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I'm Sorry, Oliver

By Alison M Tomlinson

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Chapter 1

“Mr. Spencer, Dr. White sent me to tell you the equipment is fully installed and operational, the mother’s in labor, and he’s arranged for a trainee ODA to operate the video.”
The hospital porter held the car door for Mr. Spencer as he retrieved his briefcase from the back seat.
“I’ll take that,” said the porter, taking the briefcase from him. “It’s really exciting, isn’t it?” He bounced alongside the consultant as they crossed the carpark to the Park Dale Hospital main entrance. ”I mean, we’re going to be the first hospital in the whole of Yorkshire to do the procedure, right?”
“You seem to take a lot of interest in the actual medical work at the hospital.” The stony expression on the doctor’s face made it clear that, in his opinion, porters should confine themselves to porting.
“Of course I do. We’re all on the same team, right? You can’t do your job properly unless I do mine. And I always wanted to be a doctor. You doctors are my heroes. It must feel wonderful when you save a life. You’re going to save this baby, aren’t you? Here you are at the forefront of advancing medicine into the 1960s. Every time you’re on TV, I tell everybody that the famous Mr. Archibald Spencer works at my hospital.”
“Your hospital.”
“Well, our hospital. You know what I mean. My wife thinks you’re wonderful. Wait ’til I tell her I got to talk to you today. She’ll be so jealous. Of course, we’ve had our three kids so we won’t be needing your professional services. I wish we’d known about you before. The doctors really mucked up the last caesarean. Helen got an infection. She was in and out of hospital for months.”
“Problems can occur, even with the best of us.”
“Yeah, and I guess you feel terrible when a baby dies, and it’s your fault, right? Well, I shouldn’t say your fault, but you know what I mean. It must put a lot of pressure on you. You’re the best, so you can’t afford to make the slightest mistake, right?”
“Thank you for the reminder. I’ll take my brief case now.” They had entered the building.
“No, no. I’ll carry it to your office. It’s my job.”
“It’s really not necessary.”
“No problem. Of course, everybody’s watching you on this case, right? There’s an article in the hospital newspaper about the new equipment. I saw it. Did it make the regional NHS news?”
“Oh, yes. There was even a brief mention on a local TV channel.”
“That’s fantastic. We’re so proud of you, Mr. Spencer. That little baby girl is so lucky to have you.”
Mr. Spencer stopped walking. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
“Just a feeling,” said the porter, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’ll get the lift.” He ran ahead and stopped the lift doors from closing just in time for Mr. Spencer to step in. “It’s good we caught it, isn’t it? Sometimes you have to wait ten minutes for a lift, and you must be in a real hurry, right? You’ve got to make sure all your team are up to scratch. The mother’s already in labor, so another doctor must be delivering the baby right now. How do you feel when you have all the responsibility and you have to carry the can for other people’s mistakes? I guess you’d better hurry up and get in there before they really muck things up.”
“I have full confidence in my team,” said Mr. Spencer, but he slightly lengthened his stride as he spoke.
They arrived at the office. The porter handed Mr. Spencer his briefcase and said, “Good luck. I know you won’t let us down.”
The doctor took the briefcase without a word, entered his office, and slammed the door.
The porter walked back through the hospital with a satisfied smile on his face. A nurse called to him to come and help with a patient, but he shouted back, “Sorry, I’m on an important errand for Mr. Spencer.”
When he exited the main entrance and arrived back in the carpark, he was met by a tall, handsome, blond-haired man in a designer suit. “Hi Joo-gy. Were you watching?” asked the porter.
“Of course,” said the man, “Not bad, but you could have pumped up the pride even more.”
“Oh, come on. I was brilliant. Did you like the bit about it being his fault if the brat dies?”
“You were brilliant, all right. So brilliant you knew the sex of the baby when the consultant obstetrician himself doesn’t know it yet.”
“Yeah, but I bluffed my way out of it OK. I’ve got to get out of this,” he said, indicating the blue uniform he was wearing. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and then ducked down behind a Volkswagen Beetle. He re-emerged one second later wearing jeans and a fairisle jumper.
“I must say, Pa-gwe, I’ve never developed your taste for human impersonation,” said the tall man.
“And I’ve never developed your taste for simply using our little, demonic minions to plant ideas in people’s heads. How boring. Direct Intervention is so much more fun.”
“And so much more illegal,” said a quiet, firm voice behind them, “Not that you Defectors ever concern yourselves with such matters as righteousness and goodness.” Joo-gy and Pa-gwe turned to face two short, unassuming men of Middle Eastern appearance.
“Leave it out, Chee-oo. You do your share of Direct Intervention when it suits you,” countered Joo-gy.
“On the contrary, we have direct contact rarely, and only when doing so glorifies the Lord, and when faith levels allow.”
“Get out of here and take your sermons with you. This is our domain,” said Pa-gwe.
“It is not your domain when it involves followers of The Way, The Truth and The Life.”
“The little urchin’s family do not follow That Man. She is ours. We destroyed the mother’s last progeny. You couldn’t stop us then, and you won’t stop us now.”
“I am here to inform you that the child has been chosen to be one of myriads who will rise above your health deception and be part of a healing revolution. Go-chee and I are assigned to protect her.”
“You’re throwing down the gauntlet, are you? Shall I remind you of the situation in case you’ve forgotten? You’re stepping into our territory. This is a place of sickness and torment and death and horror and wretchedness.” He said it as if he were reading from a gourmet menu. “This war has never been so much fun before.”
“I suggest you read the end of the book again,” said Go-chee. “You know, the bit where you get thrown in the lake of fire.”
Joo-gy’s face turned to granite. He said quietly, “And how many homosapiens are we going to take with us? We have deceived the whole world, and you have been powerless to stop us.”
“On the contrary,” said Chee-oo, “you will find that your weapons of pride and deception and fear will not prosper against—”
“Won’t they? We’ve got a pretty impressive record so far, don’t you think? We allowed the discovery of antibiotics—”
“You take credit for that?” said Go-chee.
“—so we could raise up modern, scientific medicine as a god, never to be questioned, always to be worshipped.” Joo-gy spoke in an ethereal voice as he lifted his head and raised up his arms in mock ecstasy of admiration. “Granted, our job is not as easy as it was when we wiped out 200 million people with the black death. But the current climate allows us to exercise our craft with a subtlety and skill that makes it so much more enjoyable. Don’t you agree, Pa-gwe?”
“Absolutely, though unfortunately this case doesn’t present much of a challenge. We’re talking about a chronically undernutrified mother who lives on Yorkshire pudding and apple pie and custard.”
The two fallen angels guffawed, looked at each other, nodded and vanished.
“He has a point. We do seem to have our work cut out for us this time,” said Go-chee.
“Let’s check on the current situation.”
The two angels of light gazed upwards for a moment as if plane spotting.
Then Go-chee said, “Aunt Agnes is still on her arthritic knees storming the heavens on behalf of her unborn great-niece or nephew.”
“Sandra is battling under extreme pressure,” said Chee-oo, “Let’s see if we can help her.”

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