“I already did a Violet Shield once-over on the Control Center.” Gus brushed his hand through his dishwater brown hair. Specks of dandruff leapt from his scalp, adding to the light dusting on his shoulders. “Oh, and there was a transfer last night.” He motioned to the final patient care chart in the line of five that glowed paper-white on the holoscreen. “Don’t know what her deal is, so you might want to run the shield again soon, just to be on the safe side.”
Elodie’s gaze scanned the row of patient care chart thumbnails. “A new patient? I thought we were full.”
“We were.” The bruise-purple rings around Gus’s eyes seemed to swallow them as he squinted. Too many hours spent in VR. “Then they sent one out to the MediCenter in Zone Two, the lesser MediCenter, and brought this one from . . .” He hiked his shoulders. “I don’t know. Somewhere else.”
Elodie’s hands tightened into fists. “This one, that one. You’re a step away from referring to them as things instead of people.”
He further rounded his slumped shoulders with a shrug. “They’re in medically induced comas until they either get put down or get better. Bots take care of them—”
“We take care of them!” she said. Gus’s slack-jawed expression mirrored the shock tingling through Elodie’s limbs. It wasn’t technically an outburst, but it was definitely more bursty than anything Elodie normally said.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, fine. You’re right. We take care of ’em.”
Elodie let out a puff of air. She needed to get herself under control. “Who brought the patient from where?”
“Hell, Elodie, I don’t know. I just run the Violet Shield and make sure none of the pumps malfunction and no dumb bots get stuck in doorways. I’m not in charge of intake. That’s your job.”
It was times like these when Elodie wished she had Vi’s covert assassin abilities. “Well, since it is part of your job, did you make sure all of the treatment pumps are full enough to get me through the day?”
“Yeah, yeah. I did everything I’m supposed to do. It was a busy night, but I’m not stupid.” He rubbed the small diagonal scar behind his right ear and stared blankly at the empty space above Elodie’s head.
Automatically, she rubbed the matching scar behind her own ear. The bump from the implant had faded long ago. A small strip of smooth skin was the only outward evidence of the tech that had been injected under her scalp shortly after birth, same as every other citizen. The implant had grown up with her, grown into her, learned with her. It made her, and everyone else’s, life so much easier. Although Gus’s habit of touching the implant point every time he checked his schedule, mail, or a plethora of other things Elodie was thankful she couldn’t see, was a constant and obnoxious reminder that he wasn’t paying her any attention.
He let out an exasperated breath “I have VR surf lessons scheduled in exactly thirty minutes, so I’m out of here.” He jogged to the elevator and waved his cuff under the reader. It beeped, beeped, and beeped again as Gus flapped his arm under the beam of light.
“You only need to scan it one time,” Elodie muttered.
Gus tapped his foot against the tile. “Unlike some people, I have a life outside of work that I’m ready to get to.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I happen to like my job.” Elodie spun around as the elevator doors swallowed her coworker. “Damn.” She dropped into the hard plastic chair in front of the control panel and quickly scanned the steadily blinking peaks and valleys of the new Patient Ninety-Two’s heartrate monitor before she hefted her backpack onto her lap and unzipped the center pouch.
“I do too have a life outside of work.” The neon lights of the holoscreen glimmered off the slick cover of her nursing textbook. “Actually, I have lots of lives outside of work.”
VII
Blair felt eyes on her as she stood outside of Cath’s office. She pulled her fingers away from her mouth and clenched her teeth. Her adoptive mother had an open-door policy, but it was controlled by the slowest woman Blair had ever had the displeasure of dealing with. And the ninth floor was not a place where Blair wanted to be stuck. The entire space was filled with clear partitions, giving the regular working masses the illusion of having their own office. But a true office wasn’t a glass box, it was a room made of solid walls that deflected unwanted glances. It was a space like the one Blair stood outside of, but, if this septuagenarian had her way, would never be able to enter.
Open this door, you insufferable reject! Blair’s thoughts burned as she offered a polite nod to Cath’s elderly assistant.
The old woman smiled. “She’s on a call, dear. It’ll be just a moment. But it looks like you have a visitor yourself.” She tilted her chin in the direction of the sharp, clicking footsteps closing in on Blair.
Before Blair could make up an excuse to come back later or break down the door herself, the footsteps halted, and a booming voice struck Blair’s back like a battering ram.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Blair Scott. A meeting with your mommy bring you down to the ninth floor? Is baby brother in there too? A little Scott family get together on Key Corp hours?”
Blair’s teeth scraped together as she turned and lowered her gaze to meet the man. “Preston, it is so nice to see you.”
It doesn’t get blacker than that.
Preston’s strong jaw twitched. “That’s Council Leader Darby, Blair. Council. Leader. Darby.” He thrust his coffee mug for emphasis. Brown droplets sloshed onto the pristine floor. “I worked hard for the title.”
Blair tightened the corners of her snarl into a broad smile. If Preston Darby had ever worked for anything, Blair wasn’t quite sure what it had been. All he had to do to attain his title was draw breath and walk around Westfall as a more handsome, clone-like version of his father, who had been Council Leader until his untimely death.
Preston clicked the heels of his shiny black boots and nodded over his shoulder at the glass-encased audience staring wide eyed at the scene unfolding outside Dr. Cath Scott’s door. The list of people who could admonish Blair was a short one, and Preston Darby was near the top. “Wouldn’t want the masses to think the Council has gone soft.”
“Soft, you? Never. I’m sure you’re hard in every way that matters, Council Leader Darby.”
“Well, I, uh . . .” He cleared his throat and took a quick drink.
Getting a reaction from Preston Darby had always been easy. So easy that it hadn’t been fun since he’d dissolved into a mushy bag of snot and tears during their final year of schooling. That last semester had shone a spotlight on Blair. The corporation had been correct when they’d chosen her for leadership training. Blair had been named the Key’s student body liaison and, in all of her correspondence with the corporation, he’d been listed as Preston Derpy. It hadn’t even been Blair’s mistake. It had been their virtual assistant’s. Blair just didn’t correct it.