Chapter 2: Attention to the Crap

Their own private debriefing session, support group meeting, total membership two. Later that afternoon, in the NCO club, human Doc and human Olé are having beers while discussing the mission. “So, you have no idea, why your cyborg would breach protocols and preach Bible stories to people living long before they supposedly happened?” Doc asks.

“Well, you know I’m a man of faith. I suppose some of that was incorporated into the consciousness of the cyborg. And I get an urge to proselytize sometimes. I reckon he got that urge too. Wouldn’t surprise me none. After all, doesn’t your medical knowledge transfer?”

“Yes. Well, yeah, it’s a convenient thing to have my doctor’s skills with me on my clone.” Doc chuckles.

“You know? I can’t figure you out. You, your clone, got all upset that I, rather, my clone was preaching, and I’ve known you a long time, gal. I’m convinced, or at least I think I am ... you are a believer, aren’t you?” Olé insisted, but he appeared a bit doubtful.

“I do believe in a creator, and the rest is personal. Private. Leave it at that.” Doc’s eyes were steady on Olé’s and not smiling. Once she was certain Olé got the message, she raised her glass and shifted her gaze, studying the amber beer in her glass. “Alls well, that ends well. The news reports say the atheist’s claims have been debunked. Pure hoax. Nothing resembling the Bible was found in any antediluvian text. But you and I know who it was that really spoiled their fun.”

“Yeah. You nipped them in the bud, Buddy. Took out both our cyborgs, the witnesses, and the evidence. Thanks for cleaning up my mess! The atheists were trying and still are, to bring down western culture, and that might have been the catalyst, the fulcrum, they’ve been seeking. Not to say western culture is perfect or couldn’t be improved upon. Can you imagine what they’d replace western culture with?”

“No, but I don’t imagine it would be an improvement. Maybe some other culture would. Some Eastern cultures and a few others are highly ethical. But the only ethics damned atheists have, is to win anyway you can. Cheers!” Doc downed half of her beer.

They clinked glasses. Olé was thoughtful, “Its fortunate Mt Eve had already moved on to Africa, before your clone did, whatever it was she did, or we might be orphaned incorporeal spirits lolling around without any beers. Anyway, Good job. Saved the planet. Saved Mankind. Saved the Future! Sincerely, thanks again! So, where you off to next, Doc?”

“They’re proposing an encounter with Y chromosomal Adam. I’ve been drafted as the clone model.” Doc stared down into her nearly empty glass.

“My God! The idiots! Y chromosomal isn’t Adam, it’s Noah. Noah and his three sons carry the same Y marker, and there aren’t any other men survived. Noah is grandpa to everyone today. Didn’t they ever attend Sunday-school? Don’t blow him up, damn it! I’d love to meet him! Don’t look at me like that! Don’t get huffy on me, I’m your Pal, your Bud, remember? But sending an assassin of your caliber, or your equally dangerous clone, to that rendezvous seems very problematical to me!”

“You’re just jealous they chose me over you.” Doc laughed and drained her glass.

“Yeah. Probably. You’re right. Cheers!” Ole’ offered to clink glasses. Doc clinked with her empty. Ole’ sighed and sulked. “You’re going to ask me where my new assignment is. Don’t! Save it. I’ll spare you the effort. Remedial training. Cargo cults and culture shock. Avoidance tactics. Low profile, Culture protection, that crap.”

“Pay attention to the CRAP this time!” Doc advised grinning. She rattled her empty glass against the table top. “Your round, Pal!”

As usual when Olé and Doc were toasting and tossing beers at the NCO club and it was Olé’s turn to buy, he intentionally delayed. Not because he was cheap, Olé just enjoyed being annoying.

“So tell me again why you didn’t go to Officer Candidate School?” Olé knew this was a long story and a thirsty one. The intent was, get Doc to cave and buy the round from dry frustration and thirst.

“Didn’t want to.” Doc tersely muttered, already too long familiar with Olé’s games.

“I have seen only officer doctors in the military, excepting you, Doc. Every other doctor, including dentists and psychiatrists, is an officer.” Olé was stretching the ounce of beer dreg in his glass. Tiniest little sips.

“Seen many of that last group? The psychiatrists, Olé? By appointment? Or only on the golf course? All those doctors types are reserve officers Olé. Reserve officers are redheaded step brothers in academy officers’ eyes. And I’m not a doctor at all, in the MD’s eyes. A chiropractor gets more respect from the medical fraternity, than a beast doctor.” Doc pouted, dramatizing a fake victim, for Olé’s benefit.

“Ain’t right! Just my opinion!” asserted Olé.

“There simply isn’t much need for veterinarians in the Army, Olé. Not since they got rid of the horses and mules. Imagine me making house calls to the brass’ s wives’s hypochondriac poodles? Or hypochondriac wives’s poodles?” Doc shuddered making a face.

“They wouldn’t make you do that!” But Olé believed Oh Yes they would.

“As a doctor of veterinary medicine, I am also trained in human medicine. Veterinary schools know their graduates often work in remote areas without access to other medical providers. In an emergency, we are licensed to and expected to treat human patients as well as livestock. Blood is blood, bone is bone, and tissue is tissue. The same pharmacology books are used in veterinary school as in medical school.”

She sipped at imaginary beer. Tried to enjoy it. Japanese learn to sip tea from an empty cup. Focus!

“The primary difference between the veterinary profession and an MD, is that I rely upon caresses and a soft voice to soothe anxious patients. Also, beasts never insist on discussing their case and I never have to fight their insurance provider bureaucracies to get paid. Beasts don’t have health insurance,” she said with a smirk.

“Their eyes are eloquent enough with pleas for help and gratitude for relief, even expressing love, that they don’t need to verbalize.”

“I don’t have the knack or training in bedside manners expected of MDs. Sometimes, I regret that. I can read the animals but have no empathy with fellow humans and no illusions about my powers of persuasion. Telling somebody in pain, to suck it up and quit being a crybaby, only works in the military.” she explained. “So, I became a medic and get to save people in difficulty, but don’t have to commiserate. Eventually I became a specialist in nasty warfare. Now, I’m at the pinnacle of my career, a black ops assassin involved in a time travel project. Don’t I miss not going to OCS?”

Doc was thirstily eyeballing her empty glass, not enjoying it. She refused to look at Olé. “Never!”

“I see you got a plain brown paper wrapped box ready to go. For Morgan? Another present?” Doc nodded. “You spoil that boy something terrible!” Olé accused. “Planning on going into Rawlins?”

“He’s the only brother I got. I expect, suspect, he’s the nearest I’ll ever have to a child of my own.” Doc was looking far away. “Nope, not going into town myself. New personnel are arriving today. I’ll give their driver a few bucks to mail it for me, on his return to town.”

“Sometimes I have a vision of you all alone, sitting on a mountain top in a hermit’s hut. Sort of suits you, the role of hermit,” Olé told Doc.

Doc patiently waited on Olé to buy the next round and remained silent as a hermit. She felt alone. Reality is, everybody’s alone. Hermit crabs in their shells. She’d out-wait him all night, if needed.”