Corrupted Courage Chapter 4

The doctor in charge of the med bay was a middle-aged man. If I’d known my father, he might have reminded me of him. As it was, he reminded me of fathers I’d seen on TV shows about perfect families. He had brown eyes that crinkled kindly at the corners, and thick black hair silvering at the temples.

He was new around here, I was sure of it. I would have remembered if I’d met him before.

“Hello Maisie,” he said, extending a hand for me to shake, “I’m Dr. Alvarez. I’ll be treating you going forward.”

“What happened to the doctors who checked me out before?” I asked, confused. The last time I had been there, there had been dozens of people in white coats bustling back and forth like worker ants, running tests and taking blood samples, poking and prodding till I felt like a bug under a microscope, or worse yet, pinned down and mounted, on display.

“Those weren’t doctors, ” Dr. Alvarez explained, “Those were scientists. They were brought in to test your capabilities, to determine what made you so special. Now that you’re in the field, they’re no longer needed. I was brought in to see to any medical needs you might have.”

I nodded silently and took the offered hand, giving it as firm a shake as I could manage in my weakened state. As I pulled my hand back, I was ashamed to see that it was shaking.

Dr. Alvarez gave me an understanding smile, which just made me feel more pathetic. What the hell was he doing here?

Doctor Alvarez was the kind of guy who should be passing out lollipops and cartoon character Band-Aids to freshly vaccinated little kids. Why was this kind-eyed doctor assisting in a semi-legal plot to gain support for a corrupt politician?

“Hop up here for me, Maisie,” Dr. Alvarez requested, patting the exam table invitingly. I didn’t move. Anyone being this nice to me had to have an agenda. Besides, I had a meeting to get to.

“I just need some painkillers,” I said rudely. “Something to take the edge off my ribs.”

The doctor frowned. “You have broken ribs?” he said, sounding horrified.

“Well, yeah,” I bit out. “I’m kind of in a dangerous line of work.”

The doctor drew back, looking genuinely hurt. Then he brightened again.

“All the more reason to take extra good care of you!” he announced, his melted-chocolate eyes crinkling even further with his warm smile.

I sighed, sensing that I wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon.

“You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a punctured lung,” Dr. Alvarez said a quarter of an hour later, examining my x-rays.

We were seated in his office, a small room that barely fit the desk and filing cabinet that were it’s only furnishings. Like the rest of the base, it was drab and windowless. Unlike the rest of the base, the doctor had personalized it with potted plants and a poster reading:“Into whatsoever houses I enter, I will enter to help the sick.”

I read it a few times, wondering why it sounded so familiar. I’d heard that phrase before somewhere, I was sure of it . . .

“Maisie?” Dr. Alvarez interrupted my thoughts.

“Ah! Yes?” I started, realizing I hadn’t been paying attention. “Um, Sorry, what did you say?”

The doctor followed my gaze to the poster on the wall. “I see you’ve spotted my motto,” he chuckled.

“What does it mean?” I asked. “It sounds so familiar.”

Dr. Alvarez smiled. “It’s a quote from the Hippocratic oath.”

“You mean that thing doctors used to say, way back in the day?”

“Yes, exactly!” The doctor exclaimed, “I see you’ve been paying attention in school.”

I frowned. “But that’s ancient history, literally. Do doctors still take it?”

“No, not anymore.” He shook his head sadly. “The original oath hasn’t been used since ancient Greece. A modified version was used up until the early twenty-first century, but by the time I came along it had been out of fashion for years.”

“Then why put a quote from it on your wall?” I asked.

“It’s good to remember the past sometimes, don’t you think?” He tilted his head to one side, studying me intently. “Our ancestors had such high hopes for us. They believed the future would be a utopia. People were so much more hopeful once.”

I shrugged. “That’s all well and good, but our ancestors can’t help us in the here and now. No one ever accomplished anything looking over their shoulder at the past.”

“I disagree,” the doctor countered. “Just look at the renaissance.”

“The renaissance?” I asked, confused by the sudden change of topic.

“Renaissance. It means rebirth. It was a period of renewed culture and innovation that came after the dark ages.”

“No, no I know what it means. We studied it in school. I just don’t see how it’s relevant here.”

“Well, if you studied it in school, you’ll likely know that the renaissance was fueled by a renewed interest in the works of the ancient Greeks and Romans. The past was what pulled humanity out of the dark chapter of our history that followed the fall of Rome.” The warm smile is gone, replaced with laser-like intensity. “I’d say we’re due for another renaissance, wouldn’t you?” He finished.

I shrugged, disconcerted by the sudden change in his demeanor. “I guess?”

He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded as though he had found what he was looking for there.

The smile returned as if it had never left. “Now, about those broken ribs.”

A few minutes later, I was shaking the doctor’s hand for the second time that day. My other hand was pressing an ice pack against my ribs.

The doctor handed me a small paper bag.

“There are two bottles of pills in here,” the doctor explained calmly. “One is a painkiller. The other is an experimental drug meant to speed up bone regrowth. It should allow you to heal faster”

“How soon will I be able to be back in the field?” I asked.

“Well, that depends,” Dr. Alvarez replied. “Normally I’d say two weeks, but given your unique physiology, I can’t be sure how your body will respond to treatment.”

I frowned at the non-answer, but decided not to push it. After all, I had a meeting to get to.

As I turned to leave the office, Dr. Alvarez called after me.

“Maisie, wait!”

I looked back at him. He had risen from his chair and stood behind his desk like a sentinel. He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and shut it again.

“Be careful, Maisie,” He said finally. There was a pained look in his eyes that told me he wasn’t just talking about my broken ribs.

“I will,” I promised.

He didn’t appear comforted. “If you need anything, you can come to me. And remember what we talked about. Renaissance. There are many powerful people who feel that we are overdue for a rebirth.”

I nodded slowly and left the office. As I quietly shut the door, I wondered if I could trust him. He seemed genuine, but then again, so did a lot of people. I worked for politicians, after all. I knew how convincing a good liar could be. Besides, his cryptic comments made me think he had secrets of his own.

On the other hand, I was in desperate need of allies. We can’t choose our enemies. Sometimes we can’t choose our friends either.

Speaking of enemies. Bates was leaning against the wall outside the med bay, his polished black shoes gleaming like obsidian in the fluorescent light, one crossed over the other in the perfect portrait of casual sophistication. He gave no sign that he was aware of my presence. All of his attention was fixed on the screen of his phone, which was, of course, the newest and most expensive model.

I cleared my throat loudly. Bates continued typing, his thumbs a blur as he tapped out a message. A long, silent moment slipped past as slowly as an hourglass full of molasses.

Finally, Bates finished whatever he was typing. I heard the whoosh sound of a text message being sent. Bates looked up and pretended to spot me standing there for the first time.

“Ah, Maisie! There you are, I was wondering when you’d be done in there.”

“Cut the bullshit, Bates. Did you manage to get me an audience with the mayor, or not?”

“Why so feisty?” Bates asked with a smirk. “Is it getting past your bedtime?”

I gritted my teeth, imagining Bates’ greasy hair standing on end, his poisonous mouth foaming as electricity coursed through him. I took a deep breath and struggled to keep my cool.

“Did you set up the meeting, or not?” I said, enunciating every word very clearly.

Perhaps Bates sensed something in my tone that wasn’t to be trifled with. Perhaps he had just gotten bored of taunting me. Whatever the reason, he gave me a straight answer for once.

“Yes, I just got in contact with him. He has time for a brief meeting. You were lucky enough to catch him just before he left for town hall.”

I nodded curtly. I was tired of dealing with the mayor’s flying monkey. Bates was just a smug, self-important figurehead. He had no real authority. To get what I wanted, I knew I would have to go straight to the top of the food chain.

“Right this way, Maisie.” Bates said silkily. I followed him once more down the labyrinthine corridor. It sloped downward at an almost imperceptible angle. I knew as we walked that we were heading deeper and deeper underground. I imagined the dirt and concrete piling up over my head, pressing down on me, each step an extra weight added to my burden. As I walked, I prepared myself mentally for what was ahead. The mayor was a master of manipulation. Negotiating with him was like playing poker with the grim reaper. One wrong move could cost you everything, and all the while, death stared you down, the perfect poker face of polished bone.

The mayor would do anything to escape his end of the deal. It benefitted him to leave my mother’s life hanging in the balance, a prize kept just out of reach. My fear was his power.

But I had a power too. I was desperate. And no one, not Bates, not the mayor, not any of the privileged gold diggers running this scam of a city, understood how far I’d go to save the people I loved.

Gradually, the slanted passageway leveled out. The fluorescent, overhead lights were replaced by ornate, gold-colored wall sconces, each topped with a soap bubble of frosted glass. The lux fixtures cast a warm, diffuse glow across the corridor, disguising the cheap drywall and thin, industrial carpeting.

The corridor ended in an imposing mahogany door. The burnished wood was out of place in the utilitarian setting. I read the engraved plaque mounted on the door. Mayor Ezra Harris. The man who held my mother’s life in his hands.

The thought of my mother reminded me what was important. What mattered now was getting the money we needed. 500,000 credits, plus living expenses until my mother could work again. More money than a poor girl from the worst neighborhood in the city could even dream of. This deal was my only hope.

And the fatherly doctor with his mysterious talk of renaissance was only a distraction.

I curled my fingers into a fist and knocked at the door.