Burn | Page 2

into a glowing blue eye, which strobed briefly.
"Pupil dilatation normal," the docbot muttered, probably not to Spur. It paused for a
moment and then spoke again. "So about that name?"
"Spur."
The docbot stroked Spur's palm with its med finger, collecting some of his sweat. It stuck
the sample into its mouth. "That may be what your friends call you," it said, "but what
I'm asking is the name on your id."
The words chased each other across the ceiling for a moment before they sank in. Spur
wouldn't have had such a problem understanding if the docbot were a person, with lips
and a real mouth instead of the oblong intake. The doctor controlling this bot was
somewhere else. Dr. Niss was an upsider whom Spur had never actually met. "Prosper
Gregory Leung," he said.
"A fine Walden name," said the docbot, and then muttered, "Self id 27.4 seconds from
initial request."
"Is that good?"
It hummed to itself, ignoring his question. "The electrolytes in your sweat have settled
down nicely," it said at last. "So tell me about the sim."
"I was in the burn and the fire was after me. All around, Dr. Niss. There was a pukpuk,
one of the torches, he grabbed me. I couldn't get away."
"You remembered my name, son." The docbot's top plate glowed with an approving
amber light. "So did you die?"
Spur shook his head. "But I was on fire."
"Experience fear vectors unrelated to the burn? Monsters, for instance? Your mom?
Dad?"
"No."
"Lost loves? Dead friends? Childhood pets?"
"No." He had a fleeting image of the twisted grimace on Vic's face at that last moment,

but how could he tell this upsider that his wife's brother had been a traitor to the
Transcendent State? "Nothing." Spur was getting used to lying to Dr. Niss, although he
worried what it was doing to his soul.
"Check and double check. It's almost as if I knew what I was doing, eh?" The docbot
began releasing the straps that held Spur down. "I'd say your soul is on the mend, Citizen
Leung. You'll have some psychic scarring, but if you steer clear of complex moral
dilemmas and women, you should be fine." It paused, then snapped its fingers. "Just for
the record, son, that was a joke."
"Yes, sir." Spur forced a smile. "Sorry, sir." Was getting the jokes part of the cure? The
way this upsider talked at once baffled and fascinated Spur.
"So let's have a look at those burns," said the docbot.
Spur rolled onto his stomach and folded his arms under his chin. The docbot pulled the
hospital gown up. Spur could feel its medfinger pricking the dermal grafts that covered
most of his back and his buttocks. "Dr. Niss?" said Spur.
"Speak up," said the docbot. "That doesn't hurt does it?"
"No, sir." Spur lifted his head and tried to look back over this shoulder. "But it's really
itchy."
"Dermal regeneration 83 percent," it muttered. "Itchy is alive, son. Itchy is growing."
"Sir, I was just wondering, where are you exactly?"
"Right here." The docbot began to flow warm dermslix to the grafts from its medfinger.
"Where else would I be?"
Spur chuckled, hoping that was a joke. He could remember a time when he used to tell
jokes. "No, I mean your body."
"The shell? Why?" The docbot paused. "You don't really want to be asking about qics
and the cognisphere, do you? The less you know about the upside, the better, son."
Spur felt a prickle of resentment. What stories were upsiders telling each other about
Walden? That the citizens of the Transcendent State were backward fanatics who had
simplified themselves into savagery? "I wasn't asking about the upside, exactly. I was
asking about you. I mean... you saved me, Dr. Niss." It wasn't at all what Spur had
expected to say, although it was certainly true. "If it wasn't for you, it... I was burnt all
over, probably going crazy. And I thought...." His throat was suddenly so tight that he
could hardly speak. "I wanted to... you know, thank you."
"Quite unnecessary," said the docbot. "After all, the Chairman is paying me to take care
of all of you, bless his pockets." It tugged at Spur's hospital gown with its gripper arm. "I
prefer the kind of thanks I can bank, son. Everything else is just used air."

"Yes, but...."
"Yes, but?" It finished pulling the gown back into place. "'Yes but' are dangerous words.
Don't forget that you people lead a privileged life here -- courtesy of Jack Winter's bounty
and your parents' luck."
Spur had never heard anyone call the Chairman Jack. "It was my grandparents who won
the lottery, sir," he said. "But yes, I know I'm lucky to live