Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [102]
“We moved him across the hall into fifty-two.” A weary Chimbu looked harried and strained. “Along with anything else that was worth moving. He’s sleeping now, under sedation.” Without further comment he indicated their surroundings.
The destruction was impressive, Nadurovina saw. Hard to believe one short, malnourished, sick patient still in the middle stages of recovery had been able to wreak so much havoc in so brief a span. Chimbu saw the question in her face.
“Nurse Tse called the medtech staff on duty immediately, but they hesitated to interfere out of concern he might seriously injure himself. It took the duty physician a few minutes to get here and issue orders. At that time the patient was still going strong. Five orderlies needed to coordinate their efforts to get him down long enough for one of them to administer a sedative. They finally made the decision to jump him when it looked like he was going to make a run for the window.”
Nadurovina glanced in the direction of the specially retrofitted safety glass. It was strong enough to stop an explosive shell. She found herself wondering if it would have been enough to thwart the crazed Mallory. The window was still closed. “What about self-inflicted damage?”
“Nothing too serious. Minor cuts and bruises. I’ve talked to Tse, and I think it’s pretty clear what set him off.”
The psychiatrist nodded. “I have also spoken with her.” As she conversed with the chief medical officer she scanned the room. Expensive instrumentation had been smashed, cables ripped from the walls and monitors, furniture crushed. Bent and twisted, a chair lay in one corner like a beached anemone. Even the bed coverings had been shredded. Bending to pick up a plastic cup, she saw that pieces had been chewed out of the rim. The tornado that had gone back to sleep in Alwyn Mallory’s brain had reawakened. Remembering the shaken, frightened nurse, Nadurovina was thankful no one had been hurt.
What would Mallory do when he began to come out of his sedative-induced sleep? By that time if the hospital staff had done its job properly a new set of monitoring equipment should be in place and operational. There was no guarantee the patient would not resume where he had left off, raging and destructive, endangering all those around him as well as himself. Tse’s intervention could be crucial, she knew. Steeling herself, she headed for the hallway to talk to the nurse.
Her considerable powers of persuasion were not required. Tse was anxious to return to Mallory’s side. She listened quietly to the older woman’s instructions, taking on that advice she thought useful and wordlessly ignoring the rest. By this time she felt she knew Alwyn Mallory better than anyone else. Ultimately, when he next awoke she was the one who would have to make the first, critical decisions.
In furniture, facilities, and layout room fifty-two was a mirror image of the one a berserking Mallory had wrecked. Under the influence of the powerful sedative he slept all through the rest of the day and on into the night. Tse dozed off beside him, unwilling to make use of the inflatable bed that had been provided for her. When she awoke, it was to find the first tendrils of daylight creeping through the window and the patient lying with eyes open, staring silently at her.
Surprised, she started slightly, relaxing only when he smiled.
“I was a bad boy, wasn’t I, nurse?”
“How are you feeling?”
Even before he could answer she was automatically checking the monitors alongside his bed. She knew they would read more or less normal. If anything serious had manifested itself during the night, doctors and other nurses would have attended to the problem, invariably waking her in the process. But she had to ask.
“Tired. A little sore.” Reaching up, he felt of the pellucid epidermal seal that had closed a cut on his forehead. “I don’t remember many details. Just a lot of noise.”
Her tone was quietly reproving. “That would have been you smashing up everything within reach in the