"Freedom Is Just a State of Mind"
Chapter Eight
John caught the frowning physician's comment. "Not to worry, Doc. The paramedic I stayed with in Seattle had his own boat and his own fishing lines and lobster traps. We had salmon every night for dinner and lobster every morning for breakfast. After about the third day, I got kind a' sick of the salmon. But I never got tired of the lob—"
"—Excuse me," 'room service' suddenly interrupted. "Dr. McComas, you have an urgent phone call—from Atlanta."
"Thanks." McComas motioned to the firemen's meals. "See that our guests get their dinner, Greyson."
"Yes, Sir!" the sailor snappily acknowledged. Greyson grabbed the white boxes from the restaurant delivery guy and began heading for the air-lock.
NASA's contagion and contaminant expert stepped off camera and into the quarantine cubicle's control booth to take his urgent phone call.
Dr. McComas reappeared in front of the camera, less than a minute later. "Gentlemen!"
Gage and DeSoto directed their attention toward their videophone's monitor.
"I have just been informed that the order for your drug cocktails was 'phoned in' to a pharmacy, right here in L.A.. An alert pharmacist at this local store realized that there had been a major 'mix up' in the formulation of your medication. The pharmacist just contacted the CDC, and the CDC just contacted me. Apparently, one of the pharmacist's colleagues accidentally substituted Tetririzinol with Teterizole. Atlanta now says that your 'drug cocktails' should be 'immediately disposed of', as they contain a lethal dose of Teterizole."
John glanced glumly down at the innocent-looking solution in his IV bag. "Lethal, huh? That's too bad. This stuff would a' made an incredible nasal decongestant."
"A deadly nasal decongestant," Roy quickly corrected and shuddered to think how close he'd just come to killing his partner. The paramedic promptly detached the deadly drug cocktail's tubing from his patient's catheter, and then flushed its hub with the Heparin solution.
"Yeah. Well. At least the person would be able to draw their 'last breath' through their nose," Johnny stubbornly—and insincerely—persisted, and finally succeeded in coaxing an 'eye roll' and a slight smile from his uptight associate.
"As soon as he saw you starting to 'pass out', Roy crimped off your IV tube," McComas informed the dark-haired paramedic. "Probably saved your life."
Gage flashed his fireman friend a grateful grin and then turned to face the monitor. "He does that on a regular basis."
Once again, NASA's contagion and contaminant expert couldn't help but grin. McComas then directed his attention to the naval officer, who suddenly appeared at his side. "Guys, this is Commander Paul Herrington. Commander Herrington is the senior physician aboard the carrier."
The cubicle's occupants waved to the Commander.
The officer waved back. "I just got off the phone with the doctors in Atlanta. To avoid kidney and liver damage, the CDC recommends that the drug be diluted with IV fluids—NS—100 drops per minute, for the next 12 to 24 hours, dependent upon what blood testing reveals."
John was just about to protest Atlanta's proposed treatment plan, when the red light went out on the air-lock. The poisoned paramedic opened its sliding glass door. The famished fireman smiled, as his nostrils—and the entire compartment—suddenly filled with their 'mystery food's' enticing aroma. He picked the wonderful-smelling white boxes up and placed them down on the lab counter. "I doubt that any treatment will be necessary, Doctor—er, Commander. Yah see, my partner, here, crimped the tube off—right away."
The Commander glanced down and began reading aloud from the pharmaceutical book in his hands. "Drug: Teterizole. Indications of overdose: Loss of consciousness—"
"—Check," Roy solemnly interrupted.
"Pinpoint pupils…"
"Check."
"Elevated blood pressure…"
"Check."
"Decreased pulse and respiration rates…"
"Check."
"Uhhh, guys?" the patient interrupted, this time. "Other than a slight headache, I'm perfectly fine. Really!"
"Describe your headache for me," the Commander commanded.
The poisoned fireman finished laying their lobster dinners out on the lab counter. "I dunno. It just sort a' feels like I was wearing my helmet too tight, or somethin'."
The doctor's eyes dropped back down to his drug book. "Constricting headache."
"Check," Roy regrettably repeated.
John gave his partner an annoyed glare. "Will you stop saying that!" he ordered more than asked.
Roy turned to the monitor and locked gazes with the ship's senior physician. "Irritability?"
The Commander glanced down at his open book. "Check." The doctor stopped reading and turned to his colleague. "We should probably get that IV fluid flush going right away."
Gage gasped—in surrender. "Fine! Do what yah gotta do. I just wanna enjoy my lobster dinner—while I still can." He plopped down onto his stool and then turned to his partner. "Could you pass the tartar sauce…please?" he added, upon noting his buddy's blank stare.
DeSoto directed his dazed gaze toward the monitor and then exhaled an audible sigh of resignation—er, make that exasperation himself.
Very early the following morning…
John Gage drew a deep breath in—through his nostrils. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee caused his half-asleep brain cells to fully awaken.
Or not.
The fireman opened his eyes and gazed blearily up at a rather puzzling view.
A beautiful blue sphere was suspended directly overhead.
The fireman recognized the round object's partially cloud-covered continents and suddenly felt even more confused.
For some bizarre reason, the earth seemed to be in orbit above his bed.
"What the—?" he managed to mutter beneath his breath, before it all came back to him. 'Oh. Right. The painted ceiling. The quarantine cubicle. The deadly virus. The drug poisoning—' He glanced back over his left shoulder.
There was no IV bag hanging from his bed's headboard.
He lifted his no longer aching head from his pillow and looked down at his left arm.
There was no IV tubing attached to the hub of his catheter, either.
John allowed his heavy head to drop back onto his pillow.
His last blood test had apparently come back 'clean'.
The no-longer-poisoned paramedic smiled up at his home planet.
Roy was seated on his stool in front of the lab counter, perusing the morning paper and sipping at his piping hot coffee. He glanced up from the article he was reading, saw that his friend was finally awake, and called out a cheery, "Good morning!"
"Morning," John mumbled back and reluctantly rolled out of bed.
"Sleep well?"
"No." Between having to empty his bladder every two hours, and having to get his blood drawn every four hours, John had hardly 'slept', at all. And, thanks to him, neither had his cheery chum. He flashed his blood-drawing buddy a grateful smile. "But thanks for asking."
Roy returned his smile. "I left the shower out for you. You should probably use it before you sit down."
"Coffee smells delicious. I think I'd rather drink it while it's hot."
Roy's eyes sparkled with amusement and he promptly buried them behind his paper. "Don't worry about your coffee. You've got plenty of time to shower before it gets cold."
John scrutinized his suspiciously behaving buddy for a few seconds, but then obligingly stripped and stepped into their ultra-modernistic-looking shower's open stall.
There was a plastic placard fastened to one of the ridiculously tiny stall's walls. It read: Place both feet upon the footprints and close your eyes.
John's eyes widened and he decided to place both feet outside of the stall, instead. He started to step back, but the stall door slid shut behind him, and he couldn't get it to open back up. So he very reluctantly covered the footprints with his bare feet. He heard a loud 'cli-ick' and was just about to close his eyes, when a powerful jet of water hit him in the face.
The spray ran down the entire length of both sides of his body—and then stopped.
He snorted the water from his nose, shook it from his hair, and was just about to wring it from his eyes—when he was hit by a powerful blast of soap bubbles.
The bather snorted the foamy bubbles from his nose, blew them from his lips, and was about to swipe them from his stinging eyes—when he got sprayed in the face by another strong stream of steaming hot water. 'The rinse cycle,' the frowning fireman figured, as the spray flushed the soapy foam from his body and sent it swirling down the drain.
Nothing happened for a few seconds, so he cracked his still-stinging eyes open—and got hit, full force in the face, with another powerful blast—of hot air. The hot air blow dried his hair and then blew down the rest of his body. The strong gust of heated wind reached the fireman's bare feet, blew them both dry—and then stopped.
There was a final 'cli-ick' and the stall door slid open.
John's still-smarting eyes slowly opened and narrowed into annoyed slits.
Roy looked up from his newspaper. "So. What did you think of your 'shower'?" he innocently inquired.
His partner stomped out of the stall and over to their open closet. "That wasn't a 'shower'!" he crankily corrected. "That was a 'human car wash'!" He grabbed a fresh change of clothes from the closet and stepped up beside his bunk. The frowning fireman donned a pair of blue cotton boxers and an ash-grey T-shirt. He slipped some socks on his blow-dried feet and tugged a fresh pair of jeans on. Before crossing over to the counter, he went stomping up to the cubicle's control panel and pressed two buttons, particularly hard.
Roy saw his peeved partner smile in satisfaction, as the 'killer closet' and the 'shower from hell' simultaneously retracted into their cubbyholes and then disappeared behind their respective wall panels.
"This place is just full of 'rude awakenings'!" John further commented—er, complained, as he finally came stepping up to the breakfast-laden lab counter. He picked up his Styrofoam cup, removed its plastic lid and held its still-steaming contents under his still-uncongested nose. "Ahhh," he sighed, upon savoring the coffee's rich, delectable aroma. The sniffer took a cautious sip. His satisfied smile reappeared and broadened. "And 'pleasant awakenings'."
Roy returned his no-longer-peeved partner's smile and then directed his attention back to his newspaper.
Their videophone 'beep' ed.
Since he was still standing, John crossed back over to the thing and hit the green button.
Their hotel manager's smiling face appeared. "Good morning! I see the two of you still haven't read over all of the 'instructions'. Your videophone can be activated from practically anywhere in the cubicle."
"It can?" the two of them incredulously—and simultaneously—came back.
The doctor grinned and nodded.
Both firemen promptly put 'Read all of the instructions' at the top of their 'to do' lists.
"There's something in the air-lock for you, John."
John crossed over to the air-lock and slid its glass door open. He removed several black, plastic-encased rectangular objects, and then stood there, staring down at them in confusion.
"Those are video-cassette cartridges," McComas explained. "I visited UCLA's Language Center this morning. Go ahead. Turn your TV on."
John exchanged a puzzled glance with his partner. "I thought our TV was on…"
"So did I," Roy confessed.
John stepped back up to the control panel and pressed the TV button.
A panel slid open in the wall directly across from their beds and a 4'x4' television screen appeared. The TV's color screen lit up.
"Stick one of the video-cassette cartridges in that slot at the base of the TV and then press 'Play'."
John did as directed.
An attractive young lady appeared and began to speak to him—using American Sign Language.
John stared at the scene playing upon their television's enormous screen in complete and utter disbelief. "Far out!" he declared and flashed their hotel manager a grateful grin.
His benefactor grinned back. "Let me know if you like them, and I'll bring you some more."
"Thanks, Doc!" the sign language student gazed dreamily up at his gorgeous, larger-than-life teacher. "I'm sure I'm going to love…them."
Dr. McComas swapped 'eye rolls' and smiles with the 'smitten' student's partner, and then stepped quickly out of camera range.
Roy glanced around and finally spotted a green button on the wall behind the lab counter. The fireman fearlessly reached out and pressed it.
Their videophone's monitor went blank.
"Far out," Roy quietly declared, and calmly returned to his reading.
TBC
