Fortnightly free Wyldblood fiction: subscribe here.
And watch out for Wyldblood #15 – out now
Immunity
Erin Enley
The Personal Polypharmacy Pudding belched banana scent as I set it on the poolside table. Over the water, my patient’s eyes desynchronized, her left focusing on the PPP and the right probing my face. Even though I couldn’t hear the shrill whirl of her bionic irises over the lap-lap-smack of the pool, I had to suppress my shudder at the sound and keep my attention rigid on her face. They tested us on such things.
“Who are you?” she asked, shoulders jiggling with the water’s massage.
“I’m Fabella, one of Dr. Henle’s students. He asked me to look in on you while he’s at his daughter’s graduation.” Dr. Henle didn’t ask. He ordered. Although upperclassmen had warned us to expect impromptu quizzes in Initiation to Patient Care, after last week I should not be the one he would trust with his own ancestor. “Can I call you–” what was her name? Something geriatric. “Katelyn?”
She laughed. “Nobody has called me Katelyn in decades. I’m GramGram. Can you help me out of this pool?” The water hummed, and a progress bar lit up the choppy waves. She was only 64% done with her prescribed stim session for her recent spinal cord xenotransplant. “Oh hush, I’ll finish later.” The display dimmed.
I leaned over the receding water and took her hand. The bones were knobby, the skin fragile. I would much prefer gripping a silicone prosthetic.
She laughed again when she saw my expression. “Yep, they may be ugly, but they’re original. I’ll be 200 in only twelve years, and I plan to keep them until then.” She barely balanced on my hand as she climbed up the ramp. “Is that my normal PPP?”
This could not happen again. “It’s very similar.”
“Similar? But not my normal?”
“It will taste the same.” Too fast. Too high pitched. “They just adjusted the immunosuppressants.” I guided her into her robe and cinched it tight around her waist.
“I like my normal PPP.” As soon as I released the ties, she huffed out her breath and it hung loose. Clever.
“Why don’t you just take a spoonful and see if it tastes any different?”
She clamped her jaws together with a metallic click.
I opened the PPP. “Are you proud of your great-great granddaughter? Graduating med school,” I dipped the spoon, “at only 43!” For that to be me at any age hinged on this quiz.
“Great-great-great.” As her lips parted, I slipped the tip of the spoon past her dentures. Both eyes synchronized on my face.
“How does it taste?” I could be clever too.
She spat the pudding out. “This is about that T-cell, isn’t it?”
I froze, spoon hovering halfway to her face. That was why they had ordered a new Personal Polypharmacy Pudding. “An immune cell? They detected endogenous immunity?”
“If that means my old bones made an immune cell all on their own, then yes. It must have been the tangerine I ate.”
Faulty fart release valves, where had she gotten that?
She could die if a rogue T-cell noticed all the transplants in her body. All the older student’s grumbled about how Dr. Henle would throw critical conundrums into seemingly simple tasks, but this was his own GramGram. He didn’t trust me after last week — I didn’t trust me after last week — so he must not know.
“Please, GramGram, take this.” I nudged the spoon at her. “You need it.”
She stood and marched to the pool. I chased, tripping over the robe she shed in my path.
I had no injectables, only a spoon. GramGram didn’t have a feeding tube. What options did I have?
She marched down the pool ramp with the dignity inherent to 188 birthdays. As she sat, the water gurgled. “Warmer,” she ordered. Steam puffed.
“Control panel access, code Caretaker Henle,” I said, hoping my instructor was as unimaginative as he seemed. “Scan for endogenous immunity.” A display lit on the water’s surface, “Endogenous Immunity Detected” flashing in wave-puckered red. “Initiate hydrotransdermal immersion of immunosuppressants,” I ordered.
GramGram tried to stand, but the water thickened to quicksand as her medications flooded the surrounding water, infiltrating through her dermis.
“Control panel access, code Proctor Katelyn,” GramGram said, relaxing. “Student grades A for crisis recognition and aversion, however I recommend remedial respect courses.”
June 28th, 2024
Erin Enley is an emergency veterinarian, frequent reader,
and sometimes writer from the southern United States.
more stories here
Also look out for:
Karl Dandenell’s Ruby, Throat and Gold – a dark fantasy about the arrogance of a usurper and the sweet revenge of a master of his craft.
Sean MacKendrick’s Keepers: mighty artwork designed to be seen from space -for a very good reason.
Kai Delmas’ Under Fire, Under Steel – robot armies and human dilemmas.
Lyndsey Croal’s – Space for One, a sci-fi tale about hard choices and living with the consequences.
Holley Cornetto’s The Orchard of Dreams, a wistful fantasy.
Or over a hundred and fifty other free flash fiction stories.
Wyldblood 15
Wyldblood 15 is available now
buy from us or from Amazon
Fifteen tales or adventure, intrigue and mayhem in the latest Wyldblood collection. Some are from names you may have seen before – Tiffani Angus, Michael Teasdale, David McGillveray, Kai Delmas – and some may be new to you, but all know how to write a finely crafted science fiction or fantasy tale. Available in print and digital formats.
From the Depths
Our latest anthology is packed with tales of the murky deep. We’ve got fifteen stories stuffed with selkies and sea monsters, pirates and meremaids, intrigue, adventure and more. Available in print and digitally.
ISBN 978-1-914417-15-3
Follow us for new flash fiction and updates here.
Download a free sampler of Wyldblood Magazine here.
Buy the latest Wyldblood Magazine here or get a six issue subscription here.
Read an interview in Black Gate with Wyldblood editor Mark Bilsborough here.
Read the Milford blog about Wyldblood here.
See us reviewed here and here.