OOC: Story time, at last! But first I'd like to quote an old post:
To: USC, Nekomi
CC: Wideband
From: Confederation of Kalia
We find your petty squabbling immature and irrational on both parts. If lasting peace is to be achieved since the end of the Shuurai-Nekomi war, both of you must put effort into it. Continuing to repeatedly insult each other, directly and indirectly, accomplishes little and casts you both in an unfavorable light.
We have no stance on the particular issues involved, but rather ask that you be civil in your discussions...for the sake of galactic peace.
Has there been any serious progress here?
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Halding Hospital, named after Stephen Halding, called by everyone Holding Hospital. One of the buildings to make it through the Scourge relatively intact. Carola felt a chill run down her spine as she crossed the threshhold. For all the advances humanity had made in psychotherapy, there were still a number of mental "keys" that could be pressed in most humans.
Grave of the living dead.
She shook the thought away. Above her, the plaque above the entrance read:
This hospital is grateful for its support by private funds.
In Memoriam
The lobby was small and polite, as with hospital lobbies everywhere. There was a high-quality netfeed, which Carola did not avail herself of. She made straight for the entry door at the back, signaling with a thought transmitted through the neurochip in her spine to the hospital network that she was familiar with the rules and regulations, did not want a worker to accompany her, did want an injector. She raised an arm to the injector rack and a robot shaped roughly like a stylized flat flame jumped to her wrist, skittering around and insinuating itself onto her skin. If she did anything directly harmful to a patient, it would give her a mild numbing agent that sapped her dexterity and reflexes. It was perhaps paranoid - according to hospital records, the injectors had been used twice in the past six years - but on the other hand, perhaps their presence was necessary, as there had been twelve deaths from visitor-inflicted violence among the patients in one year before that. If you could call them deaths when there was no mind present. Bodies having their necks snapped as they were shaken too roughly, that sort of thing. Maybe the injectors were placebos? Carola considered these things and more as she began to walk among the beds containing Scourge victims.
"Wake up." she said clearly. "Wake up!"
No response. None was expected. Only about one person a day awoke during these times. She came here not hoping to do good for anyone else, but as a sort of pilgrimage for her own conscience.
You are here to look at death to remind you to love life. Yes. Yes I am.
She subvocalized a command and brought up information on the nearest person. Gender, skin and hair color, height, weight, expected normal weight, apparent age, accurate to within three years. Major families that had
some DNA matches and might be relatives. Patients with a strong DNA match that were probably relatives. Two certain, a sibling and a cousin. Level of brain activity. Chance of awakening during one-year period. Less than a thousandth of a percentage. But there were millions of people here.
Carola knelt.
Dear God - if you're there, if you were ever there - be with me now. Amen.
No answer. From anyone.
"I hope you all wake up soon," Carola said, "because our civilization has recovered and you are sorely missed." She spoke at length, occasionally passing another visitor. Finally, she grew overwhelmed. Row after row, room after room, floor after floor, uncounted... 'bodies' lay silent. She felt accused; the classical guilt of the survivor; perhaps she could have been taken instead. But such a thing was not really worth considering, and she couldn't wake the patients by any effort of her own.
As she left, depositing the injector, there was a message for her. Noticing that she had paid three times to visit the hospital, she was asked if she wanted to purchase a supporter's subscription, which allowed her to visit any time she wanted. The money would go towards continued therapy development and hospital maintenance.
"No." Carola vocalized. If she did that, she knew she wouldn't return here again. She'd sit at home and justify that she was supporting the hospital, and the real reason for not returning would be that she didn't want to see it again.
If I stop going, I'll lose my respect for life.
She knew it to be the truth as soon as she thought it. While it was all very practicalist to do something else, she really ought to care more for uncounted people hanging between life and death...
"Get me a figure for how many comatose patients are in Halding Hospital." she said to the nearest robot.