The woman was stooped and frail, with gnarled hands as wrinkled as raisins. They were seated at a small table, atop of which lay a holopad. Above it, hovering in the air, was the head of a doctor from Fresno, California.
The connection was strong. Bingwen had set up several repeaters from the equipment upstairs, and the resolution of the doctor's face was so clear, it was almost as if he were there.
There were five identical setups elsewhere in the alcove. Each with a patient, holopad, doctor's assistant, and doctor. A line of fifteen people waiting to be seen extended out of the alcove and into the main tunnel.
The old woman said, "It would be easier to list off where it doesn't hurt, little one. Every part of me that bends aches like fire. Knuckles, hips, knees, toes. I've got more arthritis than a geriatric ward." She laughed and showed that half her teeth were missing.
Bingwen gave her a warm smile. Then he leaned his face into the holofield and translated what she had said.
The doctor from Fresno was one Bingwen had never worked with before, a young general practitioner who looked Chinese and had a Chinese name but who couldn't speak Chinese to save his life.
"Is she allergic to any medication?"
"No," said Bingwen. "I already asked her that. In the past she's mostly taken antiinflammatory drugs along with a pain med called glordical. Are you familiar with that one?"
"Yes, but I doubt you have that on base."
"We don't. Last time I checked we had six pain meds." He rattled off the names to the doctor and waited.
The doctor prescribed her one and gave Bingwen very specific instructions about the dosage. Then he made Bingwen repeat it all back to him.
It always went this way when Bingwen worked with a new doctor. They always spoke to him as if he were a toddler, as if children were incapable of anything. Usually, when they first saw Bingwen, they would assume there had been some mistake and they would insist on speaking to an adult. And Bingwen would have to go and get one of the adults who worked as doctors' assistants to come over and reassure the doctor that yes, Bingwen is in fact a doctor's assistant and yes he is in fact quite capable. The doctors never believed the adults, but they had no choice but to work with whatever assistant they were given.
So they would sigh and shrug and shake their heads in exasperation, and then they would charge ahead and hope for the best. After a few patients, they would realize that Bingwen wasn't as incompetent as they had assumed, and things would proceed much faster.
A few of the doctors who worked with Bingwen had even started asking for him by name. They had quickly learned that no one spoke English as well as he did, and that made all the difference in the world. Visits were faster, diagnoses were more accurate, and patients got the best care when the language wasn't a stumbling block.
But translation wasn't the only area in which Bingwen excelled. As a doctor's assistant, he was the doctors' eyes and hands on this side of the world, and he had quickly learned his duties over the last seven days. He could take blood, administer shots, check vitals, conduct bone scans. He knew when a blood-pressure reading was high and when a liver-enzyme reading was low. He knew what lungs with pneumonia sounded like and what an infected eardrum looked like. He had become so good in fact that oftentimes the other doctors at the other stations would ask for him to step in and help the doctor's assistant with something beyond mere translation.
So he wasn't surprised when Pipo tapped him on the shoulder and told him he was needed over at Station Four.
Bingwen finished with the old woman and explained where she needed to go to pick up her prescription from the medical officer. Then he left his screen and hurried over to Station Four. To his surprise, there wasn't a patient waiting. Nor a doctor's assistant. Both chairs were empty. But the holopad was there, with an empty holofield above it. That either meant no one was there or the person on the other end didn't want to be seen.
Bingwen climbed up into a chair and put his face into the field.
Kim's head was there on screen.
Bingwen smiled. "Is this a personal call? There's no patient here."
Her expression was serious. "Bingwen, I think you'll hear me better with the audio bud in your ear."
He understood immediately. He put the earpiece in, picked up the holopad and left the alcove. He found a side tunnel nearby that led to an empty storage closet. Bingwen slipped inside and locked the door behind him.
"Alone and private," he said.
Kim relaxed. "There are some people on the line with me, calling in from Luna. They want to talk to you."
"Me? Why?"
&
nbsp; "I'll let them explain. Will you speak with them?"
"Put them on."
Two other heads appeared in the holofield. One was a woman--early twenties, sharp features, dark complexion, black hair. The other was a man, a few years younger. He was ethnic as well, but different. South American maybe.
"Hello, Bingwen," said the woman. "My name is Imala Bootstamp. This is my friend Victor Delgado."