Literature
Betty
Betty. They have been a part of life for so long that no one really questions their presence these days. They have an official designation, a technical name, but those whose lives have been saved my them simply call them Betty. Battlefield Betty. The surgeons, carers of the modern battlefield. Diagnostic machines, treatment stations, cleansers, surgical units, walking dispensaries, they do it all. With a gentle touch of their pale hands they can do everything from take your temperature, and blood pressure to run an x-ray or ‘Cat’ scan and diagnose internal injuries. With hidden syringes buried in the tips of their fingers, they can dispense pan medication, administer anaesthetic or cure the ‘clap’. They perform surgery, set broken limbs, cure and cleanse infections, replace limbs to damaged to be saved with cybernetics and deal with radiation sickness and whatever biological weapons the enemy throws at us. The old ‘rules’ of medical units do not affect the Betty. She is self cleaning and can disinfect herself  so is not forced to meet the strict cosmetic restrictions that flesh and blood medical practitioners were forced to. Betty have long, coloured fingernails, pale complexions and lip colour that match their nails. They are coloured to match their set designation. Red Cross, red lipped and red nailed Betty is a triage surgeon, removing bullets, setting breaks and doing ‘meat ball’ surgery. The Blue Cross, blue lipped and blue nailed Betty is the trauma surgeon. She does replacement limbs, treats chemical burns and the like. The Green Cross, green lipped and green nailed Betty deals with radiation poisoning, genetic augmentation and the treatment of biological weapon infections. The one Betty that is greeted with fear is the Betty that bears the Black Cross with matching black lips and black nails. This is the walking ‘miserichordia’, the ‘mercy dagger’. She comes to those on the battlefield that are beyond saving. With a gentle touch and a deep kiss they end the suffering of those they come to. I had been a soldier for five years when I entered into the tender mercies of a Betty. An anti personal ‘buzz bomb’ had popped out of the ground and had peppered my squad with tungsten/titanium ‘drill bit’ rounds that bore their way through the layers of armour we wear, seeking the warmth of our flesh beneath. Three ‘bits’ managed to bore through all layers of armour and had made their way into the flesh of my right forearm, my stomach and left thigh. I was lucky. The ‘bits’ of this ‘buzz bomb’ were just straight ‘cold steel’ and were not coated with any toxin or acids like many different ‘drill bit’ rounds could be. My ‘suit’ administered pain killers and ‘stims’ to keep me on my feet and once again I was lucky as the ‘bits’ ran out of juice before they could seek my internal organs. I was greeted by the pleasant smile and cool touch of a Betty when my squad returned to camp and she escorted me to the ‘tent’ where she administered an aesthetic and had the three rounds removed and a ‘re-gen’ med to speed me on my way to recovery and I was back in the ranks of my squad before I had a chance to feel any pain. I was lucky as I had not needed the services of a Betty for a few more years, but when I did need it, it was not a Red Cross, red lipped and red nailed Betty that had tended to me this time. My wounds were of a more severe nature and I found myself needing the services of the ‘trauma ‘ Blue Cross, blue lipped and blue nailed Betty. I had been on an escort mission, scouting for a group of ‘Heavy Armour’ mechs, searching out a safe path through what had once been the streets of down town Darling Harbour. On the old docks the enemy had struck. The whine of ‘screamer’ shells had been the only warning as the enemy heavy armour rose from the now dark green sludge that passed for water these days since the way had started centuries past. Knowing my armour and weapons would not stand a chance against the heavy armour, I dove for whatever cover I could find as I had been trained to do as the squad I was escorting traded shells and heavy energy weapons fire around me. It was a stray shell that had taken out the supports of the shell of the building I was huddled in. My armour had done what it was programmed to do and had hardened against the impact, the screens of my helmet darkening so I did not see the impact.  The chrysalis ability of my combat armour was not enough though. A rusty roof beam had been part of the debris that I had not been able to avoid and had crushed the hardened armour of my suit and had separated my left arm from the shoulder and my left leg at the knee. Apparently I had laid there for days before they had found me. The squad I had been escorting had been decimated by the weapons of the enemy and it had taken days for evac teams to follow the retrieval signal my suit was piping out on the emergency band and to dig me out. My suit had done its’ job well, sealing around the severed limbs and administering pain meds to keep me alive for as long as it could. The time it had taken to pull me free had exceeded the ‘viability’ of the arm and lower leg so these could not be saved. I woke under the tender attention of a blue lipped and blue nailed Betty who had explained it all to me, telling me of the procedure and the new cybernetic limbs that I was now the ‘proud’ owner of. As always the Betty (it is often hard to think of there being more than one, even surrounded by half a dozen at the same time as they all look the same.) was kind and gentle and tolerant. They were trained as psychologists as well as medical practitioners. They were trained at helping people deal with loss, no matter if it was in the form of a limb or a squad member.  They had an easy smile, firm but gentle hands and a quiet, voice. They dealt with rehabilitation and physical therapy. Some were even known to be ‘trained’ in sexual therapy to help those soldiers, male or female that were missing a female lover. Due to the touch of the Betty, once again it was not long before I was back on my feet and donning my refitted and repaired armour and shouldering my weapon for the cause. I adjusted to my new limbs quickly. I had always admired the work of the Betty and the medical ‘miracles’ they performed every day. The modern technology that I sported within my body served me well and it was not long before I forgot that the arm and lower leg I had were not the ones I was originally born with. My next brush with the Betty was when I was exposed to the latest ‘nightmare’ of biological warfare. A mutanagenic virus that managed to worm its way through the layers of protection of our suits and attacked the human body on the genetic level.  It was one of those weapons that constantly amazed me due to the fact that our enemies were not human yet seemed to understand many different ways to mess with us despite our differences. Pain had wracked my body as the virus invaded my system. My suit used up its’ supply of ‘pain killers’ in a mere five minutes after being infected and still this did not even dent it. My own bones warped under the effects of the genetic altering bio weapon and my body twitched and shook and burned. My muscles swelled and pushed even the vast limits of the combat armour. The nature of the virus did not even allow my body the chance to slip into the oblivion of unconsciousness.  My whole squad was laid low by the virus. I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones though. I was still clinging to life when the retrieval squad turned up to clean up the scene. My past encounters with the Betty was what allowed them to ‘cure’ me of the modern plague that ravaged my flesh. They had the ‘original blueprint’ of my genetics due to the fact I had had medical treatment under their care before. Using this, the Green Cross, green lipped, green nailed Betty were able to purge the virus from my system and were able to ‘re map’ my altered system, reverting it back to the ‘factory specs’ of how my body was before the infection of the virus. The Green Cross, green lipped, green nailed ‘Bio Betty’ were often thought to be more detached than the other class of Betty but I found there to be nothing lacking in the level of care I received from them. There were no side effects of the virus and it was totally purged from my system and once more, when I was declared ‘fit for duty’ by the Betty in charge of my case, I was turned loose once more, this time in a ‘fresh suit’ as mine had been beyond repair. They say your life flashes before your eyes in those moments just before death. As I lay here, my body cold and not responding to even the basic command to move, it is not my life that flashed before my eyes, I see the face of a Betty before me. She looks like an angel as she leans towards me. Am I dreaming? I have never seen a Black Cross, black lipped, black nailed Betty before. They are kept away from us ‘grunts’ as even in this day and age of advanced technology, many of us are superstitious and seeing one of the walking ‘mercy daggers’ would cause a pall of fear to drop over the soldiers. Her black lips turn up at the corners as she looks down at me. She reaches out with a black nailed, pale hand and breaks the seals of the visor of my suit helmet. The air smells sweet to me as it rushes over my face and I know that it should not be as I am laying on the scorched earth of a battlefield. Her black nailed fingers are soft as they brush against my lips and as she draws these away, I notice that they are bloodied. I know that I should be worried as I see my blood on her pale fingers but strangely I am not. A peace has slipped over me as I watch this battle field vision that kneels over me. I had heard tales of such things happening and it was whispered that the very touch of these Betty was laced with drugs that drive all fear from the hearts of those they touch. But as no one survives an encounter with the Betty of the Black, these tales are just rumour. “Lay still,” she tells me in a voice that cuts through the sounds of the battle that still rages around me. “Your lower half no longer exists as it was burned away from the touch of a plasma thermal lance. We are too far from a camp and no amount of work my Sisters could do would be able to sustain your life with the extent of injuries you have received.” I can only take her word on this. I did not see the attack that had dropped me and I cannot raise my head to look down to see what condition I am in but I know that the Betty do not lie. “Are you ready?” she asks me as she bends over me again. I know what it is she asks. A Betty of the Black will only take the life of someone who asks for it unless the person they come across is beyond being able to speak. “I am ready.” I tell her. She is gentle as she raises me up. Her black lips are warm as they press against mine and she kisses me deeply, covering the sting of the twin needles that slide into my flesh from the tips of two of her black nailed fingers. She does not break the kiss even as darkness comes to fill my vision. As I slip into the blackness, I do not know how many others before me have been kissed by those lips and brought into the arms of death by this Betty of the Black and in truth, I do not care. All I care is that she found me and in the arms of this black lipped and black nailed Betty of the Black Cross, I will not die alone. Lawrence Cottam 2009
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