Welcome to the Madhouse

Welcome to the Madhouse: Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Nelson Mandela

With her straight, long, blonde hair tied back in a tail that, at the moment, sat far askew on her head, and her disheveled, limping appearance, Grace was sure, as she gimped forward, that she would get more measured stares than usual. Tall and slim with pale blue eyes and caramel skin, she knew she was unusual to look at. She had grown up her entire life under curious gazes. Lithe of build and combat fit, she worked very hard on her fitness, to maintain her muscularity and bone density - no easy feat in zero gravity or low-gravity conditions. She had completed her medical training, planet-side, on her home world of Nova Alta, four years ago, and had then joined the Conglomerate's Medical Corps, to complete a residency in surgery, specializing in combat medicine. She had earned her officer's commission out in the field, treating and stabilizing battle wounded on a planet called Talisman, and had seen her fair share of battle trauma.

It had always been her dream to be a surgeon and travel in space to different planets and places, yet Grace was not a supporter of warfare. She did not believe war was the solution to any conflict. Nevertheless, through the Conglomerate's Medical Corps, she had been able to attain her dream of being a surgeon and was now getting a chance to apply her skills.

By some miraculous good fortune, a surgical fellowship had suddenly become available on the Conglomerate's Premier Medical Space Station, the Nelson Mandela, just when she was looking for a position. Grace had leaped at the chance to learn from the great, galaxy-renowned Dr. Hiro Al-Fadi. Luck had been with her, as she had received the acceptance almost the moment she had applied!

Gargantuan in size and roiling in orderly bustle, Receiving Bay Five made Grace feel as if she had been swallowed up by some great leviathan of the deep space, with its distant, smoky grey ceiling, lined with ducts, pipes, fans, cables, scaffolding, ladders, distant lighting, and great spanning arches. The outer surface of the colossal medical space station looked like five glistening, silver, concentric rings, with a multitude of silver spokes connecting the inner rings to the outer ones. Space-faring transport vessels, carrying incoming wounded and patients from all over the Union of Solar Systems, would dock at the outermost ring, like bees swarming a great ring-shaped hive. From the outer ring's hull, patients, visitors, and medical supplies would be taxied around on internal shuttles and monorails, to one of the numerous Receiving Bays, situated at the many spokes of the rings.

Humming, buzzing, and teeming with anti-grav trucks, workers, and machinery, it seemed that most of the occupants of Receiving Bay Five had been completely oblivious to Grace's unorthodox welcome to the station. She decided this was probably a very good thing. She hated being the centre of attention. There was an efficiency to this apparent chaos that reminded Grace of a thriving ant colony.

Androids - humanoid-shaped, synthetic beings of various sizes and hues - and robots - mechanical automatons of every shape, size, height, color, and dimension - swarmed everywhere in the Receiving Bay, directing antigrav trolleys, loading or off-loading cargo, transporting supplies, connecting huge tubing up to pipes that would carry fuel or water to the space-faring ships, and directing arriving and departing personnel and traffic. One tall, bronze, statuesque android, of the customary androgynous features, saluted and waved Grace towards the nearest airlock entrance to the space station proper.

Having completed her surgical residency in the Conglomerate Medical Space Corps, Grace was familiar with the routines and regimentation of a low-gravity medical space station, however she had never been to a space station the size of the Nelson Mandela. Adorned in her damaged Conglomerate spacesuit and walking with a noticeable limp, Grace looked like one of the casualties who had just come from a war zone, rather than the new surgeon. She tried hard not to drag her left leg, as she joined a line of arriving visitors to the space station, who were making their way to the passenger airlock.