along a five-foot-wide gold path that ran through the middle of the open space. One group in blue caught my eye. They were all my age and were working with people of various ages, from a three-year-old girl to a man of about sixty. I skidded to a stop. One of those people was Blue Combat Boots. Everything around me faded to a blur, then pulled focus on him. Blue Combat Boots was working with the sixty-something man, taking stats from sensors on the man's body as he walked on a treadmill.
"Doro? You coming?"
"Yes... what's going on over there?"
"That's a regenerative medicine residency for advanced S.E.R.C. scholars."
"So what, like physical therapy?"
"Like growing limbs for patients that were either born without them, or lost them in situations like land mine explosions or car accidents. Even people who had their lungs removed from cancer can have brand new lungs that work better than the ones they were born with."
This was absolutely amazing. These patients were moving their arms and legs as if they’d always had healthy ones. Scientists had been trying to perfect this advancement in the Aboves for decades. Here in Seneca, it was so normal that not only doctors were analyzing patients’ progress, but people my age were, too. And one of those people was Blue Combat Boots. This guy wasn't anything like the ones I went to school with back in LA. Oh no, he most certainly was not. I stood there watching him as he and the older man shared a joke.
"There will be plenty of time for you to explore all of this, but today we have a different agenda."
I looked at Ellen Malone with the wonder of a kid on Christmas morning. If only I could stay in this spot for just a few moments more. But she didn't return my "this is going to be fun" look, and so I followed her, looking back until I was beyond where I could see him anymore.
"There's an awful disease endemic to Seneca that comes from an abundant fauna in the Southeastern Hemisphere. Necrolla Carne. It's an organism that slowly eats away at the human body, causing a long, drawn-out death. It's something you never, ever want to witness."
"Um, that is repulsive. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it." Ellen was amused as I scratched furiously at my arms. Talk of disease always made me feel the symptoms. Just like my dad. He was always washing his hands thoroughly, all the way up to his elbows.
"Fortunately, our medical research and development team has developed a vaccine that immunizes us from it.”
"A shot? I'm getting a shot today?"
"It's not too bad."
"It's the worst. I hate shots. I hate needles. I might pass out."
Ellen laughed. I did, too, but out of nervousness, not amusement. Soon we entered a medical wing that made every doctor's office I’d ever visited back home look like an exhibit in a history museum. Ellen explained that I wouldn't see a doctor unless a problem arose, and that was only three to five percent of the time. Instead, a lot of my experience would be automated or handled by technicians.
I followed the footpath map to the med-unit, which had been transmitted to my flexer upon entry. I marveled at the white touch screen with blue typeface that covered the entire length of the wall. It was an automated system that managed the devices within each med-unit and was overseen by a few med-techs in powder blue lab coats. My flexer notified me that I had reached my med-unit, so I stopped and went inside as the golden door opened.
My instructions were relayed to me by an automated narration in a calming female voice: "Take a seat." "Roll up your sleeve." "Open your mouth."
Even though I was a little nervous, I laid back in a robotic chair that did all the work a nurse or doctor always had done in the past, and surprised myself by thinking that I trusted this machine more than I would an actual doctor. My physical statistical data was transmitted from the chair back to the computer for analysis and report, and the machine said, "You are healthy,
"Doro? You coming?"
"Yes... what's going on over there?"
"That's a regenerative medicine residency for advanced S.E.R.C. scholars."
"So what, like physical therapy?"
"Like growing limbs for patients that were either born without them, or lost them in situations like land mine explosions or car accidents. Even people who had their lungs removed from cancer can have brand new lungs that work better than the ones they were born with."
This was absolutely amazing. These patients were moving their arms and legs as if they’d always had healthy ones. Scientists had been trying to perfect this advancement in the Aboves for decades. Here in Seneca, it was so normal that not only doctors were analyzing patients’ progress, but people my age were, too. And one of those people was Blue Combat Boots. This guy wasn't anything like the ones I went to school with back in LA. Oh no, he most certainly was not. I stood there watching him as he and the older man shared a joke.
"There will be plenty of time for you to explore all of this, but today we have a different agenda."
I looked at Ellen Malone with the wonder of a kid on Christmas morning. If only I could stay in this spot for just a few moments more. But she didn't return my "this is going to be fun" look, and so I followed her, looking back until I was beyond where I could see him anymore.
"There's an awful disease endemic to Seneca that comes from an abundant fauna in the Southeastern Hemisphere. Necrolla Carne. It's an organism that slowly eats away at the human body, causing a long, drawn-out death. It's something you never, ever want to witness."
"Um, that is repulsive. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it." Ellen was amused as I scratched furiously at my arms. Talk of disease always made me feel the symptoms. Just like my dad. He was always washing his hands thoroughly, all the way up to his elbows.
"Fortunately, our medical research and development team has developed a vaccine that immunizes us from it.”
"A shot? I'm getting a shot today?"
"It's not too bad."
"It's the worst. I hate shots. I hate needles. I might pass out."
Ellen laughed. I did, too, but out of nervousness, not amusement. Soon we entered a medical wing that made every doctor's office I’d ever visited back home look like an exhibit in a history museum. Ellen explained that I wouldn't see a doctor unless a problem arose, and that was only three to five percent of the time. Instead, a lot of my experience would be automated or handled by technicians.
I followed the footpath map to the med-unit, which had been transmitted to my flexer upon entry. I marveled at the white touch screen with blue typeface that covered the entire length of the wall. It was an automated system that managed the devices within each med-unit and was overseen by a few med-techs in powder blue lab coats. My flexer notified me that I had reached my med-unit, so I stopped and went inside as the golden door opened.
My instructions were relayed to me by an automated narration in a calming female voice: "Take a seat." "Roll up your sleeve." "Open your mouth."
Even though I was a little nervous, I laid back in a robotic chair that did all the work a nurse or doctor always had done in the past, and surprised myself by thinking that I trusted this machine more than I would an actual doctor. My physical statistical data was transmitted from the chair back to the computer for analysis and report, and the machine said, "You are healthy,
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