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truly meant to be immorbid. And for some reason, the idea made him shiver.
chapter thirteen
the medicine show
At the hospital, despite his VIP status, they made Conradwait. And not even
on wellstone couches, but on cloth ones with some sort of foam padding inside,
about as comfortable as sitting on open ground. And said couches were full of
people, some slightly known to him and some not, some obviously sick or
injured and some apparently healthy. There were several couples here as well,
sitting with their hands clasped together and excited or expectant or nervous
looks on their faces.
You know, I designed this building, he told the receptionist.
And that was a mistake, because the receptionist and door guard was Genie
Scott, whom Conrad had spent a few days fuffing, many years ago. They were
long days Barnardeandays and once you spent the sleepshift with a woman, even
one sleepshift, you pretty well forfeited your right to tell her anything like
that, ever again.
You ll wait in line like everyone else, she said firmly. I don t care if
you designed the planet.
Well, I did design the . . . But he saw her look and declined to finish the
sentence. Anyway, there was a security robot waiting in the storage room
behind her, visible through the open doorway, and although it was no Palace
Guard, if Conrad made too much trouble the thing would simply throw him out in
the street again.
So he sat and waited for nearly an hour before the nurse, a young man he d
never seen before, ushered him into an examination room.
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Sit down, please, the nurse instructed. They were very firmly polite here,
apparently quite accustomed to impatient patients.
Conrad leaned his rump against the edge of the examination table which
fortunatelywas made of wellstone, smooth and supple beneath his touch and at
once the white walls of the room came alive with sensors and displays, shining
lights and bursts of sound just beyond the edges of Conrad s hearing.
Hmm, the nurse said, studying the walls and ceiling, paying no attention to
Conrad himself. Oxidation, telomere shortening, apoptosis, intracellular
lipofuscin buildup . . . Sir, you re suffering from a condition known as
geriatry.
Conrad nearly laughed out loud at that. Old age? I m familiar with the
concept, yes.
How long has it been since your last fax?
About five years, I think, Conrad answered. Give or take a few.
Now the nurse did look at him, and he was scowling. You mustn t go that
long, sir. That s more than enough time for tumors to develop and metastasize.
Or you could suffer arterial blockage calcium or simple dietary fat and, you
know, drop dead. Losing five years of accumulated memory!
I m familiar with the concept, Conrad repeated, less amused this time.
Well then, shame on you twice as much. Do you have trouble hearing, or
tasting your food? Aren t you tired? Don t you feel run-down in the evenings?
Sometimes, Conrad admitted. But I don t need a lecture about it. How old
are you, son?
That hardly matters, sir, the nurse told him firmly and politely. The
doctor will see you in a few minutes. If you like, you can watch TV in the
meantime.
Ah. Thank you, no. I ll just enjoy the quiet. There was little enough of
that in his life these days.
As promised, fortunately, the doctor only made him wait afew minutes before
appearing in the doorway with a gentle knock. He had on the obligatory white
coat who could trust a doctor without one? and he had some sort of auxiliary
sensory apparatus strapped to his head, like a pair of Old Modern spectacles
with cones of rigid black wellstone projecting out from the lenses.
Conrad Mursk. Conrad Ethel Mursk, first mate ofNewhope, executive officer on
the piratefetu ula Viridity . How the fuff are you, old man?
Only then did Conrad realize he was looking at Martin Liss,Newhope s nominal
(though symbolic) medical officer and one of Conrad s old camp buddies from
way too long ago.
Martin! Wow, raw, it s . . . well, it s great to see you. You look . . .
Like a bug-eyed monster, I know. Martin took the spectacles off, grinning
broadly. But I can see right through you with these things, in more senses
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than one. It saves a lot of time.
Time for what? I m just here to step through a fax machine, if it s all the
same to you. So they ve made you a doctor, have they? How long has that been
going on?
Quite some time now, Martin answered seriously. The need was clear, so I
did the studying and put five copies through five years of simulation each.
Believe it or not, I m qualified to treat most ailments with no fax machine at
all. Not that people generally find this reassuring.
To answer your question, this examination becomes part of your medical
record, which gives us an idea how your body ages, how it changes over time,
what sorts of breakdown it s prone to. Our fax filters have gotten pretty
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