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Chapter 4 - Teepee

I'm not fond of hospitals. I've visited too many of them around the world. Yes, they're probably the most sanitary places in the world. Yes, you'll never have to wait for a doctor, a diagnosis, or a treatment. Yes, treatment is free. But you will never, ever see another human being. Everything is run by and done by bots. Another legacy of the Ka-Boom.

We lost most of our human doctors within a few years of it. Thanks to their humanitarian efforts to save as many people as they could, they died from exposure to too much radiation. Foreseeing this problem, the greatest doctors joined with the greatest AI scientists to create Hippocrates, the single greatest medical mind in history.

Then, to make certain Hippocrates didn't get too cocky, or develop an awful bedside manner or a disregard for humane decisions (or both) the International Council of Nurses did the same, creating Nurse Chapel. Together, they take care of the world.

The thousands of bits of Cadillac auto glass were removed from my back, metal shards plucked from my neck, carotid artery minor damage repaired, perma-skin applied, and healing sped up until, two hours later, I was good to go. I left the block-long facility and walked across the street to Penny Banzai's Lectroid Diner, a hole-in-the wall with probably the best synthetic food in Chi-town. It's where we meet whenever I'm down for the count with the medbots. Helena and I had many great meals here.

Hopefully for you, scientists have managed to breed a successful bison-cattle-mammoth tribrid that's sustainable and doesn't mess up the planet. They breed camel-zebra hybrids for Mars, but they keep failing with radiation-resistant livestock for Terra Veritas. Maybe they've run out of semen samples. Shit, I'm meandering. Must be some painkillers still at work.

Wanda flies down from the diner's roof. "S'about time you got here, Tonto. You good, ready to eat and go?"

"Yeah. Is it busy tonight?" Busy for Banzai's is about a half-full dining room. They should be packed all the time, but the Matriarch doesn't want to advertise. She likes to know her customers. She has an enhanced memory chip, a legendary pre-MetaAppleSoft model. Runs on your brain's electrical output. Banzai depends on its regulars, and word-of-mouth.

Wanda on my shoulder squawks, "It's quiet for a Friday. Say, Boss, does that street rat across the street look familiar to you? I hope so, cause he's been watchin' you since you walked outta the MediMart."

I use my eye-spy enhancement to zoom in. It's the kid with the bear. Knit cap with moth holes, straight black hair. Olive-brown skin, brown eyes with eyelashes many ladies I know would kill him for. He's wearing an old, beat-up football jacket, four sizes too big. His wrist is wrapped with a bandanna. Maybe 8, 9 years old. Native, like me.

My vision blurs and swims. Which means a spirit vision is taking over me. I'm watching a mama coyote feeding her own. A lone white coyote pup walks over and tries to suckle. Mama coyote kicks him away once, twice, three times until he slinks away, changing into a human as he does so. Mama stares at me, disappears. End of vision.

I've said that I believe in signs. It doesn't mean that I heed them. More often than not, just to give the Spirits a finger, I do the opposite. I pay for it, sure. But it's my life. Coyote is someone you don't want to piss off. Thing about Coyote is, he could just be joking. He's not called The Trickster for nothing.

"Wanda, fly over there and invite the kid to join us for a bite, okay?"

She cocks her crow's head. "Let me look at your ear. I'm thinkin' I'll see straight through to the other side, cause that is one dumb idea. They remove your brain at the MediMart?"

"Just do it, smart-ass."

She returns, with the kid following, bear in hand. "Free meal?" he asks, suspicious as any street rat would be at the offer of something with no apparent strings attached. He sniffles and wipes his nose on his jacket sleeve. "No job in exchange? No screwing or weird sex stuff?"