Dr. Shield's Arc

Chapter 12 of 13

Shield kept the man in the tent for six hours while she ran every diagnostic the device could handle. The surgical robot sat in pieces on the workbench—articulated arms disconnected, glass dome cracked along one side, circuitry exposed. She'd found it wedged in the bottom of a bunker crate, wrapped in canvas that had rotted through in places. The man watched her work through half-closed eyes, his breathing steady now that the lung had sealed. He didn't ask questions. He just waited. The device mapped the robot's structure on screen—servo motors, hydraulic joints, a guidance system that could operate independently or sync with external controls. Shield traced the connections with her finger. Most of the parts were intact. The dome needed sealing. The power coupling was corroded but functional. She could rebuild it. The thought made her hands shake. Not fear—something sharper. Her mentor had trained residents with machines like this. Shield had learned surgery by feeling her way through tissue she couldn't see, making guesses that killed people when she got them wrong. This robot wouldn't guess. It would know. Sherrie's supply truck arrived at dawn. Shield heard the engine before she saw it, that familiar rattle of armored plating over rough ground. She locked the robot and the diagnostic device in the cabinet and met the driver at the door. He dropped a gray box at her feet without speaking. Inside were bandages, antiseptic, and outdated antibiotics she'd already replaced with bunker stock. The driver looked past her into the garage, eyes scanning the tent and the workbench. Shield stepped into his line of sight. "That's everything?" she asked. He nodded and walked back to the truck. Shield carried the box inside and set it in the corner without opening it again. She didn't need Sherrie's supplies anymore. She had something better. And that meant the next time Sherrie showed up with demands, Shield could say no.