Schuller grinned. “I’m glad you thought so. As the saying goes, ‘A dollar of prevention is worth a million of cure.’”
He glanced approvingly at the morsel of wheat toast a grandmotherly patient nibbled. “Most of you are old enough to remember when millions of people had heart disease and other serious medical problems at least partly caused by them making poor choices about their health. They cut years off their lives and made their remaining ones unnecessarily miserable for themselves and costly for society.
“For example, when the Surgeon General issued his landmark report on the hazards of smoking a century ago, around half of Americans were smokers. Before MNMs became available, about a quarter still used tobacco. Now only a masochist would try it. The way MNMs make you react when you eat two or three doughnuts is nothing compared to how terrible a person feels after lighting up!”
Nick smiled. “Now that we’ve been shown the errors of our ways, I’m sure we’ll all follow your recommendations for diet and exercise. So why are we still required to have our MNMs reactivated before we leave?”
The doctor raised his voice to ensure all the room’s occupants heard his words of wisdom. “Technically, you aren’t required to have your MNMs working properly. However, the reasons for doing that are so compelling it would be foolish to refuse.”
A pineapple-shaped woman younger than me piped up, “I had to get an MNM put in before I could start high school.”
Schuller nodded. “Yes, it’s the law now that everyone is required to have an MNM implanted during early adolescence. Good health habits need to start early. But when a person reaches eighteen years old and becomes a legal adult, it’s possible to file a request to have the MNM deactivated. And everyone who was at least that old when the law was passed can still choose whether or not to have an MNM placed.”
A potbellied gray-haired man old enough to be my father said, “Some choice! Getting an MNM is supposed to be optional, but my company told me that if I didn’t I’d lose my job!”
Several other speakers shouted their own stories. “I couldn’t get a loan to buy a car unless I had an MNM put in!” “They wouldn’t renew my driver’s license if I didn’t get one!” “You can’t even register to vote if you don’t have an MNM!”
Nick added, “Wouldn’t it be better if people could freely choose to have an MNM or not without all those punishments if they don’t?”
The physician nervously tried to drown out the grumbling in the room. “There are good reasons for incentives like that. Certainly individual freedom and the right to choose how we live are important values—but sometimes they aren’t the most important. One of the old poets was right—‘No man is an island.’ What each person does affects not only that individual but also to some degree the people around him, for good or ill. And when enough people freely make bad choices, both they and society as a whole suffer.
“In the past, society was more lenient about where it drew the line about allowing harmful behaviors. A century ago there were virtually no restrictions on tobacco. Then some types of advertising were banned. Largely because of the hazards of second-hand smoke, many public places became smoke-free. But despite those efforts millions of people were still smokers. Society paid billions of dollars to treat cancers and cardiopulmonary disease in individuals who freely decided to smoke. And their exercise of that right also meant exposing others who didn’t choose to do that, like children living in their homes, to carcinogens and other poisons in tobacco smoke.”
The doctor’s words seemed to placate his audience. He continued, “When I was a child, people could eat any kind and amount of food they wanted. Despite the costly health problems overeating caused, and the ‘obesity epidemic,’ people were only encouraged to make healthy choices—and far too many of them didn’t. Even when the first MNMs came on the market, having one implanted was voluntary. But despite financial incentives for having one placed, like lower health insurance premiums, for the vast bulk of people saving money wasn’t reason enough to limit what they ate.
“It’s because so many individuals still freely made bad choices about their health—even though they knew better—that MNMs have effectively become mandatory. If enough people ever learn to freely make good choices instead, those devices may not be required anymore. And though we Americans may have lost a little freedom, we’ve gained something more important. By letting your MNMs do their jobs and cooperating with us who want to help you, each of you has an excellent chance of enjoying good health throughout your natural life-span!”
For a moment I thought some of my fellow patients were about to applaud Dr. Schuller’s stirring defense of the modern healthcare system and his profession. But Nick interjected, “That was very inspiring, doctor. But you forgot to mention several other things. We get our MNMs and other preventive medical care for free. But the Universal Health System gives all of us only a fixed amount of money as an ‘allowance’ to pay for any treatments we receive if we do become sick or injured anytime during our lifetimes.”
He smiled at our colleagues. “In case any of you didn’t know, each one of us is paying for our current therapy out of that allowance. And when it’s used up, we’ll have to spend our own money to buy any additional medical care we need for the rest of our lives. In the bad old days, there were lots of different health insurance plans available. They were expensive and far from perfect, but at least they gave people some degree of choice. Now, under the current system, it’s one-size-fits-all.’
“And no matter how healthy a lifestyle we live, whether from bad luck, accidents, or our bodies just wearing out as we get older, eventually every one of us will get sick or hurt and need some of those high-tech but expensive treatments our doctors have. At some point, even if it’s many years from now, each of us will use up our medical allowance and no longer be able to pay for the care needed to keep our damaged, decrepit, or senile bodies alive. Who’s going to decide if it costs more to keep a person alive than it’s worth—and what happens then?”
Schuller began, “Every individual has a right to refuse extraordinary care—” But as the angry murmurs from our fellow patients grew louder, Nick interrupted him. “What if we don’t have that choice either? Our MNMs condition us to avoid overeating and other unhealthy activities by making us nauseated and feel bad if we do them. But what if they can do more than just punish us? What if, when the MNMs detect we’re too sick, too old and frail, too expensive to keep alive or cure, they put us out of our misery permanently—”
The doctor winced as a dried-out waffle hit his forehead. Stains blossomed on his impeccable white lab coat as scrambled artificial eggs, cupfuls of cold coffee, and nutritious vegipatties pelted him. He scampered for the exit leaving his dignity behind—escaping before any of his lumbering pursuers could catch him. I joined my fellow rioters as we threw our weight around—overturning tables and chairs, splattering the walls with half-eaten food, and sending plates and utensils crashing to the floor. Someone shouted we should storm the cafeteria where hospital staff ate and see what they were having for breakfast. Somebody else yelled he’d heard doctors and nurses dined on real food like bacon and maple syrupdrenched buttermilk pancakes, and we needed to protect their health by eating that stuff ourselves.
But before our raiding party got organized, a counterattack by security guards and orderlies stopped it. The cattle prod-like neuralshockers they brandished as they corralled my comrades and me curbed our enthusiasm. But as we huddled in the middle of the trashed room, the smiles creasing our broad faces showed that this frustrated putsch had been worth it.
They put us on lockdown in our tiny windowless rooms for two days. During that time in solitary, like my fellow prisoners I had nothing to occupy my time or entertain me except for a small TV monitor. Unfortunately it only showed one thirty-minute program that repeated continuously twenty-four hours a day. Its endless message of how eating generous servings of vegetables and fruits would help keep me healthy was a worthy one. Howe
ver, even a kindergartener would’ve found the animated “Adventures of Rudy Rutabaga and Katie Kumquat in the Magical Land of Gardens and Orchards” thin on plot and lacking in sophisticated dialogue.
It was almost a relief when they herded us back to the exercise room for more sessions on those hyperkinetic treadmills. But after the extra workouts they made us do to make up for those we missed during our recent “time out,” my legs felt like hunks of tenderized beef brisket. As we settled in for an insipid supper of soy steaks and Styrofoam-like vegetables, Dr. Schuller entered the dining room. His lab coat had recovered its ivory gleam. But if anyone was tempted to sully it again by throwing the asparagus spears served with our meal at him, the menacing orderlies accompanying him were powerful dissuaders.
The shriveled, browning apples attendants tossed on our plates for dessert failed to keep the doctor away. As Schuller exhorted us to serve our sentences without further disruptions Nick whispered in my ear, “We’ve got to talk.”
I nodded—but we couldn’t converse with our keepers so close. We finally had a chance to communicate during a lecture that evening. Nick and I sat in the back of the room as a professorial gentleman who made Rudy Rutabaga look like a steroids-stuffed action hero expounded on the importance of a well-regulated colon.
Nick extracted a small notebook from his pocket and showed me a handwritten page.
We’ve got to escape from here before they reactivate our MNMs. Are you with me?
I thought about what he was suggesting. Then my lips silently formed the word, “Maybe.”
Nick was an optimist, for he turned the page to show me what he’d already written. I’ll come to your room tonight and talk with you.
I didn’t know how well he could read lips, so I didn’t mouth my question as to how he could do that considering they locked us in our rooms before “lights out.” Instead I just nodded as our lecturer showed us his personal collection of fecaliths.
Later that night, I lay down on the bed in my room after getting everything ready in case Nick did miraculously show up at my locked door. Still waiting for him, I fell asleep. But I jerked awake when my door swiveled slowly open. I turned on the only light in my room and blinked at the rotund apparition in the doorway.
Nick padded into my room and closed the door. He was dressed in an extra-large set of scarlet hospital scrubs. A pale burlap laundry bag was slung over his right shoulder.
He smiled down at me from beside the bed and whispered, “I bet you thought I wasn’t going to show up.”
I kept my voice low too. “How’d you manage to escape from your room and get in here?”
Nick laid a finger aside of his nose. “Trade secret.”
He opened the bag. “I brought some presents for you. Everything you need to look inconspicuous on our way out.”
I frowned at the green scrub suit and pair of white slip-on shoes he pulled from his sack. “Are you serious, Nick? Do you really think we can get out of here?”
“No guarantees. But I think we stand a good chance.”
I kept my blanket wrapped around me. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I don’t know what they’ll do to us if we’re caught, but I bet it won’t be pleasant. Even if we do escape, what comes next? They know who we are, and the police will just track us down! Maybe it’d be better if we stayed here and finished our sentences.”
Nick shook his head. “If we play by their rules, they’ll reactivate our MNMs before we leave. Do you really want to go back to having that nanotechnology nanny controlling your life? And I wasn’t kidding the other day when I said that MNMs can also act as executioners!”
He scowled. “There are people on the outside who agree with me that it’s better to be free and make our own choices, even if we don’t stay quite as healthy or live as long. Once we get out, they’ll help set you up with a new identity far from here.”
My face showed fear. “You make it sound like you’re part of one of those terrorist organizations I’ve heard about!”
“No, we’re not terrorists. But we do have an organization—the Eaters Liberation Front. Several of the hospital staff who’ve been working with us here are actually on ELF’s payroll. They aren’t part of our group, but they’re willing to take our money to supplement that pittance the hospital pays them. In return for those bribes they’ve been helping me and the rest of you when they can—like getting me the scrubs I’m wearing and this set for you.”
“Considering how everybody here has treated us, it’s hard to believe any of them is really trying to help us! Which members of the staff are working with you?”
Nick grinned. “I’ll keep that information to myself until we know each other a little better.”
“Have you talked with anyone else about escaping tonight?”
“No, just you.”
I took the scrub suit from him. “Why’d you pick me? How do you know I won’t scream for help and turn you in? Maybe they’d give me some real food for a reward!”
Nick’s smile faded. “I am taking a risk by bringing you in on my plan. But, as I’ll explain later, I need help to do what has to be done and get us both out of here. And you seemed like my best candidate for a new recruit.”
“Why’s that?”
His gaze settled on my overstuffed form. “I’ll tell you what convinced me you’d do anything to keep from having your MNM reactivated. I could see it in your eyes when you talked about how you feel about doughnuts. To be honest, you look like someone who loves to eat!”
Nick stood in a corner of the room facing the wall, discreetly respecting my modesty as I put on the scrubs. He murmured, “We’ll have to pass through the hospital itself to get out. The rehab center we’re in is connected to it through an underground tunnel. There’s an isolated fire exit on the first floor of the hospital that we can use to escape.”
I wriggled into the wide pants and tied the drawstrings in front. “What if we meet somebody along the way? They might have a video surveillance system too!”
“That’s why we’re wearing these scrubs—so we’ll blend in to look like the real staff. Yes, there are video cameras with microphones everywhere—but except for a few places we’ll avoid, nobody monitors what they see and hear in real time. They’re just connected to a recording system in case Security needs to review something later.”
I slid the scrub top down over my head. “I’m decent now.”
Nick turned around and pulled more goodies out of his bag. “Here’s a surgical cap for you, and one for me. I’ll help you tie the strings on the back of it.”
“That’s okay. I can manage.”
He put on his own aquamarine paper headwear as I secured mine, and said, “These caps disguise us a little. It’d be nice if we could wear surgical masks too, but nobody does that outside the operating rooms—and we’ll be avoiding them. One thing in our favor is that it’s three A.M. There’s only a skeleton staff on duty now. Some of them might be taking catnaps at their stations.”
Nick extracted two last items from his sack. I examined the hospital nametag he gave me. The picture on it was mine, but its black lettering read “Cherry Ames R.N.”
He clipped his own nametag to the upper left pocket on the front of his scrub top and motioned me to do the same. His badge identified him as “Konrad Styner M.D.”
Nick said, “The pictures on these things are the front views of the ‘mug shots’ they made of each of us when we came here.”
“Let me guess. One of your accomplices in the hospital accessed them on its computer system and forged these nametags.”
Nick chuckled. “Now you’re catching on.”
After turning off the light, we slipped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind us. Padding down the hallway, we listened for the approaching footsteps of any guards. Soon we reached a closed metal door with “Stairway” printed in red letters above it. Slowly, keeping its hinges from creaking too much, Nick pushed in the horizontal metal bar mechanism spanning the heavy
door’s middle to open it. Closing the door just as carefully, we descended a stairway whose concrete walls looked filthy in the dim fluorescent light.
The tunnel we entered through another door on the building’s lowest floor was a bit wider and higher than the hallways in the rehab center. Its painted stone sides, linoleum floor, and foam ceiling panels were all shades of dirty white. I pictured this tunnel being used to wheel a stretcher holding that woman who’d fallen on the treadmill several days ago from the rehab center to the hospital’s ER. It was as if we were entombed inside a catacomb—quiet as a grave except for our panting and footsteps. But as we rounded a shallow bend a sudden brief whirring sound startled me.
Nick pointed up at a small video camera that had just swiveled to look at us. He whispered reassuringly, “Remember what I told you. It can see us, but nobody’s looking at its display right now. By the time anybody reviews the recording we’ll be long gone.”
Just then a hulking shape rounded the sharp corner about fifteen meters ahead of us. There was no place to hide from the man walking toward us on shiny black boots. His ebony uniform and gold badge conferred an aura of menace intensified by the clublike neural-shocker clipped to his belt and swinging at his side.
Nick nudged my shoulder to keep me walking briskly beside him. As we reached the man, my companion shouted, “What’ve they got in the cafeteria this morning?”
The guard shrugged as he walked past us. “The usual mystery meat.”
Nick bellowed back, “Yum-o! We’ll have to scarf it down fast before our break is over!”
Seconds later we turned the corner that the guard had appeared from and were alone again. Nick murmured, “See, you just have to act like you’re not doing anything wrong!”
A sign on the wall indicated the main hospital complex was just ahead. I whispered, “How far are we from the exit?”
“It’s on the other side of the hospital. We have to make a little detour to reach it.”
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