The Wyrms of &alon

While I was dealing with Kurt and Letty, Drs. Derric and Lokanok had their own tasks to attend to. They’d gone to the cafeteria for a quick lunch. Nothing fancy, just enough to get them through their shift, which wasn’t going to end until well passed sundown.

“So that’s the one and only Dr. Genneth Howle, eh?” Jonan said. “I think I preferred the legend.”

“Jonan, you…” Ani chortled. “Impropriety. That’s all I can say.” She stood in a T with her arms out to the side.

Despite Ani’s protestations, Jonan had insisted to help her put on her PPE as they prepared to re-enter Ward E. Jonan was busy inspecting his girlfriend’s protective gown, making one last pass to ensure there were no tears or gaps in the plastic garments, and that the gloves were sealed onto her sleeves and the everything was in its proper place.

“I was impressed with one thing, though: the bow-tie,” Jonan said. “Honestly, whenever you mentioned it, I’d always thought it was a joke or code for something.”

Ani rolled her eyes at him. “Just gimme my face-shield already,” she said, “please.”

He handed it to her, and she put it on. Ani glanced at a mirror and nodded in approval.

Jonan pressed down on the top of his hairnet. “I look like the world’s nuttiest chef,” he said. He sighed. A slight puff of condensation formed on the inner surface of his see-through face-mask. “Well, thank goodness I put on hair gel this morning. My hair would be an absolute mess, otherwise.”

Ani crossed her arms archly. “Are you ready?”

Jonan leaned toward her and whispered. “I was born ready.” He winked.

She furrowed her brow. “Do you have to keep joking about that?”

Smirking, Jonan nodded. “We agreed to set some boundaries, including the boundaries we would let each other break,” he said. “So, you get to chide me about how I should try to be less cutthroat and show mercy”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“to anyone standing in the way of my pursuit of lucre and glory everlasting—and did I mention lucre?”

Shrugging, Ani tilted her head to the side. “And you get to indulge in your dark, self-deprecating humor, even though you know how I feel about it.”

“Yep.” Jonan nodded. “And just remember: however much you don’t like it, I don’t like it more.”

Ani was well aware of the joke’s significance. Very few people knew the punchline Jonan was dancing around, and the fact that Ani belonged to that select crowd was a testament to how much she meant to Jonan, and he knew she was aware of it.

Jonan cracked his knuckles. “It would be hilarious if I ended up getting this fungus and dying.”

Ani sighed.

Leaning forward again, Jonan pressed up against Ani’s body until their face-shields’ front visors started buckling from the pressure.

“The fact that you don’t like it makes you special. Every sigh, grumble, and eye-roll is a perfect moment in time. I know that you know, and I know that you care, even though pretty much everyone else couldn’t give a shit, even if they did know.” He backed away. “And that’s why you’re magic.” He grinned, and she grabbed his hand. “You’re just like me,” he whispered. “You never give up.”

She clasped both her hands around his. “And I never will.” She smiled. “Just you wait Jonan Derric, someday soon, a girl is gonna best you.” She poked him in the chest.

“Well then,” he smiled, “it better be you.”

The door to the hallway behind them rattled as someone banged their fist. “Hey! Lovebirds! Get a move on!”

Jonan ignored the speaker and nodded at his girlfriend. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The two of them stepped out of the transition-corridor and into Ward E proper. The people that had been waiting behind them stepped into the corridor to start doffing and donning.

“So,” Jonan said, as they walked toward the main reception desk, “what do you see in Dr. Howle, really?”

Ani grinned. “He really got under your skin, didn’t he?”

Now it was Jonan’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re goddamn right he did.” He snorted. “It’s just, he’s… he’s so… nebbish.” Jonan grimaced. “He’s like a Dad Joke in human form. I bet he even files reports on people he catches jaywalking.”

“He’s not that bad,” Ani said.

Jonan pinched his shoulders together. “So, what, you just ignore the bow-tie? Who wears something like that?”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Ani said, smiling fondly, only to sigh and frown. “You’ve met my parents.”

“Ah yes,” Jonan said, his expression turning flat, “Mr. and Mrs. Disgruntled Refrigerator.”

Ani giggled. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The two of them stepped aside to make way for some passing supply cabinets.

“I’ve spent too much of my life being on edge, Jonan. I wasn’t like you. I was afraid of what people would say about me. I was afraid of letting others down. In many ways, I still am. And that’s why Dr. Howle was such a breath of fresh air for me. Around him, you don’t need to be on your toes. I don’t need to worry that he’s going to call me at two o’clock in the morning to see if I’m still studying for my anatomy exam.”

Jonan shook his head. “Your father is very strange.”

“You can say that again,” Ani replied. “A life of putting up with that kind of bullshit is why it was such a joy to have Dr. Howle as a residency mentor. I didn’t need to stress about, or fear that stress was waiting for me right around the corner. No. He’s just… sweet; applesauce sweet. I mean,” Ani tilted her head, “he’s basically a forty-something year-old weeaboo, what’s not to like?”

The double doors leading to the reception area were just up ahead.

“But applesauce doesn’t have any crunch,” Jonan said. He pushed both doors open, one with each of his blue-gloved hands. He glanced back at his colleague/girlfriend. “And… weeaboos are just sad.”

Drs. Derric and Lokanok walked up to the Ward’s main reception desk. Ani start talking with one of the receptionists, getting any updates she and her console needed on what had transpired in the Ward during her fifteen minute lunch break. And while she was busy with that, Jonan went about surveying Ward E like it was the Biyadi Mountains and he was a Dalusian prospector, on the lookout for oil and gold.

For Jonan, the bustling levels of activity that had blossomed in E Ward since the first CMT meeting were thrilling and frightful in equal proportion. It was a brand new frontier, and, like any frontier, to the strong and the clever went the spoils.

Ward E crawled with patients and medical personnel. When they weren’t guiding patients to rooms or examination chambers or attending patients who already had been, the staff would be busy pushing hospital beds down the halls or shipping stacks of supplies from one area to another. Director Hobwell had put in place an upper limit on the maximum numbers of supplies each Ward could requisition per week, but, beyond that, distribution was entirely the CMTs’ prerogatives, so everyone was caught up in the mad dash for equipment, medicine, and matter printer use-time. The end result was one of the strangest springtimes Dr. Derric had ever witnessed. The different colors of gloves on peoples’ hands were like flower petals; they were the only blips in the otherwise suffocating, almost mechanical uniformity of the sight of so many men and women bearing the same pale blue plastic tabards.

Patients in their day clothes stood and sat here and there, sometimes in clumps, other times in lines, rarely following distancing guidelines. They ached and groaned and coughed and worried. They sniffled and sighed. Bowels churned. And sometimes, Jonan caught a glimpse of something dark on their skin or in their eyes.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what things would look like in a week or two.

Jonan decided to begin his reign as soon as he felt he’d gotten his E-legs. He found the perfect target: a passing group of nurses, carrying supplies.

With a swagger and a loud footstep, Jonan stepped out in front of the nurses and barked.

Jonan clapped twice. “Alright!” He fired off multiple rapid-fire finger-jabs in quick succession, one at each nurse.

They stopped in their tracks.

Jonan was met by a mix of awkward stares, confused mumbles, and one softly muttered quip.

“Hello everyone,” Jonan announced, clapping again, “I am Dr. Jonan Derric. You may have heard of me. As of—” Jonan glanced at his arm to check his watch, only to remember that he’d stored it away in his locker earlier that morning, “—well… two-ish hours ago, I am now your superior. Hear me roar. Now set those supplies down by the reception desk and get out your consoles.”

The handful of nurses—all genders were present—stared at Dr. Derric for a couple seconds before recalling his name from the earlier briefing and complied with Jonan’s request, albeit grudgingly. As instructed, when they came back, they held out their consoles in their hands.

Jonan nodded. “Excellent.” He stepped forward and scanned his hand-chip over each of their consoles. The consoles beeped as the system registered that they were now directly reporting to Dr. Derric.

Although Jonan had already acquired significant skills in computer science and information technology, it was only during his halcyon college days that he’d been able to perfect his art. A digital world was a connected world, and in a connected, digital world, good things came to people who knew their way around computers. Having successfully hacked his way into WeElMed’s servers several years prior, Jonan had access to all the latest sensitive information that he otherwise wasn’t cleared to know, such as the details of Director Hobwell’s plans to establish Crisis Management Teams, and that the middlemen recruited by those teams would share in the CMT members’ unparalleled emergency powers. The best part was that it was all technically legal. He’d presented the fishing message Jonan had used to establish his backdoor entrance into the server as offering security and performance upgrades to WeElMed’s servers, and his offer had been genuine. It really did help improve things, with the side effect of giving Jonan everything he needed to pursue his life goal of world domination.

For the time being, though, earning accolades for exemplary performance as a CMT middleman during an unprecedented pandemic would have to suffice.

Jonan began by assessing the current state of protocol implementation.

“How are we doing with the compartmentalization so far?” he asked.

“Well we haven’t had much time—”

“—Wrong answer, Kevin,” Jonan said, narrowing his eyes to read the name on the nurse’s ID badge. “There’s no point in segregating cases according to severity until the appropriate physical barriers have been put in place, otherwise, all the possible cases will become definite ones once the fulminant cases have infected them all.” Jonan met eyes with each of his shiny new minions. “I will compliment you all on your dogged pursuit of resource acquisition. It is always good to take the initiative,” he continued, "which is why there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have already devoted the handful of minutes required to set up plastic barriers in the waiting rooms and cordon—properly cordon—the hallways to streamline patients sorting and evaluation before, during and after triage.” Jonan turned around, pointing to the activity all around him. “I mean, look at this. This is chaos. What we need is order. Chaos is how the fungus wins.”

Jonan paused. None of the nurses reacted in any way.

“You do have triage up and running, don’t you?”

More silence followed, during which Nurse Kevin expressively mouthed the words “Fuck you” at Dr. Derric.

Jonan closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, okay,” he waved his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “I see this isn’t going to work.”

“You got that right,” one of the nurses—Isabel—said, drolly. More than half of the others laughed.

“Exactly,” Jonan nodded. “We’re about to embark on a dangerous operation of critical importance, and I can’t risk mucking up our venerable medical institution’s vital inner workings with underlings who harbor unrequited resentments toward me.” He glared at the nurses. “Raise your hand if you think I’m a dick.”

Jonan was the only person to raise a hand. He rolled his eyes.

“Let’s get things straight,” he said. “I don’t care if you don’t like me. I require your obedience, not your respect. If I can’t rely on you to listen, we’re going to drown in our patients and their infectious bodily fluids. As such, henceforth, you have my full and eternal permission to call me a dick. To my face.”

The nurses looked at one another in shock.

Jonan furrowed his brow. “I’m dead serious. Fuck, I don’t care what you call me. And if anyone complains about you doing so, they will have to answer to me. Just follow my instructions while you do so, and we’ll be nice and peachy. Those who comply will go places, I guarantee it. A rising tide lifts all boats, and all that. If you think I’m lying, go ask Greg Pfefferman.”

A nurse—Angeline—gawked at Jonan. “Greg? The IT guy?”

Jonan nodded. “The one and the same. Who do you think put in the good word with management that got him his promotion?”

“You did…?” Angeline said, cautiously.

“Jonan nodded. “Bingo.”

Several of the nurses exchanged glances.

“You are an utter dick,” Kevin said.

Jonan smiled. “Excellent.” He gave the nurse a thumbs up.

“King Dick,” Isabel said, with a shit-eating grin.

Jonan nodded at her. “You could be more creative, but I like your initiative.”

Jonan’s minions murmured in approval. The healthcare provider pecking order was very much in effect in West Elpeck Medical. Like everywhere else in our country, unions were a pale imitation of the Republic-era predecessors, and worker’s comp was effectively non-existent. A nurse could get fired if a doctor complained the nurse hadn’t treated them with sufficient respect. The opportunity to tear a new axehole in a physician as egotistical as Dr. Jonan Derric was not to be taken lightly.

“Now,” Jonan said, “would you mind telling me whether or not you have triage up and running?”

By this point, Ani—who had been watching from the sidelines—had covered her visor with her hand in embarrassment, although Jonan was eighty-three percent sure the real reason was that she didn’t want him to see her giggling at his antics.

“Yes, Dr. Dick,” Angelina said. She pointed to the reception lobby at the end of one of the three corridors. “Some of the other doctors have been trying to set up screening stations in the reception lobby so we can deal with it, but it’s been difficult because of the lack of a rapid diagnostic test that’s more accurate than this person is coughing.”

“Actually,” Isabel said, “I saw a recent update from DAISHU Health has suggested that dilute ethanol solution administered by nebulizers causes some NFP-20 patients to experience a brief fizzing sensation in the throat and bronchial tubes, and that this can be used to diagnose the disease, though it only works in NFP-20 cases with sufficiently extensive respiratory involvement. Dr. Tenneson has been using it in a makeshift screening station he set up in Assay Area 4.”

Ani strutted forward. “Nebulizers?” She shook her head. “There was a fiasco back in the SERS epidemic twenty-two years back where nebulizer use created aerosols that only helped spread the virus in hospital and clinic environments.” She sighed. “To this day, my Dad blames WeElMed’s use of nebulizers for having gotten my aunt sick.”

Isabel’s expression fell. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” Ani said, “but,” she shook her head, “it’s not your fault. Nebulizers are safe to use, provided you take the proper precautions and establish physical barrier around the patient while they are using the nebulizer.” She bit her lip in concentration. “You know, I think we could make Dr. Tenneson’s idea work safely, we just need to move the set-up to a fume hood. The airflow would then keep the particulates from spreading to others.”

“That’s a great idea,” Kevin said.

Jonan smiled. “I agree.”

Isabel rapidly typed out a message onto her console. “There,” she said, tapping send. “I’ve just informed Dr. Tenneson of your idea,” she stared at Ani’s ID badge, “Dr. Lokanok.” She turned to Jonan. “Hey, Blondy McFuckFace.”

Jonan nodded in approval. “I like your energy. Keep it up, and you’ll be going places.”

“Tell that to Jess Kaylin.” Isabel snickered. “Well, do you want me to go help with—”

“—No, it’s alright,” Ani said, “I’ll do it.”

Dr. Lokanok ran off down one of the hallways to go help Dr. Tenneson.

Jonan sighed happily. “Isn’t she just the best?” He smiled. “Anyhow, Dr. Lokanok was—as always—right on point. However… implementing proper physical separation—triage, barrier nursing, and the like—that stuff’s only the beginning.” Pulling his console out of his PPE gown’s pocket, Jonan began sending messages to all the gathered nurses.

Kevin filled with doubt after looking over the message on his console. “I’ve never heard of any of these medications,” he said.

Jonan nodded. “That’s not surprising. I only found them after spending several hours researching the most cutting-edge antifungal therapeutics.”

Isabel pouted her lips as she glossed over the list on her console. “What the hell is GM-CSF? It sounds like a congenital disorder?”

“It’s a cutting-edge immunostimulant that encourages the growth of macrophages in a patient, to assist their immune system in fighting off NFP-20. I have high hopes for it.”

Angelina’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Has it even been tested on human patients?

“It’s been tested enough,” Jonan said. “Right now, our priority is to figure out what works and what doesn’t as quickly as we can. To expedite matters, we’re going to take a small group of patients—no more than six or seven—and, pending their approval, give each of them a particular combination of medications. I’ve sent you the combinations I want you to use. We need to test as many drugs as we can. Anything that doesn’t lead to outright disaster, we’ll try again, and we’ll keep on trying until we figure out how to knock this thing flat on its feet. If you have any further questions, I’ll send you my presentation.” Jonan paused. “Actually…” He tapped his console’s screen several times, and then there was a soft whoosh. “There,” he nodded, “I’ve sent you the presentation. Consult it if you need to.”

“And what are you gonna do?” Kevin asked.

“Find some more lackeys to help me clear out one of our urgent care mass examination rooms. I’ve already received CMT permission to requisition it; it will serve as my personal research clinic. If I’m going to have any chance at figuring out how to treat this thing, I’ll need to have all my patients in one place so that I don’t have to be constantly running from one room to another like I’m a headless chicken.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Isabel smirked.

Jonan grinned. “I was born lucky. Now, off you go. Keep me updated on the cohort’s progress. Let’s do this, people! March!”