Sandra clapped her hands softly. “That was beautiful,” she said of the warm coffee.
“I like it better when she blows shit up,” Marvin grumbled.
“So,” Dani said, “we need to get someone into Building Z as a patient. Marvin, you destroying the warden’s car didn’t work. If anything, she was even more interested in keeping you here, where she could negotiate a contract for you. Sandra, no one expects you to transmogrify another person in order to get put over there. And we need Mable free to do her electronic magic, not hooked up to a machine.” Dani thought through what she was about to say and decided it was still the best plan. “Sooo. I guess, today, I’ll blow something up, dissolve into tears, and storm off to my room.”
The others looked at her in dismay.
“Mable,” she continued, “I’ll need one of Marvin’s MTTs put in under my skin.”
Marvin had invested a large percentage of his holdings into electronics companies and startups, and one such company had devised MTTs—Mini-Tracker-Transmitters. They worked alone, or in conjunction with another of the company’s devices called Invaders. The devices were the heart and soul of TriDevi’s plan to rescue Franz, and now Buck, and the others from Table J.
“We don’t know what kind of brain damage The Sevens’ magic energy collection system does,” Sandra said softly. “If we’re right and they do brain surgery to install a port, and if we can’t get you out in time, you may be . . . permanently . . .” Her mouth closed in a firm line.
Dani squeezed her hand. “Permanently brain damaged forever. I figured that out. But I trust you all to rescue me, and someone needs to go inside. It needs to be Marvin or me, and they didn’t take Marvin’s bait. I think they’ll take mine. With the MTT and Marvin’s Invader, Mable should be able to cut off any drugs by causing the IV machines to malfunction, and I should quickly be able to wreak havoc.”
Marvin looked hard at her. “The MTTs haven’t been tested on humans. And if we can’t get inside to place the Invader in your room, or if Mable for some reason can’t manipulate the Invader, you might be lost.”
Invaders were cute little mini-computers that, when plugged into a regular electrical outlet, allowed the software on Mable’s computer to invade every computerized unit or system within twenty feet. It was also a tracker, recorder, and transmitter.
Mable opened her bag and removed the tiny surgical kit disguised as a sewing kit. From it she took the even tinier MTT. “Sandra should put it under your boob or in the wrinkles under your arm. You decide.”
“First time I was ever happy I had batwings and floppy boobs. Better do it high in the upper arm,” Dani said to Sandra. “They’ll probably strip me and hook me up to EKGs and IVs to drug me.”
She watched as Sandra—the only one of them who had ever volunteered at a hospital and seen minor surgery—took the sewing kit and laid out her equipment: a tiny, sterile surgical scalpel, the MTT, and glue. Marvin pulled a pair of stolen gloves out of the drawer at the coffee maker, and some sixty percent alcohol hand sanitizer. It was the bare minimum, and not nearly as sterile as Dani wanted, but it was a short-term implant. She hoped.
“I never . . .” She stopped and wiped her hands on her dress. “You know that I’ve never done this before,” Sandra said, “and watching doctors use superglue on wounds and studying videos of the proper implantation procedures didn’t give me skill. Plus . . .” she heaved a sigh. “I’m going to hurt you.”
“It’s okay, Sandra,” Dani said.
Sandra didn’t respond as she pulled a chair and a small table to the sofa. She cleaned everything with the sanitizer, including her hands and then the gloves, before opening the sterile package containing the scalpel.
Dani stood, looked at each of them, and said softly, “You— Please. Don’t leave me in there long.”
“We’ll be behind youtoday,” Marvin said, “even if I have to turn every car in the parking lot into garden dirt.”
He looked determined and stubborn, and if there was a little delight gleaming in his eyes at the idea of going rogue and destroying things wholesale, well, that was okay by her.
Mable said, “We don’t have much time left in this hour. Marvin, give the woman some privacy.” She shooed Marvin into his own bedroom and shut the door.
“I’m sorry,” Sandra whispered, maybe to her God, or maybe to her very first patient, Dani wasn’t sure.
“I’d rather you do it than Mable fainting at the sight of blood or Marvin’s baseball mitt hands.” Dani pulled off her shirt, lay down on the sofa, lifted her am to expose the skin under her arm, took a deep breath, and prepared to suffer in silence. This was going to hurt. Probably not as bad having kids or some of the so-called painless surgical procedures she’d had over the years, but not comfortable, either.
Mable spun to look out the window. “Horrors. Y’all know I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“But you beat people up,” Dani said, needing to lighten the mood.
“Yeah. And then I walk away while they bleed so I don’t pass out, bang my face, and ruin my plastic surgeon’s excellent work.”
Dani chuckled, which was probably what Mable had intended.
Sandra
Zeddie approached the lunch table, pulling the dessert cart and carrying the mail bag. It was time. Sandra thought about Harold, holding all the sadness and angst in her heart, to use it as fuel for her acting. She focused her thoughts the way she did with prayer.
“Mail for everyone.” Zeddie put small piles of mail in front of each of them.
“I don’t know why you bother to bring all that stuff,” Sandra complained, as she did every lunchtime. “It’s nothing but AARP mail, Medicare garbage, and car warranty ads.” But this time she added, “And you people have already steamed them open. I hate that. And I hate that I haven’t gotten a letter from Carl since I got here.” Tears gathered in her eyes.
