Month: July 2020

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Recollections of a Difficult Time

The calling of a physician is to save lives and restore or preserve health. As such, our primary focus will be upon how we can give our patients the best outcome possible.

Unfortunately, there will also be times in which one cannot do all that one might wish to do. It may be the result of the hard limits of medical technology at any given time. It may be the limits of a lack of resources at that particular time, most often as the result of an emergency that leaves us having to prioritize the treatment of some patients over others. And it may be a matter of legal constraints, particularly when we are dealing with minors or other individuals who are not able to make their own medical decisions.

During what has come to be called the Great Outbreak or Great Sick, there were all too many situations in which legal issues constrained what we could do. This was particularly the case for those of us who were living and working in the various lunar settlements.

We had the obvious practical constraints of limited resources, since even the largest settlements — Grissom City, Coopersville, Gagarinsk, Edo Settlement, Shiloh — could not provide their medical centers with the full range of equipment that would be found in a dirtside Level I Trauma Center, or a specialist hospital for treating cancer or other serious diseases. There were some times where a patient who could not be transported back to Earth would have to be made comfortable while nature took its course.

With the disruptions of the diablovirus quarantines, these situations happened more often. Injuries that would’ve been survivable for someone at one of the larger settlements became a death sentence at smaller ones for the simple reason that those resources were not available where the patient was, and transporting the patient had become untenable.

Worse, we also had the situation of people with family members and friends dirtside who were in various difficult situations. Even when there were signed directives such as medical power of attorney, there was often little we could do to ensure that person’s wishes were carried out. It was even more difficult when we had reason to believe that a family member or friend on Earth was in danger, for instance, as a result of being forced into a risky housing arrangement by the closing of group accommodations, but the person making the inquiries about their safety did not have the necessary standing to qualify for release of information under privacy laws. Although it was difficult to tell them no in such emotionally charged circumstances, we had to prioritize the privacy of the individual in question.

—- Barbara Bhin Thi Thuc, MD, Col. USMC. Memories of a Frontier Physician. Carpenter Point, Tycho Crater: Kennedy University Press, 2044.

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Narrative

A Ray of Hope

Autumn Belfontaine was sitting in the newsroom, sorting through one after another report of disaster on a level not seen since the 1918 Spanish Flu. If anything, the current situation was worse for the simple reason that the world of 1918 had not been nearly so connected, so that many places were spared for the simple reason that they were too far away for people to get to them during the incubation of the disease.

Today, only the Martian settlements were that far away. Even the Moon was a mere three days’ flight from Earth, if one were to take a direct flight. There’d been a close call with the Indian space program’s pre-flight quarantine procedures already, but it had been caught because the person had a layover on Harmony Station just long enough for them to become ill on the Sakura rather than after they’d gotten down. However, it had put a big chunk of Japan’s space infrastructure out of operation while everyone aboard both station and ferry had to quarantine.

And there’s some speculation that the next person to turn up sick on the way to the Moon will simply “fall out of an airlock.”

Autumn didn’t like the idea that someone could be so careless with everyone’s safety, but she could understand the motivations behind it. Schedules were tight enough in ordinary times, and with a big chunk of the cislunar spacelift capacity out of action, there’d be a feeling that they couldn’t afford to lose more on “just in case” precautions.

But now, with some kind of illness at Schirrasburg which might be the diablovirus, it became even more urgent. Lunans lived in far tighter quarters than Earthlings anywhere but Tokyo or Hong Kong. Even the various scientific outposts and mining bases, while isolated from each other, still had very little pressurized volume per person, which meant that everyone was in constant contact.

And then she noticed something on one of the Russian wire services. An anonymous source in the Imperial Household was reporting that Tsar Constantine had met via teleconference with Academician Nikolai Voronsky, head of the Russian genetic engineering program. Apparently Voronsky was reporting success in sequencing the genome of the diablovirus in its three major variants.

Which raised a serious conundrum for her. On one hand, people really needed some hope right now, with the news of disaster being moderated only by the fact that whole regions on Earth were no longer reporting at all. On the other, this was not exactly a reliable source. Heck, it was hardly above the level of “gossip sheet.” Was it a responsible thing to actually report it?

She retrieved her phone. Time to pass this to the people in Medlab, see if anyone down there had a good idea of its veracity.

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Narrative

Is This a Promotion or a Punishment?

Spruance Del Curtin had been scared when he reported to Dr. Doorne, although he wasn’t going to let anyone see it. Now, knowing that he wouldn’t be fired, he should’ve been relieved.

Except he wasn’t. Dr. Doorne was presenting this new assignment as a promotion: he was going to get to participate in the actual analysis of the data, right along with the actual scientists. While the rest of his class was working with old data sets with known answers, he was actually going to get to see and participate in science in progress. Which meant that Dr. Doorne was serious about that co-authorship.

Except everything about it left him feeling very strange. In particular, this business of liaisoning with IT, which sounded very much like he was going to be working down there at least part of the time. Just how was it going to be arranged? Was he going to be Dr. Doorne’s representative when she needed something out of IT, or was he going to be working down there as well as in her office?

If it was the latter, he could find himself with two bosses on the same project. He had some experience with that, especially when Shepardsport Pirate Radio had first been set up and the lines of command weren’t as clear as they’d become. It wasn’t exactly a situation he was eager to repeat — but neither was he eager to blow what could be a very good chance to get noticed in a good way by higher-ups.

Definitely he was going to have to keep an eye on things.

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Paying the Bills

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Narrative

We Must Do Lunch Sometime

Brenda Redmond found it strange to be coming up to the dining commons without the children in tow. Almost as if she were naked.

But both of them were having lunch with their training groups today. It wasn’t an every-day occurrence that lessons ran over and they had to have a meal sent to their classrooms, but it was rare that both her children would on the same day.

No use worrying about it. She’d gone to lunch alone a lot of times when she was single. Even if she did still live with her folks, both of them had jobs that tended to make it difficult to eat lunch as a family. Heck, half the time Dad had been so busy he couldn’t even get away from Engineering for supper.

Things had settled down as the settlement had expanded its life-support capacity to handle all the Expulsees with a comfortable margin of error. But by then she’d married Drew and tended to sit with the other pilots’ families, and once the kids came along, she’d gotten used to eating as a family, reminding the kids of their table manners when they’d rather play with their food and goof off instead of eating and freeing up the seats for the next person.

As she was walking through the dining commons in search of a free seat, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. She walked over to join Lou Corlin. “You must’ve made good time up here.”

“The Timeline Brothers showed up early, so we got most of the handoff done before it was actually time to sign off. That and I got lucky at all my airlocks.” Lou helped her into her seat, a gallantry that seemed like something out of a movie. “So how did it go?”

“Gym went fine. I think we’re finally getting a handle on the wear and tear on the equipment, especially now that the new gym has room for three times the amount of machines. Right after the the first wave of Expulsions, Dad was complaining that Fitness shouldn’t be so astonished they were having constant problems when their machines didn’t even get any down time for preventative maintenance.”

Lou lowered his voice. “Actually, I was wondering whether you learned anything at Medlab.”

“Yeah, right.” The words came out awkwardly and Brenda could feel her cheeks grow warm. “I talked with Dr. Gorman, and he did seem to take me seriously. But he said he’d have to pass it to someone with more authority, so right now I’m playing the waiting game.”

Lou commiserated. “Do you want me to let Toni know now, or would it be better to stand pat until we actually know something?”

Brenda considered that question. “Maybe tell her we’re hitting some delays, but don’t make a big deal of it. She’s pretty high in the IT hierarchy over at Grissom City, so she’s probably got a lot of stuff to keep her occupied as it is.”

Lou allowed that she was probably right, and shifted the conversation to something more neutral. The table was starting to fill up, and it was inappropriate to carry on a conversation about private matters in front of others.

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Narrative

A Change of Assignment

All the way to the Astronomy Department, Spruance Del Curtin battled a sense of dread. Last night’s confrontation had been unpleasant, particularly since he’d had to choose between discussing how he’d been noticing patterns in the data for this project and admitting that he’d listened in on his boss’s phone conversation with her husband. If he’d thought about the possibility earlier, he could’ve prepared a plausible reason to be using the newsroom computer at that hour. But he’d never expected the commandant and head of IT to pick right then to meet Autumn Belfontaine in the newsroom. And once Captain Waite was bearing down on him, trying to think one up would only ensure he got suspected of lying.

Which meant that now he was going to have to face Dr. Doorne with the admission that he’d allowed his curiosity about the patterns in the data to get the better of him. She’d been quite clear on the importance that he not know what the data represented, so that he could approach it purely as numbers and avoid inserting his own biases into it.

He did not like the thought of being kicked off the project. This was real science, as real and important as his work as a DJ for Shepardsport Pirate Radio. If he’d been able to stay out of trouble, he would’ve had the recommendation of a major figure in the field, someone whose talents and skillsets were sufficiently unusual that it was considered worthwhile to actually bring her up her to do hands-on work with the telescopes, not just handle the data once it got down to Earth.

But there could be no avoiding the issue. Even if Captain Waite hadn’t told her about last night, it was only a matter of time before he did. In the meantime, Sprue needed to be on that data. Worst case, Dr. Doorne would decide those data sets needed to be re-sanitized by someone else. If he didn’t show up at all, there’d be no escaping a serious blot on his permanent record.

As usual, the Astronomy Department was quiet at this hour. But then it was relatively small, since almost all astronomy these days was data. The days of glass photographic plates was long gone — even optical telescopes used imaging technology to digitize the starfields for transmission and analysis. Anyone who was actually up here either was doing essential hands-on work like Dr. Doorne, who was also an electrical engineer, or was married to someone with a Writ of Expulsion against them.

Sprue had expected to find her in her office. Instead, she was in the main office, talking to her son. “Daddy’s going to be OK, Rusty. Now it’s time to go with Miz Lizzy.”

Some times it was hard to remember the kid was only four years old. But kids up here grew up fast. A four-year-0ld was already old enough to help the older kids with simple jobs like wrangling floorbots, and to help teach the twos and threes basic skills.

With her son handed off, Dr. Doorne turned to face Sprue. “Ah, Mr. Del Curtin, we need to talk. Come with me to my office.”

Sprue’s guts clenched, but he kept his face expressionless as he walked beside her. At least this way you get it over and done with.

The computer on which he’d been working for the last several days was now pushed against the wall. He took the indicated seat and prepared for the dressing-down.

But Dr. Doorne didn’t loom over him and yell, just sat down at her desk and looked straight into his eyes. “Captain Waite has told me about your independent investigations. While your initiative would otherwise be commendable, it puts me into an awkward position. Obviously, I can no longer have you doing this job now that you’ve noticed patterns in the data and took it upon yourself to find out what they mean.”

She paused to let him stew. How badly would it hurt him to get dismissed? Would it put his regular work in danger, or his future training units? More importantly, would it imperil his position at Shepardsport Pirate Radio?

Just when he wondered if he was expected to say something on his own behalf, Dr. Doorne’s stern expression softened. “On the other hand, your independent research shows that you are definitely ready to participate in the next stage of this project. I do have two other students of mine beginning the data sanitization and verification process, and they can double-check your work for the last few days just in case your interest in its meaning introduced any unconscious bias.”

By force of will Sprue kept his mouth from falling agape like a fish out of water. He wasn’t being fired, or even disciplined. Instead, he was getting a promotion.

More importantly, why did he have this gut feeling that it was not necessarily a good thing?

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Narrative

An Uncomfortable Request

Brenda Redmond was no stranger to Medlab. She’d been up here plenty of times for routine health checkups, prenatal care and childbirth, all the usual stuff. But today was different — she couldn’t shake a sense of dread, of wondering if she’d made a big mistake in telling Lou Corlin she was going to do this herself.

At the time her arguments had made sense: she was married and had two children, and her husband was an Air Force officer and a pilot-astronaut. Dr. Thuc and the rest of Medstaff would take her a lot more seriously than Lou, who was three years younger than her and still trying to get his steady girlfriend transferred over here.

Now that she was walking up the corridor to the entrance with the big red cross on the double doors, she wasn’t so sure. Just how much evidence did she really have that Robbie was in danger? That text had been worrisome, but its disjointed expression could also be chalked up to panic.

Which is not tolerated up here. You either learn to keep your head about you, or you never get any positions of trust or responsibility. Effectively, you remain a child for the rest of your life.

With those thoughts Brenda quelled the butterflies in her stomach and pushed the doors open. She was not going to give in to her anxieties and back out.

Several people were sitting in the waiting room. Brenda recognized most of them on sight — Shepardsport was still small enough that a person with a good memory for faces could — but a few were unfamiliar. Just people she didn’t have any connection with, or actual outsiders?

That thought made her uncomfortable in a way she’d never known before. Shepardsport had been founded to support scientific activity on Farside, and openness and collegiality were at the heart of science. Although Brenda was aware that scientists often fell short of that ideal, jealously guarding their own turf, it still bothered her that she should immediately treat outsider as suspect, maybe dangerous.

This was what the diablovirus had done to them. Shepardsport was walling up like a fortress, if not physically, then mentally.

As a mother she understood — she would do whatever it took to keep her children safe. If it meant that the outlying settlements which depended upon Shepardsport Medlab found no help here, it was the price of safety for her own.

Still, it left her uncomfortable, especially when she was supposed to be on a mission of mercy for an old friend. But right now she needed to deal with the receptionist, who could become a gatekeeper as easily as a facilitator.

As was the case in so many offices here in Shepardsport, the receptionist was pretty clearly a teenager. Mature enough to be entrusted with being the department’s public face, but not yet ready for more substantial responsibilities in the actual workings of the department.

Brenda’s expectations proved correct: the young woman listened attentively, without attempting to brush her off or diminish her concerns. At length she made a call, talked to someone.

“Dr. Gorman will speak with you .”

Brenda was surprised to be connected with someone so quickly and easily. Not just the absence of waiting, but also the lack of any hint of criticism, of a desire to know why she hadn’t made an appointment or followed any of the other usual formalities for non-emergency visits.

Dr. Gorman was an older man, gray haired and a little stooped even in lunar gravity. Unlike Dr. Thuc, he was a civilian, which may have accounted for his willingness to speak to her.

Brenda explained the situation, the puzzling e-mail only a few days ago. “The very lack of clear, coherent detail makes me think that whatever breach Robbie had with her folks is serious. I want to contact her, make sure she’s safe, but if she’s under their roof, it’s possible that contacting her could put her in danger.”

“So you are expecting to have us be able to do what on her behalf?”

Here was the kicker: he was going to make her explicitly request Medstaff’s aid, rather than picking up on the significance of her description. Phrase it badly and she could ensure Robbie got no help.

“We’re hoping that someone in Medstaff would have the necessary authority to obtain the geolocation metadata for her phone. If she’s definitely not in her parents’ area, I’ll know whether it’s safe to contact her directly, or if I need to find an intermediary.”

“Ah, a commendable caution. However, I will need to confer with my colleagues and ensure that this intervention will be permissible.”

He then took down her phone number, so he could let her know how the decision went. At least it’s not a no, Brenda told herself.

Still, it was disheartening to know that there would still be a wait.

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Narrative

A Quick Conference

“Reggie, we’ve got to step on that kid, hard.” Even over the phone, Ken Redmond’s voice had that gruff-Gus growl that brought back nostalgic memories. “I’ve seen this kind of shit again and again. He thinks the rules don’t apply to him.”

“He’s a Shep, Ken.” Reggie Waite didn’t like to belabor the obvious, but he could tell Ken was thinking in terms of the average difficult kid. “Punishing him will only make him focus on avoiding getting caught in the future.”

“And you’re just going to let him break rules and get away with it? What happens when someone gets hurt because of him?”

Reggie could see Ken’s point. The Moon wasn’t a safe place, could never be a safe place — but so were a lot of places on Earth. On the other hand, he was thinking like a Grissom, not a Shepard.

“Ken, I know he works for you down in Engineering. Has he ever broken any rules that have actual safety consequences? As opposed to administrative rules?”

“Goddammit, Reggie, it’s the principle of the thing.” Ken paused, took a deep breath, then started again. “You’re a military man. You understand why the military trains new recruits the way we do in boot camp. It’s not just the specific skills we’re trying to instill in them. It’s the habit of obedience, of attention to detail, of following procedure even when you don’t know why it’s important. That kid’s the very model of the barracks-room lawyer, and if we don’t step on him, hard, we’re going to have no end of trouble with him. And damn likely, half the other Sheps in this place.”

Yes, Ken was riled up. He’d completely forgotten he was talking to a clone of Alan Shepard right now.

But remarking upon that fact wasn’t going to be productive. “But he’s not a recruit at boot camp. Making him do busywork as punishment is just going to reinforce the problem instead of resolving it. And the real problem is that he’s not being challenged. Most of his work is so easy it just occupies his time, not his mind. I’d be ready to bet money that he does absolutely no studying in that stats class he’s taking right now. Just reads through the text, then plugs and chugs on whatever stats package Dr. Doorne’s got them using, and still gets A’s. And how much actual problem-solving is he doing in his work for you, and how much rote work?”

No, Ken didn’t like to have to admit that he’d decided to punish Sprue’s attitude issues by keeping him on very basic work, the stuff that wasn’t done by a robot only because it needed just a little more executive function than could be programmed into one. For most genesets it would have brought about the desired change in attitude, but a Shep would just see it as the boss having it out for him.

“We’re going to have to find something that actually makes him work hard, not just busy. Something that actually makes him have to stretch to meet the mark, instead of just mailing it in. Until then, he’s going to view the rules as a technical challenge instead of boundaries he needs to respect.”

“Reggie, you can’t reward this shit of his. He’s got to be punished.”

No, Ken wasn’t getting it. He was a top-notch engineer, and a great organizer, but he just didn’t get Sheps. “Ken, how about we just plain take him out of Engineering. If he likes playing hacker so much, maybe it’s time we move him to IT. Or if that doesn’t work, I’ll take him on myself.” Although that could be risky, since Sheps tend to set each other off.

Ken grumbled, but he agreed that his approach wasn’t working. Maybe it was time for some kind of interdisciplinary approach — give him work that bridged several different departments. Especially if they could get Dr. Doorne on board, since they might be able to involve whatever project she was having him do on the side.

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Narrative

An Unwelcome Surprise

Spruance Del Curtin was winding up his search when he heard voices in the front office of the radio station. For a moment he wondered if it was just some of the late-night people from Engineering walking past, but no, they’d definitely come in.

And from what he could overhear, they were talking about whatever was going on in Schirrasburg. Yes, that was definitely Autumn Belfontaine. He’d recognize her voice anywhere.

He glanced around the newsroom in search of somewhere to hide, then realized that it would only make him look even more suspicious. Better to just have something innocuous up on the monitor and pretend that he was just preparing for tomorrow’s air shift.

And then the overhead lights came on, catching him completely by surprise. He blinked, his cheeks warming with the embarrassment of being caught by surprise.

“Now this is a surprise.” Reginald Waite looked down at Sprue. “I hadn’t expected you to be putting in extra hours tonight.”

Whatever line he’d been planning to say went straight out of Sprue’s head. He probably could’ve fast-talked his way past anyone else, even Ken Redmond, but Waite knew exactly what buttons to push.

“Just doing some research.” Damn if that didn’t sound defensive.

“Would it have anything to do with your recent communications with Chandler Armitage?” Reggie leaned forward a little. “I’m hearing that you’ve been texting him quite a bit about some data you’ve been working on.”

That rat! Sprue had to fight down an upwelling of incandescent rage at the thought of being betrayed by a brother.

Except Chandler was a Navy officer, an Academy graduate — and thus would have a lot more in common with Reggie. Small wonder he’d decide that the big Shep should know that little brother was nosing around.

“Um, not exactly.” Technically true, since it wasn’t actually part of the data he’d been asking Chandler about, but he would’ve never overheard Dr. Doorne talking to her husband otherwise.

“But it’s still something you’re just a little too curious about.” Reggie’s lips curled upward in a smile that seemed to belong better on a shark. “Very well. Since you seem to be determined to get into matters above your pay grade, you’re going to be accepting the responsibility that comes with that knowledge. I’m officially adding you to this meeting, and we’ll determine how that will change your role here at Shepardsport Pirate Radio.”

Somehow trying to find out what the heck was going on no longer sounded like so much fun. No, it looked like a lot more work, and a lot less he could brag about at the dining commons to impress his buddies.

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Narrative

Good Night Moon

There was something really strange about reading the old childhood classic Good Night Moon to your children when you were living in a lunar settlement. But Brenda knew her kids got a kick out of the story of a dirtside kid determinedly dragging out the process of going to bed by saying good night to everything in the room. It was almost as fun as Marvin K Mooney, Will You Please Go Now, but less likely to get them wound up into fits of giggles.

Finally she had both children tucked into bed in their respective sleeping alcoves, favorite plushies in hand to comfort them. Now to rig her own bed for the night. She folded down the desk into a nightstand, then set her phone on it.

Better check to make sure she’d set the alarm. It wouldn’t do to oversleep and miss her air shift.

Having your phone chime while it was in your hand was always a little weird. Brenda nearly dropped it, although with the Moon’s lower gravity it wasn’t as likely to do damage as doing so on Earth.

Still, it was a bit surprising to get a text from Lou Corlin at this hour. He had the air shift right after her, so he didn’t usually stay up overly late.

Just heard from Toni Hargreaves. She’s thinking someone at Medlab might be able to get the geolocation metadata from Robbie’s phone if we can convince them that she’s in danger.

Brenda tried to figure out how that could work. Although she knew senior Medstaff could use their authority to access a lot of databases that were usually covered by privacy restrictions, they were typically medical information. Phone metadata seemed unlikely — unless one was trying to determine whether a particular person was within a disaster area.

Except the whole planet was a disaster area, from everything Brenda was hearing. Trying to argue on that basis that one person’s metadata should be accessed sounded a little shaky.

On the other hand, it was a thread of hope. I suppose it might work. What do you need to know?

Right now, whether you’ve heard anything else from her. We sure don’t want to go getting Medstaff involved when she’s actually safe at a friend’s place.

You’ve got a point. Let me double-check.

Brenda took a look through both her SMS and mail apps. No, that text seems to be the last one.

Then our next step is figuring out how to approach Medstaff so they don’t blow us off. You may want to take care of this one, since they’re a lot more likely to take you seriously.

Brenda could see Lou’s point. Although they weren’t that far apart chronologically, she was married and had two kids, while he was still single and living in bachelor quarters.

OK. But let’s think things through overnight. It’s been several days now, and a few more hours shouldn’t hurt. And we’re a lot more likely to get a negative response if we go in their looking rushed.