"The Customary Conditions" (New Melbourne, After The Raid)

“I’m sorry, Dr. Adler,” Monique’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Dr. Lao’s in a meeting with hospital administration…about you. It’s bad,” she confided. “Really bad.”

“Ah’m very sorry tah hear that.” Dorian closed the door, concealing himself within the ransacked confines of the infirmary. If he were to accentuate the positive within his sight, the reinforced pharmaceutical cabinet appeared to have successfully withstood both prying at the hasp and repeated blows from rifle butts. The drugs within still held their neat arrangement. A small comfort, given the scope of loss throughout the space.

Every bit of the new equipment from VCM had been crudely excised. Where once stood a gleaming metal rack of life saving technology now gave way to the cut ends of four bolts, protruding from the deck like the gutted stumps of a forest sawed bare. Above hung the remnants of the overhead viewscreen bracket, so twisted on its’ hinged mounts as to droop from the downward pulling to which the monitor itself must’ve given way. Cables hung, their ends chopped and forlorn. Sliced wiring was the only reminder of his computer workstation, along with a dislocated ‘X’ key, further evidence of the rough treatment bestowed.

The only technology left in the room were the plasma refrigerator and the Denta-Kiln-Twenty-Five-Hundred. The fridge had been left open, thus ensuring all the exposed contents to be spoiled. A silver lining was the fact that the purple troops didn’t find a common refrigerator sufficiently sexy to warrant further mischief.

The Denta-Kiln-Twenty-Five-Hundred, however, had drawn considerable attention. Efforts to remove it had apparently been halted…perhaps by some officer with a checklist. The device hung, dangling sideways over the counter’s edge by a single front mounting bolt. The unit’s door had been wrenched at the hinges, now suspended obscenely by just the bottom of the pair. The kiln’s facial controls were shattered, evidence of more work by a rifle butt.

The treatment table had fared only marginally better. Its’ control surface dangled, a destroyed lump of plastic which swung from its' feed cable. Apparently, one of the purple bellies had decided to practice his surgical technique, as evidenced in the series of head-to-toe slices made in the padding. The prankster must’ve tired of his game, his final stroke being the scalpel which now stood before him, impaling the table in the approximate location of a patient’s heart. “Do yah know anythin’ else yah can share?” Dorian asked the admin aid.

“Your program is suspended,” Monique whispered, “pending administrative investigation. Lao just had me file revocation orders on your credentials, as well as those of Giu and Schnabel.”

“Damn.”

“What did you do?” her whisper held a harsh edge.

“Ah’ll let yah know when Ah find out,” Adler responded. “Listen, Ah’m on a borrowed cortex. Mine was confiscated. Kindly tell Doctah Lao that Ah’ll call her when Ah’m able…probably in a couple days.”

“She might’ve cooled down by then…if she still has a job.”

Adler heaved a sigh. “Ah’m so sorry this happened. Goodbye, Monique.” He opened the medbay door, permitting a rush of air to rustle the torn pages that carpeted most of the deck. *Not readers, I suppose,* he thought as he lifted a single torn piece. He’d just bought this book, an antiquated copy from a rare book shop on Beaumonde. Dorian scanned the page, his eyes coming to rest upon a passage.

*…”The depth and strength of a human character are defined by its’ moral reserves. People reveal themselves completely only when they are thrown out of the customary conditions of their life, for only then do they have to fall back upon their reserves…”*

“Tragic,” Leo observed, shaking his head at the bedlam. “A man’s good work, laid waste. Pearls before swine,” he offered a mournful tone.

“It is a setback,” the medic agreed. “Thanks fah tha cortex,” he nodded as the little device changed hands. “Ah’m in yah debt.”

Leo tucked the cortex away. “Glad to be of service. If there’s anything I might do to help restore your practice,” he offered as Marisol entered the doorway.

“Dorian, Riley’s looking for…oh, shit,” she reacted to the damage.

“Indeed,” Adler agreed with the assessment. “Mah room as well.”

“Probably mine, too,” the mechanic replied. She swiveled the Denta-Kiln-Twenty-Five-Hundred back onto the counter. Her hands and eyes bent to examining the damage done. “Engine room’s mostly there, though they had their fun. Anyway,” she turned, “Jat took a break from hating me long enough to tell me we both have to report to Riley. We should go.”

“Let’s be on our way, then. If yah’ll excuse us,” the Doc acknowledged his unlikely benefactor.

“Of course,” Leo nodded, graciously stepping aside to permit their egress.

“They did ask me a lot about that equipment,” Marisol whispered as they climbed the stairs together. “You?”

“Yes,” Dorian affirmed. “Ah found some of their threats tah be most enlightenin’ as well.”