Kat walked down the main avenue of the market with something close to contentment. For the first time in her memory, her stomach was full. She had spent half her fortune on charred murine, forsaking the variant skewered on a stick for larger cuts in folded paper. She intended to reuse the paper to aid her smuggling. It would be much easier to hide under her clothing.
The other half of her fortune had been allocated toward the purchase of a second installment of tonic for Rat. This time, she spent twice as much for a small plastic bottle instead of a pressboard carton. The bottle held less than a half-liter, less tonic than she had received the day before. However, she needed a container she could use to boil water. Her afternoon’s indiscretion in Rat’s water reservoir still haunted her. Dysentery would be a death sentence. The plastic bottle will shrink over the fire but it won’t melt, she told herself before wondering how she knew it to be true.
She left the Beggar’s Market coinless again and walked to Rat’s alley, all the while keeping a diligent watch for potential muggers. By the time she arrived home, the late afternoon had given way to dusk. Rat was still gone.
She checked to make sure her stash of firewood had not been stolen. It was still ensconced safely within the trash wall. Through a small gap in the barrier, she spied Starlet sitting on her cardboard mat. The surly woman’s filthy face was streaked with clean tracks washed by tears. The old woman felt Kat’s presence, looked up and spat irritably, “What you looking at, you whore?”
“Nothing.”
“Damn right, nothing.” The woman’s shoulders began to spasm up and down and she turned away from Kat’s gaze.
Kat returned to her small space along the wall. She pulled out the medical gazette and lost herself in its pages.
She consumed the journal, reading it over and over despite the needless redundancy. Only the fading light kept her from starting it again. Sometime during the fourth pass through, Rat had wandered home. She poured the contents of her plastic bottle into Rat’s empty green bottle as the man happily declared that she had paid her rent for the week.
Their evening was spent by the fire barrel. Its warmth was a decadent luxury compared to the past two nights and Kat drank an entire bottle of sterilized water before boiling a second one for the morning. Among the fire crew, Mike was missing but Rat, Patch, Pru, Starlet and Jimmy Tweeks — everyone unfailingly called him by both names — circled the barrel and took turns at the fire to cook or boil water. Many of the crew drank from bottles filled with liquid other than water and as the last of Kat’s brush burned to embers inside the barrel, personalities transformed with every swig.
Patch and Jimmy Tweeks spent the latter part of the evening bragging about their exploits in Shantytown, their great reputations and their abilities to provide for “women who appreciate a real man.” When one man stated he could kill ten rats in a single night, the other claimed he could slay twenty. Starlet pointed out that she had never seen either of them bring more than one to a fire.
When the glow in the barrel began to fade, Kat excused herself to the men’s protests and Starlet’s satisfaction. Secluded back in her spot in the alley, Kat listened to the crew’s boisterous conversation while gazing into the night sky. Artificial light from Waytown diluted some of the splendor but the brightest stars shimmered with an unmatched intensity. She stared for a long time, occasionally distracted by vermin skittering in the alley or a security aircar drifting overhead. When not focused skyward, she inspected the people shuffling past the alley in the street beyond. Eventually, she slept.
* * *
The week passed dully. Predawn treks outside Shantytown were followed by death marches back in the heat of each day. Her single attempt at a night run into the desert scrub was aborted by the mournful howls of feral dogs near the slum’s outskirts. Suffering the daylight’s heat was far preferable to risking the dangers of a wild dog attack.
Afternoons were spent at the Beggar’s Market. Kat returned the first medical journal on Wednesday and performed minor chores for free at the clinic after hauling water from Jacob’s post at the center well. Reynolds had dismissed Kat by midafternoon on Wednesday, citing her need to close early again, but permitted Kat to stay during the busy Thursday afternoon to act as her assistant. Thursday’s trip to the market had included a successful attempt to smuggle herbs past the yellow-shirts after a fruitful morning hike. Thursday evening, Reynolds offered her a second journal that detailed basic first aid techniques.
That same evening, Kat purchased a proper shirt and a wide-brimmed hat from the same vendor’s cart she had purchased her pants. The vendor’s loyalty program amounted to “a smile with every purchase.” Her new-to-her shirt was brown and too large for her frame but she now had better protection against the elements. Kat could even reverse her old gown and use it as a thin, soiled overcoat to help ward off the chills at night.
As she settled into her daily routine, Kat found she disliked evenings the most. Starlet’s relentless belligerence toward her was tiresome and the men on the fire crew were growing disenchanted with taking a gentlemanly approach to garner Kat’s company at the end of each night. She had wanted to ask Pru how she had become accepted and more importantly, respected among the men but the diminutive and quiet final member of the crew had not made an appearance since Tuesday night. As the men’s advances became more overt, Kat began to wonder about the wisdom in joining the fire crew and worried over the safety of her spot in the alley. Each man knew she spent her nights just a half dozen meters away. By Thursday night, she joined the fire crew just long enough to boil her water.
Friday morning brought a leaden sky. Kat spent an extra hour searching the desert in vain for new scrub given the relief from the direct sunlight. When she finally entered the clinic, it was with but a small paper packet of Mormon tea scrapings. Kat knew the scientific name was Ephedra viridis from the journal she had read Tuesday but Doctor Reynolds seemed to prefer the colloquial names.
Kat now sat on the examination table. The doctor had promised to change Kat’s bandage on Friday and was keeping her word. Kat mentally ran through the list of herbs on the top shelf in the clinic to distract herself from the unrelenting pressing against her side.
Reynolds separated the used poultice from the gauze and threw each into a different cardboard box. “It’s definitely healing and the infection is gone. It’s not even worth putting on another pack so I’ll just wrap it to keep the scab from coming off. You’re going to have an ugly scar but don’t we all.” She leaned in close as she inspected the center of the lesion. The woman’s eyes were mere centimeters from Kat’s hip. “I don’t see any ink.” She pointed at the mottled skin before standing to her full height. She brought a weathered hand to Kat’s chin and turned her patient’s head to one side. “Your face is looking better too. With as much sun as you’ve been getting, it’s nearly balanced out now. You sure you want me to cut your hair?”
Kat shook her head. “Not anymore. My hat keeps it out of my eyes and off my neck in the mornings.”
Reynolds fussed as she began to wrap fresh gauze around Kat’s torso. “I’m not sure I like you going into the wastes so often. There’s a lot worse than dog packs out there, you know. You run into another scavenger and you’re a long way from help.” She secured the wrapping with adhesive and stepped back.
Kat let her shirt drop and tried to straighten it by pulling at the material on her narrow shoulders.
“I’ll be taking that gauze off next week,” Reynolds stated.
Sudden, violent dust devils swirled in the cul-de-sac outside the service window as an aircar passed over the clinic. While aircars came and went quickly on occasion, the intensity of the thunderous vectored thrust only grew.
“Dammit to hell,” Reynolds cursed as she rushed to her end table and attempted to keep her journals from taking flight in the windstorm. Outside, a short chirp preceded the descent of a security aircar. As it dipped into view of the service window, the strobing lights danced in every corner of the small shack.
Kat’s heart raced at the sight and sound and she moved reflexively toward the door. “I have to go, Doc,” she blurted almost hysterically.
“Kat!” Reynolds called out. “Wait!”
The door was already open. Every fiber in Kat’s body screamed at her to run. She fought her instincts and instead looked back with wild eyes. Her chest heaved short, panicked breaths.
Reynolds pointed toward the back room. “Hide in there,” she ordered firmly. “You can squeeze under the bed.”
Kat trembled in place with indecision, eyes fixed on Reynolds.
“They probably aren’t here for you, Kat,” Reynolds insisted. “They’re here for me.” She tapped her chest and nodded to emphasize her point.
Kat blinked once and made her choice, bolting for the back room. Nearly on the fly, she slid gracefully under the old mattress as the sound of the aircar’s turbines diminished to idle. She could hear Reynolds talking but couldn’t make out the words over the din. Her heart raced faster with the knowledge that she was now trapped.
After an eternity on edge, light flowed into the back room when someone pulled the curtain at the doorway.
“Kat, I need you!” Reynolds called. The curtain dropped and the room became shrouded in gloom once again.
Run. Run! Kat struggled to maintain control. She crawled out from under the bed slowly. Calm down, Kat, she commanded herself. If the doctor was handing you over, they would’ve just come in here and yanked you out. She timidly poked her head around the curtain.
Reynolds was busy lowering the cover over the service window. A uniformed corp-sec officer was assisting her. The older woman spoke rapidly as the shutter fell into place. “There’s been an accident at the mine and the Waytown hospital wants my help.” She looked pointedly at Kat. “I told them I needed my assistant. They’ll pay you.”
Kat stepped fully into the room. “What can I do?” she asked excitedly, her fear of capture evaporating with the promise of earning more coins.
Reynolds finished locking the shutter and grabbed a stethoscope from under the counter. “We’re catching a ride with him,” she said, motioning to the officer. “He’ll arrange emergency authorization for a visa into Waytown for you. I explained that you were born in Shantytown and are CINless. We’ll fly directly to the hospital, work and then you’ll probably have to take an autocab to Eastpoint.” She ushered Kat out of the clinic. “You’ll make plenty of credits to pay for the cab,” Reynolds assured.
Kat exited the shack, giving a wide berth to the officer. Unlike the market’s yellow-shirts and the preacher’s guards, this man was dressed in a finely produced uniform that peeked out under kinetic chest armor. Kat eyed the rigid, blue protective shell. It’s a mid-range Ballistic Solutions piece that will stop most small-caliber kinetic rounds but it’s useless against energy weapons. Her steps staggered slightly at her assessment. How do I know that? she asked herself while shifting her attention to the man’s holstered sidearm. A Dunnings .357 magnum revolver. Double action with six shots. The epitome of reliability in an austere environment. She felt an innate approval of the officer’s choice of weapon. Was I a cop for a corporation? Reynolds pushed her into the back of the waiting aircar. Kat slid across the bench seat to make room for her friend.
When the door slammed shut, Reynolds leaned close. “Just remember what you’ve read about first aid and do what I say.” The woman’s voice had a hard, professional edge to it. “The last time this happened, I ran triage in the reception room.”
Kat raised her hands in the air briefly in a helpless gesture. “I’m not going to know what to do,” she contended quietly.
“Just follow my instructions,” Reynolds said coolly. She regarded Kat with narrowed eyes. “I brought you along because I believe you can handle this. Some of these people’s lives will depend on us being able to act assertively and swiftly.” The doctor allowed a little light to return to her expression. “You did fine with the woman on Tuesday. Compartmentalize the horror and put your patient first.”
Kat chewed her lip but nodded. “I won’t let you down.”
The aircar left the ground with a roar although the engine noise inside the vehicle was muted. Kat felt her stomach flip as they ascended quickly, well past the rooftops, and she obtained a map-like perspective of her surroundings. Shantytown encircled Waytown like a filthy noose. A single road jutting from either side of the inner settlement trailed off toward the empty expanse to the west and the mountains to the east. Also running east, an unnaturally straight line of a mag-rail was apparent. The tracks ran to Waytown with a flawless precision from the distant mountains. The route pierced the settlement’s heart before bending gracefully to the northwest where the perfect line disappeared into the horizon.
The vehicle turned toward Waytown and dipped its hood as it began to accelerate. The clear, ballistic panel between the front and back seats slid open. “Doctor Reynolds, what’s the name of your assistant? For the visa.”
Reynolds looked pensively at Kat and, with a gesture, urged her to speak.
Kat leaned to the opening. “It’s Kat. Kat… Smith.” She shrugged her shoulders at Reynolds before returning her attention to the window beside her, eager to memorize more of the landscape.
“Ms. Smith, can you put your head near the open panel and look into the camera?” The officer pointed at a tiny lens emplaced into the middle of the vehicle’s dashboard. “It’ll grab your picture and I can issue you a temporary visa.”
Kat tore her eyes from the view and complied. A minute later, the officer pushed a hand backwards through the opening. His fingers held a small rectangle of dark plastic. “Here. This will self-frag at nineteen thirty-three hours. That’s exactly at tonight’s sunset. You’re required to present this stick upon the request of any Waytown citizen and the penalty for squatting on an expired visa ranges from a five hundred credit fine to imprisonment with hard labor.”
Kat accepted the visa, thankful her pants had a pocket to hold the five-centimeter pass.
“Don’t lose it, Kat,” Reynolds cautioned.
Kat examined the tiny stick in her hands further. It was smooth and thin with no notches or holes. A metallic strip covered most of one side. Suddenly, the aircar’s momentum slowed.
“Damn,” Reynolds cursed. She was looking out the window at the ground below.
Kat pressed her face to her own window and looked down. The two-story hospital below had a single-story wing running off to one side. All manner of vehicles had overrun the rear courtyard. An ambulance was parked nearest the hospital’s rear entrance. Behind it, two aircars and a large, flatbed VTOL carrier had haphazardly settled to crowd the small, dusty square.
“This is going to be bad,” Reynolds predicted. She looked to the officer and asked, “What happened?”
The driver, busy bringing his vehicle on final approach, barked, “Some kind of explosion.”
They touched down less than a minute later. Reynolds thanked the officer and practically sprang from the back seat. Kat slid across the bench and followed like a puppy.
Chaos ruled the courtyard, the cries and moans of victims coming from every direction. Kat gawked at the scene, frozen and speechless. There were easily twenty injured people lying on the ground in varying states of distress and yet, as soon as an aircar took flight, a replica landed to dispense more wounded.
A man in a medical smock caught sight of Reynolds and brought his wrist up to his face as he approached. He wore a thin headset with a mic that barely touched a corner of his mouth. Eyeglasses were affixed to the headset although the lenses were currently flipped up.
“Doctor Reynolds has arrived at… thirteen forty-five,” he said while looking at his wrist. When he came to within a few meters of the doctor, he called out, “Maggie, I’m glad you made it. Methane explosion inside a tunnel followed by chemical fire. They’re still fighting it.” He looked around the mayhem before stopping at Kat. “Who’s this?”
“Doctor Reynolds’ assistant,” Kat answered while bending over a man lying on the ground. His moans were barely audible.
“Thank God,” the resident doctor said with sincerity. “It’s been just me out here.” He reached inside a bag draped over his shoulder and pulled out a handful of flimsy cards. He stuffed them into Kat’s hands and then pulled a stylus from his coat pocket. “Assess them and mark them,” he ordered while offering her the writing implement. “We’re overloaded inside so make sure Immediates are really Immediate.” He turned to Reynolds and said, “I’ll get you a bag, Maggie.” The man began to trot away but Kat heard him say into his mic, “John, send a runner with a triage kit out to the quad for Doctor Reynolds and see if you can scrounge up a first responder’s kit for her assistant.”
Kat watched the man jog back to the patients nearest the hospital doors. She felt Reynolds pull her to the ground next to the moaning man. “Kat, write what I say,” the doctor instructed, pointing at the cards in her hands.
Kat examined the top card. It was a long rectangle of shiny plastic. The back had a thin covering that could be pulled away to expose an adhesive strip. On the card’s face was a myriad of checklists and boxes. At the top was a serial number and the acronym “RPM” with a choice of two checkboxes following each letter. A sketch of a human body came next, with “Blunt Trauma, Burn, C-Spine, Cardiac, Crushing, Fracture, Laceration and Penetrating Injury” as options to check. The final entry was “Other.” Further below was a section for vital signs and a space to write any medications administered.
The bottom third of the card contained large, color-coded stickers, each bearing the card’s serial number. The topmost sticker was black and said “MORGUE.” Next came a red “IMMEDIATE.” A yellow sticker declaring “DELAYED” and a green sticker stating “MINOR” completed the card.
Reynolds was listening to the man’s breathing through her stethoscope and holding the man’s wrist. “At the top, next to R, check yes. P, check the minus two seconds box. Skip M.” She ripped open the patient’s shirt and found severe bruising covering his chest. “Make an X next to Blunt Trauma… make checkmarks next to C-Spine and Fracture. Scribble over the chest on the body outline.” She quickly inspected the man’s extremities. “Scribble over the lower right arm. Vitals are pulse ninety-five, respiration twenty. Pull off the yellow sticker marked DELAYED.” She reached out for the sticker and pressed it to the man’s forehead. “Peel the back off and hand me the rest of the card. Shove the peelings in a pocket, Kat. I can use them at the clinic later.” Reynolds stuck the card to the man’s chest and looked around the quad. A hospital attendant was racing toward them.
The man skidded to a stop and handed Reynolds a bag similar to the one Kat had seen over the other doctor’s shoulder. He then tossed a smaller bag to Kat. She took a moment to look inside and found an assortment of applicators and bandages.
“Here!” Reynolds beckoned from ten meters away, kneeling at another patient.
Kat raced to her side as the triage process began again. By the end of the procedure, the unconscious woman on a stretcher had a bright red sticker on her forehead.
Reynolds pointed at the hospital entrance just meters away. “Go inside and get two litter bearers to bring her in now!” she commanded.
Kat was off like a bolt of lightning. At the door, she was stopped by a security officer. “You can’t come in here,” he told her. He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “I need to see your visa.”
Kat fished out her visa and handed it to him. “I’m working for Doctor Reynolds. She sent me in to get two litter bearers.” Kat pointed back toward the old woman kneeling over a different patient.
The officer seemed unimpressed. He held Kat’s visa between a thumb and index finger and squeezed while looking at the metallic strip. His eyes flittered from the stick to Kat’s face before returning it to her. He raised a handheld device. “Give me your wrist.”
“She’s CINless, dammit!” Reynolds screamed from over her patient. She pointed savagely at the woman with the red sticker. “That woman is going to die while you play cops and robbers!”
“Present your wrist for your corporate identification number,” the guard insisted while flaunting the device.
Kat’s stomach flipped at the implications. If I was a cop, I’ll be chipped, she thought with dread. Her heart skipped a beat. But I’ll learn my identity! She offered her wrist to the officer while surreptitiously scanning for a scar. She didn’t see one.
The man waved the device over her and it failed to respond. “CINless. Go in,” he said gruffly.
The depth of disappointment washing over Kat surprised her. She moved inside the hectic reception room thinking glumly, Not a cop. Maybe I really am just a nobody. She spied the man who had brought her the first aid kit typing furiously behind a long counter. Kat brought a hand up, placed fingers into her mouth and let loose a piercing, shrill whistle. “You,” she said as she pointed. “Two stretcher bearers outside for an Immediate.”
The man reacted with a nod and grabbed a second attendant from behind the counter as Kat returned to the courtyard.
The afternoon passed in a bloody blur as Kat rapidly settled into her role as Reynolds’ assistant. The first wave of casualties had obviously contained the victims of the initial explosion. Injuries ranged from “Minor” concussions to gruesome “Morgue” fatalities. Next came the burn victims, terrible, excruciating traumas that caused their recipients to scream in agony. Kat clung to her mentor’s advice and disconnected herself from the situation. Dispassionate, clinical eyes analyzed burns that had seared flesh, blackened bone and stank with the putrid smell of scorched meat.
Kat lost count of the number of “Immediates” and “Delayeds” but she remembered each “Morgue” with crystal clarity despite her strongest desires. The flow of patients gradually dwindled from a flood to a stream. Eventually, the stream became a trickle.