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Suddenly Memories: SuperGenius
By Dac
The two men stormed down the stairs, black anger evident on SuperGenius’s face. He hated being dragged away from his work as it was, and whoever did so usually felt some sort of pain. To be distracted from his work was irritating enough, but to perform this menial task, he felt, was beneath him. The man behind him, a thin man with a sunken face named Dr Vargas, was rattling off facts at him, which he listened to only so he could get this job done as quickly as possible.
“The reports say it was just one guy with an RPG,” said Vargas hurriedly, as though trying to calm SuperGenius down. “He landed a lucky shot and took the helicopter down. The pilot died when the round exploded, the co-pilot died in the crash, and-”
“And the passenger survived, yes, I think I picked up on that,” interrupted SuperGenius. “Moron. I’m only going to have so much time to punch anything within reach, so get on with the relevant details. Where’s the wound?”
“He was lucky, all things considered,” continued Vargas. He swallowed as he went on. “He managed to bail out of the helicopter when it wasn’t at a high altitude. He only suffered a broken leg from that. When the round impacted, though, shrapnel went everywhere and a large chunk impaled his left shoulder. It’s a reasonable distance from his heart, but he insisted you be the one to-”
“He would,” grunted SuperGenius. “Entrust his life to the hands of you peons? Yeah, I don’t think so. Now is there anything else I need to know?”
“That’s all the information I have.”
“Good,” scowled SuperGenius. “Now piss off back up the stairs before I throw you down the rest.”
Vargas turned and ran. SuperGenius gave him a swift kick in the rear as he ran.
“Mush!”
SuperGenius walked the rest of the way alone, his displeasure pitching a tent in his mind. He snorted, thinking about the red flag that had turned up on his monitor. He hated that notification. He didn’t often receive it, but whenever he did he groaned. Guardsmen trouble. For the rank and file, people like that nitwit Vargas performed all the medical duties, but for the inner circle of the Leader, SuperGenius doubled as team doctor. Every time the others went into the field he always found himself crossing his fingers that they’d stay intact.
“Hey, that’s nice of you to say,” one of the Protos had once said before departing. “Thanks for caring, man.”
“I don’t,” had been his reply. “Die if you have to, just don’t come back in a mess. I have better things to do with my time than play operation with your shredded nether regions. If you have to make a mess, do me a favour and expire out in the field rather than dragging your mortally wounded ass back in front of me.”
The other Guardsmen didn’t relish the thought of such a doctor. More often than not, if their wounds weren’t very severe, they patched them up themselves, however clumsily or unskilfully the patch jobs were. Celtic had scars everywhere as a result. It was something of a running joke among the Guardsmen: going to SuperGenius was usually worse than the injuries he was repairing, so if someone had a wound that necessitated his attention, they were as good as dead. Not that they ever died; he was good at what he did, but the question of whether or not it was worth it came up more than once.
Sometimes he practiced on other patients, but such instances were few and far between, mostly because SuperGenius had a tendency to play with them. Data had intervened after a few too many of his men complained SuperGenius had told them he was drunk right before the anaesthetic knocked them out.
At the time of this notification, it had been marked as urgent, which SuperGenius found odd. A red flag, a medical incident requiring his attention, was usually urgent anyway, it went without saying. To specify that was confusing. Still, his attention was on his work, so he dialled the infirmary irritably.
“Tell Proto or Ragin or Dac or whoever it is to slap on a band-aid and drink hot chocolate like a girl if it bothers them that much,” he snapped. “I am not fixing their kindergarten boo-boos today. I have hobbies. Hobbies with needs.”
Within seconds, Vargas had burst into his lab and told him what the problem was, and SuperGenius had no choice but to walk out. His latest work he holstered, in case he had any brainwaves. He was working on a new gun, a handgun which fired a spike the length of his finger and as thick as a pencil. Data hadn’t requested it. Data hadn’t requested much lately, despite SuperGenius’s prowess. There was little call for technology at the moment, so SuperGenius was occupying his time playing a game: dreaming up improbable, often ridiculous weapons with limited practical use, and then seeing how fast he could build it, just for kicks. The gun was in a holster at his waist, and the entire time he had spent walking towards the infirmary, he had made sure Vargas could see it. He liked intimidating anyone fool enough to interrupt him.
He all but kicked the infirmary door open and swept into the room.
“Here I am,” he announced grouchily.
“Rock us like a hurricane?” asked Elite from a nearby bed. SuperGenius kicked the bed leg in irritation as he passed, moving to the operating table at the end of the room. Several doctors in medical gear were fussing over a man on the table, who was swatting at them in irritation.
“Enough already,” he snapped. “I’ll be fine, he’s here now. Go make yourself useful reshelving bandages or something.”
SuperGenius reached the table and folded his arms, looking down at his latest patient.
“Well well well,” he said. “The mighty Leader brought low by one nut with a rocket launcher.”
“Save the attitude, Supes,” grunted Data. “I just need this patched up. They’ve done my leg already, but I ordered them to get you for my shoulder.”
SuperGenius all but ignored him, staring at the wound thoughtfully. The shard of metal wasn’t large, probably as wide as a small paperback and only as thick as a photo frame, but it was jagged and had torn a lot of flesh. Data was handling it remarkably well. SuperGenius raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly at his boss.
“They put you on painkillers without putting you to sleep?” he asked incredulously. “Your doctors just keep getting dumber and dumber.”
“We’re standing right here!” protested one of the attendants.
“Yeah? Do something about that,” snapped SuperGenius. The nurse flared up angrily, but the others grabbed her arm and pulled her away. Some of them, at least, had noticed the spike gun. They all fled the room, while the few remaining doctors moved into their office off through the side, leaving SuperGenius alone with Data, and Elite reading a book at the other end of the room.
“I told them to,” said Data. “I’m not being knocked unconscious while those idiots operate on me. I’ll wake up with a spleen stitched to my eyeballs.”
“More than likely,” said SuperGenius, gathering up equipment. “I’m flattered you trust me to do it.”
“I don’t.”
SuperGenius paused and looked back at him. “What?”
Data’s face was hard. He was propping himself up on his uninjured arm, his gaze fixed on SuperGenius. “No more painkillers. No anaesthetic. I need to be awake for this. Nothing personal, but I don’t like being unaware of what’s happening to my body as it happens. You’re operating on me awake, and providing me with a commentary so I know exactly what’s going on.”
SuperGenius face carried an expression he usually reserved for someone who had idly played with something in his lab and ended up wounded or infected as a result, a look that expressed disbelief that someone could be that utterly stupid. The fact that Data was on the receiving end made it even weirder.
“Don’t you see a little problem with that?” asked SuperGenius cautiously.
“Of course I do, you twit,” barked the Leader. “Think about who you’re talking to. Seeing problems in things is what I do. That and bedding hot women and running most of the planet from my tower. How often do you think I see a solution with no inherent problems in itself? A lot of the time I have to go with the lesser of two evils, and at the moment, that’s what I’m doing. My choice is staying awake and biting through the pain of whatever you need to do, or going to asleep and trusting my own Doctor Frankenstein won’t do stuff to me while I’m asleep?”
“Do stuff?” echoed SuperGenius, vaguely insulted. “What do you think I am, a date rapist?”
“Oh, God no,” replied Data. “Nothing like that. I just won’t have you keeping tissue samples from me. I’ve told you before, you’re not taking any of my blood or skin or hair or semen or whatever for study.”
“What?” said Elite from the other end of the room. “Does he really do that?”
SuperGenius pulled the curtain closed, cutting off Elite’s view.
“You told me that because you said you wouldn’t get injured,” said SuperGenius. “And look, here we are. You have a giant hole in your front which I need to fix. I’m unfamiliar with your physiology, which is never advisable.”
“How hard can it be?”
“I don’t sleep, that’s an example of how powers sometimes affect us. I don’t know if there’s anything in yours that might act similarly. If I took a small blood sample-”
“No.”
“-it would make treating you for injury a lot easier in future.”
“I won’t get injured in future!” protested Data indignantly.
“Please,” snorted SuperGenius. “What happens when you decide to let another European politician beat you up?”
“Oh, one time I did that. One time.”
“Nonetheless,” said SuperGenius. “If I retain a blood sample I’ll be able to iron out any kinks. It could save your life one day.”
Data reached up and seized SuperGenius by the scruff of his neck and dragged him inwards until their faces were inches apart. “Listen, you glowing sleepless Molotov cocktail,” he growled. “This is not up for debate. You and I have had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way. You ask, I refuse.”
“Yeah, you’re not usually high on painkillers,” countered SuperGenius. “Nor are you usually feeling a giant piece of debris inches from your ticker, which, I have to admit, you’re probably not helping by moving around so damn much. If you’re not going to let me put you under, the least you can do is hold still so I can do the job you called me down here to do.”
Data said nothing, glaring at SuperGenius, before releasing him and easing himself back down onto the operating table. SuperGenius moved over to the doctor office door and hammered on it.
“Hey, I need attendants here,” he called out. “Front and centre, slappies.”
Two of the doctors walked out, looking disgruntled.
“We’re not orderlies,” one of them said grumpily. SuperGenius cuffed him over the back of the head.
“My friend, as long as I am in this infirmary you are whatever the hell I tell you to be. If I tell you to dance around like a retarded quail and sing Come Sail Away, the only question you get to ask is what key. Now be a fucking attendant for me.”
The doctors sullenly fell into line and arranged themselves like obedient nurses beside them. SuperGenius washed his hands and prepared for the operation. As he expected, as soon as he stood up with an anaesthetic mask Data began protesting again.
“Get that away from me.”
“Are you going to let me do my fucking job, boss? You called me down here to do it. If you don’t want me to, I can go straight up to my lab and let these bastards deal with you. Keep acting like a little bitch afraid of needles and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“Do your damn job,” growled Data. “But do it without gassing me.”
“Oh, fine,” groaned SuperGenius, setting the mask down again. “But don’t blame me when you bite through your fucking tongue.”
“I’m dosed up on painkillers already. I’m not trying to be difficult, I just do not want any funny stuff.”
“I don’t do funny stuff,” said SuperGenius standoffishly.
Elite’s voice floated over the curtain to them. “What about all those patients that you put under anaesthetic and then told them you were drunk?”
SuperGenius’s face contorted and he seized one of the doctors by the shoulder without even looking him.
“You,” he hissed. “I want you to tie that man to his bed, gag him, wheel him outside and slap him repeatedly in the face. Go now or I’ll sterilise you.”
The doctor wrenched free of his grasp and shuffled out the door awkwardly. They heard Elite chuckling, then a grunt of pain at the unmistakeable sound of a tranquiliser gun. SuperGenius blinked and peeked out of the curtain, then looked back in at the remaining doctor.
“I thought we got rid of those,” he said accusingly.
“No, you got rid of those,” replied the doctor. “We fished through the dumpsters and took them back just to be on the safe side.”
Data looked utterly bewildered. SuperGenius shrugged.
“Hospital politics,” he said. Data did not look enlightened in the slightest, but SuperGenius ignored him, leaned over and examined the wound for several minutes.
“Not much blood flow around the area. You’re damned lucky it didn’t get closer to your heart. As it stands, your ribs are undamaged. As far as I can tell without going for an x-ray, you’ve probably got a few hairline fractures in your shoulder but nothing more serious. How fortunate. Get stabbed through the chest by a fucking helicopter and you don’t even break a bone. Just a puncture, really. Not even that deep. Not even close to fatal.”
“So this should be pretty simple then,” said Data.
“Not quite,” replied SuperGenius. “The metal’s so jagged, pulling it out as is will just act like a few thousand fish hooks. We’ll end up tearing your flesh to shreds. Plus it’s stemming the blood flow like a good old-fashioned stab wound, so as soon as we remove it it’ll start gushing. Stemming the blood flow to the area will be hard given the proximity to the heart, so what I’ll think we’ll have to do is make a few clean cuts to the area around the wound, remove the punctured flesh along with the shard, and pull it all out. We’ll do a quick sweep to make sure there’s no smaller pieces that have fractured, take out any pieces of your clothes so they don’t fester in there, and then we can stitch you up and you’ll just have to take it easy for a few weeks.”
Data blinked. His normally-attentive mind was wandering a bit with the painkillers. SuperGenius imagined Data skipping down the yellow brick road hand in hand with some anthropomorphised syringes and pills, and wondered how much of what he’d said had flown over Data’s head. He looked over at the two doctors.
“That sound good to you gentlemen?” he asked politely, with a fierce edge to his voice.
“Sure,” said one. The other nodded sullenly.
“Alright, let’s proceed. You ready for this, boss?”
“Get it over with,” sighed Data.
SuperGenius cracked his neck and held out his hand. One of the doctors handed him a permanent marker and he swiftly drew on Data the lines where he would perform incisions. It was an atypical practice, but SuperGenius was nothing if not a perfectionist. Taking steps others saw as unnecessary was something he prided himself on. Better to be thorough and slow than otherwise.
The operation was slower going than he had counted on. At every turn Data hindered him. The pain did not bother him; SuperGenius couldn’t help but admire how well he was taking it. At the same time, he remained utterly exasperated at Data’s decision to remain awake. Not in his right state of mind, Data continually commentated on what was going on, and frequently put in his opinion, to SuperGenius’s ire. He patiently bit his tongue. Data’s perception of weaknesses combined with the painkillers and what SuperGenius suspected was a liberal amount of latent shock, was going into overdrive.
“No, don’t cut there!” cried Data as one of the doctors handed SuperGenius a scalpel. “You’re trying to staunch the blood flow, that’s just going to make it worse!”
“I’m trying to make a clean cut so we can get past the metal entirely,” said SuperGenius patiently, not hesitating with the scalpel. “It’s better this way.”
“It’s not! I’m going to lose all my blood!”
“Data,” replied SuperGenius warningly. “You said yourself that you often have to choose the lesser of two evils when you see a fault. I may not be able to see them as you do, but I make the same choices, and I know what I’m doing. This will be over a lot quicker if you just trust me.”
Data sulked a bit, not used to being told off. “Trust you to scrape a boil off my ass,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Just hurry up. For chrissake, get me a pair of pliers and I’ll do it myself.”
“Hoo boy,” said SuperGenius mirthlessly. “I would love to see what your weakness perception would make of that idea.”
The operation went on and on in this fashion. SuperGenius couldn’t even point a blade at the wound without Data interjecting in some way, and SuperGenius’s already-limited patience was wearing thin quickly. Data kept pointing at some other section and insisting SuperGenius make an incision there, for whatever reason, and kept harping on about stemming the blood flow to the area. SuperGenius’s estimated time for the operation had already elapsed twice over, and he hadn’t even finished making incisions yet. One of the doctors had been reduced to the sole task of mopping the sweat from his brow. Frustrated, he bit his tongue and continued cutting, taking care not to impact bone.
“Be careful!” yelled Data. “You’re like a kid in shop class!”
His right hand snapped forward and slapped SuperGenius’s wrist like a petulant child. SuperGenius let out a yelp and reared up, his tolerance finally shattered. To the amazement of everyone present, he backhanded Data full in the face, dropping the startled Leader onto the operating table. The doctors sprang a step in shock, while Data gaped openly at him. SuperGenius’s face was nearly purple with rage, and his eyes bulged maniacally.
“That’s it!” he bellowed. The yellow glow surrounding him flared brightly. Everyone shielded their eyes. The birds outside the window stopped chirping. A glass beaker on the shelf shattered.
“What the-” began Data, but SuperGenius’s furious roar drowned out whatever he was saying.
“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up already! This is why I wanted to put you under, I knew something like this would happen! You have to make the simplest of operations an utter fucking nightmare just because you’re an insufferable arrogant bastard!”
He stormed over to the basin and splashed water on his face, muttering angrily. He heard Data’s voice stammer weakly behind him.
“You’re supposed to do what I say...”
SuperGenius spun and pointed his finger at him. His arm shook with barely-contained violent fury. “I’m supposed to fix you,” he said, half-choking the words out. “I am supposed to be fixing you up and getting you back on your feet so you are fit to operate, because I know how to do this and you do not. What’s more, I refuse to take orders from a man on an operating table on a shit ton of painkillers with a mild case of shock and a FUCKING HOLD IN HIS CHEST!”
Data recoiled. The two doctors looked about ready to run.
“Now listen,” spat SuperGenius. “Listen and do not talk. This is how it will work from now on. I am going to put you under so you can’t fucking bother me, and then I am going to repair your chest. You have my word, under the Hippocratic Oath, that I will not do anything to harm you or damage you, and all I do will be devoted to the sole task of getting you back on your feet. In return all you have to do is agree to be put to sleep. Is that OK, oh mighty Leader?”
A question formed on Data’s face and SuperGenius hurried to answer before he could ask it.
“I know, I know,” he said. “No tissue samples or similar. Hands off your precious bodily fluids and all that. I won’t take anything. You have my word on that too. Is that good enough for you? Can I get on with this?”
Data said nothing. He stared, bewildered, at SuperGenius, before nodding silently. One of the doctors, at a gesture from SuperGenius, all but sprinted over and fixed the mask to Data’s face. Within seconds the Leader was slumbering. SuperGenius watched coldly for a moment and contemplated the scalpel in his hand.
He breathed a sigh of relief and moved back over to Data’s prone form. The doctor came back tentatively with a damp towel and wiped his forehead. SuperGenius looked up and the doctor backed off hastily. SuperGenius sighed again.
“This is why I work alone,” he said heavily, and moved in to finish his job.
9/4/2011 2:25:37 AM
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