It was 3am before Doctor Alice Roark stripped off her gloves, threw them in the disposer and sat down for the first time that shift. She flopped into the chair, her eyes closing as soon as her head hit the fake leather headrest. Now if only there was a god, or even a friendly spirit watching over her, she could catch a few minutes sleep. She wasn't greedy—half an hour or even twenty minutes would do—just enough to give her flagging energy a boost.

She got five minutes.

"Doctor Roark? You're needed in Admittance," an urgent voice in her left ear caused Alice to jerk upright. "Immediately."

"Wha-?" she asked, groggy from the too-short nap.

"Gunshot to the chest," the voice answered, as if she had asked a meaningful question. Alice shook the last cobwebs from her brain and stood up, automatically pulling on a clean pair of gloves and a fresh white coat. She'd walk through the decontamination chamber later, when it was time to begin surgery.

She pushed through the swing doors into Admittance and saw emergency personnel rushing a laden trolley toward her from the direction of the hospital entrance. A police officer kept pace alongside, his eyes drawn to the man on the trolley.

"I need a doctor, now!" shouted one of the paramedics.

"I'm the doctor," said Alice, coming up alongside the moving trolley. "Let's get him straight through to the operating room," she continued, seeing the blood-soaked uniform, ripped open across his chest to expose the damage. The paramedics had done what they could, packing the wound with hemostatic gauze and supplying oxygen through a tube inserted down the man's throat.

"Gunshot wound in the chest," explained one of the paramedics. "We had an emergency call at two fifty-one and reached him three minutes later. Officer Sanchez here was applying pressure, but the victim was still bleeding out. Got him here as fast as we could."

Alice spared a glance to the officer who was hurrying alongside. "You did a good job," she said, "but now it's up to us. You can watch from the observation window if you'd like."

The paramedics pushed the trolley into the nearest treatment room and transferred the patient to the operating table in one quick movement. Alice took the opportunity to walk through the adjoining decontamination chamber while her nursing team, already wearing sterilised gowns and gloves, cut away the remains of the man's uniform and prepared him for surgery. A quick scan showed the placement of the bullet, lodged dangerously close to the man's heart.

Alice bent over the patient and peeled away the bandage. The wound was gaping, bloody and ugly. "This doesn't look good. Has he signed the no-liability clause?" Alice spoke as her hands worked, trying to save the officer's life.

One of the paramedics nodded. "First thing we checked before we brought him here."

"We're losing him!"

Alice checked the monitor, registering the critical information. "Right," she announced in even tones. "I'm calling a termination event. I'm injecting N-23, one standard dose."

The senior nurse handed her a syringe, and Alice injected the contents into the large vein nearest the heart. Alice continued to work swiftly, probing gently to remove the bullet while nurses swabbed away the blood. She had to keep him alive until the nanobots could work their magic.

"What are his chances, doc?" asked the man's partner, anxiously, from the other side of the observation window.

"It's going to be close," admitted Alice. "He's sustained a lot of damage. But if the nanobots have time to repair the worst of it, he'll have a fighting chance." We just have to keep him alive until that happens, she added, silently.

Three hours later, she knew Officer Martino was going to make it.

Alice pulled off her gloves and gown and dropped them in the disposal unit. Another success for the Research centre's pioneering technology, she thought, with satisfaction. Although N-23 was still in the clinical trial stage, she was averaging a 50 per cent success rate. Pretty good when compared to the fact that everyone selected for the new treatment was in the process of dying. Current regulations insisted a doctor had to declare the patient imminently terminal before N-23 could be applied. Alice gritted her teeth. Which was why she only had a 50 per cent success rate. If only she apply the N-23 earlier, she was certain the odds would improve dramatically.

She rolled her shoulders, releasing tension. Now, perhaps she'd have time for a cup of coffee before the next case.

~~~

Alice was just opening the door to her apartment, ready to collapse into bed, when she saw her neighbour limping toward her down the corridor. Her knees were grazed and bleeding, her stockings torn, mud smeared the front of her new dress and a cut above her eye was causing it to swell shut.

"Oh my God, Summer, are you all right? What happened?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Doctor Roark. I'll be fine once I get cleaned up." Summer's soft tones were huskier than usual.

Alice was already pushing open the door to her apartment. "Let me help," she said. "Come inside and I'll see if I can do something about those knees."

"I'll be fine," Summer protested. "You were on your way in. You look exhausted."

"A few more minutes won't hurt," said Alice. "It won't take long."

She led a reluctant Summer into her apartment. "I want to take a look at that eye. You might need a stitch or two."

"Stitches?" asked Summer, sounding anxious for the first time. She made a bee-line for the hall mirror.

"Oh no!" she gasped, shocked at the damage that had been done. Her right eye was almost shut, the swelling bruised and puffy. Dried blood smeared her cheek and her mascara had run, creating an unfortunate resemblance to a zombie.

"Come in here and let me have a proper look," said Alice, getting her first aid kit from the bathroom. "Have a seat," she insisted, pulling a chair forward. Nearly two metres tall in her high heels, Summer towered above her when she was standing.

Carefully, Alice washed the blood and grit away from the cut. "It's not as bad as I thought," she announced cheerfully. "I won't have to operate! I think we can get by with some sticking plaster. What happened?" she asked again, as she applied antiseptic to the wound and then the plaster.

"I tripped and fell over," said Summer, not meeting her eyes.

"Oh, Summer," sighed Alice.

"If you must know, some random stranger pushed me in the back," said Summer. "It's not like I haven't been bashed before," she added bitterly. "It might be 2035 but some people are still living in the dark ages. Why can't they just leave me alone?"

Her anguished eyes met Alice's. Alice shook her head in sympathy. "I don't know."

"Maybe after I've had the next lot of surgery, things will get better," Summer murmured to herself.

Alice kept her lips shut. It wasn't her place to say anything, but at six foot tall, with a square jaw and broad shoulders, she feared no amount of surgery or oestrogen was going to transform Summer into the feminine woman she wanted to be.