The Sound of Success
October 16th 2006 14:58
The Sound of Success
10 April 2054, 15.42
Charlie’s Barn, The McComber Farm
Charlie took several deep breaths and began to curl the huge slabs of pig iron. At over three hundred pounds of weight each, he was lifting as heavy as he could possibly do so, deliberately trying to loose himself in his workout. He’d just finished running twenty miles in a bit over three hours, and nearly an hour’s worth of calisthenics. While he worked out, he kept count of his various activities to himself, he’d trained his mind to do all of these things. They served as his meditation, and today, they served as his distraction.
The curls went slowly, and he contracted his abdominals as he curled, getting maximum use of the time and pressure the weight put upon his frame. At just under twelve percent body fat, his ripped musculature glistened with sweat. Perfectly formed obloquies, sharp cut traps and incredible biceps. While he worked out, he listened to the vid news, specifically programmed to update him with stories and video feeds regarding mutant heroes, and strongarian mutants.
News had been scarce today, which is not what he wanted. Just when he found one interesting news article about an entire family of Germanic strongarian mutants, an annoying beeping sound came from the wall terminal. Charlie hated to be interrupted in his work out, and had begged and cajoled his mother to the point where she would not bother him. When his father was around, he knew he’d assist by spotting or let the news play. Either way, the beeping sound had to go.
“Computer, answer vidphone.” He said, in a grumbling teenage voice.
A man in a surgical mask appeared.
Charlie cocked an eyebrow, and then it clicked in, this was the call he was dreading, yet also needed to hear.
“Charlie?” The man asked, his voice slightly distorted, not just by the surgical mask, but also by the signal coming from a space station high in earth orbit. The signal came from the secured military section of the station, hit a military satellite, was decrypted, recorded, and then went through the military priority VOIP bandwidth to Charlie’s local server. As the McComber household now had a small piece of military clearance, their house server had already been installed with a de-encryption subroutine. All of these processes took place seamlessly, but did sometimes create lag or minor distortion.
“Yes?” Charlie replied. He was unable to discern who it was behind the mask, and eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s Harker, Charlie. The General’s adjunct.” He said. Harker pulled the surgical mask down around his lip to show more of his face.
Charlie smiled at him. “Harker, right on, man. What’s the word?”
Harker merely replied by giving him a thumb’s up. “The word is go, Charlie. I’ve just left the operating theatre, and the cloned heart and cardio-vascular system is working perfectly.”
“Wow,” Charlie said. He stammered, “You did it.”
“Well I didn’t do it. At best, I was just an observer. The General keeps his eyes on special people, Charlie, and you’re a special person. I know you’ve been having some doubts about joining up, but I’m hoping that you’ll understand now that we take pride in America in the Military.”
Charlie grinned and nodded, “It’s going to be my pleasure to serve, sir.”
“That’s the spirit, Charlie. We can always use a few young men such as you. Stay by your terminal, Charlie, let me go back into the clean room for a second, okay?”
“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”
Charlie watched as the auto-tracking cameras stayed locked on Harker. He went from what was some sort of exterior locker-type room, to a scrub room. Charlie watched Harker scrub his hands thoroughly, buffing them until they nearly bled with a strong looking stiff brush. From there, he dipped his hands into an additional disinfectant and after that stuck them into a large vat of liquid latex. When he removed them, they went under a dryer. He flexed his fingers during this entire process and by doing so created two perfectly formed gloves, a fraction of a millimeter in depth, yet completely sterile.
Harker passed through a decontamination room that further doused him with an aerosol anti-bacterial agent and then he passed through to the operating room itself. Charlie’s father was barely recognizable, covered in military O.D. green operating drapes. Charlie could see his head, covered in some sort of oxygen mask. He heard a voice speak in a clipped British accent:
“Very good, patient has been stabilized on new cardiac section, primary and secondary aortal lines and grafts are all in place. Ladies, Gentlemen, excellent work. Let’s remove the afflicted heart, close and let him wake up.”
As a team, the surgical group moved as one single hand, Harker resumed his place as back up medic and stood toward the corner of the room, by Charlie’s dad’s head. He spoke softly to the lead surgeon.
“I have his son on live feed, Major.”
“Very good. I hope you’re not squeamish, boy. This is where it gets interesting.”
Charlie grinned. He had no qualms with any of this, and found it fascinating.
With a few flicks of lexan clamps and shunts, Roscoe McComber’s old heart became isolated. The new heart had been grafted alongside it, as a backup, so the worst that could happen would be that the elder McComber’s surgery would be unsuccessful and not terminal.
“Excising scalpel, please.” He called.
The smack of the small metal object hitting his gloved hand hit with a soft thud, and the surgeon continued, gently cutting away at the tissue, his full attention on his patient. He offered the bloody instrument to a metal pan with an eerie clanging noise and then reached in both hands. He displayed the bloody, tired heart to the camera.
“As you can see, the wear and tear on this heart is nothing short of incredible. While this man’s exercise program is very good, sometimes birth defects play a stronger part on our physiology more than environment. You might want to get your own heart checked out for this type of defect. Honestly, it’s a miracle that he’s lived this long.”
“I guess I take more after my ma than pa,” Charlie intoned. “According to my pediatrician, I’m in good shape, heart wise.”
Charlie saw the wrinkles of the man’s eyes turn into a smile, “good. I’ve never cloned a strongarian heart before, and while I’d have no qualms doing so, a heart of your size would present some interesting operating challenges.”
Charlie nodded. The surgeon turned toward to the lead nurse.
“Take that and the secondary structures we replaced to autopsy, I want that report inside of four hours.”
“Yes Major.” The Nurse said. She put a stainless steel bowel containing the heart of the elder McComber as well as a great deal of vascular tissue into a side duct. Charlie could hear the Nurse whisper the order on a secondary console.
“So he’s, like, gonna live, right?”
The masked doctor nodded. “He’ll be right as rain. I cloned the defect out of that heart, so this heart should last him the rest of his natural life.”
Charlie smiled his big, toothy grin, and the masked doctor felt good inside. Dr. Hiram Reis liked to help people, and enjoyed saving lives. The smile on a loved one’s face was the only payment he needed.
10 April 2054, 15.42
Charlie’s Barn, The McComber Farm
Charlie took several deep breaths and began to curl the huge slabs of pig iron. At over three hundred pounds of weight each, he was lifting as heavy as he could possibly do so, deliberately trying to loose himself in his workout. He’d just finished running twenty miles in a bit over three hours, and nearly an hour’s worth of calisthenics. While he worked out, he kept count of his various activities to himself, he’d trained his mind to do all of these things. They served as his meditation, and today, they served as his distraction.
News had been scarce today, which is not what he wanted. Just when he found one interesting news article about an entire family of Germanic strongarian mutants, an annoying beeping sound came from the wall terminal. Charlie hated to be interrupted in his work out, and had begged and cajoled his mother to the point where she would not bother him. When his father was around, he knew he’d assist by spotting or let the news play. Either way, the beeping sound had to go.
“Computer, answer vidphone.” He said, in a grumbling teenage voice.
A man in a surgical mask appeared.
Charlie cocked an eyebrow, and then it clicked in, this was the call he was dreading, yet also needed to hear.
“Yes?” Charlie replied. He was unable to discern who it was behind the mask, and eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s Harker, Charlie. The General’s adjunct.” He said. Harker pulled the surgical mask down around his lip to show more of his face.
Charlie smiled at him. “Harker, right on, man. What’s the word?”
Harker merely replied by giving him a thumb’s up. “The word is go, Charlie. I’ve just left the operating theatre, and the cloned heart and cardio-vascular system is working perfectly.”
“Wow,” Charlie said. He stammered, “You did it.”
“Well I didn’t do it. At best, I was just an observer. The General keeps his eyes on special people, Charlie, and you’re a special person. I know you’ve been having some doubts about joining up, but I’m hoping that you’ll understand now that we take pride in America in the Military.”
Charlie grinned and nodded, “It’s going to be my pleasure to serve, sir.”
“That’s the spirit, Charlie. We can always use a few young men such as you. Stay by your terminal, Charlie, let me go back into the clean room for a second, okay?”
“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”
Charlie watched as the auto-tracking cameras stayed locked on Harker. He went from what was some sort of exterior locker-type room, to a scrub room. Charlie watched Harker scrub his hands thoroughly, buffing them until they nearly bled with a strong looking stiff brush. From there, he dipped his hands into an additional disinfectant and after that stuck them into a large vat of liquid latex. When he removed them, they went under a dryer. He flexed his fingers during this entire process and by doing so created two perfectly formed gloves, a fraction of a millimeter in depth, yet completely sterile.
Harker passed through a decontamination room that further doused him with an aerosol anti-bacterial agent and then he passed through to the operating room itself. Charlie’s father was barely recognizable, covered in military O.D. green operating drapes. Charlie could see his head, covered in some sort of oxygen mask. He heard a voice speak in a clipped British accent:
“Very good, patient has been stabilized on new cardiac section, primary and secondary aortal lines and grafts are all in place. Ladies, Gentlemen, excellent work. Let’s remove the afflicted heart, close and let him wake up.”
As a team, the surgical group moved as one single hand, Harker resumed his place as back up medic and stood toward the corner of the room, by Charlie’s dad’s head. He spoke softly to the lead surgeon.
“I have his son on live feed, Major.”
“Very good. I hope you’re not squeamish, boy. This is where it gets interesting.”
Charlie grinned. He had no qualms with any of this, and found it fascinating.
With a few flicks of lexan clamps and shunts, Roscoe McComber’s old heart became isolated. The new heart had been grafted alongside it, as a backup, so the worst that could happen would be that the elder McComber’s surgery would be unsuccessful and not terminal.
“Excising scalpel, please.” He called.
The smack of the small metal object hitting his gloved hand hit with a soft thud, and the surgeon continued, gently cutting away at the tissue, his full attention on his patient. He offered the bloody instrument to a metal pan with an eerie clanging noise and then reached in both hands. He displayed the bloody, tired heart to the camera.
“As you can see, the wear and tear on this heart is nothing short of incredible. While this man’s exercise program is very good, sometimes birth defects play a stronger part on our physiology more than environment. You might want to get your own heart checked out for this type of defect. Honestly, it’s a miracle that he’s lived this long.”
“I guess I take more after my ma than pa,” Charlie intoned. “According to my pediatrician, I’m in good shape, heart wise.”
Charlie saw the wrinkles of the man’s eyes turn into a smile, “good. I’ve never cloned a strongarian heart before, and while I’d have no qualms doing so, a heart of your size would present some interesting operating challenges.”
Charlie nodded. The surgeon turned toward to the lead nurse.
“Take that and the secondary structures we replaced to autopsy, I want that report inside of four hours.”
“Yes Major.” The Nurse said. She put a stainless steel bowel containing the heart of the elder McComber as well as a great deal of vascular tissue into a side duct. Charlie could hear the Nurse whisper the order on a secondary console.
“So he’s, like, gonna live, right?”
The masked doctor nodded. “He’ll be right as rain. I cloned the defect out of that heart, so this heart should last him the rest of his natural life.”
Charlie smiled his big, toothy grin, and the masked doctor felt good inside. Dr. Hiram Reis liked to help people, and enjoyed saving lives. The smile on a loved one’s face was the only payment he needed.
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