talien
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Silicon Dreams: Part 4—Desperate Measures
Jim-Bean sat up from the hospital bed. “Can I go now doc?”
The Samson Hospital doctor on call shook his head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Not a scratch on you.”
“Well I wouldn’t say not a scratch…”
The doctor indicated Guppy, who was groggily stirring. “Fortunately for you whoever was trying to kill you fled the scene when the police arrived. Your friends weren’t quite as lucky. Mr. Gupta suffered second degree burns. We’ve given him something to handle the pain but he really shouldn’t be moved…”
“Can he stand?”
“Yes, but with the medication we gave him—“
“He’ll be fine. What about Ham—I mean Grange?”
“After you, he’s in better shape. Mr. Grange must have been at the perimeter of the blast.”
Jim-Bean looked around. “Where’s Fontaine?”
The doctor’s expression became grim. “Mr. Fontaine is in emergency surgery. We’re removing debris from his…”
Jim-Bean hopped off the cot. “Sew him up.”
“What?” The doctor shook his head. “You can’t just—“
“I said sew him up,” said Jim-Bean. “Guppy, can you move?”
Guppy groaned and slowly propped himself up on one elbow. “I…I think so.”
“Now look here,” said the doctor, “I don’t know who you are but these men are in no condition to—“
“We’re federal agents.” Jim-Bean moved to fish out his badge from his pockets, then realized he was in a hospital gown. “Where’s my things?”
“We have them in a safe. We also notified the police, since you were carrying firearms.”
Jim-Bean rolled his eyes. “With my gun is a badge. And that badge represents CIFA. And if you don’t release us right now I will have you all brought up on federal charges for obstructing an investigation. Now WHERE are my THINGS?”
The doctor backed up and barked a command at a nurse. A few minutes later Jim-Bean had his clothes, his gun, and his badge back.
Hammer joined him in the waiting room, followed by a limping Guppy.
“CCS is going to be wrapping up their operations,” said Hammer. “If they’re bold enough to attack us in broad daylight, they’re not above wiping their offices clean by whatever means necessary. We have to move tonight before they remove all the evidence.”
“But Archive’s still in surgery!” said Guppy, his eyes swimming a bit from the painkillers. “We can’t—“
“Sure we can. He’s into that mystical healing mumbo-jumbo, right?” Jim-Bean stalked towards the door marked RESTRICTED PERSONNEL ONLY. “He can just heal himself.”
“Hey!” shouted a security guard. “You can’t just go in there.”
Jim-Bean held up his CIFA badge and pointed his pistol at the security guard. “Try and stop me.”
He backed his way into the operating room. Archive was splayed out on a table, an IV drip connected to one arm. A staff of surgeons were busy extracting debris from his flesh. The lead surgeon whirled.
“What the hell? Get this man out of here!”
The nurses started tugging at his arm. “You can’t be in here!”
“I’m getting him out,” said Jim-Bean. “Sew him up.”
“He could die!” shouted the surgeon, unruffled by the fact that a pistol was pointed at his head.
“So could you if you don’t do what I say,” said Jim-Bean. “Now. Sew. Him. Up.”
Ten minutes later, two walking-, one drugged-, and one half-dead agent limped out of Samson Hospital.
Jim-Bean sat up from the hospital bed. “Can I go now doc?”
The Samson Hospital doctor on call shook his head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Not a scratch on you.”
“Well I wouldn’t say not a scratch…”
The doctor indicated Guppy, who was groggily stirring. “Fortunately for you whoever was trying to kill you fled the scene when the police arrived. Your friends weren’t quite as lucky. Mr. Gupta suffered second degree burns. We’ve given him something to handle the pain but he really shouldn’t be moved…”
“Can he stand?”
“Yes, but with the medication we gave him—“
“He’ll be fine. What about Ham—I mean Grange?”
“After you, he’s in better shape. Mr. Grange must have been at the perimeter of the blast.”
Jim-Bean looked around. “Where’s Fontaine?”
The doctor’s expression became grim. “Mr. Fontaine is in emergency surgery. We’re removing debris from his…”
Jim-Bean hopped off the cot. “Sew him up.”
“What?” The doctor shook his head. “You can’t just—“
“I said sew him up,” said Jim-Bean. “Guppy, can you move?”
Guppy groaned and slowly propped himself up on one elbow. “I…I think so.”
“Now look here,” said the doctor, “I don’t know who you are but these men are in no condition to—“
“We’re federal agents.” Jim-Bean moved to fish out his badge from his pockets, then realized he was in a hospital gown. “Where’s my things?”
“We have them in a safe. We also notified the police, since you were carrying firearms.”
Jim-Bean rolled his eyes. “With my gun is a badge. And that badge represents CIFA. And if you don’t release us right now I will have you all brought up on federal charges for obstructing an investigation. Now WHERE are my THINGS?”
The doctor backed up and barked a command at a nurse. A few minutes later Jim-Bean had his clothes, his gun, and his badge back.
Hammer joined him in the waiting room, followed by a limping Guppy.
“CCS is going to be wrapping up their operations,” said Hammer. “If they’re bold enough to attack us in broad daylight, they’re not above wiping their offices clean by whatever means necessary. We have to move tonight before they remove all the evidence.”
“But Archive’s still in surgery!” said Guppy, his eyes swimming a bit from the painkillers. “We can’t—“
“Sure we can. He’s into that mystical healing mumbo-jumbo, right?” Jim-Bean stalked towards the door marked RESTRICTED PERSONNEL ONLY. “He can just heal himself.”
“Hey!” shouted a security guard. “You can’t just go in there.”
Jim-Bean held up his CIFA badge and pointed his pistol at the security guard. “Try and stop me.”
He backed his way into the operating room. Archive was splayed out on a table, an IV drip connected to one arm. A staff of surgeons were busy extracting debris from his flesh. The lead surgeon whirled.
“What the hell? Get this man out of here!”
The nurses started tugging at his arm. “You can’t be in here!”
“I’m getting him out,” said Jim-Bean. “Sew him up.”
“He could die!” shouted the surgeon, unruffled by the fact that a pistol was pointed at his head.
“So could you if you don’t do what I say,” said Jim-Bean. “Now. Sew. Him. Up.”
Ten minutes later, two walking-, one drugged-, and one half-dead agent limped out of Samson Hospital.