Gerald woke up, confused. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was being deep in shaft G6 which penetrated a rich iridium deposit on the surface of the moon. As his memory slowly returned to him, he realized that he was in the sick bay. Again. He must have had another seizure. He tried to sit up, but realized that he was strapped to the examination table, a precaution to keep him from hurting himself while he seized. The sick bay was sealed off from the rest of the base so that it’s atmosphere could be provided with an increased oxygen content to promote healing.
Even though things seemed strange whenever he came out of a grand mal seizure, something was different this time. Warning lights flashed on the monitors he could see through the double-paned glass of the enclosure. The medic was on the floor. Had he been getting into the painkillers again? One of the video monitors appeared to show mining personnel laying on the ground. There must have been a moon quake.
Luckily Gerald, or “Shake” as everyone on the base called him because of his epilepsy, was still wearing his mining coveralls. He managed to reach in one of his side pockets and extract a mineral scraper. He rubbed it’s razor-sharp edge against the strap until the nylon began to fray and separate.
Once free, Gerald approached the door. Because the space was sometimes used as a quarantine, the lock could not be opened from the inside. He pressed the button on the communicator built into the wall.
“This is Mineral Engineer Gerald Larkin. I’m trapped in the Med Bay. Please respond.” There was no response. “This is Shake Larkin. If anyone can hear me, please respond.” Silence.
A closer examination of the monitors on the other side of the glass showed that there had been some damage to the base. Precious oxygen was leaking from a duct in the C section. A tank of the nerve gas, used to placate employees if they succumbed to the claustrophobia and paranoia of space sickness, had ruptured and filled the air ducts. He was the only one who was in any condition to take action, but he was locked in this room.
Shake patted himself down and grinned in triumph. He had what amounted to an extra key. He pulled a rock hammer from the pocket on his thigh and brought it’s head against the glass in a wide swinging arc. He felt the reverberation of the impact through his arm. The only result was a scuff mark on the reinforced window. He tried it again, and this time there was a satisfying crack and a small star appeared in the window. The last swing brought the head of the hammer through the glass. He reached through and opened the door, marveling that his epilepsy had saved everyone’s life.
Literature in Small Doses 