The single biggest question mark for Gloria was the gang situation in her building. The Tyger Claws shielded me from a lot of the stuff involved in running a technically illegal venture, like the city or cops trying to shut me down. In exchange, I gave them ten per cent of my income, gross, not net. Like a sales tax, almost. In fact, that was how I had set it up in the simple accounting software I had downloaded. On the plus side, since it was all illegal income, I didn't pay regular sales tax, so it evened out.
The next biggest issue was real estate. The Tyger Claws were really giving me a deal on the location I was renting. I'd have to help her examine the commercial or dual-use areas in her building.
I thought about that. Trauma Team's philosophy on side work was laid out pretty simply in the first week of indoc, namely, don't do anything with company property, company logos, and, more importantly, the company reputation. That was it. It was kind of impossible to totally ban such income streams unless you were a manager or higher up than she was.
I didn't think it would be a big deal to continue doing it, but if I heard differently, I could always offer Gloria to run my business, but she'd have to move to my Megabuilding, so it might be problematic. She was pretty set on continuing to live in Santo Domingo.
We talked a little more and then hung up. I caught up a little on the propaganda in Night City on the drive back into town. They had mostly stopped talking about The Great Bird Debacle of '63, as it was being called, but Lucius Rhyne had definitely scored a point or two from what everyone on the network news was saying.
One odd message that I almost didn't notice since it came from a net address I didn't have in my contacts list was an invitation to see one Wakako Okada for tea after returning from Seattle and getting settled in at my new job. That was both interesting and a little unsettling. I wasn't entirely sure if Wakako was one of the leaders of the Tyger Claws or if she was just a Fixer associated with them, but I had learned that Mr Jin's boss, Mr Inoue, was actually one of her sons.
And her son, who was a fairly high-ranked Tyger Claw, referred to her as "Okada-sama" rather than as mom. She seemed to have some intelligence on me, as well. I had just told Jin I would be out of town for a few months, not specifically why, although it wasn't hard to find out.
Well, I doubted she intended me out and out violence; I would have preferred to be beneath her notice, though.
The van pulled into a transient housing facility operated by the Corp, and we all got out and checked in. It was similar to a hotel, but only Trauma Team employees could use it. The rooms were quite small, but all I wanted to do was to take a shower and crawl into the cold, clean sheets of the bed for several days. I didn't have anything to do for about half a week, and after that, I just had a brief three-day course acclimating me to life as a flight team member.
When I got to Night City, I'd still have to work under third rider status again, just like when I got hired at NC Med Ambulance, although I expected Trauma Team's third rider to last a little longer.
I rolled my luggage upstairs, got into my room and locked the door. Thank god I could use my sleep-inducer again. Normally I just sat in a comfortable chair while using it, but I built a little strap that would keep it on my head no matter what, and honestly, who couldn't resist snuggling into brand-new cold sheets when they stayed in a hotel?
I was surprised I had missed my own apartment so much, but I was really glad to see it back, but my schedule was a bit weird. I barely had twelve hours off after getting off the airliner before needing to show up for my first shift, which I was driving to now. Apparently, they only had limited people that they would allow precepting for new clinicians.
It looked like I would be a part of the same crew that I had seen the other day. I wondered if Mr Bandbox was back on duty yet. I had checked his social media and was horrified to discover that they had done an entire special BD about his brush with death. You could even download an edited BD of him being flatlined and then another of him waking up in the sterile white hospital. They also had a several-day gap between the releases, so everyone assumed he was dead! There were locally trending hashtags, #RIPSexyTT. Wasn't that too much?
Plus, he was discussing me, and commenters wanted to know who I was, but thankfully they hadn't really learned much, except that I was a female due to my voice attempting to warn him. All Mr Bandbox was saying was he was extremely grateful for a colleague that managed to save him and get him to the Trauma Team trauma centre in Watson, where his heart was replaced.
This time I parked in the employee parking garage. There weren't assigned parking spots, but there were assigned areas. As a new clinician, I didn't rate a very good area, so it took me a couple of minutes to walk to the security checkpoint. The employee-only security checkpoint wasn't as high-security as the one in the front of the building because I already had my identity checked once driving into the garage. Still, there were a couple of security guys behind a desk watching the entrance that I needed to badge into
They didn't remark at my pistol, knife or monowire this time; they merely told me to have a nice day and "be safe out there." Of course, there were areas in the tower where I would not be allowed to carry a weapon, for example, a lot of the executive floors on the top ten floors and a few research areas in the basement and first few floors. I had no reason or access to go to any of those locations in the first place, though, so it didn't really matter too much.
I badged into the base for the second time and glanced around. I was early again, but not by very much. However, this time I knew which rooms were which, and I went to drop my things in the spare bedroom. I brought some tools with me because I intended to work on the braindance wreath inside whatever helmet they assigned me today during our off hours.
I had spent almost eight hours just Tinkering and building things when I got back to my apartment; the urge to do so was becoming stronger and stronger the longer I spent in Seattle. I had managed to calm it somewhat by reading a lot of interesting medical journals in the Trauma Team Tower and drawing diagrams in the notebook I took with me, but that was like being thirsty and only being allowed a couple of ice chips. It didn't really satisfy me.
I did come back with very detailed drawings of semi-autonomous surgical assistant spider robots about the size of a chihuahua which incorporated both electronic and biological components, for example, human neural tissue instead of a CPU. I didn't understand electronics enough to actually use any kind of electronic solution for a robot, but I understood the biology of a human brain very well and could repurpose or just grow parts of it that would work as well as or better than any robot currently on the market.
However, the drawings put me ill at ease for some reason. Beyond the fact that I didn't have anything to clone human tissue with, I would have to use "donor tissue" from people who would definitely prefer to keep it. Beyond that, it just looked kind of creepy, even if everything my medical instincts told me that it would be very efficient.
Of the things I actually built, I finished a clip-on in-line firewall module that should work with most BD systems, and I had a number of new tools, including a bunch of chemistry glassware that I had made somehow in a daze out of beer bottles that Gloria had left in the trash. I wish I had set a camera to watch myself as I did it because I was very curious due to my lack of an actual glassblowing, heating or smelting apparatus in my apartment.
It seemed like my power wanted me to have and play around with chemicals some more. That was... pretty good. My possible plans for selling one of the chemicals I knew how to make, probably the synthetic antibiotic, did require me to synthesise it a number of times on tape or BD to include that with the payoff along with directions. But that was for the future.
I barely had enough time to get a couple of hours of sleep on the inducer, get something to eat and take a shower before I needed to show up here. It would have been so very awkward if I had missed my first day at work because I had been in a fugue for hours. I'm not sure if they would fire me, but I think I would have been in pretty deep trouble.
By the time I came out of the bedroom, a number of people were in the living, including most of the crew I would be working with and Mr Bandbox! He was working today! I suppose it had been almost three months since he was injured, so it wasn't too surprising that modern medicine had him up and at them much sooner than that.
He noticed me and grinned widely, waving the giant hand cannon revolver that almost killed him! "Hey! It's Heartbreaker!"
Uhh...
That can't be my cape name. I mean, my Trauma Team name. I was aware of how this nickname thing usually went; the more you objected to it, the more it stuck, but still, "Shouldn't that be... Heart-maker?" I asked, hopefully.
Anno smiled and nodded, but Mr Mercy and Mr Bandbox shook their heads, the latter saying, "No way, no way! The name has to be ironic, somehow. This one has the double entendre that it is might be because you are the date em and leave em type, which seems like the opposite to your personality! It's great!"
I shook my head, "Dr Anno's name isn't ironic. I figured out it was because he saved a kid's life by doing internal cardiac massage for the entire trip to the hospital. The kid was only like eight or nine! That really is a Savior!"
Dr Anno groaned and shook his head rapidly, but Mr Mercy chuckled and said, "You didn't hear the whole story. It's true he saved that kid's life, he even saw the kid off when they left the hospital with their dad. Was waving as the kid drove away..."
Mr Bandbox interrupted by smacking his fist into his open palm, "And watched their car get totally smashed by an out-of-control automated semi-truck! Grease spot! Both were DOA instantly!"
Both Dr Anno and I groaned, and I said, "That's really cruel to make that his name, then!" That caused the doctor to nod rapidly at me. That also made me even warier of those automated trucks that I saw on the streets sometimes.
The man I called Mr Teddy Bear shook his head, "I know! And he's my boss, so don't think you're getting out of your name, either!"
Being given a nickname after the most despicable human Master in Earth Bet was a little troubling. I had been here for a year and a half now, but I still had a visceral disgust reaction just hearing it. Dr Anno turned to me and said, "Don't worry, Taylor! I'm on your side!"
After some more ribbing, Mr Bandbox came over and privately thanked me profusely for saving his life, which caused me to turn beet red. I'd been thanked a number of times since I got into this world, but honestly, I don't think I've been appreciated on that level since my mom was alive. I always got the impression that I was the most important thing to her. I used to think that about my dad, too.
I waved him off, stammering something out, before being saved by Dr Anno and Mr Mercy, needing me to go through a number of things on my first day. I had to check out an MCU, a helmet, and a weapon not to mention I had to do a number of additional training items on the AV-4, as well. We were out of service for about an hour and a half while I accomplished all of that.
I already had my armour and helmet on, as I was adjusting several things on it when we got an unusual Platinum call. For us to get a Platinum call when we weren't even on the way to go ready-five status meant that we had to have like three Platinum calls more or less simultaneously, which wasn't a good sign. Everyone rapidly got into their suits, and we rushed out to the aircraft and jumped in.
I was sitting in the normal paramedic spot while Mr Teddy was in the jumpseat, and he would be pretending he wasn't here unless I fucked something up.
I tried to pull up the patient information but must have screwed something up. As the engines spooled up and the pilot shoved us off our perch, I clicked onto the clinician net, "Uhh... I must have got a bad download; it's showing our client is NC88271212C1 Muffins the dog?"
Dr Anno's wry voice came back, "No... that's correct. This is a coordinated call. The first Platinum call was unrelated, but ours and Delta's are related, so we're coordinating. Here, let me show you how to patch into the raid-net."
Raid-net?! Did they use MMO terms? I don't know why, but I found that very amusing.
I mentally selected the correct options and could suddenly hear Delta's clinicians, "Okay, we are approaching the LZ; our client is NC88918217 Martha Williams; she is apparently the dog walker for Bravo's client, which is NC8827121C1 Muffins, a canine. They're airborne now and en route. Our girl has two GSWs to the lower left quadrant; assailants shot her and kidnapped Muffins."
I didn't know which was more unbelievable. That our Platinum client was a dog, or that their Platinum client was the dog's caretaker. Just how much money did these people have if one of the perks of being a dog walker was Trauma Team Platinum coverage? It wasn't cheap, not at all.
I shifted back to our net, "I'm... not a vet." I told Dr Anno, although I was actually pretty sure I could work on dogs with no problem. He chuckled, "Yeah, none of us are. We have a special amendment to the PCGs that I call the DCGs." PCGs were Patient Care Guidelines. It was a huge manual on how to treat any number of illnesses or injuries the Trauma Team way. I had already read the whole thing cover to cover about six times.
"Dog Care Guidelines? Are you serious?" I asked him. I didn't remember seeing any Dog Care Guidelines in there!
He shrugged, "Well, I mean, some are cats, too. The weirdest one was a pet dove once. Don't worry about it. There are a few medicines we can't use, and the rest we just size them down for their weight, like if they were a neonate."
I sighed. Would I ever be rich enough to buy Mr Pegpig his own Trauma Team membership? I somehow doubted it; pigeons only lived about ten years. But... who was to say how long a pigeon could live if it was treated by yours truly?
No! I had to ignore the part of my brain that was tempting me to go catatonic and build a pigeon-longevity chamber right in the AV. Now wasn't the time!
Mr Mercy came on the net and said, "We're going to treat this as a hot LZ; targets and clients are in an empty warehouse; they drove inside. We'll land outside. Since this is sort of a hostage situation, anyone without SmartLinks holds back unless you're absolutely sure you won't miss."
