him, crouching in a defensive maneuver. He and the other staff members had been trained in self-defense but he had never had to use that knowledge before. Nevertheless, he stood his ground, knowing there was nowhere to run.

“Wait! Arsh...!” Ortega fell back as the figure easily broke the hospice worker’s stance and batted his arms away. One of its long-nailed hands raked the side of his face. Howling in pain, Ortega was grasped by the front of his robe and thrown painfully to the floor. “No! Stop! Please!”

All training and pretense at bravery were forgotten then as Ortega screamed hoarsely for help, batted about like a bag of feathers.

His attacker straddled his body; bony hands encircled his throat; a face twisted and shrunken, enveloped by long, stringy hair, gurgled and spat.

Ay dios mio. Ortega gasped, flailing a free arm, trying to strike back. Can’t breathe, the pain...

Through eyes blurred by tears, he saw three figures burst into the room. Strong arms encircled the woman choking him and pulled her shrieking from his twitching body. A med injector was jammed into the side of her neck. With a hissing sigh, she immediately slumped into the arms of two orderlies who hauled her toward the bed.

“Luis, Luis, are you all right?” Sister Rusinovich cradled his head, her eyes filled with concern. “Your face. You’ve been cut!”

Ortega groaned. His trembling hand touched his cheek and came away covered in blood. A sharp pain shot up his spine. His head hurt. “I’m... I’m fine,” he lied. “How...?”

Rusinovich pressed the sleeve of her robe against Ortega’s bleeding face. “Nicolas must have misfired the injector earlier. Her medication may not have been the correct dosage. Somehow, she freed herself. My god, Luis, we must put her in a more secure area! I’ve been saying that ever since...”

“No!” Ortega allowed himself to be helped shakily to his feet. He felt nauseous as he turned his head. The orderlies had put his attacker back in bed and had refastened her restraints. Her head lolled to one side, her eyes blank and staring. “We signed a contract with the family. And even though she’s breaking out of her coma more often now, we must follow the terms of that contract. It’s the law. Money, or the lack of it in this case, dictates what we must do.”

“Yes. Yes. And someday that law will get one of us killed! I’m going to talk to Hideshi about this.”

“Fine, do what you must. But, sister...”

“Later. Tom and Elonia, help me get Brother Ortega to the clinic. And find someone to check the patient’s tracking chip and those damn cameras!”