SSG OverClock, EUP Signals, sat in the shopette, trying to get his brain untracked. He had spent a weekend in mild misery, his body fighting the usual illnesses the kids frequently brought home with their grades and homework.
This time was no different than times before. A little cough, hardly anything to be concerned about.
Except this time, the bug had passed through the class several times, and acquired that wonderful level only evolution could provide. It had grown, and adapted, and had flattened him out with its latest right cross. Bad enough, he subjected himself to the indignity of sick call.
Frowning, he recalled how he had braced himself for the usual, “…nothing here, take ibuprofen every four to six hours, drink lots of water, rest when you can…and change your socks,” spiel. He had been ready to club-hoof the medic over what the tartarus did clean socks have to do with coughing, when the guy listened to his chest…
“Whoa, Sarge…got some noise in there. I’m gonna send the Doc in to see you, okay?” ‘Clock went from grumpy sick to moderately concerned in ten seconds flat. That usually never happened. Neither did the ‘…while we’re waiting…’ business of having all the newbs in the clinic come in and listen to his breathing as a training aid, nor the stupid-sounding debate of ‘rales/rhonchi’ that went along with it. And for the first time, he was grateful when the Medical Corps Captain came in and chased off his chest admiration club.
“Okay…deep breaths,” the guy said, putting the stethoscope on him. OverClock complied. The breathing exercise left him a tiny bit lightheaded.
“Sergeant…you have a lot of gunk in there. Bronchitis, probably a little pneumonitis. I’m putting you on antibiotics. What’s your duty schedule look like?”
“I’ve got the weekend off, Sir. Back to work on Monday.”
“Fine, fine. I’m writing you no duty this weekend, so let your CoC know, then light duty for a week, no PT. And ‘no duty’ means nothing at all, get me? No playing with your chariot, golf, mowing the grass, or anything else. Sleep. Or watch hoofball on TV. Your duty station is your bed. Make sure you’re in it.”
“Roger that, Sir.” Most of the Royal Guard would be overjoyed with the news. They would take it as a two-day vacation, and be caught skiing or other such nonsense. OverClock was just sick enough to accept bedrest with a grateful soul.
And so it went over the weekend. The wife wasn’t all too keen to be soloing the children, but relented when ‘Clock hit the mattress, and stayed there. The antibiotic pills weren’t TOO big, but they were impressive. He did stick with the ibuprofen for the occasional fever, and cough medicine to barely blunt the coughing spasms, but for the most part, he did as bade. There was the one spat with the kids, but the tiny conflagration turned into a learning experience, and he went back to bed right after the coughing jag.
By Monday, he had smoothed out considerably. The coughing decreased markedly, his general energy was up, and he felt worlds better.
And so, here in the shopette, still tired as all get out, he contemplated his approach for the day. He still wasn’t ready to eat. Maybe later, when things calmed a bit more. Food wasn’t revolting any more, just disinteresting, and he wasn’t about to peruse the offerings here in any case. Some of the things in the cases looked as old as Celestia’s vagina. And probably as wrinkled.
Then he spied the coffee kiosk.
That’s the ticket, right there! Wonderful, Blessed COFFEE!! he thought, smiling.
He went and poured a large cup, went to sit down again…as his pocket vibrated…
He knew what it was. He had set up alarms on his cellphone, reminders to take his medication religiously. The Doc had been pretty adamant about him taking the medication as exactly to schedule as he could manage, and to be sure to take all of it. The Doc had almost put a gun to his head over it.
Take it all.
Well, the plan was working, so he wasn’t complaining. He pulled the horse pill out of the little container he got a couple years back to carry meds in the field. He also had some cough liquigels and ibuprofen in the capped cylinder as well. Sure made it convenient, rather than the giant pill bottles and that half-pint of cough medicine stuffed into his pockets.
He chucked it down, along with half of the coffee. Pretty damn hot, but it did make his throat feel better…
Just as he set the coffee back down…his stomach made a quiet little glurgh. Nothing loud. And nothing else.
‘Clock shrugged. The coffee must have shook loose an air bubble. It wasn’t like he had any food in there.
An hour and a half later, he was in the shop, playing with a radio, when the glurgh came back.
And brought all his little friends from all over Outpost Ensilar.
To have a meeting in his bowel.
To protest their living conditions.
Vociferously.
He made it to the latrine, just as the discussion went public. The glurgh had also found a new voice. Something Pyotr Ilyich Tchtrotsky would have written into the 1812 Overture if he hadn’t had cannon fire.
It was joined by a rather impressive smell. Two other stalls were abandoned immediately, and somepony entering the latrine door closed it and ran. A clamor of ‘…Gas! Gas!…’ sounded beyond the door as the shop evacuated.
He groaned as wave after wave swept through his body. As any wave came to its crescendo, his orifice applauded enthusiastically…
He somehow got his phone out with his aura, called home.
“Honey,’ he managed to get out, as another wave built up. “Could you read the antibiotic bottle to me?”
“What part? The medication? Or all the warning labels?”
He blanched slightly, as the wave retreated from the beachhead temporarily, waiting until more landing craft became available.
“The warnings…”
The usual things about taking all the medication. One saying that he could take it with or without food…
“Do not drink hot liquids while taking this medication…something about diarrhea…”
He cross-referenced the medication name with side effects, started an internet search…as the tide started to come in…
This medication is in a time-released form. The granules are encapsulated in a wax matrix to ensure progressive dispersal throughout the intestinal tract and abate intestinal distress. Consumption of hot liquids may interrupt this dispersal and cause immediate release…
“Celestia save me,” he panted as the tidal wave started…
He put his aura into play. He had never done this before, but if he could somehow get this stuff out of his gastrointestinal tract some way, he could…
“It also says…”
The wave hit.
OverClock clung to the door in the roiling hurricane sea of the expulsionary spasm, as his aura tried to wrap itself around the next impulse working through his…
The phone fell to the floor, and there was a ‘clunk’ in the toilet…
He tried to float the phone back up, as the wave inside him collapsed. It stayed exactly where it was, mocking him.
Well, the scours seemed to be subsiding at the moment. He decided to check and make sure he wasn’t bleeding…
His horn…was in the toilet. A brief wave of his hoof over his head confirmed it a moment later.
Panicked, he picked up the phone…
"Side effects include: Nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Occasional rash from medication sensitivity has occurred. Headaches and light sensitivity has been noted. IMPORTANT: DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS MEDICATION BY USING MAGIC! Various and unusual reaction and side-effects have been reported, most temporary, such as: color change, wings, banana cravings, desire to go to the Moon, assuming you are a Windigo, wanting to marry Discord, and others. Please report any such severe enough to the Center of Disease Control and Prevention, Canterlot, Equestria..."
OverClock, with slight difficulty, called the number listed.
“Um…CDC? My name’s OverClock. I’m a Sergeant with Outpost Ensilar, and I’m on this medication…” he read them the name on the phone, “…and I just had one of those, um. ‘unusual reactions’ you mentioned.”
The voice on the other end started asking questions.
“Yeah. Yeah. Lung infection. A couple of days ago. Yeah, just fine, then I had some coffee. I just found out about that part. Look, I was sick as a dog; I wasn’t reading anything. Fine, go ahead and blame me, I don’t care; I’m just letting you know about the ‘unusual reactions’, not trying to make a Canterlot Canton case out of this! Okay. Okay.”
“Anyway, I was stuck in the bathroom, from the diarrhea. Really bad. And I thought if I somehow used my Magic…I KNOW! At least NOW I know!” he shouted.
“I reached up inside with my Magic…to, you know…keep my intestines and the medication separated….” he said, quieter now. “And I think I…evacuated my horn into the toilet…”
“STOP LAUGHING, CELESTIA DAMN IT! IT’S NOT FUNNY!” he yelled.
“Look…is this stuff temporary or not? That’s what I need to know…”
“Are you ABSOLUTELY SURE?”
“Why?”
“Umm…because…” he said, turning around again, looking at his horn in the toilet sadly, “…I’m not sure I want that one back…”
Author's Note
For you, battle....
