This Month's Theme: 'Retail Madness'

I was watching TV one day when I saw a news report about Wal-Mart's foray into the world of medical care. It seemed Wal-Mart was going to start putting doctor's offices in their stores, the same way the eye-care center and the photo studio and the beauty salon are there. That's right: discount medical care. On the surface, it makes sense; after all, it would be medical care people could afford.

Then I wondered... would the medical care be any good? Or would it be half-assed, like much of what Wal-Mart sells? Would it be worth it... or would we be risking a lot to have stuff done?

And what if it did catch on? What would the future hold for fast, in-and-out, discount medical care? How far would it go?

This story appeared in Morpheus Tales in 2008. It wasn’t the holiday edition of Cud Flashes in the Pan I was planning before my laptop’s hard drive died and I had amateurishly not backed it up to my file server. But as I was wondering what I could put together way past my editor’s deadline, I was musing about the insane Christmas shopping I’d been enduring the past couple of weeks, with masses of people flocking like sheep to the stores (myself included). I think this one fits well with the capitalist spirit.

However, if you were hoping for more holiday-themed material, I invite you to visit last year’s December column, “Gifts,” at:

http://www.thecud.com.au/live/content/cud-flashes-pan-5

“Watch Out for Falling Prices”
Dystopian
by David M. Fitzpatrick

“Bob!” Laurie hollered from downstairs. “Are you ready?”

Bob Peters rubbed his fingers on his temples, trying to will the throbbing pain away. If only she’d turn the volume down on that mouth of hers, it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Well, that wasn’t true; but it would be nice if she’d shut up, anyway. Of course, he certainly couldn’t tell her anything like that. It wasn’t his place or his right.

“Bob!”

“I’m coming,” he called down, and his own voice sent a horde of tiny demons with hammers through his skull, pounding away. He was ready to do anything to relieve the pain—and almost anything to not have to live under her control all the time.

But that was a fantasy. At least she could do something about his headache. He got up off his antigrav bed and reached for his Blue Sox baseball cap, teetering and almost falling over. He snugged the cap on his head, and it felt like a steel band trying to keep his skull from exploding. The cap was the only personal belonging he actually owned—it had come with him from the farm in Antarctica a few years ago.

He took a step and dizzy nausea overwhelmed him, and he grabbed at the wall for support even as the autodoor sensed his presence and slid silently open. He closed his eyes and willed the pain away. It would all be over soon, he knew. Just a quick flight to World-Mart, and Laurie would make sure he was cured of this brain-screaming agony.

Like a movie zombie, his steps jerking and halting, he made his way to the motion stairs and let them glide him down to the first floor. Laurie was waiting in the dining room, woven-gold purse over her shoulder, arms crossed, glaring at him. Her hair was pink and yellow this week, exaggerated curls frozen in stiff corkscrew spirals about her head.

“I don’t know if you understand how this marriage thing works, but you’re supposed to do everything on my schedule,” she said. “While you’re taking care of the headache, I want to get my nails done. I’m sick of these red claws.” She waggled the long, curled talons, painted as bright a red as the blood they’d draw.

“I’m sorry,” Bob said. “It’s just that my head really hurts.”

“Well, I hope all this takes is medication. You know how I hate to waste money.”

* * *

In minutes, they were airborne and supersonic, the hovercar leaving the mountain range behind them. He watched through the glass dome as they flew, at the hundreds of mountaintop skyscrapers spiking skyward as far north and south as he could see. The one that housed their apartment was a comparatively small forty-story affair; others were twice that or more. After neutralizing plate tectonics, humans had been able to build anywhere without worry—and mountaintops allowed some of the best views in the world. It was just one more advance that made life better, Bob knew. Just like the advancements in medicine.

Laurie let the autopilot cruise them toward Plexopolis as she jacked the music up way too loud, adding to his misery. Then she talked even louder to be heard over the noise. She prattled on about the latest gossip at work, mostly.

“So Monday, during our flight to our Moon office, Barry Martin actually touched Linda’s thigh,” she said. “And Linda sat there, acting like she didn’t notice, but we all saw. Twenty minutes in that shuttle, and he never moved his hand until we landed. And he kept moving his finger on her leg—just barely, but noticeable. Can you believe that?”

“No,” he said, the obedient, expected answer. His eyes hurt, too, feeling as if they were bulging out of their sockets with every thud of his heart—like twin battering rams were smashing against them, trying to pop them out of his head.

She rambled on about a secretary on the Moon who was screwing the company’s Chief Theological Officer, and the Mars shuttle pilot who was caught with his hand in his pants. The stories were all so exciting to Laurie, but even if Bob’s head wasn’t threatening to explode, he couldn’t have cared less. With his headache, it was all the more deplorable.

“Are you listening to me?” she said.

He really hadn’t been. “I—I’m sorry… this headache is just killing me.”

“You know, besides my sexual needs, I have you around so I can talk about my job and my life and anything else I want to share with someone,” she said, a scornful look on her face that was turning pouty as she crossed her arms and let her lower lip creep out. “You can at least do your job as my husband, you know.”

You can at least give me a break today, he thought. Maybe I haven’t made this clear, you selfish wench, but my head is about to fall off!

Of course, he didn’t say that. “I’m trying, Laurie. I mean, this really hurts.”

Her brow creased and her demeanor softened the tiniest bit. “So this really is a bad headache, huh?”

“I’ve never had one like it.”

“Okay, sweetie,” she said, smiling, reaching out to pat his knee, “it’ll be all better soon. You can get anything at World-Mart, you know. Get anything, fix anything, take care of any problem. That’s why I love the place. World-Mart has almost never disappointed me.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I’ve had a few glitches, but they always make good on it. That’s a company that knows how to treat customers. If I ever lose my job with Solar Projects, maybe I could work for them.” She laughed aloud at her own joke. “You know, I even bought this very hovercar at World-Mart. Cost just a million. Anywhere else would have charged a million-three. Sure, I’ve had a few problems with it, but the antigravs have never failed, and the upkeep hasn’t cost me even close to the three hundred thousand I saved…”

She kept talking, but luckily it was just a few more minutes before the hovercar landed in the parking tower adjacent to the local World-Mart. The store’s footprint was nearly five acres, sporting ten floors of merchandise and services. It was a small one for the retail chain; most were twice that size.

“World-Mart just broke its own record, you know,” Laurie said as she sprang out of the car. “That new store in Manhattan City is the biggest yet. Thirty stories with a ten-acre base. Maybe I’ll check it out next weekend. If your headache is gone and you’re a good husband, maybe you can come along.”

That wasn’t Bob’s idea of a good time. Fleetingly, he wondered if he might get lucky and still have the headache.

Inside, the store was like any other World-Mart: countless departments full of every conceivable thing anyone could want, and ten times that amount of inconceivable things nobody would anyone would ever want. Yet someone always wanted one of those inconceivable things, which is why World-Mart was the global retail leader with over three thousand locations. And there were thousands of shoppers enjoying this location; Bob and Laurie had entered on the Toy Department level, and the place was mobbed by screaming children demanding toys and parents frantically stuffing their carts full. Bob noticed the single floordroid in charge of customer service in the Toy Department, answering myriad questions.

“It’s busier than usual,” Laurie said. “People must be getting an early jump on Arbor Day gifts. Their sale trees aren’t as big as the ones you can buy at stores in South America, but they’re way cheaper.”

The noise was overwhelming. “I have to get down to the Service Level,” he said, holding his hands to the sides of his head.

“Yes, I know, I’m going with you,” she said, annoyed. “I get my nails done right near where you need to go. Today, if you pay for one hand, they do the other one for free.”

“The last time you did that, you lost three nails.”

“They were fine for a month. And you’re not listening: half-price, Bob. I swear, men like you have no concept of value. That’s why I chose to marry the way I did—so I could have control over the money.”

They took the motion stairs down to the Service Level. Nearly a hundred payment portals were filled with lines of customers and their wares. As a shopper wheeled his cart through a portal, the computers registered all items in the cart and on the shopper’s person, did a DNA scan of the shopper, and immediately debited the Default Operating Account on file with the Venus-Earth-Mars Grand Bank. It was all very efficient; the lines flowed through as fast as people could wheel their carts toward the exit lifts, their VEM accounts being sapped without them having to think about it.

On the other side of the complex were some of the in-house services. Bob walked, bordering on staggering, behind the speedy Laurie, who was like a cat in a fish factory whenever she got into a World-Mart. She was babbling on about the silver hairdo she’d gotten at the salon a few weeks back.

“It’s the only salon in town that does hair-chroming,” she said as she weaved amongst the rushing carts and shoppers. “I got mostly silver, with gold and copper highlights. Cost a fortune, but was still a lot less than going to one of those fancy places in Angelisco. But you never saw that, because I only kept it three days. I had it dechromed when I returned from working a shift at the Olympus Mons office on Mars…”

Just shut up, bitch! he screamed in his mind, because he knew the consequences of saying such a thing. It wouldn’t matter if she did; she was hardly any more annoying than the thunderous noises made by the thousands of shoppers in World-Mart. He just knew his head would explode before he got what he needed.

“Okay, you’re on your own,” she suddenly announced, and he hit the brakes and looked around through bleary eyes. They were in front of the nail technology center; inside, naildroids were busily working on the nails of thirty people, and dozens more impatient clients waited their turns. “You’re going just a few shops down. Your genetics and medical history are on file there and linked to my account, so they shouldn’t need me for anything. So go get your headache fixed.”

She hurried into the nail center, and Bob staggered off through the crowd. It seemed like everyone was coming at him, dogging his path and making him zigzag like a drunken, three-legged dog. Finally, he made it to the medical center and headed in.

A dozen people were waiting to see one of the six on-duty doctors. The doctors were humans, he knew; the receptionist and the nurses were all androids, but the law still demanded humans had to be in charge of everything medical. There were a few things still left in the world they wouldn’t allow androids to do. He checked in, found a seat, and leaned back, eyes closed, waiting.

He heard people being called, heard others checking in, before he finally heard his name. “Robert Peters?” the nursedroid called in the sexiest female voice he could imagine. She was built sexy, too, with ample bosom and hips, slim waist, and long, slender thighs. But her synthetic skin kind of ruined it for him; any idiot could tell she wasn’t a real woman. The skin tones weren’t quite right, the facial expressions a bit too plastic. But hell, the package looked good, and he needed something to smile about. And in many ways, she’d be a better choice than Laurie. Not that Laurie had been a choice. If only they allowed androids to be spouses.

She led him back to an exam room, an intelligent automaton swaying its butt like any human could. He hurt too much to truly enjoy it.

“I’ve scanned you,” she said as he climbed up onto the exam table, “and I’ve determined the problem.”

“Yeah, I have a headache that won’t quit. What’s causing it?”

“I am prohibited from conveying medical diagnoses,” she said a voice coated with synthesized sweetness. “But the doctor will be in to see you momentarily.”

Bob sighed and lay back on the exam table, getting his head comfortable on a pillow. He lay there, looking at the smiling droid through slitted eyes. He was just getting comfortable with his unnatural thoughts about how nice her robotic chest looked when the doctor arrived. He was barely twenty, young even for being fresh out of medical school. “Hello, Robert,” he said. “You have a brain tumor.”

It was rather unceremonious and abrupt. “Seriously?”

“Yes, but it’s no problem. We can take care of it easily.”

“I have a feeling the bill will be a problem with my wife. It’s her money.”

“Well, it will require a major procedure,” the young doctor said. “It will take about five minutes. We use a matter converter to transform the tumor into energy and siphon it out. Quick and painless. It’ll cost about ninety thousand.”

Bob sat up suddenly, his surprise temporarily back-seating his splitting migraine. “Ninety thousand? Are you kidding?”

“Not at all.”

Bob whistled. “That’s hard to swallow, doc. The same procedure anywhere else would be a lot more.”

“Probably a quarter million,” the doctor said. “But we believe in making discount medical care accessible, Mr. Peters. For something life-threatening like this, it’s all the more important to save the customer money.”

“I’m happy for that, but I admit I’m a little nervous. You know, the idea of doctors doing medical procedures in a retail outlet—it just seems strange.”

The youth smiled. “That’s understandable. Your concerns are why only humans are still allowed to be doctors. We carefully supervise everything that happens here. There’s really nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, well, my wife shops at World-Mart all the time. I think she’s in here every day she’s home on Earth. She swears by everything here. And she gets her hair and nails done here all the time, and her boobs a couple times a year, depending on when she’s in the mood to be bigger or smaller.”

“Oh, sure, at the cosmetic surgery center down the way,” the doctor said. “They seem to do good work.”

“They always look good.” He sighed again and relaxed back on the bed. “All right. Do what you have to.”

“Fine. I see by your account that the ninety thousand is within the spending limit your wife has set for medical care, so we’ll get started. It will all be over in a minute. Nurse, anesthetize the patient.”

“Yes, Doctor,” said the nursedroid, and reached out for Bob’s arm. He heard the sound of the drugs being injected through his skin, and that was the last conscious thought he had.

* * *

“The patient is anesthetized, Doctor,” said the nursedroid.

“Remove the tumor.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The nursedroid initiated the matter converter. The domed box glowed purple, and it hummed and vibrated. Then, so did the patient.

And then the alert beacon sounded on the matter converter. The glow turned red and flashed ominously.

“Something wrong?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, doctor. There appears to have been an error in matter conversion and transference. The patient has died.”

“So much for my perfect record this month,” the doctor said with a furrowed brow. “I bet I hear about this.”

“The patient’s file indicates he was a Class Two human,” the nurse said.

The doctor brightened. “Well, that’s good news. He doesn’t count toward my record after all. And there’s nothing for his wife to complain about. No need to issue her a gift account to make up for damages if he’s just a Class Two.”

* * *

Laurie gaped in astonishment at the receptiondroid. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, madam. Your husband was pronounced dead eleven minutes ago during surgery to remove a massive brain tumor.”

“I can’t believe this,” she said shaking her head, rapping her new four-inch titanium nails against the countertop. “You know, I lost my third husband to you people just two years ago. That time, you mucked up a heart rebuild. Easy surgery, they said. Five minutes and it’s over, they said. Now you’ve done it again.”

“Of course, you will not be charged for the surgery,” the receptiondroid said smoothly. “However, we are not liable for any damages you have incurred—”

“I know all that,” she snapped. “You just make sure my account isn’t debited.”

She perked up then, and spun her head toward the open doorway. Booming out over the incessant roar of the shoppers was the World-Mart central computer’s voice.

“Attention, World-Mart shoppers,” it droned hypnotically. “We are currently featuring a Green Light Special on Class Two humans on Level Eight for the bargain price of three hundred thousand. That’s a price you’ll find only at World-Mart—no competitor even comes close. These humans were bred in captivity in Antarctica, genetically engineered for your companionship and enjoyment. If you’ve put off buying that new spouse, now’s your chance.”

“I wonder if you people aren’t just trying to get me to spend money on a new husband,” Laurie said. “But it’s good timing, anyway. I was due for a new one.”

She rushed out of the clinic and headed for the nearest lift. A new husband every few years was always good. New husbands were always so attentive when she talked about her job. It eventually wore off, as it had with Bob, but there were always new Class Twos available.

She wondered about the warranty on Bob. A paid claim could help cover the cost of the new one. She’d have to check with the warranty center on Level One on her way out.

God, how she loved World-Mart!