Ward 15 by Andrew Shephard

My friend, Keith, Kevin? You know who I mean. He helped me up from the floor and to his car. He drove me to the hospital. At the reception desk he told the computer to take good care of me and wished me a speedy recovery with a pat on my shoulder.

I answered a lot of touch-screen questions and sat on chairs outside three different clinics. Bright lights were shone, images taken, blood extracted from both my arms by robotic machines. A grey-haired doctor decided I needed to be kept in for observation. I asked if he knew what was wrong with me. ‘The computer is reading your epigenome now. We’ll have your entire medical history – and future – in a minute or two.  He invited me to sit in a wheelchair to be transferred to Ward 15 – a journey involving two lifts and a travelator, up, sideways, and up again.

The view from my bed close to the windows of Ward 15 was spectacular. I could see the stars in the night sky in crisp detail all the way to the other side of the galaxy without interference from street lights or the headlamps of cars. Was I on my way to eternity?

There were five beds in the side-ward. An occasional groan came from the bed nearest the doors, but it was surrounded by curtains.  I surveyed the other patients: a young man, with blond hair like mine, not much more than a teenager, hooked up to an array of tubes; a sleeping middle-aged, middle-manager type with his legs in plaster and an oxygen mask; and a fleshy man, younger than me I’m sure, but struggling for breath and sweating heavily.

Time passed, neither slowly nor quickly. My brain, deprived of all stimulus bar the stars, wondered about things. Where were the nurses? Why hadn’t I been given any pills? Where were the toilets? I attempted to swing my legs off the bed. They didn’t move an inch in response to my brain’s instruction. Nor could I raise my arm. When I opened my mouth to call for help no sound reached my ears. I was about to panic when I saw the assistance screen beside my bed and eyeballed the ‘Help!’ icon.

The grizzled doctor who had allocated me to the ward appeared by magic at my beside. I told him I couldn’t move. He nodded as though that was normal. He answered my queries with a smile. ‘E-beds. Sheet sensors monitor your condition, deliver the appropriate interventions and filter away any waste. Nurses are a thing of the past.'

I asked him if the chap behind the curtains was going to die. ‘Well that depends. It’s up to you.’ I followed his gaze around the ward.

‘Recognise these people? Do you really believe you deserve another chance?’