Seeing Red

[Joe Manning 0]

A plaque with a red cross -- universal symbol of medical aid -- hung above the glass sliding door in one of the Gular visitors’ asteroid’s busy promenades. The entrance was wedged, appropriately enough, between a fast food restaurant and a hardware store that appeared to specialize in laser drills. Space was at a premium in this area -- business entrances were crowded together with only one or two yards to separate them, the long corridors beyond crisscrossing their way to structures spaced along the asteroid’s surface. With the business fronts crunched together, so too were the people crunched together, especially so soon after the end of the day’s work shift. Joe felt not unlike a herd animal in the streets of the visitor’s asteroid; no doubt this was precisely how the Consortium viewed their customers.

 

Joe very briefly considered the merits of flipping targ burgers or showing laser drill users how not to cut their fingers off before passing beneath the red cross. The corridor behind the sliding door was short and straight; at least the Consortium paid that much consideration to people who were either limping or being carried. The waiting area was a half circle, with eight presently empty chairs against the curved wall to either side of the entrance corridor and a round desk between two doorways leading to the unseen back areas. Behind the desk was something that looked humanlike in shape and machinelike in every other way.

 

The only features on the robot’s head were two round glass discs that were glowing a soft white. The head swiveled to point these in Joe’s direction and a raspy mechanical voice emerged from a hidden speaker. “Welcome to Gular Consortium Promenade Two Medical Clinic. Please take a seat and fill out this form.” A sheet of paper popped out of a slot on top of the desk. “If this is an emergency which threatens well-being, please proceed to the Consortium Medical Facility in Promenade Four, located on the other side of the visitor’s asteroid. This unit may summon a tram at your request.”

 

Joe grinned and leaned over to look behind the desk. He saw that the robot’s plain cylindrical body was connected to a stand that would otherwise serve as a receptionist’s chair. Just above the stand, etched into the body, was the logo of a splayed wasp -- MechiTech, Bull’s Head’s chief manufacturers of service and labor robots. “Well, it looks like the hours at this place are brutal,” Joe remarked as he looked up at the robot’s ‘eyes.’ “Do they pay you well?”

 

“This unit is programmed to serve and does not require compensation.”

 

“Someone giving you trouble, Stan?” Joe looked up at the voice that emerged from the back doorway on the left. Joe straightened up as he saw the very attractive woman standing against the doorframe. She appeared to be in her late fifties, with fading red hair tied into a loose bun. A warm smile was twisting the laugh lines along her face and her cool blue eyes were regarding Joe. The white coat which marked her as a doctor did little to conceal the shapely form beneath.

 

“This unit has no objections to any unfavorable treatment from patients, Doctor Carver, barring physical damage.”

 

“Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on doing that,” Joe said, returning the woman’s smile. “Besides, way you got him shackled behind his desk here, it looks like the harm’s already bein’ done.”

 

“Robot rights advocate, are you?” Dr. Carver walked over to the desk in front of Joe and rested her arm on top of it. “Stan here was ‘provided’ by the Consortium. I prefer a human touch myself, but the Consortium overlords wants to make sure all the patients’ records are kept.”

 

Joe tugged at the slip of paper that was still flopped over the desk top and looked it over. “They keep the records, or you do?”

 

“I don’t need the records,” Carver replied. “I’ve got a good memory, and I make it a point not to forget a patient. The Consortium may look at everyone as a lamb to be catalogued, but I don’t need or want to bureaucracy. In fact, don’t even worry about the form. Stan won’t tell -- I’ve had a friend who’s good with machines make sure of that.”

 

Joe flashed his teeth in a grin, surprised at this woman’s candor. “You have interesting friends, sounds like. Hope you all don’t get yourselves into trouble.”

 

“On this asteroid, the Consortium doesn’t really care,” Carver shrugged. “In fact, they might already know that I don’t keep all the records. I’m providing a service to their customers and I’m not hurting them or their precious ‘profit margin,’ so they leave me be. So, what’s ailing you, stranger?”

 

“Well, a drinking problem for one thing,” Joe began crunching the form into a ball. “I don’t expect you can do much for my poor ol’ liver and kidneys. The real problem is when my liquor cabinet runs dry.”

 

“Probably the best thing for you,” Carver remarked with a small wink, not the reaction Joe would have expected from a doctor.

 

“Truth be told,” Joe said, “I’m looking for a job here in the Gular District. I happen to have a medical degree stashed away … somewhere. I know it ain‘t in the liquor cabinet. You hirin‘ by chance?”

 

“Hm,” Carver’s eyes narrowed slightly and looked Joe up and down. “Wasn’t making a point of it. But I won’t turn away an extra pair of hands if it’s qualified. Besides, you seem pleasant enough to be around … though I’m not sure whether I should keep the clinic’s liquor cabinet locked or wide open for you. Why don’t you come on back and we can talk about your credentials … “

 

Carver kept that warm smile directed at Joe a moment longer as she slowly turned away to lead him out of the waiting area. Joe followed, thinking that this day might turn out to be not all that bad.