Weir Annadetcall
As host, Ford had laid food and drink along the shelf lining his meeting room at waist height. As
lead of the team-in-residence, he'd scheduled the meeting's expert and made the connection. In the
holoscreen, Albina Washburn, epidemiologist, appeared relaxed, enjoying her own repast — early
breakfast instead of late lunch — until the meeting/will-be-seen was convened. As for Ford, he
was personally dragging the other team-leaders into the room so they could begin the afternoon's
session review.
Enjoying the reprieve from twisting everybody's tails, Weir relaxed over his sandwich and jalo.
These daily can-feels enabled his combine to stay connected and synchronized, but mainly, he
brought his team-leaders together to sense their moods, capitalize on their synergy, and enhance
their combine-level skills. Besides, they uncovered problems and converted them to opportunities
so much better as a group.
Ford spoke from across the room, "That's fourteen, including you, Weir."
Weir waved a hand in front of his full mouth in a gesture that begged Ford to continue.
"Right, uh, then." The position of control made the team-leader uncharacteristically nervous.
"Master Washburn, are you ready?"
"Yes," came her voice, still mellow from a third of the way around the planet. "I have studied the
data from your customers so far and am prepared to speculate from this database, admittedly small.
I would have liked to compare your results with prior Ganj Dareh clinic activity, but Byukan-Hamil
uses an unprecedented amount of encryption, even beyond the requirements of patient-privacy
patterns."
"We know," Ford replied. "They undermine the concept of open competition in so many ways. Tell us
what you think from what you do see."
"The first two days consisted mainly of those people who don't get enough attention from the
existing clinics, hypochondriacs, malingerers, lonely people, basically the population that I would
expect to walk in off the path and let strange-tek poke around on their bodies. Actually,
comparing the patient count with the populations of the neighborhoods around your clinics,
considering distributions that typically occur in traffic flow and considering Mudge patterns of
movement, and projecting those relationships onto the Collective overall, I find no percentages
that are peculiar. It seems to me that Ganj Dareh is within the normal range for these types of
people.
"However, yesterday, you started getting customers who are genuine, people whose complaints about
health are real and need remedy. They learned about your clinics by word of mouth ... probably.
Have you started advertising yet?"
The specific question about combine-wide processes flustered Ford. Weir answered for him. "No.
We'll wait another couple of days, just so we can test the flow of information through channels
informal."
Their expert nodded, her high-yellow skin contrasting with the cover of her easy-chair in an image
that nestled tidily within the holoscreen's perimeter. "Sounds reasonable."
"However," injected Ford, eager to re-assert himself, "we did start handing out acu-tek from the
beginning—"
"Acu-tek is not standard there?" A subdued, though definite note of surprise. Practically all
clinics across the planet issued these specialized llevars to their patients. Each patient was
urged to pass the device, fitting comfortably into a palm, along each Jing meridian on his or her
body, at least once daily, more often during illness. The acu-tek used any nearby port/Em-Deh to
relay data back to the patient's clinic where trend analysis and diagnostic tools were applied in a
constant effort to maintain the patient at the peak of health. Being voluntary, the devices
reached half-way to the health-monitoring ubiquitous (toilets, toothbrushes, and so on) on other
Backdoor Planets without inverting the role of technology versus civilization.
"No, Master Washburn, Byukan-Hamil has definitely lagged behind the times, fortunate for us. We're
hoping that news of this extension of our clinics, direct and personal, into their homes will
overcome the reluctance natural to a Collective long bound by monopoly."
"Yes, that could account for the behaviors that I inferred during my analysis. Look at this."
Washburn glanced down at her hand where it rested on the chair's arm; its fingers riffled in
response — and the holoscreen developed a bubble with a graph three-dimensional in the middle.
"In this chart, I have matched customers with health needs against the time elapsed since your
clinics opened their doors for business. I have also laid in similar results from other direvnya
around the globe where a Gatogrebok combine has started operations. I can see here that the people
of Ganj Dareh are dissatisfied with the level of care they receive currently. I wouldn't
say that they are flocking through your doors, but I'll say this: over half of the people out
there are willing to give you a try."
"Can you tell us why?" Ann-Lin asked.
"You've seen the results of your surveys as well as I have." The expert's voice seemed a bit
stern, as if she didn't want to deal with conclusions elementary. "But I will tell you what I
noticed. First, the people are not very willing to tell you what they don't like about the current
anshin, which indicates brand-loyalty that has been abused lately."
Rick quipped, "Unlike people back home who are always willing to complain."
Kam scolded him, "Maybe they're afraid. If we lose the contract, their experimenting with us may
cost them treatment."
Weir hurried to staunch that kind of innuendo negative. "Reducing service does no' mean Doyle
Phoebe would also stoop to practices vindictive."
"Aw, Weir," Steg said. "Any clinic that sets up reception automated has got serious problems with
perspective. Master Washburn, BH actually makes a patient sign in with the agent-for-trade, then
sit down and wait, all without their Nurse to greet them in the entrance room."
"They don't even have Nurses personal anymore," Martin joined the fray. "Somebody who takes your
call when you're sick or lets you know when acu-tek shows a problem or schedules check-ups
regular—"
"Yeah!" Camp broke in. Weir was enjoying the mêlée verbal. "Instead, the Nurses specialize by
med-tek variety, sit among the machines, letting the patients come to them. It's probably cheaper
that way."
The expert spoke up, lifting her hand as if to request attention. "That was my second point. The
comments we do have point to reductions by the anshin in equipment, staff, and other variable costs
in order to enhance profits."
"Well, they don't serve Elevenses anymore," Ever said, chuckling. "I've heard that from lots of
people."
Joking trivialities meant it was time to curb the discussion. "Ford," Weir prompted.
The team-leader bobbed his head, his red-brown curls dancing along his forehead. "Gotcha, Weir,"
he murmured, then spoke more loudly, "Master Washburn, any other conclusions?"
"I, uh, just wanted to say that there are just too few data to be making a lot of decisions on. I
know epidemiology and I know the people of Yeibichai, but I don't like holding a stick that is too
long for my grip."
"Accepted," Weir said quickly so Ford wouldn't have to step into that reprimand, gentle as it was.
"We'll definitely keep that in mind. We would like to check back with you after five —"
"One moment." Master Washburn held up an index finger while she explored something off-screen with
darting eyes. "My pixie is displaying its analysis of Ganj Dareh's clinic activity for today,
Byukan-Hamil's as well as yours. How curious." Without looking around, she said, "I've had it
filtering Beobachtung because the regular data just isn't available from Ganj Dareh." She turned
to them. "You haven't mentioned a natural disaster over there today. A Clear Twister out of
season? A series of sinkholes?"
Surprised, Weir blurted, "Denied!" then glanced around at the others for confirmation. They
shrugged, shook heads, raised eyebrows, all bewildered as well.
"Industrial accidents? Rash of fires?" The expert pumped out guesses. "Building collapse — more
than one? I'm seeing a statistically slight, but noticeable increase in arrivals, via ambulance,
qi-che, and walk-ins. Much fewer departures, which suggests traumatic injuries. Are you seeing
that?"
"Consensus," Weir directed. He glimpsed all his team-leaders diving into their llevars even as he
brought his around. Back at his clinic, Prem denied any upsurge. His rattling list of ailments
merely extended yesterday's trend with its rising number of traumas.
As the others reported similar results, Washburn pawed through her data. Her long, sallow fingers
worked her arm-rest keypad with the assurance of a spider pawing its web-snarled prey. "No, no, I
see that. Filtering out Byukan-Hamil leaves your clinics with normal traffic, though nice growth
along the lines I was describing before. Filtering you out shows tripling in traffic."
She finally turned to her audience. "What's going on over there?"
Weir answered, "Things have been picking up all over lately. It's the Rendezvous and all these
strangers in town."
"I'm accounting for that trend," she said with exasperation. "I'm aware of this influx and
its consequences. They are entirely predictable using the Refugees-from-Kosovo Extrapolations. I
saw nothing extraordinary once the xeno-philic ratio exceeded point zero zero four four.
Rather, I am highlighting an unpredicted upturn. Aren't you aware of the city around you?"
Weir shot to his feet, suddenly feeling isolated in his cocoon of project management. "We don't
get out on the paths much. Too much work right under our noses."
"Do your Extrapolations allow for gong-shes already saturated with domestics displaced within their
own hometown?" Ford piped up. "Do they account for a small influx — us — coinciding with a
larger influx — Die Gastarbeiter? Will one set of foreigners align with or resist the other?
Would domestics, hurt for one reason or another, go out of their way to seek aid domestic and avoid
help foreign?"
Fighting a smile of pride, Weir waved Ford silent, then eyed the expert.
She arched one brow. "Possibly." The word grudged some respect. "I'll —" Her image halted,
mouth tensed over the next word. Everyone else froze as well, waiting for something to happen. A
second, two, then the private entrance itself began to mutter about its connection being empty.
"B!uhnuhnu!" Ford swore as he brought his llevar to bear, remoting control over the entrance.
"Em-Deh's gone! The bbuhni Em-Deh's gone out again."
Snorts of exasperation and snaps of curses stirred the group, but before they could work up any
more steam, Weir said, "I guess we're Adjourned." Ford blanked the screen. Nodding approval, Weir
continued, "We were about done anyway, so I'll start my feedback." He liked to quickly tend to any
possible effects of can-sees external, particularly brushes against advisors with global
reputations. "Ann-Lin, don't let these experts intimidate you; keep bringing up issues.
"Ford, good questions. We can no' arrive at answers until we devise the right questions. On the
other hand, I recognize that you could polish your approach a bit. I seem to remember an advanced
course in the nuances of managing consultants put out by the Tactician College. Try to crash
through that, then catch the follow-up from Master Washburn, will you?" After all, we are
paying her. "Let us know whether this surge in trauma is just spray from too much
data-thrashing — or real enough that we need to upgrade matériel and staff to match."
Ford nodded, then said, "By the way, I'm making no progress on getting dayjobbers from the
Rendezvous of Futures. And I canno' seem to find anybody else to take the job."
Weir sighed. "I'll talk to Okra. Perhaps he can help us on this job, too."
"He certainly came through with those joists custom I need for my clinic."
Several others echoed their approval of Okra's assistance. It seemed like anything they asked for,
Okra could provide.
Weir nodded that he heard the comments, then quieted the meeting by dropping his gaze to his
glass. Time for the next item on his agenda. With that casual trigger, his project plan bounced
into his mind, shouting for attention, still bright from when he'd reviewed it in the quiet seconds
early this morning. Ready to move on, he looked up and grinned at his thirteen team-leaders.
It was all working out, the intent to bid, the cruise to refine his crews, the settling into their
work here in Ganj Dareh. It pleased him to say, "All clinics open for a full day now. All clinics
operating smoothly, as a demonstration living of our combine's capabilities. Right?"
Spread around the room in a circle meandering, they all agreed with one gesture or another.
"So." Weir grinned more broadly. "What do we do when accomplish one thing?"
"Start another thing!" they all roared with grins matching his.
Weir nodded vigorously. "Exactly. We change over from 'opening clinics' to 'running clinics' and
throttle everybody back to a normal workday in-clinic. That leaves each of us with a half-shift of
overtime to focus on walkabout. Camp?"
"Thanks, Weir." Camp, his pile of tight, blond curls nearly hiding his eyes and ears, stood to
address the group. "A refresher on goals: we're getting experience practical in the clinics, but
we canna gain practice direct on the other aspects of services anshinkan here in Ganj Dareh. Yet,
we have to make sure our proposal addresses realities across the board. Don't forget that we
deliver that proposal no later than eleven days from now!
"So, we all are going out into the communities to observe how Byukan-Hamil goes about it and chat
with the zhee-tely about what we see and what we think. We're planning five days of
walkabout before merging results into our draft proposal. I've developed a pattern dispersal and a
schedule for all eighty-four of us in the Crew-for-Selling ...."
As Camp rolled out his briefing, Weir settled back. Ambition perceived, ambition realized, he
thought with a mindswell of satisfaction — that suddenly wrinkled with a twinge. Unless this rash
of traumas means something.
