Housecall – Part 2

Please bear in mind the following: NOTHING IS SET IN STONE THIS MAY CHANGE I MAY HAVE BEEN LUCKY AND EXCITING THINGS ARE IN STORE.

This year, in June, I will *most likely* have physical copies of my first book.  A man / company I really respect has indicated that he has time in June that my smaller project would fit into.  He’s going to plan things out, and he will indicate if he is able to 100% commit to that time frame.  I’m hopeful, and so is he.  It would be beyond wonderful if that’s a thing that I can do.  I have so many plans for those books. 

In the meantime, I’ve found a reasonable workaround for getting some productivity out of my dead-time at work.  It’s much better than the complete and utter lack of anything that I am able to do, and it also means that my time at work where there are no calls (a non-zero amount of my days) will be spent doing something actually fruitful.  So far, and I haven’t been able to verify this, I believe I’ve gotten close to twenty thousand words into Bullets From the Heart.  It’s shaping up incredibly well, and I *think* I’ve found the best way for me to go about writing longer works. 

As for Housecall, I’ve got a lot of things I want to do with this.  I’ve always loved Battle Angel, which is a really dark and weird niche anime from the early nineties.  Watch it if you can; I promise it is worth your time.  With Housecall, I envision the Doc as an homage to the doctor in Battle Angel: a tough, no-nonsense doctor willing to do whatever is necessary to provide for those who cannot provide for themselves.  It’s amazing, but he’s not the star of the show in Battle Angel, and I really feel like that’s a missed opportunity.  So I’m rectifying that here. 

I hope it is an enjoyable righting of the ship. 

Housecall – Part 2

“Doc, you look like you got in a fight.  And were losing, a lot.”

I grinned, my lips splitting open with the gesture, the various sutures and bandages I put on my face straining as my face split in two. 

“I wouldn’t be so certain about that Gavin.  I can give back as much as I’m given.”

Gavin sat, staring at me, and let out a weak little laugh.  He was only twelve, but twelve in The Crevice was a heck of a lot older than mere years.  Gavin had most likely spent every single day struggling to stay alive as he fought off gangs, other urchins like himself, and worst of all the Adoption Agents.  Being caught by an Agent was a one way ticket to an Orphanage and from there a life of indentured servitude and backbreaking labor until you died.

It was the only life Gavin would ever know, and my grin faded as I considered all the scars and bruises that coated the boy almost head to toe.  It had taken me almost three months to convince Gavin to schedule an appointment with me, and I still didn’t think he believed me when I said it would be free.

I pulled back the nasty, smelly bandage that he had wrapped around his chest.  It stank even worse than last time, and I knew what I would find when I opened it up.  A mass of puckered, swollen flesh which was the calling card of a nasty knife wound.  I wouldn’t ask how he got it, and he wouldn’t tell me anyways, but this one had gone untreated too long.  If I didn’t do something, right now, Gavin was going to die. 

I’m going to have to get Jacqueline to get me another fight lined up.  There’s no way I can get out of this without using a vial.  

I grimaced very gently, not wanting to further split my lips or aggravate my facial injuries.  I’d gotten pretty messed up in that ring, more than I had in any of my fights before.  I was getting slow, getting old.  I was thirty-five, but I’d once been in Gavin’s shoes, and my mileage was far higher than my years. 

I reached up to the small cabinet above the small bench in the small hospital room which was the only such creature in my tiny clinic.  I pressed my thumb into the waiting sensor pad, and successfully didn’t wince as it took a small blood sample on top of my fingerprint.  My bio-metrics passed, and the cabinet opened with a small sigh.  I grabbed a single, large vial roughly the size of my index finger one of only six in the tiny thing, and withdrew it from the cabinet before shutting it firmly and waiting until the small tone indicated it had re-armed itself. 

Gavin’s eyes had dilated to the size of saucers as he spied what was in the vial.  Everyone knew about them, everyone wanted them.  They cost enough that Gavin could buy a home on the outskirts of The Crevice and live the rest of his life in quiet comfort, never having to steal or struggle another day in his life.  It was a Wyrm, shaped like a tiny version of the wingless dragon which was its namesake.  It restless circled in its tiny cage, eager to be about whatever task I gave it.  Smart things, these wyrms, the forbidden fruit of research into human longevity and machine AI.  Sentient yet obedient, powerful yet constrained, wyrms were the ultimate product of human engineering.  It was also how those who lived in the skyline above kept those who lived below in line.

When you could heal from any injury or disease, or live for as long as you could afford it, what on Earth did you care for a bunch of homeless men and women and children? 

I eased the vial closer to my eyes, and the tiny metallic dragon stopped its restless motion to focus on me.  The eyes flashed a vivid red, and I heard in my mind the tiny hum that meant the dragon was hooked into the neural implant I’d gotten as soon as the ink dried on my medical license. 

“Tend to any injuries on the boy sitting across from me in this room.  Work on any internal injuries as well, taking care to maintain the health of the boy at all times.  Use as many organic bricks as you need to complete the task.  There is no time limit, but work as swiftly as you are able to do so while taking no risks with his health.”

The eyes flashed a brilliant orange, taking in the instructions, including my inflections, intonations, and the meaning behind my words.  It nodded, once.  I opened the jar, and the small dragon flew up on tiny organic repulsor lifts to hover in front of the small boy.  I opened a second, far less thoroughly locked cabinet next to the one containing the remaining Wyrms, and took out a half-meter long brick of all the materials contained in a normal human body.  The dragons eyes flashed a brilliant purple as it spied the brick, and another hum across my neural interface indicated that it was beginning to craft the platform needed to complete the task. 

I watched, as awed as Gavin, as the tiny dragon writhed, and began to change.

To be continued…

Wyrmfully, 
Justin