The hospital had lost the feel of a sterile place. It had become a garden where people healed. Instead of the beeping of the machines, one could hear the murmuring of the people. The air smelled of healing wraps, and there were these magical mushrooms that glowed, helped bones heal faster, and calmed the nerves. Joan Rhodes was the face of the place, but she wasn't the most serious one anymore.
Maxine wasn't in the hospital in the capacity of a surgeon, but as a person who gives wise counsel. Her unique way of seeing things was in demand by people, especially in the case of the toughest ones. These were the people who suffered from a severe Withdrawal condition, in which their bodies couldn't tolerate the plain food and mushroom tea because they felt it was wrong.
One of the patients was an elderly man named Halen who had been a Carver. He was slowly dying in bed. His body was the enemy that was consuming itself, and he kept staring at the ceiling. The doctors gave it the name Metaphysical Anorexia. His cells had been accustomed to celestial energy and were refusing the weaker ones from this new world. He was starving in front of them, even though there was food everywhere.
After connecting her graft to his bio-field, Maxine said his cells were still tuned to the Ambrosia station. She sensed the oddness as if his body was a radio stuck on a broken channel and only playing static. He is not turning down food. He is not even able to understand what food is anymore.
Can you fix him? The lead doctor, who used to be a Heretic bonesetter, asked.
The frequency change is too big, affects too much. It would destroy his body. We need something personal, a way to move from his old metabolic song to the current one. She glanced at the information from her graft, the mad patterns of Halen's deteriorating body. I need a sample of his old self.
She went to the Scriptorium to get a sample, the Flavor of Pancreatic Acquiescence—Halen's contribution to the making. Instead of taking the liquid, she took a reading of its vibe, the memory of its taste.
At the hospital, she operated a small device. She brought Halen's old, comforting vibe to him, the body's divine sugar was there but in a whisper. On her monitors, his static was mellowing, attracted by the familiar tune.
After that, she gradually started to alter it. She combined the divine frequency with the normal one of the Vat-Bread, and the clean vibe of the water. She created a way, from there to here.
It resembled sonic weaning.
She continued with the mix for several hours, Halen's body, in search of a signal, holding it. His breath became deeper. The stress in his cells started to disappear. He didn't get up, but his body ceased the fight.
The following day, they presented him with porridge, and he looked away but didn't show anger. The day after, he took a spoonful into his mouth.
It was not a complete repair. It was a means of going forward. Maxine devised a plan. For each severe Withdrawal case, she would create a Resonance Bridge, a special sound treatment that would help the body transition from craving the old to accepting the new.
Her lab, which was once used for making gods, was now filled with these gentle healing sounds, the tiny songs of change. She was no longer dismantling a divine system. She was composing the music for the hard landing into reality.
One night, Lucien came to visit her, attracted by the sounds. As she was adjusting a bridge for a young girl whose Echo-sensitivity had caused her to be afraid of the new quiet, he stood silently and watched her work, then said quietly, "You are a different kind of anatomist now. You map how the soul is attached to the body."
I map resonant adhesion, Maxine said, but not without a trace of humor. The soul is just another variable.
Nevertheless, he was observing the data, the lines becoming smoother under her music. We have spent our lives learning how to disassemble a god. Now we are learning how to put people together again. This is a better way of utilizing our knowledge, he said.
Maxine kept silent. She altered a frequency, and the sound that filled the room was like a sigh—the sound of someone's body finally coming to terms with the fact that the party was over, and the hard times are just a part of life.