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?"
"No. Completely free." He starts to open the door when I stop him. "Wipe your shoes, squirt."
"Name's Teepee, not squirt. He closes one eye, points one finger at me and says, cocky as hell, "Got it?" and grins. Surprisingly, he's only missing one tooth. Nickel Banzai, Penny's bruiser of a son, is playing host tonight.
"Hey, Danny! Heard about your Caddy. Sorry, man – she was one smooth ride. Your usual booth?"
"Yeah, thanks Nicky. Didja fix the Micro-CD player?" Somewhere Penny read about the original diners, back in the 20th Century, and got one of her customers to make her a player for every booth. Not much survived the Ka-Boom, but someone had the foresight to stuff a bunker full of 20th and 21st century popular stuff, Gods bless 'em.
Three synth burgers & fries later, Teepee is looking around the place. He looks at me, looks at Wanda, looks down and mumbles, "Sorry about your car, mister. That woman paid me real good to put a box in your car. She didn' say nuthin' 'bout it bein' a bomb. I'm real sorry. But now I can stay at the Beddy-Bye flophouse for a bit."
A woman? I've married one, angered a few and gotten on the wrong side of a couple – but not enough for them to want me dead. I've never sired any kids, and I've been happy getting off with other guys. No commitment, and no accidental by-products if you get my drift. It must be case-related and not personal. Which means I need to watch my back. Shit! This case keeps getting better and better.
Let me make this clear: I don't as a rule like kids. They're a pain in the ass to care for, they usually disrespect you every chance they get, and they stick around as long as they can, just to freeload. But the woman I call 'Mom" took me in for 20 years and cared for me as if I was her own. Whenever she could, she helped people. And that vision from Coyote – well, it's pretty clear that it's my turn. Lousy timing, though. Rotten timing. I can hear his howls of laughter.
"Downstairs at Danny's All-Star Joint,
They got a jukebox that goes "Doyt, doyt!"
It's 'my song' as Helena used to call it, an upbeat tune from the micro-player by some long dead singer named Suzanne Vega. Teepee taps his fingers to the beat. Wanda has slipped into silent mode, and says with alarm, "Look at his wrist, Tonto! That's not normal. I'm running a scan now." She hops closer to the kid.
His bandanna has shaken loose. There's blood oozing from a really nasty-ass gash. But it's a layer of loose skin over metal. What the hell?
"He's a cyborg, boss. And a new one, by the looks of it. I don't needs to tell ya that cyborg research n' production were outlawed 200 years ago." Wanda cocks her head and stares at him. "Still, he could prove useful."
"No flophouse for you, kid. Save your money. I've got a room I'm not using, and you need somewhere to call home. I can't promise you luxury, but there will always be food and a warm, dry bed."
You could tell he thought I'd gone mad. When he saw I was serious, he hugged the bear until I thought the thing's head would fall off. "Can One-Eyed Willy come too?"
"Of course, he can! I know someone who can clean him up."
'Willy' ain't a he or a she, and they don't like baths." This was said in all seriousness, without a trace of humor or mockery. He upended the stuffed, dog-sized toy and pointed at its groin and butt. "No bits, no slits and no tits. I know that's bad language, but Willy can't be messed with."
Rage filled me, that in the 35th century, a kid would know such things. "That looks as if it hurts," I said, pointing at his wrist and its now visible bio-fluid puddle. "Let's stop in the MediMart and..."
Teepee stood up and looked ready to bolt. "I can't go in. They won't accept me, cause I don't have a chip anymore. I...I tore it out after your car blew up. They'd arrest me, send me away and disassemble me. They'd send me to The Graveyard!"
"That place is a myth," I declared, "made up to scare kids into being good. There's no such place in the Virtuaverse. Believe me, Teepee, I'd know."
"Are you a cybe? No, you ain't. You don't know what it's like – you can't know. The Professor told me that's where all the cybes were sent, and their bodies were destroyed so they could never come back." The kid's tearing up, and this is going downhill fast. I make a mental note to ask Les about The Graveyard.
"How far can your jetboard go?" I ask.
"It's gone as far as New Albany on one charge!" he says proudly.
"Wanda, you find Lester and take Teepee with you. If anyone can fix him up, Les can."
"Oh, no you don't! You're not gonna dump this problem on me! This is your mess, Tonto and..."
"KimoWandaSabe, this is your mess more than mine! Wasn't it you who told me that he'd been watching me?" She knew I had her dead to rights.
"Okay, you got me. Follow me, Teepee. Oh, wait a minute." Wanda landed on his shoulder for three seconds, enough to plant a tracking device in his jacket that looked like a stain.
"I ain't nobody's mess! Then, afterwards you'll take me to..." and the kid pauses. "Then you'll take me...home?"
"You bet she will," I say.
Nickel scans my wrist for payment. "Next time, friend, I hope you come just for us, and not because we're across from the MediMart!" We both laugh. He hands a bag to Teepee, who finds it full of day-old pastries. "Thanks, Mister Nicky!" he says, taking a bite out of one. As the jetboard takes off, we hear him shout, "Next time, maybe they could be fresh?"
Nicky faces me, his expression sour, and storms into the diner.
Effin' kids.
One plus one plus one can be loads of fun! This ONC 2023 entry is three times delightful
Three's Not a Crowd by lemonhoax (ze/they)
When florist Anya's plans of renting a building for her business are thwarted by successful confectioner, Kaynath, she recruits the help of her best friend, Mirza, to help her. She never expects to have a sweet tooth not just for one person, but maybe two people after all, if she can handle their secrets.