Cyborg: Redux, Page 4
Imogene Nix
“Lissa here insisted I needed a doctor.”
He glanced up at the woman who was doing an impression of a statue attempting to blend into the wall.
“He’s been coughing for ages and needs medication of some sort.” She spoke carefully, as if she’d memorized what needed to be said.
He checked the notes again. On at least three separate occasions the patient had arrived at the clinic with pneumonia, one of which had resulted in hospitalization. He’d had a heavy cough for as long as he’d been attending the clinic. But blood in his sputum was concerning.
“How long has this blood been occurring?”
Clarrie frowned and shrugged, and the woman who’d given the name Alyssa, according to the receptionist with the fake-name look, shook her head. “At least three weeks, maybe longer.”
“Any other symptoms?”
She screwed up her face. “He’s short of breath. Can’t walk far without wheezing and isn’t sleeping well.”
Michael reached into the drawer and removed a device. He grabbed a tube. “Clarrie, this is called a spirometer. I want to test your lung capacity, okay?”
The old man eyed him with concern. “Why?”
“Because I want to see how much oxygen you’re getting and how efficiently you can inhale and exhale. It will help me to work out what’s wrong with you.” He already had a fair idea but needed to be sure.
He put the unit together, inserted the tube, and ran through a list of questions about smoking, age, and whether he suffered from asthma. To each Clarrie either answered negatively or evaded the question altogether.
“Okay, I’m going to get you to put this peg on your nose, inhale as deeply as you can, then breathe into the tube. We should only need to do this a couple of times.”
Clarrie did, and Michael encouraged the man to keep exhaling until he coughed. It was severe, and while he’d gathered a lot of information, it reinforced his concern for the well-being of the man.
“I’m worried, Clarrie. What I’d like to do is run a couple more tests just to make sure we’re treating this properly.”
Clarrie harrumphed, as if he were about to remonstrate, but Lissa growled. “Let him do his job, Clarrie.”
Michael cocked an eye at her. “When I’m done here, if you need assistance, I’m sure we can—”
“No. I don’t do doctors and medical stuff. Help him.”
Her firm and flat tone made the intention of her words clear. He wouldn’t get anywhere with her right now. Funny, she sounded well-educated, and he wouldn’t have expected such vehement resistance. She wasn’t like the usual by-the-hour client who sought their assistance.
Michael shrugged. She would need to ask for assistance before he offered again. “Right. Clarrie, you need a CT scan. We have a volunteer who’s due in tomorrow. I can arrange for her to see you—”
“Don’t wanna—”
Lissa reached over and touched the old man’s shoulder and he hunched down. “Please, Clarrie. For me. Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of what’s causing this and get it fixed.”
Given the way these two interacted Michael could almost swear this was a father-daughter situation, yet Clarrie had to be in his eighth decade while the woman before him might be twenty or a little older. Certainly, no more than thirty, even with the malnourishment and wild look about her.
“Lissa—”
“Come on, Clarrie. I’ve nothing better to do tomorrow. You’ve got no commitments either. I checked with your social secretary.” Michael smothered a laugh at her words. “And I can get you here without you needing to walk.”
Clarrie sighed and shrugged. “If you say.”
She gave a tiny smile and nod. That single action amazed Michael at the change it wrought in her looks.
“For now, Clarrie, I’m going to give you some antibiotics. Something to help clear up the cough, along with a light analgesic. This isn’t for sharing.”
Clarrie gave a tight laugh. “No one to give it to, and Lissa don’t take nothin’ like that.”
Michael stood, dragged a key from his pocket, and opened the door to the small pharmacy cabinet. They didn’t keep a lot of stock on hand, because security in these parts was too much to ask for. What they had was donated by the pharmaceutical companies for testing, or because its due date was looming and they couldn’t sell them.
He scanned the offerings and picked one out. “You take this three times a day with food.” Aware of how sore the older man’s chest must be, he pulled out some light analgesics, giving instructions for their use, then closed and locked the doors. “You need to stay as warm and dry as possible.”
“I’ll make sure that happens, doctor.” Lissa pushed away from the wall as he thrust the packs of tablets into the old man’s hand.
“I’m sure you will. If you’ll wait in the front area, I’ll arrange his appointment for tomorrow morning.”
They left him then and he frowned. Something in the woman’s gait—stiff, as if trying to get used to prosthetics—set off alarms in his mind.
He picked up the phone and tapped out reception’s number. “Can you arrange for Clarrie to meet with Tam tomorrow morning? He needs a CT scan. Run him through the procedures too. And I’ll want a follow-up appointment as soon as possible.”
“Sure will, doc.” The line went dead.
Michael sat there, rapping his fingers on the desk long after he was sure they’d left.
* * * *
Clarissa settled Clarrie on his pallet, checked to make sure he was warm, and went to board up the entry to the warehouse. It wasn’t much, but at least they could be secure here. Since finding this spot, she’d learned that what one had, others wanted. That’s how she’d met Clarrie, when he’d hobbled in just days after she’d found the location.
The tug of exhaustion meant she’d need to plug in, but her mind spun in circles, thinking over what she’d done. The chances she was taking in caring for the old man.
“Clarrie isn’t your greatest concern.” Since Jeremy’s work, she’d taken to talking to herself; it had become an integral part of reminding herself of her humanity.
Clarrie knew her secret. He’d found her, port open as she struggled to fashion the necessary cord so she could refresh her batteries. She’d been defeated and ready to give in when he’d staggered over the threshold, late one evening, just as the weather started turning cold.
A sound echoed, a shuffle, and she looked up in time to see an old man, his eyes widening as he scanned the scene before him. Her ragged clothes, the small cover of synthaderm wide open while an electrical cable made connection with her leg.
Her eyes glowed, and she dimmed them with a thought.
He swallowed, and the sickly stench of vomit filled the air.
“Who are you?” Clarissa made to wrench the power connector from her leg.
“You’re one of those bio-cyborgy things, ain’t you?”
“Maybe.” She bit her lip.
Her hand grasped the gnarled end and the end she’d finally found that matched the portal opening in her leg. Why Jeremy had chosen there for her plug-in she’d never know. But it wasn’t as if she intended to ask him.
“You know what you’re doing?” the old man asked, and she shrugged.
He tugged the cord and ending, squinted, and reached beyond her for the tools she’d found. In a few short, quiet minutes, he’d fashioned what she needed and shoved it at her.
“Uh, geez, that buzzes a little.” She shunted the port into the opening, watching him closely.
If he ran, she’d have to unplug and either chase him or find somewhere else to stay. The idea of finding another place with similar facilities—somewhere to fuel up her battery—didn’t appeal, especially as she’d allowed it to run low.
“I heard about yous. They were showing them on the television when I went past the store. Reckon they’re dangerous. You don’t look too dangerous right now.” The old man leaned on the doorframe and gave a rattling cough.
Perhaps it was a shadow of her caring instinct. After all, she’d been a nanny before her life went so radically wrong.
“If you could spare a corner, I wouldn’t cause you no harm.” He coughed again and Clarissa made a split-second decision.
“Stay here. There’s plenty of room. Just don’t bring anyone else and you’ll be fine, okay?”
He nodded, but remained still, watching. “You juicing up?”
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and banishing the scroll of the info screen. “Yeah, it’s working. Thanks. Look, I’m not up for talking. Find yourself a corner, make up a bed, and settle down for the night.”
She waited until the shuffle faded away, waited for him to settle while she forced the beat of her heart to slow to its usual rhythm.
That had been months ago. Since then she’d bonded with the old man. She cared about him and had an inkling he felt the same.
Clarissa checked to ensure the door and windows were closed, and then found her plug-in port where she’d stashed them. Most of the itinerants around here knew this as her place, but someone new, on the hunt for something to sell, might stumble across her flop. She couldn’t afford to replace the cords, so she kept them stashed in a hidey-hole in the center of the building.
She also realized that once the cold weather passed, she’d need to move on. Find another refuge. Maybe she could raise some cash, purchase an ID so she could find employment. Clarrie might even…
“No. He can’t come with me.” In all likelihood, he’d be dead by the end of winter. It wouldn’t be a stretch, given how ill he seemed. Pain speared her even as she considered the possibility, but reality couldn’t be ignored. She was running for her life, and being burdened by an ill man would only make things harder. Of course, if he lived and got better… She blanked that out. “You can think on that later.”
Instead, she thought back to the man at the clinic. The way he’d moved had been odd. Jerky. And his face was lined as if by recent pain. She knew that well. It was her reality.
Clarissa rubbed at one of the connective scars that ringed her limbs. They’d replaced sections of bone with titanium, and connected the tissues with enhanced filaments. She knew pain really well.
“Come on. You need to settle in, ’cause Clarrie needs to be back at the clinic in the morning.” So, she retreated to the small bed she’d made from flattened cardboard boxes, and the blankets she’d been given by the charity people. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the cave she’d started out in.
Her stomach cramped. She’d need food in the morning, and she remembered the stash she’d picked up before seeing the blood. Better to leave it until morning. Clarrie would be hungry by then, and she could hold on. She’d learned how to.
Instead, in her mind, she focused on green fields, waving sunflowers, and let the warmth of her imagination grow deep inside.
Chapter 6
Michael waited, unsure if Clarrie and the girl, Lissa, would arrive. Something about her tugged at him, as though they were joined by an indefinable connection. How that could be eluded him. After all, she was homeless. He wasn’t. He was now a bio-cybernetically enhanced human. She wasn’t. She was likely a prostitute or drug user. He wasn’t.
Most people might distrust him if they knew what he was, but it seemed she trusted no one.
He laughed at the stupidity of his thoughts. She’d already brushed off his concern, and he wasn’t one to take further chances. Instead, he tapped at the computer, checking the report he’d put together, brief though it was. The indications from the scan told the story of Clarrie’s suffering.
He could see the long-term scarring on the old man’s lungs. Michael breathed out heavily. It looked like bronchiectasis to him. Not the most severe form, and while Clarrie didn’t have a case of pneumonia, unless he started to care for himself it could end up with a visit to the emergency ward.
Michael pressed the buzzer on his desk, and that large nurse who’d been on duty the night before stuck her head around the corner.
“You rang?”
He grinned at her dry words. “Mary, can you contact the drug store? I need to place an order for some stronger antibiotics. Plus, I want to set up a couple more repeat appointments with Clarrie.”
“Sure, but whether he comes back or not…” She shrugged. “He’s a bit of a pain to get back here once he’s got an initial course. We’ve had a lot of problems with that in the past.”
“Do what you can then. Oh, and the girl with him, Lissa?”
“Never seen her before, but judging by the looks of her, I’d say she’s been living rough for a while.” Mary entered the room and dropped into the visitor’s seat where Clarrie had sat the night before. “I’ve never seen her around before. You get to know the locals after a while. She’s new. But there’s something about her, doc. Reminds me of a wounded animal.”
He nodded. “I know. When Clarrie comes in, can you try and engage her in conversation? Find out—”
She shook her head. “You know as well as I do, unless she wants help, you’re not going to get anywhere. I see this every time, doc. It’s rare they accept help on the first or even second go round. But I like you. You’ve turned up every day for a week, taken the worst shifts, and are doing it for free. In my books, that makes you all right. So, I’ll try.” She lifted her ample bulk from the seat. “Now, Mrs. Murphy is out there waiting to see you. She’s one of the ongoing patients, presenting with her usual range of symptoms.”
Mary thrust the folder into his hands, and he opened it, scanned the information. “Okay, send her in.”
As Mary left, he cast a final glance at Clarrie’s file. He’d get back to that soon enough.
* * * *
Clarrie woke and Clarissa was ready, milk in hand and one of the heat-up foods in a battered pan she’d scared up. “Come on, Clarrie, you need to eat.”
He grumbled but complied. She watched him like a hawk until the food was gone.
“You eaten yet?”
“Yeah.” She’d managed a couple of slices of bread and some milk. It would keep her going, but right now, Clarrie was the one who needed good nourishment. Warm clothes. She sighed. Beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers.
Not that she felt great. There was a greasy overlay of heat in her body, and her stomach ached viciously.
The cold and the poor food, she theorized. Clarrie was the one who was sickest though, so she ignored what ailed her and continued to care for the older man the only way she knew how.
She twisted the caps off the bottles, dropped one of each of the pills into her cupped palm, and handed them to him. Then she waited to make sure he took them.
“We’re going to have to move, Clarrie. You have to get to the clinic, and I don’t want you running late.”
He pushed up, groaning and grunting. “You’re just like my ex-wife. She used to poke and prod too. Cut from the same damned cloth.”
Clarissa smiled. It was the first time he’d spoken about family, so clearly, he was either getting used to her or she was getting on his nerves. Whichever it was, the outcome remained the same. Positive.
“Come on. Let’s get you moving. I managed to find some cleaner clothes and put them in the old bathroom. You go along and get cleaned up while I clear away.”
As Clarrie hobbled off, she set about washing the pot in the small dish of water in what had been the staff lunch room, then hurried back to her corner, tugging on the old jumper she’d worn yesterday. Clarrie was used to the scars now, but she had no intention of baring them for the world to see. That would just be inviting more problems.
She ran her fingers through her ragged hair and wished silently that she could once again have her long, golden hair back. Now it just looked greasy and limp. Uneven from where she’d sheared o
ff the hanks with a sharp knife.
A warm bath wouldn’t go astray either. Instead, she had to make do with the chipped sink of the bathroom. Better than most of the homeless though, she conceded.
Clarrie opened the door, and she marched up to him, examining his face, and smiled. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
At the doorway, she tugged off the board that she used as a lock and shoved it to the side. She cracked the door open and peered out. A car, black and gleaming, drove slowly past the building, and she shrank back. She’d know that vehicle anywhere, the driver sealed away from his passenger with a plasglass screen.
“OhmyGod.” She couldn’t stop the words from escaping. Jeremy. She slid the door shut.
“What’s up?” Clarrie came up behind her and tried to open the door, but she kept it firmly closed.
“Not yet.” Bile rose, and the cold seeped inside her skin, freezing her belly.
“Lissa?” Clarrie slid his hand onto her shoulder.
“It’s him. Jeremy. They’ve just driven by.”
Had he found her? If so, how? She’d been careful, kept an eye out. Thoughts and ideas rolled in her mind. She’d have to move on, find another location. Somewhere away from the city.
“Let me check.” Clarrie’s voice sounded like it rang from a distance, and she started, realizing she’d been lost in her fear.
“I’m going to have to leave, Clarrie.” Her voice wobbled, and for the first time since finding this location, she felt abject fear.
“Let’s wait and see what he—”
“But if he’s found me—” The thin edge of panic colored her tones.
“And we don’t know if he has. Calm down, girl. He’s probably looking for you but doesn’t have a clue how close he’s come.” Steel ran through his words, and she stopped speaking, swallowed, and nodded. Of course, Clarrie was probably right. It didn’t make her feel any better though. Jeremy had been so close, and if she hadn’t been as cautious…
