Francisco de Orellana

[FrostTransport]

Alerted to an incoming O.S.I transport under fire, Atka medical crews dashed around Bay three as deck crews ran through emergency landing procedures. Elsewhere trauma teams began populating theatres.

The Thetis had virutally skidded into Atka bay one after a frenzied pursuit from outcast elite wing: the Seventy Fifth (75th).

With military precision a group of commandos disembarked bearing an unconscious, battered, tanned male, wet blood obscured his features.

Before security raised their sr2's, The response crews moved in under the scrutinous eyes of the menacingly-armed commando squad.
The stretcher crew completed their retrieval, a nervous looking doctor looked up to a commando - “What happened to this man?” the white-coat asked, observing the messy, broken lattice of scars across the unconscious mans body.

“He's been a prisoner on Malta for decades...”
The doctor interrupted the larger mans explanation as he turned to the red and whites around him “he's an addict, call in for a can of Orange and tell them clear med five.” He turned back to the commando “any more injured on-board?”
“Si but...” the commando firmly grasped the doctors shoulder – interrupting the white-coats next words “...Escucha me senor – they hurt him pretty bad: This man is a corsair hero, he cannot live as a corsair with that Naranja crap! comprende?” the commando locked eyes with the doctor in a intimidating moment. The doctor visibly swallowed slowly before speaking “ch-check...uh..what's his name?”

“Francisco De Orellana”
“We'll take good care of him.”
“You better senor – or ...” the made a hand signal with a thumb across his throat as he climbed aboard the Thetis.
The response medics bore the man away as they studied his vital signs.

* * * * *

The stretcher and its growing entourage of interns moved quickly through the sterile corridors, their journey only broken by the cycling of interlocking metal bulkheads. “Crap! Vitals are dropping, someone get us a can of orange and call Doctor Fredericks!”

After moments a younger doctor in turquoise scrubs ran to join the convoy and handed the lead physician a labelled cannister & breathing mask, which he took and with thanks and immediately administered. Francisco looked almost dead, but the movement of orange particles beneath the clear mask indicated the man was breathing, if weakly.

“Alright ALL of you mask up, we don't want accidents.”
Surrounding younger faces erupted with observations as they moved
"...look at the voids in this burn – what do you suppose did that?"
"...this one looks like a laser burn..."
"that's from a hot iron dummy..."
"...no way it's a heat-whip. Looks like frostbite here..."
Three of the youngest interns babbled at each other before turning to the resident "Is that a cranial break? Oh shiz are those mono-filament scars?"

As the stretcher turned through the double doors to the theatre he replied "Those, my little vultures, are from a very cruel device invented by malicious people – named a deep tissue massager." as the non attendings fell off at the point of non-admittance he added "~not~ pleasant, more like the opposite of pleasure..." the double doors closed, screening the gawkers from the surgical team beyond.

* * * * *

The theatre was large, its size reminiscent of a chapel or small church. The gallery dominated one wall – a hive of activity behind the glass, as an audience of interns and researchers clambered over each other for front row seats.

Raised on the operating table lay Francisco De Orellana, surrounded by a team of eight doctors freshly scrubbed and masked. Orthopedics, cardiology, pulmonology, and neurology took up one side, opposite were vascular and thoracic surgeons, an anaesthesisologist, and a nephrologist. Stood away from the table was Doctor Fredericks, representing the field of genetics – G-power! Cytopathology and a plastics man stood admiring his shoes, off to one side.

Their hands raised and gloved as the scanning display flickered into illuminated life in the air before them. The de-constructed image of Franciscos body drew a few gasps as the extent of his injuries and treatment became apparent.

In unison they took an audible breath, the lady from cardio broke the tension and voiced the rooms conundrum "Where do we start?"

Fredericks voice reached from his vantage point "Diagnosis and triage, identify the priorities Jessa. Really – you should know better: how old are you doctor? "
"I'm twenty eight sir"
"Your panic disappoints me. Jessa, get out of my theatre"
Jessa looked to ground with a teary eye and departed mournfully as a voice echoed “...kids!...”
"Nurse – would you bring us doctor Binks please. The rest of you – what do you have?"

"We're gonna have to put him under and do a full tissue sweep..."
"I wanna rebuild these worn vertebrae and bring out these warps..."
“...obvious stress on the lungs and the fluid damage... I'm for a transplant...”
A doctor opposite nodded “me too – I'm surprised his kidneys aren't haemorrhaging”

Fredericks nodded and met the eyes of each “Alright, good” he gestured and adjusted the holo-image of Franciscos body – which zoomed and shifted to display its cellular structures. As he effectively zoomed through different areas of the body some of the doctors pointed at his the deft artistic movement of the 'old-mans' hands over the imaging controls.

“As you can see this kind of cellular 'infection' is total-body, and the Benitez have said they want him off the Cardamine. Any cell repair we do will have to come last, and it will be cell-repair ladies and gents – I'm saying targeted nano-tech maintenance of cells is our only shot at keeping him alive without the drug."

“...but.. the cost”
“Forget the bloody cost! Focus! We have to save this patient. We have a monumental task people, make no mistake – this -will- be a game changer. If you haven't got the spine, bow out now.”

* * * * *

The Benitez corsairs had been checking in on their man Francisco. In the midst of organising one of the most ambitious medical projects of the past decade Doctor Fredericks replied, because Cryer cares.

The Cryer doctors had Francisco placed in a tank to heal. They had been working on Fredericks nano-solution for the duration, and still bickered over the finer points. It became apparent that the nano-bots would be limited to one hundred and sixty eight hours effective operation, before needing identical replacements. The demanding task before the little robots resulted in their destruction and absorption into the blood stream.

It had been determined that Cryer would supply Francisco with these artificial micro-organisms for daily injection, and that he should return every seven days to replenish supplies, and for a circulatory system flush. The little 'Fredericksons' as they had been dubbed, would function as his R.N.A for a short time, in lieu of cardamine. As such the nano-bots design had to be specifically based on Franciscos D.N.A, and would potentially kill anyone else who absorbed them.

The entire process was costly, not only for the consultations and genetic designers, but the creation of each perfect unit time and time again. Not many people in Sirius would be able to afford the radical treatment, and almost all would prefer the much cheaper, convenient and safer alternative of simply relying on the cardamine. Fiscally it was an unreasonable pursuit, but was a landmark for research and the fight against cardamine. Once the board found out about the extraordinary events which has transpired, their infamous debates restarted, as the merits of Benitez favour versus expenses ensued.

* * * * *

A doctor had come to communicate with a Cryer board member bearing a report on the patient Francisco De Orellana. The board member sat bouncing a ball on a paddle, refusing eye-contact with the subordinate. “Yeah alright go on, if you must...”

“...the molecular tissue breakdown shows the history of inflicted damage. As you will see in the file – if you look at your screen Doctor – the scars tell a brutal history, but below the surface is darker still.
You can see the nerve damage in the musculophrenic cluster and the surrounding tissue that a nerve-targeted, minimally-invasive device was used, this patten occurs numerous...”

The repetitious noise of the bouncing ball ceased as the board man caught the ball and dropped the paddle. “wait. Are you saying the orange county have like - sophisticated torture instruments and pain-medics?”

The doctor sighed “of co.... Not only that sir, but that this device” the white coat gestured at the screen in vain “was a re-purposed C.N.S stimulator – designed for rehabilitation.”
“O shiz! They're ripping off our tech for torture?! Jesus christ man, logistics are gonna chop heads when they hear about this!” the board-man threw the ball weakly at a wall of art.
“So uhm – the patient sir?” the doctor inquired meekly.

“Oh right! You were telling me about torture, how pleasant. Please continue to disgust me...” the board-man replied sarcastically.
The doctor suppressed a remark “What report shows is that our patient, Mister De Orellana, has been subjected to years of almost unimaginable pain. His mind is probably like mashed-potato : We have no idea how he could react when he wakes up, and we can't trust character references from his Wingmen because they haven't seen him for twenty years. Trauma of this level could have implications further down the line.”
“Alright so have neuro take a look at him and schedule a psych eval. Oh and post some security on his ward.”
“Thank you sir, if could you just sign here to authorise that?” The boardman quickly took the pad and barely scribbled some kind of symbol which might have been a name.

“Level with me: you think he'll pop?”
“I just don't know sir – he might just bear it, or he could go postal, or he could end up vegetable – rehabs sometimes build themselves good lives.”
“okay good, keep me apprised. Are you going to that Leeds benefit thing this weekend?”
“I would but we have hands ~pretty~ full here at the moment, sir. What with rebuilding a mans R.N.A replication system, fighting cell-death and arranging production for -trillions- of unique nano-bots...”
“Well - bring your work along and we can discuss the results there – place will probably be dead anyway.”
“uhm thanks, I'll try and make it.”
“don't bring your wife though: you know how they feel about Kusari.”
“Uhm – I'm not married sir.”
The board-man winked “exactly.”

* * * * *

On day two of his stay on Atka, Francisco woke up. Groggily he tried to focus on his new environment before he realised he was suspended in liquid, for a heartbeat panic threatened to over take him as his instincts sent him toward the top of the tank – medics outside ran, blurred forms reacting to his panic. Then he realised that he was breathing and alive, and not back on Malta with his head held below the ice.

A feminine voice sounded in his ear “Mister de orellana – this is nurse stanton – please try to remain calm. You are in an iso-tank of breathable fluid – you cannot drown. You are safe here. This is a Cryer medical facility. We are treating you for cardamine withdrawal.”
After a few moments waving below him, a predominantly white form moved closer to the tanks window and waved. “We can take you out of the tank tomorrow, when you can go home mister de orellana. Can you give me a 'thumbs-up' if you understand?” the nurse became more distinct as he swam closer, he could see her signalling with her thumb in demonstration.

On the third day of 'freedom' since his escape from Malta – Francisco was hauled from the tank, fluids draining from him in coughing, vomitous gouts. Wearily he rolled his shoulders, surprised at the ease of the movement. He knew a moment of relief as he straightened without the usual pain and tension as before though his skin still felt taut at the scarred areas.
Psych ran their consult and found

... *Classified medical data*...*Rec...fig...*...*Decompiling*

You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down, and you see a tortoise, it’s crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can’t, not without your help. But you’re not helping. Why is that?

-I crawled out of hell on my own, clawed back my life from NOTHING. Why shouldn't it?

Describe in single words, only the good things that come into your mind about your mother.

-Loving. Supportive. Proud.

A teacher calls you "stupid" in front of the rest of the class...

-Call him on it. I'm right. We'll see who's the fool when he's backpedalling.

You are given a gaian seal-calf wallet for your birthday...


-Thank the gift giver. Can't go wrong with a nice wallet.

You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar.

-Praise his scientific method. You can know where something is, or how fast it's going. Never both.

Using the first words that come into your mind; describe your childhood.

-Pressure to perform.

A man dressed in rags approaches you on the street and ask for money...

-Laugh. A Corsair does not ask, he TAKES.

For your anniversary, your spouse gives you a real gaian fish...

-So now I have to take care of her AND the fish? Great.

You are at a bar, an attractive woman winks at you and makes her way over.
You know her boyfriend: he does not have herpes.
The woman kisses you, you let her. Why is that ?

- She's clearly recognised that I'm the better man.

Your child comes home with a black eye..

- It's his bloody problem.

You hear cries for help from a burning jewelery store...

- Gold and diamonds don't burn. What's the problem?

It's your little boys fourteenth birthday, he tells you he wants the services of a prostitute.

- Tell him he can pay for that himself.

You just hit someone in your vehicle, you glance in the rearview: the body lays still. You haven't stopped - why is that?

- If there's no significant damage to my vehicle, why should I need to go back and have him pay reparations? We'll call it even.

What do you think it's like: to 'be' an outcast?

- Permanent euphoria, tinged with a hatred for all those below you. Total disregard for the bodies you clamber over.

It's your little girls first big soccer game. She dropkicks the goalie: you cheer her on. why?

- If the goalie is on the floor bleeding, he's not defending the goal.

One more question. You're watching a stage play. A banquet is in progress. The guests are enjoying an appetizer of raw oysters. The entree consists of boiled dog…
-It's a stage play, they aren't really eating dog. Whoever wrote the script needs a cricket bat to the gonads though.

*Error*...*Record incomplete*...

Doctors tested Franciscos lucidity before explaining the procedure necessary to sustain his life without cardamine. He nodded in compliance, surprisingly calm considering his situation – though some in psych considered that there was something calculated and damaged within him.