For Inktober, Monday, October 26, 2020. Prompt word: “hide.” Tuckerization: Carol Pelligrino
A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant’s name. Other than that, no other similar characteristics are implied.
I Have Seen the Future and the Future Is Diesel, Part 2
by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
(Note: This story is a sequel to I Have Seen the Future and the Future Is Diesel, published in my short story collection, Worlds of Mystery.)
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| The Ruins |
Nurse Pelligrino tried to breathe through her mouth to keep out the ever-present stink of diesel. Here in the Ruins, the smell of diesel mixed with blood, used bed pans, and the various odors of the sick and dying. However, as a nurse, Carol had to leave the surface and do a two-week shift thirteen levels below in an artificial hell where even further, the ever-present hum of the diesel extractors kept the planet working for its masters.
When American scientists found a way to create cheap diesel fuel from elements deep within the earth, an unholy marriage of mechanical engineering, nanotechnology, and affordable fuel collapsed the government to make way for corporations, the true purveyors of power. The Middle East went bankrupt, the dollar soared, pollution went out of control, and life spans dropped. The Age of Diesel reigned supreme.
A robotic nurse’s aide wheeled by, leaving a thin sheen of lubricant on the floor from faulty hydraulics. “Nurse Carol Pelligrino,” its speaker rasped. “Director Manson wishes to see you in his office right away.”
Carol sighed and looked at the clipboard in her hand, listing dozens of patients that needed attention. She shrugged in resignation. They were all used to waiting.
Carol walked into Manson’s office without knocking. He didn’t deserve consideration. True to form, he sat glassy-eyed behind his desk, flying on whatever he could sneak from the pharmacy.
“Director Manson? Director Manson!”
Some form of sentience came to the director’s eyes, and he mumbled something.
Carol leaned closer. “Repeat that,” she ordered.
The director screwed his features in concentration. “Room 744,” he mumbled. “Rebel. They caught him. Roughed him up. Fix him up for …um ... interrogation.”
Carol shook her head, turned on her heels, and left the office. She wondered if this one would be alive when she saw him. With their computerized brains, the so-called Custodians didn’t practice restraint when chasing those who stood against the Corporation Hegemony.
As she entered the room, she first saw the Custodian standing in a cloud of exhaust, its diesel engine purring inside it. An ambulatory ball of metal and hate, it had its weapons ready and pointed at the human on the bed.
“Stand down,” she ordered and was not surprised when the Custodian ignored her.
Amazingly, the man on the bed was conscious. “I’m Nurse Pelligrino,” she said. “I’m going to check you over for injuries.”
The man nodded, pain evident in his eyes and on his features. “I have a broken arm and maybe internal injuries.” He nodded at the Custodian. “Those things aren’t known for their gentleness.”
“I’m going to give you something for your pain,” Carol said. She walked over to a counter and opened it with her handprint. She was surprised to find painkillers in the drawer. Usually, the nurses and doctors permanently stuck working here sold them on the black market.
After the injection and the patient visibly relaxed, Carol took the portable scanner out of her pocket and ran it up and down the man’s body. “You’re lucky,” she said. “Your arm is a greenstick fracture. Your spleen is bruised but not bleeding. What’s your name?”
“Nick Weaver,” the man said.
“And you think being a rebel can solve the world’s problems?” she whispered.
Nick smiled. “If I was the only one, most likely not.”
Carol shook her head. “Gotta love that idealism.” She turned to the Custodian. “I need an InstaSplint for this man’s arm. I have none in this room. I will return.”
Striding down the hallway, she returned to Director Manson’s office and walked in. He lay face forward on his desk, snoring away whatever drug he had taken to ease his misery of presiding over the Ruins.
Carol turned and addressed the Custodian. “I need to access the cabinet behind you.”
The Custodian obediently stepped forward, allowing her to work behind itself. A few minutes later, Carol returned to the bed.
She stood smiling at Nick until the Custodian started a loud clicking. Garbled speech suddenly came out of its speakers while a large puddle of diesel formed on the floor. With a burst of static from its speakers, it slumped forward, obviously inactive.
Carol shook her head. “What a pity it broke down.”
“What did you do?” Nick asked.
Carol laughed. “Little old me? I’m a nurse. How dare you say I did something to a Custodian? That’s rebel talk.”
Her face turned grim. “Now listen carefully. I will leave the room under the pretense of needing different painkillers. That will take about fifteen minutes.
“You will leave this room, turn left and then turn right. Walk right into Director Manson’s office. You have exactly three minutes to relieve him of his lab coat, ID card, and anything else you find interesting. He is sleeping and will not wake for at least a few hours. I made sure.
“You will then use his card to access the elevator to the surface. Nobody will stop you because nobody cares about anything happening in the Ruins.
“You will ditch the coat and ID and then hide. When you see the streets are clear, usually around 10 at night, you will head to the Robert Morris hotel at 10th and Arch. Tell the concierge you need a key for Room 453. Remember that number. The Resistance will help you past there.”
Nick’s look of surprise never left his face. “You’re a member of the Resistance?” he said
“Me? Carol asked. “I’m just a regular nurse doing her bimonthly shift in the Ruins. You have fifteen minutes before I return to this room and raise the alarm about an escaped prisoner taking advantage of a Custodian malfunction. Good luck.”
With that, Carol left the room and never looked back.
There were no repercussions from the rebel’s escape.
This place was, after all, named the Ruins for a reason.
THE END
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