The Terminals (26 page)

Epilogue

As World War II vets
aged and died, their numbers dwindling, the New York Veteran's Hospital had had to move into other services. The maternity ward was small and ill equipped to handle complicated births, but could boast three well-appointed birthing rooms. Each had a couch and a bed that looked more like a single than a hospital cot. The décor could have fit that of any three-star hotel room and that lent the maternity ward a five-star appeal.

The Monet prints were not helping the family of Mariko Ito, however. Mom had been rushed to surgery for an emergency C-section. They'd tried for a natural birth for twenty-four hours, and nurse Jaya had gone off-shift and come back on, hoping to see mom and babies happy upon her return. Unfortunately, both babies were trying to come out first. Even after the doctor repositioned them, they would immediately slide back together, heads wedged into the birth canal. When their heart rates had begun to dip and surge with the contractions, the doctor suggested that they move to a surgical alternative. Mariko, tired and worried, had readily agreed.

Jaya had been left with trying to figure out how to prepare for the delivery of six-week premature twins in a hospital with no neo-natal care. One incubator was on its way, the only one the nearest hospital could spare. Fortunately, Jaya did have lamps to help with the jaundice that the babies were sure to develop, but as for a crib, they would need to share.

When the incubator arrived, she wheeled it into Birthing Room C, and left it beside the first accessible plug. She returned to the linen closet and nearly fell over a red-faced nurse.

“They're coming!” she said.

Jaya tried to keep from becoming flustered, gathering up her dropped sheets and returning to the birthing room to tuck them in neatly around the pads of the incubator. Two heart rate monitors were already plugged in and she turned them on, the packaged electrodes to affix to the babies resting on the table.

The husband was first, his hair a wild mess of curls, head whirling left and right.

“Not here yet, sir.” She frowned at the incubator. Ideally, the babies would go straight from mom into the unit.

They wheeled the mother in with both babies in her arms. Her face was ashen, and Jaya saw that she'd lost a lot of blood, mentally noting to add red meat and orange juice to her meals, and forgetting that the woman, at least, was Buddhist. The small mewls of the babies made Jaya smile, and she grinned at Mariko and her husband. The mother having cuddle time with premature children was a luxury; they would need to go into the incubator, after which the parents' only access would be through the two holes in the side.

“A boy and a girl,” Mariko whispered as if trying not to wake the babies. “Nobu and Takana.” Her face contorted in pain.

“What? What is it?” the man asked, his knuckles white as he leaned in to his wife.

“Baby,” she gasped.

Mariko's husband pulled a baby away from her and held her up. Her expression relaxed.

“Takana,” she said with a small laugh. “She bit me.”

Teeth in a newborn are rare, rarer still in a premature child, but not impossible. Something to joke about later, Jaya thought.

The doctor followed in after and nodded at Jaya meaningfully. She stepped to the side of the father.

“May I?” Jaya asked and took the tightly wrapped child and laid her in the open incubator, removed the blanket, and stuck the electrodes in place. Immediately, the monitor showed a heart rate of one hundred and forty. Perfect.

Jaya took the second, the boy, Nobu, who had a tuft of curly hair, and she laid him next to his sister. Unswaddled, it was plain that sister was much larger than her brother, easily five pounds to his three. He began to cry, and Jaya, quick as she could, affixed the electrodes, and then closed the lid to warm them. The father stood near.

“Congratulations,” she said.

His eyes were glassy with fatigue, but they widened, drawing Jaya's attention back to the incubator. Babies of five pounds cannot roll. They can wave their arms, and mewl like kittens, but newborns do not move. There was no way to explain how Takana had managed to roll toward her brother and scratch at his face. If Jaya didn't know better, she'd actually believe the baby was trying to gouge out Nobu's eyes.

“Oh my,” Jaya managed a smile she didn't feel. “Isn't she a little devil?”

 

END

 

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About the Author

 

After crewing ships in the Antarctic and the Baltic Sea and some fun in venture capital, Michael anchored himself (happily) to a marriage and a boatload of kids. Now he injects his adventurous spirit into his writing with brief respites for research into the jungles of Sumatra and Guatemala, the ruins of Egypt and Tik'al, paddling the Zambezi and diving whatever cave or ocean reef will have him. He is a member of the International Thriller Writers and SF Canada, and the author of the Assured Destruction series, The Terminals, 24 Bones, The Sand Dragon, Hurakan, Ruination, books on Corruption and Children's Rights, and several award winning graphic novels for young adults. Find out more about him on his
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Acknowledgements

The Terminals has been a long time in coming. Perhaps that's fitting. It started out as an idea I batted about and discussed with Shen Goh who offered to turn it into a graphic novel. Out of that, Steph Leggett, Joyce Thian, Dawna McKinnon, Amy Land, you've all made amazing contributions. Mike Rooth's art brought the story to life.

Not long after, Jim Donovan heard the pitch and wanted to make it into a television series, bringing on board Sudden Storm Entertainment and the sharp minds of Jesse Ikeman and Jeff Glickman. It's gonna happen boys!

Then, of course, came the book. And the list of those to thank grows. From editor Catherine Adams, John Jarrold for his encouragement and notes, and my persevering agent Gina Panettieri for both her editing prowess and her blessing to give this a shot. Martin Stiff, the cover is as amazing as the rest of Amazing15's art. Glendon Haddix, of Streetlight Graphics, the formatting excels. Thank you.

A writer can only struggle on with the help of a writers network and I'd like to shout out to the Inkbots, the Writers Workshop, SF Canada and the International Thriller Writers for, well ... letting me in!

And finally to my family for their continued support and to my first reader, love of my life, harshest critic and best friend, wife, Andrea.

Thank you all.

I'm truly sorry if I've missed anyone, as I'm certain that I have; it's been a long strange journey with many friendly faces along the way. When my time comes to go terminal and venture into the deep, I know I'll have lived well if my many friends are the measure.