The Black Garden: Chapter 15

Spicy! 

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The New Warder Hoffman Memorial Hospital was in one of the poorer areas of the city, close to the road that led to the zoned warehouses that served Vornn Industries’ endless need for logistical transportation. This grey graphene building mostly served the city’s ‘yellows and reds’ – laborers, cleaners, the unemployed, people with minimal or no insurance. It was a complete zoo. The ER waiting area was full of tired, coughing children, people hunched over on long plastic benches, elderly people who had clearly been waiting for the better part of the night to see someone, anyone. Unlike the airport and hotel, the triage stations were not staffed. They were automated booths, which scanned and assessed the patients and then assigned them a ticket in the queue. Screens blared rotating ads for services the hospital’s external clinics offered: incentivized fertility and maternity care, ‘free’ health screenings, drugs to reduce fatigue and improve work performance. Every now and then, an announcement interrupted the ads to showcase government initiatives for the city. Security drones hovered watchfully over a restless line of people waiting for a spot in triage.

Heads in the foyer turned as I breezed toward the staff check-in. I had packed clothes that would blend in more with New Warder, but there was no point in wearing them now I'd been flagged at the airport. In fact, the more visible I was outside of clandestine activities, the better - and so I had come to work in typical Confluence fashion: my zero-suit, configured to resemble a flexible tooled leather and engraved with blooming mandalas subtly highlighted by thin, gleaming jade and golden threads. I wore my hair back in a loose ponytail instead of the usual flat combat bun, with a touch of metallic gold makeup to maximize the androgyny. I was pretty and flashy and the suit was quite tight, and it was exactly the kind of scandalous fetish wear New Warderens would expect a clueless Confie to wear to work.

Check-in was manned by a security guard behind a transparent aluminum bubble window. He had the glazed look of a deer staring down a pair of truck headlights.

"Doctor An Soo." I gave my fake name the western way to spare him the ‘surname comes first’ dance.

“Sure. I.D, please.”

I used my hand to frame the holographic card so he could scan it, half expecting him to pull a gun on me or start hammering a panic button with his knee. But he simply scanned it, and then got the distant look of someone interacting with a virtual interface. “One minute. Let me add your clearances.”

“Sure.” I folded my arms, silently making note of the exits while I waited. One of the announcements droned on in the background. “Struggling at work? Vornn Industries is proud to announce it’s new genomic medicine rebate program for select mental and physical enhancements. Become more productive, more competitive-“

 Less than five minutes passed before the guard buzzed the door open. “There we go. You have Level 3 clearance, which should let you into the ORs and staff facilities. Welcome to New Warder, Doctor. They’ll be glad to have you in there. The ER is wall to wall.”

“As every good ER should be.” I forced a smile.

He actually smiled back. "The volunteer coordinator is on the way. Just follow the signs to the staff cafeteria. He’ll meet you there.”

"Thank you." I didn't look back, but could feel him staring at my ass as I headed into the wide, white rubberized hall beyond the prison-style doors.

The nurses were all dressed in uniforms that resembled the old starched whites, complete with caps. The nurses were nearly all female, all skirts were to the knees; the doctors mostly male, better-dressed but equipped with cybernetics at least twenty years out of date. At a glance, I knew they were sorely understaffed – the pinched faces and raccoon eyes, the visible wear and tear on the orderly robots that moved from bed to bed, which were mostly separated by old-fashioned curtains. I struggled to conceal my dismay.

The volunteer coordinator, Dries, reminded me of an owl in a tweed suit. He was pleasant and apologetic for the lack of equipment I might be used to. Onboarding was surprisingly smooth and painless, the head of the surgical department about what I expected. His name was Surya Van De Meer. He had a froglike face, a flat peaked cap of lank hair, and an expensive executive-style suit. He clearly held himself in a different class than us lowly bone-sawers, though all things considered, he gave me the white-glove treatment– but only because he wasn't paying me, and because my resume had a very long list of procedures I could perform with or without robotic assistance.

“We are grateful your company sent someone capable of manual neuro procedures. We only have two autosurgery pods and two assistive robots capable of neurosurgery. Lots of back injuries here,” he remarked, walking me to the office where I was to meet my orientation buddy for the day. “We had three bots, but one is in maintenance.”

“I’m from a Civil Services Nexus, not a company,” I said. “And really? Only two?”

“Oh, of course. I always forget your ‘Nexuses’ aren’t incorporated. But yes, only two. One of our donors is discussing adding a third, but until then, we rely on skilled hands,” Van De Meer said. “Were you born in the Confluence?”

“Yes,” I lied. “I grew up on a capital ship.”

“Ah, well, then expect some culture shock. This hospital caters mostly to non-producers, the old and so on. They will beg during consults, but it is completely against policy to give away medicines, tools, things like that. They will know you’re from the Confluence, you see, so they expect your nature is to simply hand things out to them, and they are always looking for handouts.”

I burned a few calories to lean on my nervous system and head off a flash of anger. "I… see. Yes, I got briefed on these policies while I was in transit. Only thing I want to make sure of is that the people I work on aren't being charged.”

"If they're tagged green or yellow, that is automatically taken care of by the company," Van De Meer said, not bothering to specify which company, because he didn't have to. "The rest will not be charged for your services."

"But they will be charged? For what?" I pressed. "Post-op, follow up?"

He gave me the side-eye. "For whatever they need beyond the surgical procedure. There are many ways for them to pay. We aren't savages."

There was not a second of doubt in my mind that many of the warehouse laborers and miners were paying off medical debts for themselves or their families via these ‘many ways’. Corporate slavery, corporate murder. I began to consider the ways I could discreetly kill this man.

“I will be reviewing their itemized bills myself, in that case,” I said stiffly. “And disputing any unnecessary charges.”

The man shrugged. “If you want to on your own time, there is no rule against it.”

And that was the last we said to each other. I was grateful to be rid of Van De Meer for the rest of the day.

The morning was spent meeting people, shaking hands, sizing each other up, but then it was into the trenches. My orientation day buddy, Jacobs, abandoned me halfway through my first procedure. I didn't see him again until I was almost at the end of my ten-hour shift - in the break room, where he was being quietly, but sternly interrogated by none other than Mert Wigge.

"Good evening, Doctor Soo." He spoke before I could, unconsciously giving me a quick up-and-down glance. Not the ‘man assessing another man as a threat’ kind of way. It was one-hundred percent an eyefuck.

"Well hello there, Mister Wigge," I said, wiggling my fingers at him. "Fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the honor?"

He managed to tear his eyes away from the v-taper of my suit, where the patterns converged toward my crotch. "Ah, nothing terrible. The office sent me to make sure our new Confluence guest is settling in."

I beamed at him. "Oh, absolutely. Hospital fits like a glove. I just got done with my third procedure for the day. Penetrating brain injury… someone got nailed with a piece of rebar on a work site."

"That sounds… lovely," Mert replied. He looked back to the other man. "Thank you, Doctor Jacobs. That will be all."

Jacobs shot me a concerned look. But before he scuttled off, he briefly gripped my arm. "By the way, I'm sorry I had to duck on your ventriculostomy. I got paged for an emergency."

"No worries, done about a million of them." I smiled. "The assistants were great, too. Glad to be of help."

"Glad to have you on board, Doctor Soo." Jacobs glanced between me and Mert, and left us with the six or so other people there on break. They were clustered on the other side of the room, absorbed in their PDAs.

"This place is definitely a little rough around the edges, but they’ve got some great people." I took a moment to really study Mert. He looked a bit fresher today, and better without the trench coat. All things considered, he took good care of himself and made the most of what he had, but there was a sourness to him that never seemed to leave. His left ring finger had a paler band than the surrounding skin. I spotted an opportunity. "But you know, I've actually been worrying all day about you."

He gave me a flat, inquisitive look. “About me?”

"Mmhmm. You and I, I think we got off on the wrong foot," I said, as if rushing the words out a little too fast. "I got hassled by security at the airport... turned out they were looking for someone else, but it put me on edge for the whole day. What do you say to getting a beer and trying again?"

"Sorry, but no. I was just here to verify you were at the hospital and orientation was going well," he said, even as his body viscerally reacted to the suggestion of alcohol and company. I saw it in his pupils and the way his throat worked, as if swallowing. The man was lonely, pent up, suffering under some secret pain. By the recently-removed ring, I could take a guess as to why. "I need to get back to my desk."

People don't generally comprehend how much of our moods, thoughts, impulses and identity are due to our hormones. Women have a better grasp of it, because of the natural cycles of their body; trans people tend to be even more aware because they experience the transformations hormones cause first-hand. Men like Mert generally had no idea how much their sense of self was regulated by chemicals. Ghrelin, estrogen, testosterone, insulin... They told you when you were hungry, horny, happy or sad. In moments of courage or terror, your body pumped adrenaline; in tender moments with a lover, it was oxytocin that brought the bittersweet tears and the swell of your heart.

While Mert made his first round of excuses, I gazed through his skin, gently, slowly adjusting his hormonal dials. A little touch of testosterone, slowly ramping up; a little dopamine, but not too much. All I had to do was remotely coax his body to raise the temperature a little: easy enough to do, given he had slobbered all over my fingers the other day and given me a sample of saliva.

"Well, it doesn't have to be beer if you need to get back to it. Coffee or tea is great." I erred on the side of feminine body language, shifting my weight to one leg and reaching up to tuck a strand of imaginary hair behind my ear. "Mostly I just want to make it up to you. I was really catty for no good reason while were just trying to do your job… so let me buy you something for your trouble?"

I could see the shift in him the moment the hormonal shift registered: the dilated pupils and the slight flush to his skin as he seemed to really see me for the first time. His eyes were dark, full of bated heat as he pulled out a cloth handkerchief and swiped it over the sides of his neck. "Do Confies even HAVE money?"

I quirked my lips and laced my hands behind my back. "I have... Some. Enough, unless you have very expensive tastes, Mr. Wigge."

"I have good taste." He tossed his chin up a little, like a spirited colt. "Fine. Just one. To apologize for wasting my time."

"Thanks." I flashed him a shy, hopeful grin. He wasn't even pretending not to eyebang me now. "And if I don't have enough money to cover New Wardern beer, we Confies are surprisingly good at trading services for goods."

“Bet,” he grunted. “Come on. I know a place not far from here.”

***

Two beers and about forty-five minutes later, the deputy governor was in a single-occupancy pub bathroom getting the best blowjob of his life. He leaned against the wall, legs shaking, one arm wrapped around his face, the other hand fisted in my hair.

“Fuck, fuck fuck, don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.” Soft moans trickled from Mert’s open mouth as he pulled my head forward, all the way down. ALL the way down.

I let out a dark, muffled chuckle. It was the vibration that brought him, and while he cursed and bucked and clawed at my scalp, I played his neurochemistry like a fine violin. Dopamine, the goal seeking and reward hormone. Oxytocin, the affection hormone. A bunch of fun endocannabinoids and a tiny hit of DMT, drugs produced by our own bodies to reward us for things like eating sugar or trancing out to music or even just straight-up dying. Every time Mert looked down at me, or climaxed, or was otherwise a good boy, he got a little hit.

"Holy shit." Once it was over, he let go of my hair, sagging back against the wall to roll his head back and catch his breath. "Holy fucking shit, Soo. I think I just saw God."

I slid back with full, flushed lips, making sure to linger a little before lazily kissing my way down to his open fly. He was still rock hard - and would be for as long as I wanted. "You know... if you want the main course, maybe we should pack it up for my house?"

"No. That house is full of cameras." He reached down and hauled me up under one arm. "Now. I need it now."

WAS full of cameras. I led him on a brief, flirtatious chase out of the stall. We got as far as the counter before he fell on me like a starving wolf, clawing desperately at my clothing. I willed the suit to split down the back, and as soon as he had it part of the way off, it was all I could do to hold onto the sink for balance as he shoved me forward against the cold porcelain rim. Several frantic minutes later, Mert collapsed across my back, panting and bathed in sweat.

"I was supposed to be spying on you, not fucking you," he whispered hoarsely.

“Funny how that works out.” I craned my head back, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair. “No hard feelings, though.”

"Fucking Zeelander set me up to it. Slimy bastard, thinks he’s got me over a barrel. He's got it out for you, you know."

"Me? Why?" I gently freed myself, and turned so I could loop my arms around his shoulders.

"Don't know. Probably because of that weird Conf bitch that came before you." Mert was exhausted, but still ground in against me urgently. He backed me against the counter, hooked a hand under one of my thighs, and half-lifted me from the floor.

"A frigid-AH! A frigid... Confluence woman. That's a new one." I wrapped my legs around his hips, using them to slow him down before he could start urgently pounding his way to nut number four. I brought my lips beside his ear and continued speaking in that strange, soft ASMR-type voice so many men loved. "So it was me they were after me in the airport?"

"Yeah." Mert shivered, his shoulders coming up in gooseflesh. "Yeah, they did. God... I feel drunk. Why can't I stop fucking you?"

"Mmm… dunno. Seems like you needed this real bad. I did, too." I let my hands slip down his back, ghosted my palms over the hair as it stood on end. "Why would Zeelander have it in for me?"

"No idea. Maybe he thought you were because of that missing Confie, or the dead hippies." Mert nuzzled against my shoulder, huffing through mouth and nose. "Fuck, you smell incredible."

I made a soft cooing sound of approval, quietly relinquishing my numonic control over his body. "You do, too. And what? Dead hippies?"

"Yeah... bunch of conservationists. They were raising a stink about Vornn’s plans to expand the city." He finally let himself slip free, stifling a groan under his breath, and leaned against me as I found my feet on the cold tiles. "Something about Vornn killing off the local fauna. Birds and bugs. They were threatening to go to the next Continental Alliance session about it. Well, one of them, his car malfunctioned while he was on his way into town. Machine drove him off the side of a mountain. Few others just disappeared into the jungle and never came out."

"Wooow."

"I know, right? Shit..." he made a sound of disgust. "You know, I really shouldn't be talking about this."

"Oh no, it's fine." I leaned my chin on his shoulder, and fed him a dopamine microdose as a reward. "A self-driving car running someone off the road? That's awful."

"Yeah, well. Vornn's the king around here, and the king sent a message." Mert's teeth grazed my skin as he began to kiss up along my neck. "You don't need to worry about it, though, babe. Now I’ve got you, I'll take real care of you."

Oh boy. He was one of those. "Is that what Chani was wrapped up in?"

"Maybe. Probably." Mert's voice slurred slightly. "You don't need to worry about her. She fucked off with her boyfriend. Probably halfway to some freelighter station right now."

I opened my mouth to reply when someone banged on the door so hard it rattled in its frame, and an irate woman yelled through the heavy wood in New Warder’s particular brand of Dutch. “Hey! Get out of there, you perverts! I know what you’re doing! Out! Before I call the police!”