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I HEARD HER GO OUT early, slamming doors the whole way. It was a relief when I finally heard the docking ring disengage. I felt, rather than heard, the servos trying to close that sticky sphincter. Once it had all gone quiet, I heaved myself out of the bed and rushed to the shower. I felt unclean. Unclean!
I didn’t make the bed. I threw my sheets straight down the disposal chute.
Unclean! Unclean!
Then I went straight out to the waiting room and began vigorously scraping up perhaps thirty years worth of desiccated Kirikibatic drool.
Unclean! Unclean!
It took me about an hour of furious work to get it all up, and the activity helped to blank out my mind. Suddenly the computer was bleating for me, an incoming call! I sprinted to the office and waved it up. It was Dr Panther, and she was steamed!
“Bagel, what the hell’s going on out there? You’re way over your treatment ratio. You have to be more assertive, Bagel, it's one treatment a month! And what’s this item; ‘emergency supplies?‘ I want some answers, Bagel!”
It was all I could do to prevent myself saying ‘oh shit’ out loud. Instead I managed to blather, “Ah yes, of course you do, you see...”
She cut me off. “Not now, Bagel. Just put it in your report when you get back.”
“Back?”
“Yes, yes. Didn’t I tell you? We’re closing the clinic, pulling everything out. Those losers will just have to sink or swim. Sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel that contract, but at least you’ll be back in your old job. No doubt you’ll be relieved?”
A clubbed fish would have answered more honestly that I did. “Uh, yeah.”
“And for your own sake keep it under your hat, Bagel! I don’t want you getting killed by those yobbos. They're gonna be pissed about this. Just say nothing, finish you clients for the day, then walk out of there. I’ve got you booked on the evening flight.”
I nodded, still stunned.
“So, how about you pop in to see me at, say, 11:30 in the morning? Give you time to prepare that report...” At this point her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “...and don’t bother to mention those ‘emergency supplies’, hmm? Stick with me, Bagel, and I’ll see you through.” Her tone shifted subtly, became a little more menacing, “Otherwise that sort of thing has a nasty habit of getting out and ruining a young man’s career. We don't want that do we, Graduate Doctor Bagel?”
She smiled warmly and reached for the kill switch, “See you tomorrow!”
The call blanked out. I slowly straightened up from where I had been leaning halfway over the office chair, my snot-smothered scraper still in my hand.
That was it then. It was over. I was out of there. Numbly I returned to the waiting room, gave it a quick hosing, went and showered again. Somehow it was a relief. Somehow it seemed like some sort of timely miracle. I was saved from this ghastly town. Saved from ever having to talk to that crazy woman again.
Maybe it had all just been a test of my philosophy. I mean, who really cared for those losers? They were devious, sneaky, secretive, conniving, boorish, stupid drunken yobbos the lot of them! Who needed friends like that?
How could she do that to me!?
I flung myself into the shower, wrenching the setting to cold!
When I got out, my first client light of the day was blinking. I scrubbed up, glad to finally have something meaningful to do. Got busy. Immersed myself in my work. By three p.m. I’d had enough. The waiting room was full of Kirrikibats playing the piano, none needing a flake. I showered again, then methodically loaded every single thing back into the container, all that wonderful medical equipment, the resuscitator and all. Everything except the emergency kit that was still contact-welded to the wall. It just wouldn’t come off no matter how hard I pulled. Well shit: who cared?!
The final thing I loaded was about a hundred kilos of nuggets that my clients had already brought me. Because it wasn’t mine. It had been unethical to accept it. I was cleaning up my act and there was no better time to start than right then and there!
Finally I shut and sealed the hatch, and poked the controls until it read: RETURN TO SENDER, NOTIFY LOCAL CONTRACTORS. The little status screen started winking green, which probably meant the signal had already gone out.
“Well, that’s about it then.”
I showered for the last time, packed my meager belongings, ordered a taxi, hurried past Tyge’s room, crossed the crowded waiting room where no one took any great interest in me, and stood outside to wait. The Edgetown clinic had done its last “skinning.“
Sad? Me? Nah. I was so locked down I wouldn’t have twitched at a million volts.
The taxi arrived, a nice new one. I ran to it and flung myself in with great relief. “Airport, please, fast as you can.”
But it piddled away at the same speed the wretched things always go. Then Pow!
“Harriet?”
“Hello Filmore. You’re very stressed this afternoon.”
She had a different voice! She was in a business suit! She was sitting in a perfect sleek office with sleek cream walls and perfect pot plants! She even had a brass name-plate on her natural wood desk! What had happened? “Doctor Bagel, now you’ve graduated you will need solid advice on correctly investing in your future, so we at ICONN have developed an integrated business plan to maximise your returns in all medium and long range projections.” Her tone changed, went softer and more caring, “But I think, right now, your priority is to relax. You’ve had a stressful few weeks and you do need to recover before making important life decisions. So, waterfall, or sunset?”
I was overwhelmed. Totally overwhelmed. “Ah ... er ... sunset.”
The wall behind her dissolved into a magnificent sunset. Harriet herself took a little longer, melting away slowly until only the emotional effect of her smile lingered in the sky. Orchestral music swelled up throughout my being. Something more subtle got through to my implant and triggered a rush of dopamines into my bloodstream. It was wonderful!
Then – slam! The taxi stopped violently. I was flung forward, smacking painfully into the transponder bubble in the ceiling before thumping into the smooth concave surface of the windscreen. The sunset in my head turned to chaos and fizzled away to nothing. I bounced back into my seat and looked out to see what had happened. There was a spider-truck right on the taxiway. It was Tipper’s six-legger but Notch was at the controls.
I rubbed at my bruised forehead as I watched Notch drop out of his cab onto the taxiway. I got out too, wondering why he had done such a stupid dangerous thing. Poised on the edge of a five metre drop to the snarled surface of the Crush below, I squeezed out the side of the taxi to confront him. (We both wore breather-rings, of course, but they had become so commonplace I never thought about them any more.) He spoke first.
“Where the hell are you going, Doc?”
He sounding annoyed with me; challenging.
I tried to sound casual, confident, mature. Actually if the truth be known, I was trying not to cry. “I, um, I got my old job back, so I’m going back to Crush Central.”
Notch looked totally floored. He didn’t say a thing.
“Yep,” I added, “That’s the life of an intern. Here today, gone tomorrow.” Except of course there was going to be no ‘gone’ unless he moved his spider off the taxiway, and this one fact was worrying me immensely. Why the hell was he here?
More silence. I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
“I guess I’d better tell you;” I added, “Y’know those Authority bastards? Man they really know how to jerk you guys around. Guess what? They’re pulling out the maintenance crews; cost-cutting can you believe? So, ah, looks like I’m out of here; back on the career path. But ah...” (time for some positive, I decided) “...you guys have got each other; you'll survive.”
If my news had been a shock to him then he didn’t show it. Instead he asked, every so slightly edgily, “And you’re just walking out?”
Man, was I getting uncomfortable, “Yes, well it might look like that, dude, but hey; you’ve gotta be in control of your destiny. I’ve got my career to consider.”
“And what would that be?”
There was that maddening question again. I decided not to mention eyebrows this time. “Well, you know – helping people, saving lives; serving the greater good of the community. That sort of thing.”
“Then you’ve got an interesting decision to make, Doc, because Tyge's gone down the skin pore. Probably smashed up bad. She needs you, Doc; like: immediately.”
Wham. Something huge seemed to slam into my guts. My brain, already seriously overwhelmed, spun around inside my skull like so much candyfloss. My heart thudded and my stomach caved in for about the third time in as many seconds.
Tyge: down hole. Me: medical guy. Call of duty and all that. But Career! Strider on taxiway equals all fucked up getting to plane! But talking about Tyge here, who I'd just had sex with! CONFLICTED!!!
Something began sinking inside me, like a big ship; a ludicrously over-built luxury liner with a huge gash in the bow, taking water, sinking, sinking. Dozens of little miniature Filmores were leaping off the stern like anime lemmings. There goes my career – splash.
There goes my Whole Life – splash. ...
I think I might have cried, a couple of tears wrenched from my broken heart as I hung my head and gazed blankly through the mesh roadway at the frozen ocean of petrified Crush-flesh below us. Why Tyge of all people? Why her? Of all the immoral, maddening, untidy, sneaky, cheeky, fun-loving spunky friends to go and fall into a hole ...
“What are we waiting for!” I yelled, suddenly running for his truck.