Gifted (15 page)

“Always the same story,” Dr. Garcia says and shakes her head in disgust.

“Well, pardon us for being just another Plebe sob story!” I snap then spin on my heel to walk away.

“I'm not talking about you,” Dr. Garcia says sharply. “This kind of crap happens all the time at automated facilities like the one she's in.” I turn back. She's jabbing at the notes on her screen. “She hasn't seen a real doctor. She was admitted with dehydration, lacerations, and some confusion, so those are the only things the RoboNurses are treating for until your insurance runs out. Then you either have to take her home or pay up. It's despicable.”

I stand there, speechless.

“From what you're telling me,” the doctor says, “I think it's likely your grandmother has dementia. Do you know what that is?”

I step closer and say quietly, “You mean her memory is going?”

She nods. “Unfortunately, there's no cure but there are some good treatment options. If you can buy her another day or two here, I can order a gerontologist to visit her. If she gets a dementia diagnosis, then your insurance will cover the treatment.”

“How much would I need to keep her here until the other doctor can see her?” I ask, hoping Nonda can't hear.

Dr. Garcia punches in some info and a dollar amount appears on the screen. I quickly do the calculations in my head. PODPlex rent has already come out of my COYN payment for the month, plus our usual grocery order, the justice and health insurance payments for both of us. “My next COYN payment isn't for two weeks. Can I pay you then?”

She shakes her head. “I'm sorry, MediPlexes are all automated. You have to pay up front to keep her here. Otherwise, I can make an appointment and you can bring her back next week.”

“No,” I plead. “I don't have a way to keep her safe if I take her home.”

“Then you have to get the money before 1:00 tomorrow or she goes home. These privatized facilities are harsh.”

My mind races as I try to formulate a plan. Who could I borrow from? Who could bring the cash here tomorrow afternoon while I'm at work? I pace around, racking my brain, trying to come up with something feasible, then Dr. Garcia says, “Hey, what's that song?”

I stop and listen, but don't hear anything. “What song?”

She laughs. “The one you were singing?”

“Oh, sorry,” I mutter and blush. Now she probably thinks I'm half-insane, pacing and singing to myself. “I do that without realizing. It's a habit.”

“Don't be sorry,” she says and smiles. “I like it. I've heard it before. Sing it again.”

“I don't know what I was singing,” I admit with a cringe.

“Like this.” She hums a line of melody, a half-step off-key. I can't believe what I'm hearing but I know exactly what she's trying to sing and I join in with the chorus, “We are Nobody from Nowhere and we have nowhere else to go.…”

“Yes! That's the one.” She leans close to the screen and whispers, “You've heard it, too? On the waves? That song says it all, doesn't it?”

My heartbeat crashes in my ears and I can't formulate a sentence. I stare at her, not sure whether to be flattered or terrified. How many people have heard my song? Was it a mistake to put it out over the waves?

But Dr. Garcia smiles kindly. “How much time would you need to get the money?”

“A few days?”

She sighs. “I wish I could give you that long.”

I don't want to lose this opportunity so without thinking it through, I blurt out, “How about tomorrow night by 9:00? I could bring it after work.”

“Well…” Dr. Garcia lifts her eyebrows and scans her screen. “I have to find a way to keep her here until then.… Oh, lookie here!” She smiles, triumphant. “Your grandmother is due for a mammogram, which is covered by insurance. I'm going to schedule that for tomorrow at 7:00 p.m. That way we can keep her here past 1:00 and the test will take two hours.” She looks up at me and winks. “But remember: tomorrow night at 9:00 she'll be released, unless…”

“… I can come up with the money.”

“Exactly,” says Dr. Garcia. “If we buy her another day, I think I can convince the gerontologist to visit and get her a proper diagnosis.”

“Visiting hours are now over,” the Robo announces. “Your call will be disconnected. Please proceed to the exit.”

“Thank you!” I call to Dr. Garcia. Her face fades from the Robo screen as it tries to direct me out of the room.

“Please proceed to the exit,” the Robo repeats incessantly.

“I'm going, I'm going,” I tell it. But first I hop around it to kiss Nonda good night. “I'll be back tomorrow,” I tell her.

“To take me home?” she asks.

“I don't know yet,” I tell her honestly as I stroke her hair, because the truth is I don't know how I'm going to come up with the money.

*   *   *

On my bike ride home, I get an idea so I swerve off the river path, cruise down the empty streets of Old Town, then burst through Tati's shop door, calling her name.

“Be right out,” she yells from the back then comes through the curtain with a blowtorch in one hand, a hammer in the other, and a grin on her face. “Zimri! Just the gal I wanted to see. I rejiggered that old video cam you brought me.” She sets down the tools and digs through a bin on a cluttered shelf behind her counter.

“I need a favor,” I tell her. “It's Nonda—”

“I heard.” She shakes her head sadly. “If I had known things were so bad…” She doesn't finish her sentence, probably because there's not much else to say.

“I need money,” I blurt out. “By tomorrow night to keep her in the MediPlex.”

Tati turns to me slowly. “How much?” she asks. When I tell her, she grimaces. “That's a lot of dough.”

“Almost my entire COYN payment for two weeks.” I slump against the counter. “But I'll pay you back. You know I will. I can reduce our grocery order, maybe sell some things. Or you can have some of Mom's old equipment in exchange.”

“Zim.” Tati puts her hand on my shoulder. “If I had it, I'd give you the money, but I don't.”

“But…” I look around at the shelves full of equipment in her shop.

“I know, it looks impressive,” she says with a sarcastic snort. “But people don't buy much out here. I make most of my nut when I go into the City to sell and I'm not going again until the end of the month. I just don't have it, baby. I wish I did.”

“What am I going to do?” I slide down to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees.

“Child, you have a way to make that money.” Tati looks down at me, hands on hips, shaking her head.

“No way,” I say, peering up at her. “Putting on a concert is the reason Nonda went missing in the first place.”

“No, it's not,” says Tati. “That was bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe while you were at work or out with Brie. What Nonda needs now is to be in a doctor's care and putting on a concert will get her that.”

“But Medgers has her eye on me and with those private investigators snooping around—”

“First off, Medgers is an idiot.” Tati reaches down and pulls me to my feet. “And those investigators aren't interested in you. They're off trying to find Calliope Bontempi. Buncha dumb-asses.”

My stomach churns. “But if I get caught…”

“You won't get caught. I got your back.” She gives me a reassuring pat. “I'll make sure there's a distraction in the PODPlex to keep security busy during the show.”

As I think it over, a swirl of excitement eddies through my body at the thought of being on stage again. Plus, Tati's right—making music didn't get me into this mess, but it can get me out of it.

“Okay,” I say. “So, you'll get the word out, then? 7:45. Half-hour show. That gives me plenty of time to get to the MediPlex and pay.”

“Got it,” says Tati. She goes back to digging through the bin. “Aha!” she says and holds up a strange floppy glove with an unblinking eyeball in the center. “My latest invention: a camera glove. I see people wearing something like this in the City. I took apart that old video cam orb you brought me and attached it to the palm, then wired it up through the fingers and back of the hand so you can wear it instead of holding it.”

“And it'll connect to the laptop?” I ask as I examine her clever invention.

“Only one way to find out,” Tati says with a wink. “I hear there's a LiveStream tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I shouldn't…” I say.

“Shoulds are for sissies,” Tati tells me. “And besides, when has that ever stopped you before?”

I grin because I know she's right. There's a rebellious streak in me, surely inherited from my mother. Seeing
Nobody from Nowhere
scrawled on the bathroom stall door in the warehouse, then yesterday on the wall by the Y.A.R.D. fuels it. Hearing Veronica, Rhiannon, and Jolene describe the hijacking at the Strip or lying to Smythe and Beauregarde while Medgers stood by makes it burn brighter. Listening to Dr. Garcia try to find my melody makes me want to sing out loud and sing out strong for
everyone
else to hear.

I pull on the glove. “It's perfect,” I say.

“And it's all right there,” says Tati, touching the eye. “In the palm of your hand.”

*   *   *

Back on my bike, with the camera glove safely inside my bag, I ride along the river path toward the PODPlex to meet Brie. Finally our schedules have collided. A day off for her, a free evening for me. Which is a mighty good thing because I have so much to tell her I'm about to burst.

As I come to the curve in the path where Nowhere hides, I see the silhouette of a person illuminated from behind by the sun cresting over the treetops. I squeeze the brakes to slow down but I'm going too fast and the curve is too sharp. “Watch out!” I yell and skid.

The person spins around. Goes right then left, but can't seem to decide. I lean hard to swerve but the wheels go out from under me. I fall with the bike, sliding through the gravel and dirt. My back tire swipes the person's leg. Pebbles grind into my calf. My elbow hits a rock. A cloud of dust kicks up all around us as our bodies tangle with the bike.

“Sorry! Sorry! Are you okay?” I yell.

“I'm fine,” the guy says as he gets to his feet and brushes himself off.

His voice is familiar. I squint up and get a twinge in my belly when I see Aimery.

“Zimri?” he says, clearly confused, but then he smiles big and broad.

“A little help here?” I struggle to get my pant leg free from the bike chain. He squats and spins the pedals but only makes it worse. “Other way!” I swat at his hand and notice that he's wearing a strange glove. The fingers are a soft flesh-colored mesh with black tips at the ends but the back has a beautiful glowing dark purple shell. I reach out to touch it. “What the…?”

He quickly hides his hand behind his back and uses his other hand to turn the pedals. “There!” he says when my pant leg comes loose. “You're free. But you're bleeding.” He points to my elbow as he helps me to my feet.

I turn my arm this way and that, trying to get a good look at the scrape.

“Here.” He slips off the weird glove, shoves it in his pocket, and pulls out a small packet of thick soft cloths, each imprinted with a painting. I've seen them in the warehouse, packed them many times, but they've never been on sale at Black Friday. I wonder if he stole them. “Try this.” He hands me one that looks like mushrooms on a decaying tree.

“You've got a rip,” I tell him as I dab at the blood.

“Crap.” He pokes a finger through the hole at his knee.

“No offense,” I say. “But don't you have any other clothes? You've been wearing the same thing all week.”

Aimery shakes his legs and tries to brush more dirt away from his pants but there's not much good he can do. “I'd be fine if a certain person wasn't trying to kill me with her bike. Why were you going so fast?”

“Why were you standing in the middle of the path?” I ask. “Hardly anybody but me comes out here anymore.” Dorian flashes in my mind. We weren't far from here when we kissed. Everything seems so different in the light.

“You know, just looking at the river.” Aimery gestures awkwardly toward the water. “It's very pretty.”

I draw in a deep breath, pulling river air into my lungs to calm myself down after the bicycle wreck. “It's the one nice thing Corp X couldn't buy and destroy when they came.”

Aimery's eyebrows shoot up.

“It's true,” I tell him. “They bought up most of the land and businesses and houses, then plowed them down to build the Community of the Future!” I say in a booming voice. “Now everyone's a corporate drone unless you live in Old Town.”

“Old Town?” he asks.

I point back over my shoulder.

“Is that where you were coming from in such a hurry?”

“Sorta,” I say. “First I visited my grandmother. She's in a MediPlex.”

“She … what…?” he says. “In a MediPlex?” His face contorts as if he's trying to do a math problem. “Is that why you needed to leave work today?”

“Yes and thank you,” I say, embarrassed by the fracas in the warehouse. “I tried to find you afterward but you were surrounded by all your adoring admirers,” I tease him.

“Oh, please!” He waves away my gratitude. “I owed you one. Or twelve. You've stood up for me plenty with Rude Jude when he crawls up my butt about my lousy times. He's a real piece of work, isn't he?”

I lift the cloth to check my elbow. The bleeding has nearly stopped. “Yeah, well, he's the piece of work we all work for, so…”

“Actually,” says Aimery, “you all work for Corporation Xian Jai, and they might be very interested to know how a guy like that is running the place.”