Colonials, who was consulting his PDA.
“He’s dead,” he said. “He’s been dead for about an hour. Looks like a heart attack.” He put the PDA down and stood up, glancing back down at Leon. “Poor bastard. Made it this far just to have his ticker crap out.”
“A last-minute volunteer for the Ghost Brigades,” the other Colonial said.
I shot a hard stare at him. I thought a joke at this moment was in terribly bad taste.
FOUR
“Okay, let’s see,” the doctor said, glancing at his rather large PDA as I entered the office. “You’re John Perry, correct?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I’m Dr. Russell,” he said, and then looked me over.
“You look like your dog just died,” he said.
“Actually,” I said, “it was my roommate.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, glancing down at his PDA again. “Leon Deak. I would have been working on him right after you. Bad timing, that. Well, let’s get that off the schedule, then.” He tapped the PDA screen for a few seconds, smiled tightly when he was through. Dr. Russell’s bedside manner left something to be desired.
“Now,” he said, turning his attention back to me, “let’s get you looked at.”
The office consisted of Dr. Russell, me, a chair for the doctor, a small table and two crèches. The crèches were shaped for human contours, and each had a curving transparent door that arched over the contoured area. At the top of each crèche was an arm apparatus, with a cuplike attachment at the end. The “cup” looked just about large enough to fit on a human head. It was, quite frankly, making me a little nervous.
“Please go ahead and make yourself comfortable, and then we’ll get started,” Dr. Russell said, opening the door to the crèche nearest to me.
“Do you need me to take anything off?” I said. As far as I remembered, a physical examination required being looked at physically.
“No,” he said. “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, go right ahead.”
“Does anyone actually strip if they don’t have to?” I asked.
“Actually, yes,” he said. “If you’ve been told to do something one way for so long, it’s a hard habit to break.”
I kept my togs on. I set my PDA on the table, stepped up to the crèche, turned around, leaned back and settled in. Dr. Russell closed the door and stepped back. “Hold on one second while I adjust the crèche,” he said, and tapped his PDA. I felt the human-shaped depression in the crèche shift, and then conform to my dimensions.
“That was creepy,” I said.
Dr. Russell smiled. “You’re going to notice some vibration here,” he said, and he was right.
“Say,” I said while the crèche was thrumming gently underneath me, “those other fellows who were in the waiting room with me. Where did they go after they came in here?”
“Through the door over there.” He waved a hand behind him without looking up from his PDA. “That’s the recovery area.”
“ Recovery area?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve just made the examination sound much worse than it is. In fact, we’re just about done with your scan.” He tapped his PDA again and the vibration stopped.
“What do I do now?” I asked.
“Just hold tight,” Dr. Russell said. “We’ve got a little more to do, and we need to go over the results of your examination.”
“You mean it’s done?” I said.
“Modern medicine is wonderful, isn’t it,” he said. He showed me the PDA screen, which was downloading a summary of my scan. “You don’t even have to say, ‘Aaahhhh.’”
“Yeah, but how detailed can it be?”
“Detailed enough,” he said. “Mr. Perry, when was your last physical examination?”
“About six months ago,” I said.
“What was the prognosis from your physician?”
“He said I was in fine shape, other than my blood pressure being a little higher than normal. Why?”
“Well, he’s basically right,” said Dr. Russell, “although he seems to have missed the
“He’s dead,” he said. “He’s been dead for about an hour. Looks like a heart attack.” He put the PDA down and stood up, glancing back down at Leon. “Poor bastard. Made it this far just to have his ticker crap out.”
“A last-minute volunteer for the Ghost Brigades,” the other Colonial said.
I shot a hard stare at him. I thought a joke at this moment was in terribly bad taste.
FOUR
“Okay, let’s see,” the doctor said, glancing at his rather large PDA as I entered the office. “You’re John Perry, correct?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I’m Dr. Russell,” he said, and then looked me over.
“You look like your dog just died,” he said.
“Actually,” I said, “it was my roommate.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, glancing down at his PDA again. “Leon Deak. I would have been working on him right after you. Bad timing, that. Well, let’s get that off the schedule, then.” He tapped the PDA screen for a few seconds, smiled tightly when he was through. Dr. Russell’s bedside manner left something to be desired.
“Now,” he said, turning his attention back to me, “let’s get you looked at.”
The office consisted of Dr. Russell, me, a chair for the doctor, a small table and two crèches. The crèches were shaped for human contours, and each had a curving transparent door that arched over the contoured area. At the top of each crèche was an arm apparatus, with a cuplike attachment at the end. The “cup” looked just about large enough to fit on a human head. It was, quite frankly, making me a little nervous.
“Please go ahead and make yourself comfortable, and then we’ll get started,” Dr. Russell said, opening the door to the crèche nearest to me.
“Do you need me to take anything off?” I said. As far as I remembered, a physical examination required being looked at physically.
“No,” he said. “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, go right ahead.”
“Does anyone actually strip if they don’t have to?” I asked.
“Actually, yes,” he said. “If you’ve been told to do something one way for so long, it’s a hard habit to break.”
I kept my togs on. I set my PDA on the table, stepped up to the crèche, turned around, leaned back and settled in. Dr. Russell closed the door and stepped back. “Hold on one second while I adjust the crèche,” he said, and tapped his PDA. I felt the human-shaped depression in the crèche shift, and then conform to my dimensions.
“That was creepy,” I said.
Dr. Russell smiled. “You’re going to notice some vibration here,” he said, and he was right.
“Say,” I said while the crèche was thrumming gently underneath me, “those other fellows who were in the waiting room with me. Where did they go after they came in here?”
“Through the door over there.” He waved a hand behind him without looking up from his PDA. “That’s the recovery area.”
“ Recovery area?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve just made the examination sound much worse than it is. In fact, we’re just about done with your scan.” He tapped his PDA again and the vibration stopped.
“What do I do now?” I asked.
“Just hold tight,” Dr. Russell said. “We’ve got a little more to do, and we need to go over the results of your examination.”
“You mean it’s done?” I said.
“Modern medicine is wonderful, isn’t it,” he said. He showed me the PDA screen, which was downloading a summary of my scan. “You don’t even have to say, ‘Aaahhhh.’”
“Yeah, but how detailed can it be?”
“Detailed enough,” he said. “Mr. Perry, when was your last physical examination?”
“About six months ago,” I said.
“What was the prognosis from your physician?”
“He said I was in fine shape, other than my blood pressure being a little higher than normal. Why?”
“Well, he’s basically right,” said Dr. Russell, “although he seems to have missed the
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