The master computer, still operating under the imperative to provide medical assistance for the new operator, took notice when orders were given to adjust the replicant of Margaret Houlihan. Houlihan, it noted, was an accomplished nurse both in military and civilian settings, among many other roles she had played in her lifetime. Obviously the adjustments were ordered so that she would be better able to assist the operator in recovering from his surgery. When, after a significant waiting period, no final order to decant was given, the computer took action itself.
The net result of which was the single throaty shriek which echoed through the empty corridors and which brought Hawkeye Pierce out of his thoughts and into a pounding run back to Dome 2.
* * * * * * *
Margaret Houlihan Wachauf Wilson Alexander opened her eyes- which, considering the state of affairs when she'd closed them last, was her first shock. Sitting up and feeling a weight in her chest not in the least appropriate for her advanced years provided the second shock. Looking down and realizing that she longer had advanced years shocked her a third time. By the time her eyes registered that she was not on a makeshift cot in a storage room in a Staten Island hospital, helping victims of radiation sickness while awaiting its first effects in herself, she had entered a state of shock overload.
The scream helped. She'd expressed her combination of surprise, terror and indignation in one hundred ten decibels. Very cathartic. Not as relaxing as a Sazerac or a whiskey double shot, but it would do. Years of Army discipline came to the fore, and Margaret got a grip on herself and took stock of the situation.
Something had taken fifty years off of her life- rephrase that, had taken fifty years off her body and added that much, possibly, to her life. She was naked, with no sign of clothes anywhere around; embarrassing, but no help for that at the moment. Nothing recognizable except for a computer screen and terminal at one wall, which she used as a makeshift mirror.
Hot Lips once more, Margaret thought. The same beauty which had led far, far too many men to seek her attentions, which had caused accidents and which had distracted people from a fairly sharp mind, had been restored in almost every detail. In two places it had been exceeded; her hair extended almost long enough to keep her modest, except for the bustline which took up just too much distance to allow that.
Was I ever THIS large? Hot Lips wondered. She had been the walking, talking exemplar of female pulchritude, but she was pretty sure she'd never had quite this much pulch before. As if things weren't bad enough the first time around.
Ignoring the changes, she tried to activate the computer, first by keyboard, then by voice commands, then by profanity, then by kicking the wall. All efforts earned her the message, "Access not authorized," and a slightly sore foot.
The resources of the room exhausted, Hot Lips decided to look around. She found a door, stepped towards it, and ran right into Hawkeye Pierce.
"Pierce," Hot Lips growled, allowing the doctor to pull her to her feet.
"Hot l- Margaret," Hawkeye said, "I'd ask if you were all right, but the answer is obvious."
"Dammit, Hawkeye, what did you do to me?" Covering her chest with one arm, she used the other to poke a finger repeatedly into Hawkeye's chest. "I demand you give me my clothes, get me back to New York- just where in the hell are we?"
"First, Hot Lips, the only thing I did was to reduce your age and give you your hair back," Hawkeye said. "I confess I overshot on giving you back your other fine qualities."
"You don't ever change, do you? And for that matter, how did you get young? When I saw you last year you wore coke-bottle glasses and had more wrinkles than a Pekingese."
"We'll come to that. Second, I can't give you your clothes because I don't even have my clothes. What I'm wearing," and he gestured to his surgical scrubs, "was provided by the same machines which stored us here like cold cuts and then unwrapped us. Unfortunately, the only person who can make the machines work is my patient, currently in recovery after a surgery for which I did not lift a finger."
"Do you mind running that by me again?"
"It's a long story," Hawkeye said. "Make yourself comfortable and decorative and I'll tell you what I know."
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(Posted Thu, 23 Feb 2006 02:01)
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