Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #80: Handicapped


Last Week as you recall…

"Quick! Help me out of these scrubs before the doctors realise where I went!"
  The Not-Jeeves assisted, but modestly.
   "I can't get my pants on without standing up, but if I stand up I pass out."
      "Side-effect of the medication, Sir."
    "Sounds more like a symptom. Help me."
   Jeeves negotiated Dr. Smith upright and held the prone body one-handed above the floor as he levered the pants on with the other hand.  He then placed Dr. Smith gently back in his Wheeled-Chair, and shook him.  Gently, like a mothe–No, not like a mother at all.  Like a very gentle person.   Dr. Smith jerked awake.
 "Quick! to the Hat-Closet!"  He said.
Rollicking Jazz plays from concealed Speakers that aren't there. 
  -=-
-=fig. 563: hat closet=-

The Jazz Plays on, even in here.
Dr. Smith examined the Fedoras lined along one wall like only a connoisseur could, he noted the band, the crush of the crown, the brim.
  They were all exactly the same.
    "Jeeves," he said "Do you put these here?"
  Not-Jeeves shook his head. "No Sir, The House manufactures them."
   "But I thought The House has no sense of scale?"
      "It doesn't, Sir, These are a fluke of chance. In fact there are several impressively large Fedoras further along in the closet, If you wish, I could–" Dr. Smith cut him off, this was not the time for Impressively Large Hats.
   "No, Jeeves, but maybe later.  Right now I need to come rescue you.  Where's my T.W.E.E.D™ Jacket?"
     "Lost, Sir, But we have regular Tweed Jackets."
        "That will have to do, but the thickest jacket I have, I am going to Russia, after all."
         "Very good Sir."
-=-
"How do we get to the pantry?"
   "Through the kitchen, But I can't go past the pantry door."
     "Why Not?"
       "Signal Strength."   
         "Ah."

-=fig. 564: medical staff=-

"James! What are you doing here?"
  "I decided that the reason I have assistants is to deal with paperwork.  Why are you not in bed?" Capt. Brown was angry, he had been talking to the doctors.
"OMIGOSH!" Yelled the doctor in front, "You're Doctor Smith!"
  "…Yes?" replied Dr. Smith.
The crazed man shook Dr. Smith's hand, continuing;
   "I Loved, LOVED your treatise on applied neurosurgical psychology. It was poetry, pure POETRY!"   It had, in fact, been poetry.  Doctor Smith had gotten bored halfway through and decided to rewrite the whole thing in Iambic Pentameter, the most fun of all the poetic meters.
 "Thank you, It was fun to write. And who are you?"
   "One of your neurosurgeons. …Sterling."
     "And you hadn't realised it was me while you were operating on my brain?"
       "Not as such, no."
 Capt. Brown stomped over gently.  He, in fact, stomped in spirit but not practise.
   "James, I can explain."
    "You don't need to explain, I'm sure you're bored out of your mind but they–"
       "James, the Russians have Jeeves."
  Capt. Brown stopped. "What? No they don't, he's right there."
          "That's not, it's a Jeeves-clone Jeeves made."
            "He can clone himself?"
              "Sort of.  James, Jeeves is a learning, self-replicating and nearly-indestructible robot, do you know what the Russians would do with that kind of technology?  Here's a hint, they wouldn't use it to tidy up the place and serve tea!"
               Capt. Brown was thinking.  "Why would you make him nearly indestructible?"
                            Dr. Smith shrugged, "When I make a robot, I don't go halfway."
                   "What about Teresa?"
                      "She's the reason Jeeves was captured. James, she's with them."
     Then Capt. Brown understood.
      "Damn." he said.  "I'm coming with you."
    "To Russia? Sure. Now convince these egg-heads I can go free. "
 Capt. Brown Turned, and with an imperious wave, he proclaimed: "EGG HEADS! HE MAY GO FREE."
  The doctors had other ideas.
    "No, he can't." replied the nurse as he maneuvered his way to the back of Dr. Smith's Wheeled-Chair. "You are going right back to bed, And I don't care who you are or how imperious that man's wave is, you will die if you don't get rest."
   "…But I feel fine…"
      "That's what they all say.  Back to bed. Now."
Dr. Smith was not going to be pushed around by this pushy nurse. "But what's wrong with me?"  
 A new doctor who was nearby decided that Dr. Smith was talking to her. "We believe it to be an incredibly dangerous strain of narcolepsy, brought about by the sudden rush of blood to your brain you get when you stand up." she said. She was consulting a clipboard as she said this, so she probably knew what she was talking about.
  "…but…wait, I thought that was a side effect of the medication? And besides, That's not how narcolepsy works, that's a load of official-sounding garbage!"
     "Ah yes," said Doctor Sterling, "I was wondering when you would catch on.  It took your real doctors days to reailse we were just saying words.  Is good to meet great doctor smith, I am Boris.  Russia need your help." 
    

EDIT: Damn the auto-posting feature! this was supposed to be up yesterday!
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