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Dear Kal’tsit,
I know you do not really need this, but you must know I also cannot help myself from writing you unsolicited advice in case I end up in a place inaccessible to you and Dr. Stasya both! If that day comes, I hope you will continue to take care of her, despite your differences. I know that must sound selfish of me, but I promise you she trusts you like no other. I cannot imagine she would survive without a companion lighting her way.
And I also cannot imagine her following anyone’s light but yours.
“… so that’s basically what’s going on,” Blaze concludes. “The word is yours whether we go in now or wait and see what happens.”
“What would be your preferred course of action?”
“You know me, Boss—better act now than wait for something to happen.”
Kal’tsit receives a buzz from one of her pagers.
ARTICLE 3. DR OK. TO ER.
Kal’tsit types back.
IBT 10.
“What’s that about?”
“Article 3,” Kal’tsit answers, putting her pager back into her pocket. “I have to take this.”
Blaze let out a low whistle as she started packing up the battle planning material. “Another one? Is that the second time this month?”
“Third," Kal'tsit corrects.
“Don’t you think she’s overworking herself?” asks Blaze.
“Yes," answers Kal'tsit.
“Shouldn’t we do anything about it?”
Blaze has stopped what she was doing.
“You know what she was like in Babel," Kal'tsit says.
“Now hold on a second. Yeah, I know you know and her had a bad thing going on back then, but she’s obviously a different person now!" Blaze says. "She’s become introspective, and sensitive, not to mention thoughtful! Personally, I think she’d be more open to slowing down. C’mon, think about it.”
“I’ll consider your argument.”
Blaze sighs quietly and tosses her hands up in frustration. “You too, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
Blaze indicates to the bags under her eyes and says, “lately the makeup hasn’t been covering it up well, I’m not gonna lie. Look, I think this Article 3 business got you stressed out this month. If there’s even a slim chance the Dr. Stasya agrees to down, shouldn’t we take it? It’ll do wonders for you too.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Sure."
“In the meantime you should continue—”
“—the pre-planning to get a tentative team comp, date and time, and vehicle wishlist for the operation, yes ma’am, understood.”
The sarcophagus is a wonder of science, but it cannot evade the law of the universe that all things come with a cost. I am unsure of what it might do to her over long periods of time. It is not cryopreservation; her brain is likely to permanently change under its influence. The prospect scares me, but I reject more thoroughly the thought of losing her without trying everything in my power to secure a future for both of us.
Kal’tsit approaches the ER wing of the Rhodes Island landship and sees Nearl and Cantabile waiting outside one of the doors, the former with a stern look on her face and the latter looking pensive, if not flustered.
“Report?”
Nearl hands over a tablet and says, “starting at 1415 as scheduled, Field Team Centauri-6 began planning for regular convoy escort along this route to our outpost in the north. In preparation, we and Dr. Stasya started running hypotheticals at around 1450. At 1503, Dr. Stasya suffered all the symptoms of insanity. Per protocol, we unplugged her from the map and Cantabile administered appropriate aid.”
Kal'tsit nods and turns to the young woman beside Nearl.
“Cantabile.”
“U-uh, yes, Dr. Kal’tsit?”
“Did you encounter anything anomalous on Dr. Stasya while you were administering aid? Rashes, excessive sweating, smell of iron, high body heat like a fever?”
“High body heat, but not like a fever, Dr. Kal’tsit.”
“Just Doctor will do.”
“A-ah, understood.”
“Did Dr. Stasya express any resistance to your care? Sudden violent movements, screaming, pushing, shoving?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Did Dr. Stasya otherwise do anything that would violate company policy, such as inappropriate or harmful contact, remarks, or other actions?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Did you otherwise experience any difficulty administering aid?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Is there anything about this experience today that would prevent you from administering aid again?”
“No, not at all, Doctor. I would absolutely do it again.”
“Thank you.” Kal’tsit turns back to Nearl and asks, “what is the status of those hypotheticals?”
“The Doctor hammered out most of the difficult ones,” Nearl informs her, “so I think we will be able to finish up the rest. We’ll be operationally ready.”
“Okay, continue to do that and we can get the convoy out as planned.”
“Very good. Is there anything else you need from us?”
“No. You may go back and resume your planning.”
“Thank you. Please give Stasya our well wishes.”
After Kal’tsit gives her a nod in response, they both turn around to go back to their respective posts, but Cantabile doesn’t budge.
“Uh, excuse me, Dr. Kal’tsit?” she asks.
“Yes?” Kal’tsit replies.
“Is Dr. Stasya going to be okay? Does this happen often?”
“It’s not often, but it’s not rare, either. Don’t worry. Dr. Stasya will be fine.”
Cantabile thanks her, but Kal’tsit can tell that the agent vanguard isn’t very convinced. Kal’tsit hears Nearl reaffirm her words to Cantabile on their way back. Kal’tsit sighs. She supposes it doesn’t take a genius to know she was only saying a half-truth.
The Doctor lies on an adjustable, wheeled bed in the middle of the room. A domed apparatus casts a shadow over her head, attempting in futility to collect her neurological activity and attempting—also in futility—to send that data to a vital signs monitor manned by Warfarin. Surrounding the medic operator are rows of medicine ready to use at a moment’s notice.
“Vitals haven’t changed for now,” Warfarin announces to Kal’tsit before the latter has a chance to say anything.
Walking closer, Kal’tsit notices how frail and sickly the Doctor’s exposed arm looks. It’s a miracle her body hasn’t virtually disintegrated yet, even with the constant safe haven of her suit.
“How are they compared to last time?”
“Close enough that they’re within a margin of error,” Warfarin replies, giving Kal’tsit all the past statistics on a tablet.
“Okay.”
Currently, the Doctor’s heart rate is 25 beats per minute. Warfarin looks at the vital signs monitor grimly. There really should be no way a person with a dead brain and a half-dead heartbeat could be alive, and yet here she is, barely breathing. If there is any consolation for the medical team, it’s that the Doctor has woken up from all her Article 3s in the past, but that doesn’t necessarily mean though that she will wake up now, or wake up once more if this happens again in the future.
“Can I ask you a question, Kal’tsit?”
“Mm.”
“What’s going on?” Warfarin asks. “Three times in a single month?”
No answer.
“How long do we have to keep pushing her for? How many more strategic operators do we need to hire before she can start pumping the brakes for a bit and actually take her health seriously? I know we can’t avoid her running into this from time to time, but it feels like she’s going under more often these days. She works long hours. If she’s not the war room working herself to death, she’s running to and from doing who knows what. At this rate, Kal’tsit, her body is going to give out long before she somehow finds a way to burn her personality into a supercomputer.”
Silence fills the room after Warfarin stops talking.
“Talking to a brick wall this afternoon, am I?”
Kal’tsit’s face sours up.
“Sorry,” Warfarin says. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s entire possible that one of these times her heart rate may just drop to zero.”
“Stasya knows that,” Kal’tsit finally answers.
“I figured,” Warfarin replies.
“So what are you asking?”
“I’m asking if you could talk to her a second time. Surely she isn’t stupid enough to throw her life away like this. I don’t know; I guess I’m hoping that she’s changed her mind.”
The three doctors wait silently in the room, and eventually, the Doctor’s vital signs return to normal and her brain starts reporting back at least some activity. Warfarin breathes a heavy sigh of relief.
“Alright,” Warfarin says, as she begins unlatching mechanisms and unplugging wires from sockets. “She’s stable—vitals fine, brain is readable. You can wheel her to her room; I have the other patients to attend to.”
“Go ahead,” Kal’tsit says.
Warfarin nods, turns to walk to the door, but turns around and adds, “uh, Kal’tsit, at least, please try to talk to her about it anyway? Please don’t let Amiya lose her a second time.”
She tends to get wrapped up in her own world. I am sure you know what that looks like. It is an endearing quality that I love very much, but I worry for her sometimes. If she plunges too deep into that deep sea blue, who is to say that she will always remember to come up for air?
The secret to the absolute, omnipresent success of the Doctor’s strategies is quite simple: when the many variables in a given stage result in a puzzle that is too complex to rationally comprehend, the only way forward to victory is to sequentially throw many guesses at the problem and observe which comes closest to solving it. When a guess is close but not quite correct, adjust it and try again. If the adjustment is closer but not quite correct, adjust it further and try again. Keep adjusting the adjustments until they solve the problem. If the adjustments don’t solve the problem and become increasingly indistinguishable, try another best guess and repeat the process.
Through brute force, a solution will ultimately be found, and the stubbornness of the Doctor’s mind allows such a logical tactic. It helps that deduction can bring about extremely good guesses in the first place. However, this kind of brute force comes packaged with a hefty price tag.
If insanity is defined by doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, the fastest road to insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly in slightly different ways while never reaching a solution, drowning in an infinite recursion of wrong, identical outcomes. As far as Kal’tsit is concerned, this is the essence of the Doctor’s insanity.
She is a “people person” as they say. I am often bewildered by how many undergraduate and graduate students alike attend her office hours. If she should ever branch out into another art of excellence, I can only imagine what she might achieve. May victory, and joy, and a bright future come to all those under her guidance!
Well, I guess by “people person,” I also mean she loves hugs. Hug her often, okay?
When the Doctor exceeds the limit of her sanity, she loses control of her body and she starts crying; the nature of her losing control of her body varies depending upon the situation, ranging from simple shaking and frozen limbs to more violent actions. Kal’tsit tried as much as she could to understand the Doctor’s insanity and how to mitigate or prevent it, but without the Doctor’s full cooperation, there was a disappointing amount of information she could actually gather. In the end, what she settled for was not a medical procedure, but a rather crude step-by-step procedure to alleviate the worst part of the Doctor’s insanity.
In the event that the Doctor is stuck in an infinite recursion and cannot control her body, an individual or a group of individuals must remove her from all physical contact from any machine she may linked to, and initiating physical human contact with her. This mentally removes her from thinking about the problem she is trying to solve and puts her in a state of near death. She will need to rest for a minimum of a few hours for her body and brain to resume their normal activity. Sanity-restoring drugs are only temporarily preventative and are useless once she has exceeded her sanity limit. Intake of these drugs must be limited to prevent addiction.
Yes, it’s true that the Doctor had always been a people person, but during the company’s life as Babel, in the days long after the Doctor’s separation with Priestess, it would have been hard to believe it. The Abyssal Hunters call her arrogant, and while this may be true for the Stasya of today, this was especially true during the Babel days, the days when conflict and battle and victory were the only things on her mind. Despite the sound advice from Kal’tsit and the rest of the medical team, she routinely exceeded her sanity limit, leaving everyone else to clean up after her.
The Doctor hated physical interaction, so much so that she would try to swat people off even when she was under the influence of insanity. In these times, the best way to shake the insanity off the Doctor was to literally shake her body. The more violent the shaking, the better, even if her nose was spewing blood; even if she was already shivering as if it was sub-zero inside the landship; even if it took two people to dodge her fists and open palms (compared her the operators, she wasn’t very strong); even if she was screaming at everyone to “stop, stop stop, just leave me alone!” She yelled and snarled as if she was awake and of rational mind, but anyone who knew her knew better. During those times, Kal’tsit once tried talking to her in the vain hopes she would stop going over her sanity limit. She simply laughed at Kal’tsit and told her to mind her own business. That was also the last time Kal’tsit tried talking to her about it. The memory of it still irritates her to this day.
It’s a miracle to Kal’tsit that the Doctor still managed to capture the hearts and minds of generations of operators, even those who saw what she was like when she was under insanity. Perhaps she was so overwhelming calm, calculating, and charismatic the rest of the time that they saw insanity as a simple inconvenience that came with working with her. Perhaps the genius of her every move was enchanting enough to forget all the bad.
Well, whatever. That was yesteryear and of no concern today. Kal’tsit sits next to the Doctor’s bed; the latter slumbers soundly wrapped with blankets, her head gently pressing into the pillow. The room is silent except for the radio at the Doctor’s bedside that Kal’tsit turned on to low volume. Kal’tsit glosses over Nearl’s report once more to pass the time.
Today’s Article 3 was nothing more than frozen limbs, light shaking, and crying, like a statue with fountains for eyes. Cantabile, the Doctor’s designated caregiver for this session, was able to walk to the Doctor and hug her tightly without any issue. By that point, the Doctor went limp and fell fast asleep, nary a complaint out of her mouth. Cantabile, upon giving testimony to Nearl, offhandedly remarked that the Doctor felt as soft as a sleeping child, even under all those layers. A routine remark nowadays after the Doctor’s second awakening from the sarcophagus, Kal’tsit thinks to herself. Stasya is somewhat closer to the person she was when Priestess was still around, closer to the person who’d open her arms and embrace students the world over. Kal’tsit really should feel relieved.
I am afraid the fruits of today’s science cast a maelstrom we cannot quell, and you might be the only one who can pick up the pieces after us. I fear Stasya’s life will be thrown into turmoil, and that this will change her, for better or for worse. You are the only person able to guide her through it; I am afraid you might have to give more into this relationship than what can be reasonably asked of you. It may take her time to rebuild herself and come into her own once again, but when she does, I know the both of you will be unstoppable.
Kal’tsit is brought back to the present when she hears hushed sniffing and irregular breathing. She immediately turns to Stasya and sees the latter crying with her face in her hands. This is a first for Kal’tsit, and for a split second she buckles and stares at Stasya, but her instincts kick in and she puts her tablet down, waiting to see if it’s safe for her to intervene.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor whispers suddenly. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m—”
Kal’tsit quietly ejects herself from her chair and tentatively puts a hand on Stasya’s shoulder.
“Is that you? C-Cantabile, is th-that you?” the Doctor mutters weakly.
“No, it’s Kal’tsit.”
“Kal’tsit,” the Doctor whimpers. “Kal’tsit.”
The Doctor flails her legs trying to adjust her position and awkwardly tumbles into Kal’tsit’s arms.
“Kal’tsit, I—I’m so sorry,” the Doctor continues to mutter. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” Kal’tsit strokes the back of the Doctor’s head. “Shh…”
“I went past my sanity limit again. I went past my sanity limit again. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh…” Kal’tsit tightens her embrace around Dr. Stasya.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”
“Shh…”
After one, two, five, ten minutes, the tears begin to subside. Through the worst of it now, Stasya is able to drink water and blow her nose. She wipes her eyes and her forehead and the back of her neck with a clean towel, and the faint scent of Kal’tsit’s perfume puts her somewhat at ease.
“I—I had another drea—another nightmare—when I was under,” the Doctor says.
“What was in that nightmare?” Kal’tsit asks.
“My strategy had failed and the task force was forced to retreat. In the chaos, Cantabile was nearly in tears and calling my name, calling for me. ‘This isn’t happening, don’t abandon me. Doctor, where are you?’ I think that’s what she said. She was—she was under great stress, and everyone was running away around her without noticing her. I, I tried running to her but the space between her and I became larger and larger like reality itself was being stretched out like a rubber band. And then I woke up. I… yeah, that's pretty much it.”
“And why do you think your imagination constructed Cantabile to have that reaction in your dream?”
“Because of what I know about her past and how that might affect her current behaviours.”
“Why do you think Cantabile was the subject of your dream?”
“Because she’s kind of new and I never had one of those dreams about her until now. I suppose I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Do you believe our operators would abandon her?”
“No.”
Kal’tsit runs her finger across the Doctor’s forehead, collecting a strand of hair, and she tucks it behind the Doctor’s ear.
“As long as you know,” she says, softly. The Doctor nods weakly.
“How bad was it this time?” she asks.
“Normal. Shaking, frozen in place, crying. No screaming.”
“Did I hurt Cantabile?”
“No. She even said you felt soft.”
The Doctor giggles weakly to herself, probably out of sheer relief, and whispers, “I’m glad. Vitals?”
“Also normal. During the worst of it, we observed no brain signal. Heart rate was 25 bpm.”
The Doctor lies back down and puts her head on her pillow and wraps herself tightly with her blanket.
“I, uh—can I say something to you, Kal’tsit?”
“Sure.”
“I’m scared,” Stasya says. “I’m so scared of this… of this power of mine. When I’m down there doing all the calculations and making all the moves it’s impossible how many calculations I have left until I hit the limit. Kal’tsit, there’s a chance that one of these days I’m not going to wake up from my insanity, right? Please be honest with me.”
“We don’t know either way. So… yes, we can assume the worst. You, uh…” Kal’tsit deeply inhales then exhales. “You may not wake up from one of these in the future.”
Stasya says nothing, and is silent.
“Would,” Kal’tsit begins, but stops herself.
“Wait, what?” Stasya asks.
“No, don’t worry about it,” says Kal’tsit.
“No, please, say what you’re going to say. I promise I don’t bite.”
Kal’tsit exhaled a quick snort of a laugh.
“Kal’tsit, I’m serious, please! I thought we agreed to not keep anything from each other anymore.”
The old doctor sighs and says, finally, “would you be open to slowing down?”
Stasya stares at her blankly, and for a second Kal’tsit prepares for the worst.
“Would that be okay?” Stasya blurts out, suddenly.
Kal’tsit stares at her with wide eyes. “What?”
“Would that be okay?”
“Wh-wha—what do you mean?”
“I-I-I—I mean, I guess, I don’t know!” Stasya exclaims. “What would slowing down even mean?”
Kal’tsit thinks for a second, then says, “you can start by handing over the strategy for some operations to our strategic operators to minimize the risk of you getting trapped in those recursive patterns. You don’t have to monitor the base and check up on every operator like you are right now. This way, we can free up time and study your insanity properly so that we can devise a real, actual long-term solution for it.”
“So, essentially I’ll be cutting on my core responsibilities.”
“Correct.”
“By a lot?”
“Depends on how thoroughly and how quickly you want to find a medical solution to your insanity.”
“I’d want to be as thorough as possible.”
“Then the cut is going to quite substantive.”
“Yeah…”
The Doctor stares at the ceiling for a little bit.
“That also means I won’t be seeing the operators as much as I usually do,” she murmurs.
“That’s correct.”
“Do you think the operators will lose their faith in me if I don’t see them as often, if I’m not always there for them?” Stasya asks, a pained look on her face.
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Kal’tsit responds.
“And absence makes the heart forget.”
Kal’tsit throws her a… look.
“Why do I even bother?” she mutters, preparing to get up.
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Stasya says with a goofy smile on her face, holding onto Kal’tsit’s hand so she doesn’t actually leave. “I know it’s not absence, I get it.”
“Alright, good,” says Kal’tsit, shaking her head, sitting back down.
"I’ll do it,” Stasya says. “I’ll do it for you.”
“No, don’t do it for me,” Kal’tsit says, “do it for you.”
“Oh, c’mon, don’t think I haven’t noticed how tired you look. I’m sorry I’ve been putting so much stress on you.”
“Comes part of the job.”
“Still, it’s my responsibility to keep you alive, too.”
Stasya sits upright and wraps her arms around Kal’tsit.
“I promise you I’ll do everything I can to help you,” she says to her partner. “Thank you for doing so much for me.”
Kal’tsit says nary a word and hugs her tight.
I hope, in the face of unimaginable struggle, you and her may be each other’s best friend, each other’s confidant, each other’s shoulder to cry on when the weather gets stormy. I hope, in the stormy days now and to come, you may keep each other safe, and offer your strengths to one another, with great love and with conviction and with a shared vision of a better tomorrow.
Oh, Kal’tsit, even if you might not want to admit to yourself, both of you—not just her—are such delicate human beings. Please, handle yourselves with care.
With sincerity, and love, and only the best wishes for your journey forward,
Priestess