it.
Traffic was clogged here, but only because there was so much of it. Nothing blocked the Road. Building must have been restricted from the beginning.
He had wondered whether it would be safe to ask directions. No need. Faded holograms marked three buildings of ancient poured stone, all with big glass windows. Medical, Medical, Medical.
The bus stopped. With his case on his back and a cane in his hand, Jeremy climbed down to the Road.
Closer, he could read more.
Medical: Reception and Records
Medical: Intensive Care and Surgery
Medical.' Outpatient and Recovery He stagger-stepped into the leftmost building.
A narrow-faced woman his own age looked up. What she wore was likely a uniform, white with scarlet markings:
Lisa Schiavo
Reception
Duty Doctor
He was the last thing she wanted to see. 'Patient?'
He said, 'I'm here to see Karen Winslow.'
She repeated, 'Patient?'
'Yes. Emergency, burn patient, four days ago.'
'Family only.' Her brows furrowed: puzzled at the Spiral Town accent that he'd thought long lost.
'I'm Jeremy Winslow,' he said more carefully. 'Karen's husband.' She said, 'Okay. Okay. We're all speckles- shy here today, and the reason is, the computer went out about quitting time yesterday.' Her hands shuffled a stack of printouts, helplessly. 'We spent the whole morning trying to keep track with notes on paper. Now we're using the library computer, and that's where you'll find out where your wife is. Through that door and up three floors. There's a lift. Wait. What's wrong with your leg?'
'I hurt my knee surfing.'
'Really. Wonderful. Brendan!'
Nothing happened immediately. Schiavo said, 'Sit down. How long ago?'
'Almost three weeks.' He sat down.
'Is it healing all right?'
'I suppose.'
'Come back after you see your wife. I'll have Brendan scan you. Here,' She handed him a card. 'Your wife's name, address, age, and whatever you remember about her medical history.'
Jeremy began writing.
A barrel-shaped man jogged in. 'ja, mein Führer!' His uniform was very like Schiavo's, with a label that read:
Brendan Shaw
Surgery
Duty Doctor
'Brendan, want some exercise?'
'Run up to the library?'
'Yeah, find out where they're keeping a burn patient and get her status. Karen Winslow. You could take the lift. Who'd know?' She took Jeremy's card, glanced at it, handed it to Brendan.
'I go, effendi!' Brendan jogged out, knees high, arms pumping. He slowed to a walk while in Jeremy's sight, but not Schiavo's.
Schiavo handed him another card. 'Fill one out for yourself too.' Jeremy filled out what he remembered from his credit rating. Put it in his pocket. Closed his eyes....
Brendan's voice jolted him awake. 'Winslow? We've got her in Intensive. Out the door, turn left, it's the next building over, fourth floor, Room Four-ten. Her doctor's Nogales, but she's home today. Come back after you see your wife and we'll scan your knee.'
Karen smiled. 'Jeremy. Can't move. I can't disturb the skin.'
'All right.' He went around to her good side and she gripped his hand. The sheet didn't cover much of her. They had her hands tied... loosely, and padded, but she couldn't reach herself. The skin over half her body was shiny and patchy. It made him queasy to look, but he could well understand why nothing should touch her skin.
'So good to see you, Jeremy. What kept you?'
'They couldn't find my credit record at first.'
Her eyes doubted him. He'd always wondered how much she'd guessed.
He told her how matters stood at Wave Rider. No customers, and a good thing too. Himself, walking around brain-dead with worry. The Otterfolk were getting bored; what they brought in was skimpy. Nine days until the caravaners arrived. She listened... dozed. .
There was a hand on his shoulder.
He'd gone to sleep with his cheek on Karen's good arm. 'Lloyd?'
'Don't wake her.'
Karen's hand was slack now, and he disengaged. Their youngest daughter's mate said, 'I'll take you back to Gran Harlow's place. It'll hold four for one night.'
'Can't go yet. The doctor wants to look at my knee.'
'About time.'
Medical was the strangest, scariest place Jeremy Winslow had ever been. He hoped it didn't show. You're supposed to have seen this before.
He told Brendan Shaw, 'The waves were rQlling in from way out there. Little shelled heads all around me. I hadn't been out for weeks because the caravan was in. They like it better when you take chances, you know? I caught this beautiful curl and rode it till my knees turned to water, and then let it break and carry me till the board hit sand and I lit running. I twisted my knee running in sand. Just too tired.'
Brendan Shaw had a hand scanner. He moved it around Jeremy's injured knee, and a hologram showed him the inside. He said, 'Well, you tore the meniscus.'
'Will it grow back?'
'No.' He moved to scan the good knee for comparison. 'The meniscus isn't alive, exactly. Your body grows this spongy cushion in your knee joint, and it only grows once. Now there's a piece floating free. When it gets between the bones, that hurts.'
'Too right. Can you sew it up?'
Brendan wrapped a blue pad around Jeremy's knee. Jemmy grimaced at the cold, and Brendan grinned. 'Yes. First we chill you down. I need to wheel some equipment in here. The groper, a fiber-optic probe, the stitcher, some help...' He was thinking out loud. 'After that cools a little we'll poke some fiber optics into your knee and look around more. Then we'll position the torn part, which has to be done by hand, sorry, and paint the edges for the stitcher so it can sew them shut. That's not real paint, it just marks them in memory. You got a card for me?'
Just like that? Jeremy's teeth were clenched. The cold burned him, but fear did too. But if he put this off, he'd spend days getting his nerve up....ard? In his shirt pocket.
Brendan took it. 'Lie down and I'll put you out. Or I could give you a local, but most patients don't want to be here when this is happening to them.'
No telling what he might blurt out while he watched things being poked into his knee. 'Put me out.'
'Safer, actually.'
Jeremy closed his eyes as Shaw settled a skeletal metal structure on his head. Wet pads touched both eyes and the nape of his neck. 'Three hundred years old if you figure it was built on Earth, but it still works. Local anesthetic would be a drug. Much cruder.'
Jeremy woke up hurting. A bulky cast held his leg stiff and a little bent. A young man handed him pills and a mug of water. Brendan said, 'Aspirin. You're not allergic.'
