To the Time Machine! - part 22

"Infirm"

in honor of Spitler Day 2009


The Past
The Creek

"We're gonna need a new fine arts building," said Dossey. "This one's ripped." He turned to his Leader.

Emperor Andy frowned in disapproval at the devastation what had been rendered to the fine arts center. He and his top minions stood atop the ruins.

"Mr. Dossey, impound this truck," Andy commanded. "Mr. Rockel, dispose of this plant."

"Compliance," replied Rockel, and immediately turned to the very gigantic task of harvesting the vest gigantic plant.

Dossey approached the young Emperor. "Chosen One, I must protest the arrest of the Axe-wielder," he said. "She was instrumental in the our defeat of the plant monster."

"I will interview her personally," Andy assured him. "In the meantime, examine this pickup truck." He touched the tailgate where the metal was ripped or torn, and pulled his hand back abruptly when he discovered the metal was sharp. "Ow!" He pouted. "I want to know everything about it. Are these people who they claim to be?"

"I believe they are," Dossey told him.

Andy shook his head, "I want proof."

"I'll be in the Armory," Dossey said with a sigh, and he climbed into the truck cab with resignation. Resignation scooted over to make room. (HA!) The keys were still in the ignition and the motor was still running.

Andy turned to his political officer. "Mr. Spitler, contact Ops Chief Doyle," he said, "and order us a new command ---" He stopped and squinted at Spitler. "You ok?"

"Not too good," he grunted, and swayed. Spitler was quite broad-shouldered and so, if we has swaying, he was a danger to himself and all those around him.

"Dossey!" Andy shouted, attempting to steady Spitler with his hands. "Assistance!"

Dossey unbuckled, tumbled out of the truck, and rushed over. Between the two of them, they managed to roll and shove the Political Officer into the bed of the pickup truck.

They roared down the road, speeding past the 23 MPH speed limit sign. They skidded to a stop in front of the infirmary and hustled Spitler inside.

In the waiting room, they filled out all the appropriate paperwork as Spitler's head rolled blearily around and he muttered in what Andy assumed was Russian.

Finally, they were admitted. The nurses ripped Spitler's shirt off and were surprised by how hairy he was (like a bear!) and that he had a giant bear tattoo across his chest and stomach which added to the effect.

"I can't tell where the bear tattoo ends and his chest hair begins," the head nurse declared.

Meanwhile, Spitler was turning funky colors. His skin was littered with thorns of some kind that seemed to be poisonous. And his breathing was alarmingly shallow.

The medical team went to work. But after many attempts to revive him, Spitler seemed a lost cause.

"Nothing seems to be working," said the doctor. "He's not waking up."

"We're losing him," the nurse said.


Meanwhile, in the Afterlife

Bright white light! Spitler blinked as his eyes adjusted to the perfect light. It seemed to buffet him from all sides.

Where was he? He looked down. At first, there seemed to be some kind of low fog hanging to the ground, but he quickly realized with a start that he was actually walking on a cloud.

This made him nervous, as the Empire's experiments with cloud constructs had never been very successful.

He spotted a gateway in the distance and so set out toward it, carefully at first, and then with more confidence. Somehow, he was able to walk on this cloud. He arrived at the gates, which appeared to him to be "pearly."

The gates were closed. Before them, a podium. Manning this pedestal was a bearded fellow bedecked in all white.

"Welcome. I am Saint Peter," the man said. His voice was deep and harmonious.

"Hey Pete," Spitler replied. "Petey Pete."

"You have arrived at the gates of heaven," Peter said. "I will consult this book and determine if you may enter."

But Spitler spoke before Pete could consult the text. "C'mon Pete you know you want to let me in."

"Beg your pardon?" Peter asked, looking up surprised.

"Pete," Spitler urged. "It's me, Pete."

"That's Saint Peter, to you," Peter huffed.

"Ask yourself one question, Pete," Spitler replied, "what would Jesus do?"


Finally, back on Earth

"This is beyond my medical knowledge," the infirmary doctor admitted.

"We must airlift him by pterodactyl to the hospital," Emperor Andy decided.

"Wait," Dossey said. "Didn't one of the time travelers --"

"Alleged time travelers." Andy corrected.

Dossey continued, "Didn't one of them wear one of those doctor thingies on her head?"

"Doctor thingies?" asked the infirmary doctor.

"Yeah, round, shiny, metal disc you strap to your head," Dossey explained, gesturing. "Doctors always have those."

"No, those don't actually do anything," the doctor warned.

"Fetch her," Andy told Dossey.


Soon

"Stand aside and let a woman do this," Jernigan ordered, shoving the doctor and his aides aside.

"Diagnosis?" she asked them, not taking her eyes off Spitler's lifeless form.

"Poisonous thorns, some kind of pollen coating his lungs, and a surly disposition," the infirmary doctor answered.

"We have to operate immediately," Jernigan concluded.

"We attempted it," the other doctor said. "We've been unable to remove the thorns, doctor,"

"Laser scalpel," Jernigan said, tying on her facemask.

"What?" the nurse asked.

"Laser scalpel!" Jernigan ordered.

"We don't have that," a nurse said.

"Quantum clamp," Jernigan ordered.

"Or that," the nurse said.

"Vibranium forceps," Jernigan ordered.

"Nope," the nurse said.

"Telekinetic stabilizer," Jernigan demanded.

"Nope," said the nurse.

"Pulmonary pulverizer," Jernigan ordered.

"Nada," said the nurse.

"What do we have?" Jernigan inquired.

"I've never heard of any of the devices you mention," the doctor protested.

"Well I'm sorry - I didn't know I'd come back to the Dark Ages," growled a flabbergasted surgeon general. "Might as well attach some leeches and drain his humors"

"No we do have a machine now for that," the doctor offered.

"Doctors," the nurse interrupted, "his heart is stopping." Sure enough the heart monitor was expressing its concern about just that very event.

"Cardiac arrest," the doctor announced.

"Defibrillator?" asked Jernigan.

The doctor shook his head.

"I'll perform a transplant," Jernigan decided.

"First of all, we don't have a donor heart." The doctor contradicted.

"I do," Jernigan said dismissively.

"Pardon?" asked the doctor.

"Scalpel," Jernigan ordered, holding out her hand expectantly. Nurses are trained to follow such instructions and this one did so without thinking.

Hastily took the blade, Jernigan reached down to the side of her torso and began to cut into her own flesh. She barely winced.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" the nurse cried. "You're not the patient."

"The patient is right there," the doctor exclaimed. "Are you mad??"

"No, I'm not mad," Jernigan replied. "Just terribly hurt, that's all." She plunged her hand into the incision she'd just made. After some fiddling and more cutting, she removed what appeared to be a human heart from the side of her body.

She held it up. It was still beating in her hand. "It's like Temple of Doom," she said. "Kali ma!"

"Dear God!" the infirmary doctor whimpered.

"I always keep a selection of spare vital organs inside me in case the Emperor is ever injured and needs an emergency transplant," Jernigan explained. "Spare heart, spare ribs, even an appendix or two."

The doctor protested. "But no one needs an appendix."

"How do you know what the Emperor needs?" The surgeon general grew hot as she sutured herself back together. "Ignorance!"

She closed her own wound and turned to the horrified medical team. "Now, make yourself useful and get me a rib cracker."

"We don't have one of those," the infirmary doctor informed her. "This is but a humble infirmary."

"Humble is right," she agreed with a grimace. "Downright medieval."

Her surgical kit had been confiscated by the guards. She was trapped in the Past with abysmal medical technology. She would have to improvise.

"What do you have?" she asked.

"We have a surgical saw," the nurse offered. The doctor shot her a look.

"That'll have to do," the SSSG decided. Taking up a marker, she began to draw a line on Spitler's chest where she would make the incision.

"Pardon, doctor, but that's the tattoo-bear's heart, not the patient's heart."

"Oh. I knew that," Jernigan said.



To be continued in the exciting next chapter of
To the Time Machine!



Spitler and Jernigan contributed to this post.