Episode 1 - The Pilot
Date: 551/1/2732
Patient: Ikogrisk. Ceresaur
Patient ID: 00347891
Presenting complaint: Pre-flight Safety Check
It’s Dr Underwood’s first day at the Vesta Clinic. But . . . perhaps she shouldn’t have told them that.
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Please consider supporting us on Patreon! The bonus story for this episode is called ‘Hatchlings’ and is available at https://www.patreon.com/vestaclinicpod
To avoid spoilers, content warnings are available at the bottom of this page! _____________________________________________
tRanscript:
[MUSIC: The Vesta Clinic Theme]
[SOUND: Annoyed mouse clicking]
[Pause]
FAYE:
The one thing - hello, are you on? - the one thing you were told not to say.
If I press this will you wake up?
[SOUND: Sharp click, computer beeping]
Ooh, hello?
[SOUND: Computer glitch]
Oh, no - that's not it.
[SOUND: Sharp click, mouse clicking]
Don't tell them it's your first day, that was the one instruction you were given before she left and you couldn’t even manage that.
[SOUND: Switch, computer awakening noise, brushing noises]
Oh, hi! She's awake! Stars, I don’t think Clinic Rooms are meant to get dusty, you must have been asleep for ages.
[SEC: typing on screen]
[Reading] Why do humans always assume that inbuilt AI is female?
[SEC: questioning ping]
Uhh, good question? I'm sorry. Nobody told me you were sentient.
[SEC: typing on screen, questioning ping]
No, I uh, I’m not a Professor of anything. Um. You know, I think Dr Adra should have introduced us, really. I'm new, um, I'm Faye. Sorry, what can I call you?
Oh, you don't want to talk to me anymore?
[SEC: negative ping]
Apologies, take your time. It says here that you're called 'Vesta Clinic Secretary Bot AX736 Model 3.0'? That’s a bit of a mouthful?
[SEC: typing on screen]
Sec? You want me to call you Sec?
[SEC: affirmative ping]
Like secretary?
[SEC: typing on screen]
No, of course that's fine! Oh, only the Professor knows your real name? Okay?
Well, um. I figured I should do my clinic letter on here, I mean, with you. So . . . can you -? Um. How do we do that?
[SEC: typing on screen]
What? I just - go?
[SEC: affirmative ping]
And you make it good?
[SEC: affirmative ping]
Okay. Good. Okay.
[Pause]
[SEC: questioning ping]
Sorry, I'm a bit nervous. [Clears throat]
Date: 551/1/2732
Patient: Ikogrisk, Ceresaur and ex-captain of the Fourteenth Guard of the Belt.
Patient ID: 00347891
[MUSIC: begins]
Ikogrisk presented to clinic today for their pre-flight medical assessment.
Um, so I should start by thanking my colleague Dr Xaelest Adra for passing this referral on to me. I mean, pilot safety checks are . . . Pretty standard. Even without the checklist provided. Not that I'm trying to be ungrateful - I'm not - I just . . . I hope with time that I can prove myself competent enough to get, um, more exciting patients coming my way.
Uh, ugh, hang on! Sec, can you -?
[SEC: questioning ping]
Yeah, don't put that bit in, please.
[SEC: typing on screen]
Yeah, just the ‘thank you’. Cheers.
Okay.
It was a pleasure to meet retired pilot and seasoned Guard of the Asteroid Belt, Ikogrisk for a pre-flight assessment in clinic today.
I note that Ikogrisk opted for the clinic's shuttle service from their Nest on the nearby asteroid of Ceres to attend today and it's important that this service remains available to them should they wish to return to the clinic in the future. Yeah, spoiler alert: they didn't pass their assessment.
No, Sec - that was a joke - we can't put that in the letter.
[SEC: affirmative ping]
I - I don’t know exactly what I was expecting . . . it’s not like I was sent a brochure or anything when I signed my contract . . . but this room is . . . a lot smaller than I thought it would be.
The room itself is fine but when you add in the chairs and the examination bench, the scanner and the Fluidiser. When you add all that in . . .
[SEC: typing on screen]
No, it's fine. It's fine. It's cosy? I guess. It's just . . . coming here from the relative expanse of my pod was like . . . The anticipation of receiving a new uniform, only to find that none of the sizes fit you quite right and all of the seams itch. It was even more of a squeeze when a burly - oh, how tall were they?
[SEC: typing on screen]
2.03m ceresaur was added to the equation.
I have three favourite things about Ceresaurs, do you want to hear them, Sec?
[SEC: negative ping, typing on screen]
No, they are relevant to the clinic letter.
One of my favourite things about the famed Guards of the Belt struck me right away. Ceresaur skin tends to run from a milky blue at the paws to the rich indigo of an Earthen twilight at the shoulders and the cool thing, the part that has even Ceresaurian biologists shrugging their appendages, is that their markings change with every flight they undertake.
The change is intensely private, but the recorded testimony from ceresaur pilots describes the sensation as a warm ache over the affected area, interspersed with sharp lancet spikes of discomfort where the new patterns bleed into existence.
They're star maps, the markings. After each flight, a record of their path breaks out onto their skin, a silvery reminder of each pilot's duty and sacrifice to the residents of the Asteroid Belt. The lines slicing through Ikogrisk's skin caught the harsh fluorescence of the light and served it back to me, shimmering and changed. They had so many markings. Their skin was more star-chart than sky, the maps spanning the scaly plates of their chest and arms and arching beautifully over the prominent ridges of their skull.
If I were asked to age them on sight, I would have said they must have been hundreds of years old. Ikogrisk is only 12 Vesta Years - that's just over forty Earth years! I - I don't know how they’ve done it.
I introduced myself to Ikogrisk and - of course - when faced with nothing more than a brief flicker of their forked tongue in acknowledgement, I dove in and started saying everything I had been told not to, about how it was my very first day at the clinic, in fact, they were my first proper patient.
[SEC: typing on screen]
Yeah, how cute. You know, I think I even apologised. Stars, Nic would - [Clears throat] That . . . That bit doesn't need to go in the letter.
Fortunately, if they found my wittering unprofessional or uncomfortable, they didn't say anything to make it more awkward. They didn’t say much at all, really, but I could see the ferocity of their intelligence behind the tired glaze of their twin black eyes.
I consented Ikogrisk for the pre-flight safety assessment and confirmed that they were aware of the reasons for the assessment and my duty to report the results to the relevant parties. Stars, Sec.
[SEC: questioning ping]
Imagine: you've left your home planet to serve in what is essentially - don't put this in the letter - what is essentially a kind of paramilitary conscription. You do more than your time and become virtually one of the best the Belt has ever seen and - oops!
When it’s finally time for you to retire, the Ceresaurian Conglomerate realise that it wasn't such a great idea to send all of the ceresaurs of egg-laying age off to the stars, because the population’s dipped and now they have to crawl back to poor Ikogrisk and demand that they return to work to train up the few youngsters they have. Imagine that.
[SEC: typing on screen]
What's that, Sec? [Reading] Sort of like being shut down for an orbit and then immediately being woken up by a stranger and asked to record a - um. Yeah. I imagine it is a bit like that. Um, sorry?
[SEC: negative ping, typing on screen]
We started the assessment with the list of pre-approved screening questions. Ikogrisk reported no concerns with their eyesight, hearing, breathing, movement, excretions or cerebral appendages. Apparently, the last time they flew was back in 2721, and that was an emergency flight when one of their nestmates had an egg obstruction during laying. I've seen egg obstructions before and I commend Ikogrisk for being able to fly safely while that was going on in the back of the shuttle.
When asked if they had used any substances which may affect their ability to fly, Ikogrisk stared at me like I'd asked something incomprehensible. 'I have hatchlings.' They hissed. I also commend their responsible parenting.
Um, yeah. So far so good.
I always think that the last question is placed right before the physical examination to try and catch out the liars. It's: are you aware of any physical or mental impairments that might impede your ability to safely pilot a spacecraft? Ikogrisk, however, was very forthcoming with their particular issue. Wordlessly, they contracted the sinuous muscles which control their long, prehensile tail to release it from behind their back, where it had been restlessly entwining with the cerebral appendages.
I say long . . . The tail clearly wasn't as long as it once was. What should have ended as a forked pair of fleshy cavities, designed to protect the delicate tips of the cerebral appendages when not in use, was, instead, a stump of irregular and cracking black crust.
'Oh.' I commented, like the most competent physician on the sunny side of Jupiter.
'OH.' I said, when Ikogrisk delved into the bag they'd brought with them to reveal a mini-cryo with the tip of the tail resting inside; bleached and ghostly and absolutely not something I really wanted to touch.
You know I was saying about how there are three incredibly cool things about Ceresaurs, Sec? . . .
[Pause]
I know you're listening, so I'm going to continue. The second is pretty much all to do with their tail and those striking cerebral appendages that they develop during maturation.
The reason that ceresaurs evolved as protectors of the asteroid belt is because of the way they've built their shuttles. Through some marvel of - well, I can't really explain it, all the lectures we had on it were very insistent that only Ceresaurian neurologists needed to understand how it works and seeing as we were never going to be that, then it hardly mattered. But, somehow, the ceresaurs have worked out how to interface the trailing, anguine extensions of grey matter from their heads directly into the main computers of their shuttles. When ceresaurs fly, they attach themselves up and are essentially able to enter a sort of deep, meditative state, conserving energy to everything except the brain. Mastery of a shuttle one has to operate subconsciously requires intense practice but it's pretty much every modded-human's fantasy and the pseudo-hibernation means that they can fly the belt expertly without shaving decades off their lifespan.
When not in flight, the synaptic tips of the cerebral appendages are stowed safely away in the tip of the tail. The process is autonomic, subconscious, and glands inside the cavity secrete an electrolyte rich fluid, part nutrient, part lubricant to keep them in perfect working order. When flying, the shuttle uses this fluid to monitor the health of the pilot and adjusts their environment and nutrition accordingly - or, if necessary, wakes them up so they can get help. Without the tip of their tail, there was no guarantee that the shuttle would be able to keep Ikogrisk alive for long enough to make it around the belt. That, obviously, is a problem.
We decided to proceed with the physical examination. I - this isn't for the letter, Sec - I was putting off messing with their tail, right?
[SEC: questioning ping]
I'm not awful at minor surgery, not really. But, look, there wasn't only the pressure of the fact that this injury might be the one thing standing in the way of them returning to duty . . .
Those star-charts, Sec, I could see the intricate arcs of them glowing in the pearly light of the mini-cryo. If I stitched them back up wrong and suddenly the elliptical path of their travels disappeared, only to reappear a few millimetres away, as though Ikogrisk had discovered how to time travel in their shuttle? Imagine. Their tail was a queasy sight already, but if I put it back together just slightly off it would just be a different kind of nauseating. And my fault.
Um, yeah.
We proceeded with the physical examination and there was nothing of note on any of the system examinations: eyes, ears, cardiovascular, respiratory, abdominal, neurological, excretory. In the spirit of thoroughness (and to delay the inevitable) I put some blood and urine samples through the fluidiser and, while they were running, got Ikogrisk into the scanner. The tests revealed no other issues that would prevent my patient from commandeering a spacecraft for the Ceresaurian Conglomerate. Please find the relevant reports attached.
[SEC: file attached]
Oh, thanks.
[Pause]
Okay. Sec?
[SEC: questioning ping]
I'm going to explain what happened, then we can decide how to phrase it, okay?
[SEC: affirmative ping]
I tore my gaze away from Ikogrisk's pristine scan to find them watching me, forked tongue flicking out from beneath the scales that made up their mouth in what was either apprehension or excitement.
'Can you fix it?' They asked. Which made a refreshing change from the background sibilance they had been emitting while I examined them.
'I can try.' I promised.
I got Ikogrisk comfortable with their tail resting over a draped table. Ikogrisk seemed generally disinterested in what I was about to do to them - staring over at the screen displaying their scan with narrow pupils inside narrowed eyes - and, while the tip of the tail recovered from minicryo with a sequence of angry beeps, I took a closer look at the healing wound.
Under the buzzing fluorescence of the lamp, the black crust of the scab looked like the surface of an unfamiliar planet, the uneven edge of it forming a line of rugged mountains surrounding the dark crater inside. The newly formed capillaries glistened in the light and ran like a great network of river tributaries in the cracks between the scab. Ikogrisk's body was seemingly putting in the necessary effort to create this tiny world in which healing could occur. I was about to swoop in and undo its progress.
I drew up the anaesthetic.
'This will sting.' I warned them. Still, Ikogrisk left a neat arc of puncture marks in the plastic covering of the examination bench as I pressed the applicator against the craggy surface of their wound. I'm not sure how I'm going to cover that up for the next patient yet but . . . I guess I'll just feel grateful that I didn't offer a hand to hold.
The mini-cryo pinged imperiously at the pair of us to announce that the thawing process was complete. Ikogrisk shot me a look I recognised well when I told them that whoever froze their tail did an excellent job at preserving it. It was the long-suffering glare of someone with a partner who cared for them to the point of overbearing fastidiousness. I was being serious though, as I examined the tip of the tail, it was already flushing with a healthy pink as though embarrassed at my attention.
The tail would never heal if I tried to attach the tip to the stump of the tail in its current state. But it was easy work to run the glinting point of a scalpel through the scab and peel it away to reveal the healthy flesh underneath. With the two ends prepped and lined up to the best of my ability, I started to suture them together. Most of my patients are less than comfortable about this kind of procedure and I used the same trick on Ikogrisk as every other doctor in the galaxy.
'Tell me about home.' I offered. The flash of widely spaced fangs took me by surprise. It was the first time they'd smiled during the whole consultation.
There was a lot to tell. It started, of course, with the phrase: 'I have hatchlings.' This time I detected the swell of pride in their rumble.
Which - you still there, Sec?
[SEC: affirmative ping]
Which reminds me of another thing that makes Ceresaurs infinitely more interesting than my own species. Even now, hundreds of years of evolution later, humans still tend to fall into couples when it comes to romance and starting families. Ceresaurs . . . The typical network of Ceresaurian relationships is as complex and vast as the constellations on their skin. Ikogrisk explained to me that, since their retirement, they’d reconnected with a cluster of old flames from their training days and they had settled into family life with an ease that surprised even themself. One of their partners had given birth to their first batch of eggs about two Vesta orbits ago now, and there was a delight in watching the hatchlings grow into nestlings, then into tiny versions of the great reptiles they would become.
Ikogrisk still had dreams in which they were orbiting the asteroid belt, simultaneously alert for the smallest danger and deep, deep within their own subconscious. But it seemed that my patient is thoroughly enjoying the whiplash of a bustling nest after nearly a lifetime spent trawling space inside their own head. Apparently they grew up in a nest of similar proportions. It must have really felt like coming home. Which got me thinking.
Their smile faltered when I held up the mended extent of their tail, careful to avoid the freshly secreted ooze from the activated glands inside their cavities. I watched their pupils dilate and constrict as they stared down my handiwork.
'Can I ask-?' I started to ask. They met my eyes, expression unreadable to me. 'Do you want to go back?' They didn't so much as twitch. My stomach started to churn a little. We were both toeing a line and we knew it. 'To the Belt?' I clarified. 'To working for the Conglomerate?' They stared at me. 'I can only help you if you're honest.'
I rested their tail on the table and snapped off my gloves. The glove snap is usually a good sign that your physician means business and the plastic crack seemed to melt Ikogrisk back into the bench, suddenly lacking skeletal support and unable to meet my eyes.
They hissed something bitter in Ceresaurian. I don't speak it anywhere near as well as they do Quotidian, but I caught their drift.
I explained to them, both of us shifting awkwardly under the heat of the lamp, that the only medical reason I could give for them not to return to work was their tail. And I'd just fixed it. I watched their tongue snake out between their teeth to taste my helplessness in the air.
'I don't think you should watch.' They told me.
Just because I didn't watch - Ugh, Sec - even the memory of the crunch of it has me breaking out in goosebumps. Ikogrisk disposed of the tip of their tail . . . More efficiently than I would have managed. That's for sure.
I . . . Swallowed my sudden queasiness and handed them a square of gauze to wipe their mouth. They also left with a shiny new dressing on the tip of their defunctioning tail. I hope it heals as well the second time. I've also prescribed them some antimicrobials specific to their species and home planet.
So, yeah. That's the truth of it.
[SEC: typing on screen]
Yeah, I know.
[SEC: typing on screen]
Yeah, I know.
[SEC: typing on screen]
Yes, I know. Thank you.
[SEC: typing on screen]
Well, that's why we're going to craft the last part of this letter very carefully!
Show me the last line? Please?
[SEC: typing on screen]
[Reading] Please find the relevant reports attached.
Very funny.
[SEC: typing on screen]
[Reading] The tests revealed no other issues that would prevent my patient from commandeering a spacecraft for the Ceresaurian Conglomerate. Please find the relevant reports attached.
Okay. Good. Okay. We can work with this. Is this - Sec, this room hasn't got . . . Video recording in it?
[SEC: negative ping, typing on screen]
Okay good.
Okay.
Um, Ikrogrisk kindly brought the remnants of their tail to clinic so that I could attempt a reattachment. However, the vital tip of the tail had unfortunately been poorly preserved and it is my professional opinion that attempting surgery would have risked the health of the rest of Ikogrisk's tail . . . and, um, risked a potentially fatal infection of the wound.
Without the use of my patient's tail, I cannot confirm that they are medically fit to return to pilot duty and I have advised Ikogrisk that they will require a period of at least a quarter-orbit to recover from their injury fully.
As no follow-up is required, I have discharged Ikogrisk from my clinic, but would be happy to see them again in the future should they experience any further health issues. I wish them a long and happy retirement.
[Pause]
[MUSIC: stops]
[Cough]
Done?
That's it, Sec. I think that's done.
Do you think that was okay? Dr Adra seemed . . . stern. Do you think she’ll approve the letter?
[SEC: typing on screen]
Wow. Well. The only way is up then?
[SEC: typing on screen]
What do you mean you can't send it? Look, it's hardly lying - they don't have a tail to reattach anymore.
[SEC: negative ping, typing on screen]
Oh. Right.
Signed,
Dr Faye Underwood,
The Vesta Clinic
[MUSIC: The Vesta Clinic Theme]
CREDITS
This episode of the Vesta Clinic was created by AMC. It starred AMC as Faye Underwood and Sec as himself. Music by AMC and Ruby Campbell.
Please check out our show notes for content warnings, transcripts, and your prescription of: the extra limb you've always craved.
If you enjoyed this episode and would like to help the show reach more ears, please tell someone who loves podcasts to check into the Vesta Clinic. You can also follow us on your social media of choice at @vestaclinicpod! We'd love to see you there!
Special thanks for this episode goes to Ali Tariq. Thank you for being our first ever listener and for all your support since. You’re the best.
Episode Details:
The Vesta Clinic was created by AMC.
Music by AMC and Ruby Campbell.
Credits read by Kamen Cooley-Greene.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
Sound Effect Attributions:
Glitch Faulty Error Sound Design 2.wav by original_sound at Freesound.org
BEEP.wav by anthonychartier2020 at Freesound.org
Spaceship compartment door.With pneumatics(8lrs,mltprcssng).wav by newlocknew at Freesound.org
Typing metal plate(reson,rev,DTBlkfx,Eq,Extr,sat,dcmtr)12.wav by newlocknew at Freesound.org
Content Warnings: loud computer glitch sound effects, Deliberate self injury (not linked to mental illness), description of injury, discussion of military service/conscription
