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    Genesis: The Grace Lord Series, #0
    Genesis: The Grace Lord Series, #0
    Genesis: The Grace Lord Series, #0
    Ebook114 pages11 hours

    Genesis: The Grace Lord Series, #0

    By S.E. Sasaki

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    About this ebook

    Terminators. Human Annihilation. Sentient machines will one day takeover and wipe out humankind. This is inevitable . . . or is it?

    Should every machine approaching artificial intelligence be destroyed? Can the destruction of humans by the machines be avoided? Dr. Hiro Al-Fadi, brilliant creator of the next stage in surgical assisting android, believes it can be done. He has figured out the answer to this burning question. But will he be able to demonstrate the compassion and caring of his newly created surgical assisting android, SAMM-E 777, before the Chief of Staff of the Conglomerate Medical Space Station succeeds in destroying him? 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOddoc Books
    Release dateOct 1, 2016
    ISBN9780994790514
    Genesis: The Grace Lord Series, #0
    Author

    S.E. Sasaki

    S.E. Sasaki is a family physician who had a rural family practice for over twenty years but now spends her working hours assisting in the operating room. She works days, evenings, nights, weekends, and holidays and, when she isn't trying to catch up on her sleep, she is writing. She lives in Canada with her wonderful husband and has two of the coolest children on the planet. She is also an award-winning artist.

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      Book preview

      Genesis - S.E. Sasaki

      Genesiscover.jpg

      Genesis

      Prequel to Welcome to the Madhouse

      S.E. SASAKI

      Oddoc Books

      Copyright © 2016 by S.E. Sasaki
      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.
      For more information about the author or the publisher, visit: www.sesasaki.com
      Published by:
      ODDOC BOOKS
      P.O. Box 580,
      Erin, Ontario, Canada,
      N0B 1T0
      http://www.oddocbooks.com
      978-1-988463-08-7

      WOULD YOU LIKE A FREE BOOK BY

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      Adverse reactions to medical interventions can sometimes have unexpected consequences.

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      Genesis

      The Chief of Staff of the Conglomerate’s Premier Medical Space Station, the Nelson Mandela, was Dr. Tobias Robinov, who had a face only a bulldog could love and enough letters after his name to start his own alphabet. No one could remember what all the letters stood for—even himself—although he would fiercely deny that. Having worked for most of his life on a planet with gravity much greater than that of Earth, the skin of Robinov’s face hung down in the most impressive jowls for one his age.

      Dejan Cech always secretly looked forward to these medical staff meetings, mainly because he was fascinated with the Chief’s face. The lower gravity of the space station made the flesh of Robinov’s face less weighty, so that it always looked as if his skin rather had a mind of its own. Every so often, Robinov would catch Dejan staring at him with a delighted smile on his face. Annoyed or confused at the anesthetist’s attention, the Chief would scowl at him furiously, which would then set his face off in wonderful directions. It was like watching a kaleidoscope and was one of Dejan’s idiotic pleasures in life.

      His second simple pleasure, in relation to the Chief of Staff, was trying to guess what the man had had for lunch, because inevitably Robinov came to the meetings with the evidence speckled on his clothing. If the Medical Advisory Committee meeting was particularly boring, Dejan could spend his time trying to deduce the man’s repast, based on the clues spattered all over his shirt. It was always a smorgasbord of sauces. If there was one thing to be said about Robinov, he enjoyed his food. Today, Dejan would have guessed that the meal had consisted of some combination of green mustard, black currant jelly, and mango chutney. Thank goodness Dejan did not have to see the man eat all that. It made his stomach churn, just thinking about the melange assaulting the Chief’s gastrointestinal tract.

      The Chief frowned down the long table at all of the members of the Medical Advisory Committee. He noticed Dejan’s grin and his grimace deepened.

      What are you grinning at, Dr. Cech? he barked, which only emphasized his bulldog-like appearance.

      Your handsome face, Chief, Dejan said.

      You should be flayed and flogged for even uttering that, Dr. Cech. Remind me to put that in writing.

      Secretarial work is not part of my job description, Chief, Dejan said.

      I said ‘remind me’. Not ‘write it down’, halfwit. By the way, where is your other half?

      Hello, Chief Robinov, Hiro Al-Fadi announced loudly, as he marched into the meeting room.

      Be careful what you wish for, Dejan said.

      That wasn’t a wish. It was more of a disgruntled query, Robinov growled. He covered his face—his usual expression when Hiro was around—and waved for the short surgeon to quickly take his seat.

      About time, Dr. Al-Fadi, about time, the big man grumbled from behind his hand. What is it about you? You are never on time, but never quite late.

      I try to avoid Time whenever I can, Dr. Robinov. It never makes up and it waits for no one.

      The Chief of Staff rolled his eyes.

      . . . Idiot, he muttered, under his breath. He shook his head which set his impressive jowls pirouetting. Sit down, please, Dr. Al-Fadi. We would like to get this meeting started, if you don’t mind.

      The heads of all of the different departments were at the table. They met once every month in this room to discuss—and try to solve—medical issues on the Nelson Mandela. It was a small room with a large table and so they were crammed in like sardines. No one enjoyed the situation.

      Our waiting list for treating the combat casualties is far too long, people. Soon, we will have no more room to store all of the cryopods coming in. The Conglomerate Military is screaming down my neck, demanding to know why it is taking so long for us to get their soldiers back to them. They want their repaired soldiers returned quicker. If not, they want explanations for why it is taking so long. We can’t seem to keep up with the rate of injured soldiers coming in to the station. Anyone have any suggestions?

      Tell the Conglomerate Military to stop fighting so much? Tell the Conglomerate to stop causing conflict everywhere they go? Hiro Al-Fadi suggested.

      Dr. Robinov turned to face Hiro and snorted. Dejan had to suck in his lips to keep from laughing.

      Do you think they would listen to us mere doctors say anything about that? the Chief of Staff barked. You are not being less than helpful, Dr. Al-Fadi. You are being annoying. Does anyone have anything useful to say?

      Hire more surgeons? Dr. Octavia Weisman, the Chief of Neurosurgery suggested.

      We haven’t the budget, Robinov said.

      Ask for more budget? Dejan Cech, Chief of Anesthesia, offered.

      Don’t you think I’ve tried? It’s like getting blood from a stone.

      Because they are spending all of their resources on weapons of war, Hiro said.

      You are not helping again, Dr. Al-Fadi, Tobias Robinov sighed.

      Make the adaptation surgeons work more? Dr. Jeffrey Nestor, Chief of Psychiatry suggested. Nestor had large, dark brown eyes and a low, melodious voice. The attractive psychiatrist shot a smug, supercilious smile at Hiro.

      Hiro turned his disbelieving eyes on the psychiatrist.

      "We are worked to the bone as it is, Dr. Nestor. We are not like you head doctors, who just lay around and talk. None of us surgeons are getting much downtime at all, and we are using far too many stim patches to keep us going. We are all walking around like zombies, on the edge of burnout. If we are not careful, we will all have to come visit you guys, and that is the last thing we want to do.

      If the Conglomerate treated human lives with more respect, then we would not be so pushed to the limit.

      I shall pass your sentiments on to the Conglomerate High Command, Dr. Al-Fadi, the Chief drawled, rolling his eyes. I am sure they will be thrilled to have your input. Any other suggestions, people?

      Why can’t they use more robot soldiers, instead of real humans? Octavia Weisman asked.

      According to the Conglomerate Military, human soldiers provide ingenuity, creativity, and unpredictability that cannot be achieved using androids or robots. Human soldiers are cunning and spontaneous. Robot soldiers are good followers but not necessarily inventive tacticians, which is what the High Command wants, Robinov said. Anyway, people, we are not here to discuss Conglomerate military policy, no matter how bad we think it is. We need answers to how to improve our turnaround times.

      What about training some of the androids to operate around the clock? Jeffrey Nestor suggested.

      Can’t be done with these patients, Dr. Nestor, Robinov said. "Surgical androids are fine with routine normal anatomy and common medical complaints, but

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