FSE

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Beef Schtick

©2006-2015 Sylvan Scott

one

Stop me if you've heard this one.

"A minotaur walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a drink. He thanks the bartender, takes his suds, and scopes the place out. In the middle of his third chug he notices a guy dismounting the mechanical bull in the corner.

"Now, this guy--wearin' a cowboy hat, vest, and chaps--is clearly drunk, but managed to stay on the contraption for five minutes, making him the winner of a bar prize. This 'cowboy' staggers up to the bar, still wobbly from the bull and the beer, and asks the bartender for his winnings. All of a sudden the minotaur hauls off and decks the guy square between the eyes; he's knocked-out, cold.

"The bartender looks surprised and slowly backs away and asks, 'Why'd you go an do that? He was one of my best customers!'

"The minotaur just nods in the direction of the mechanical bull and replies, 'Maybe. But that one told my sister he'd never cheat on her.'"

Punchline: delivered; spotlight rises. Wait for applause...

Stu chuckled and shook his head. The joke was decent and, as delivered by Aegis, even funnier. Still, there were problems. Reaching for his water, he nodded with a grin. "Not bad, Gus; decent..." The ice clinked against the glass. Stu often used props not only to frame his responses but punctuate their importance.

"But?" Aegis replied on-cue. His deep baritone rumbled from his muzzle with trepidation.

Stu put his glass down. "But, there's still a problem. You're too eager. You're telegraphing; coming across as needy."

The minotaur's face fell as he slumped forward over his half-eaten veggie burger and fries. "Still not good enough?" he asked with a sigh. "God, Stu, what more do you want from me?"

"Not acting like a puppy would help."

Aegis looked up from his plate, nostrils flaring as he scowled. Not many would call a nine-foot-tall bull a "puppy".

"Look, Gus," Stu continued, "it's not that you aren't good--you have joke-writing talent--but I can see it in your eyes: you're an artist ... you crave validation. That kinda attitude will kill you in this business."

"So what am I supposed to do? Stop caring about telling a good joke?"

"No, but audiences know when you're pandering. A heckler will always go after a praise-seeker; it's an Achilles' Heel." Stuart sat back in the faded booth. "You have to create the mood, my friend: let the audience think you're as surprised by the joke as they are. It draws them in."

Aegis was a one-line stand-up. He'd deliver his jokes rapid-fire without much prelude. It was a type of comedy that came and went with the decades and was currently back in vogue. Extensive set-up wasn't his style.

"That's what generates the laughs once you get to the punchline," Stu continued. "But you have to be careful. The audience should never reach the end before you do. If it's obvious that you're just stringing them along until you can get to the good parts, they'll either rush ahead and get there first or never empathize long enough for any real laughs."

"But I--"

"But you know this already," Stu interrupted, looking the minotaur in the eye, "I'm not saying anything you don't already know. You're a smart kid, Gus. You know you're not telling jokes for you: you're telling them for the audience."

Aegis shook his head slowly; his shaggy mop of hair flowed heavily in front of his gemstone-red eyes. His three-foot-long horns narrowly missed their booth's low-hanging lamp. As much as his face wasn't human, his body language spoke volumes. His enormous frame--complete with hooves, horns, and muzzle--slumped in a way that was easy to read.

"Stu, telling jokes for myself is how I do it," he rumbled. "Back at the factory I would be lucky to find even one or two hours a day to get outside; see the sky. I got five hours of sleep a night, wasn't paid, and barely saw anyone apart from the other slaves for ten years. Comedy is how I got through."

The agent nodded. "Hey, I'm not saying it wasn't tough. You and the other Genegineered had it hard. Hell, I'm one of those who voted for Preston an' supported the repeal of the G.M.W. Act." He took a french fry from Aegis' plate and popped it in his mouth before continuing. "But no matter how hard it was to work like that, to grow up like that, the audience won't care. If you want a pity-laugh, go on one of those feel-good 'Catch A Rising Star' reality shows. In the clubs, you still have to obey the unwritten laws of comedy."

"And I'm too obvious," Aegis concluded for him, still dejected.

Stu reached across the table to pat the back of the minotaur's hand. "At the moment, yeah; but in a few years--"

"I don't have a few years!" The minotaur banged his fist against the old formica. His demeanor became feral as he bared his teeth and snarled. "None of us do!"

Everyone in the diner looked up from their late-night meals.

Stuart was a fairly ordinary, pasty-complexioned guy in his early fifties with a small potbelly. Aegis was a towering example of ancient Greek lore templated on cutting-edge genetic engineering. They made an unusual couple.

Aegis had a construction worker's build expanded to the size of a small giant. His clothing, mostly from the Salvation Army, was several sizes too small and clung to his physique like it had been painted on. Popped and frayed stitches gave the impression of him having grown out of his clothes rather than forcing them on day-in and day-out. And while most Tellus Transnational creations adopted fairly conservative lifes after the Genetically Modified Worker Act had been struck down, Aegis wasn't one of them. He bucked the trend of other minotaurs, wore his hair long, and tried to break into show business.

Not that the patrons of Al's Diner knew any of that.

A wave of nervousness had washed through the room at Aegis' shout. Stuart looked uncomfortable but concealed it better than most would have after being at ground-zero of a minotaur-sized outburst. Still, he shot a withering look at several nearby diners and patted his client's hand again.

"Look, Stu," Aegis said, "I don't have 'years'. Genegineered are disposable; we're to be used and thrown away. Us big ones? They didn't even bother giving us a graceful out: we have all sorts of medical problems towards the end."

People began to look away. Nevertheless, concealed glances still weighed upon the mismatched pair. Aegis finally glanced around the diner. No one met his gaze. He pushed down his rage and returned his attention to Stu. Stu smiled and softened his tone.

"Have you considered comedy writing? It may not put you up on the stage, but..."

"Stu, it's important for me to do this." Aegis pushed his plate away, appetite gone. His temper tantrum eased. Small medical-assistance nanomachines in his blood worked to corral hormones and adrenaline, lessening the danger of another bovine outburst. He felt his mood quiet and looked directly into Stu's eyes.

It wasn't something he usually did.

Aegis' eyes looked like gleaming rubies. It was a tiny addition to his genetic code probably added by a marketer who saw the writing on the wall and hoped it wouldn't extend to slaves who had been engineered for their looks. But, in the end, even those bred for aesthetic tasks, had been freed. When Emancipation Day came, all of the Genegineered--not just those who worked in hard, hostile environments--had been freed.

"I'm an 'exotic', Stu. Outside of heavy ore processing, the only thing I was created to do is look unusual. I'm not an actor, I hate factory work, and I'll be damned before I become a whore for bored, rich women. Even free, none of us are ever really going to be liberated until we can shake our fifty-year lifespan. Hell, I'm already thirty-two!"

Their waitress filled Stu's coffee cup. She paused before pouring more for Aegis. Her slowness told him that she was not one of those who had voted for President Preston. It was one of many indignities he was used to. At least the cooks hadn't spit in his food, this time. They'd ordered ahead with Stu's ID. It was also late enough that there weren't any kids around to be pulled away by parents. But he was used to things like that and the sound of automatic car locks being activated as he walked by and countless politicians and priests condemning his freedom as a threat to a moral society.

Perhaps the waitress sensed how raw his nerves were or maybe she just didn't have it in her to display her bigotry any more obviously than with a scowl and slow service. Either way, Aegis was grateful when she turned without a word and left the two alone.

His story, like that of millions of other Genegineered people, or "Genies", was common. The silence stretched between them into uncomfortable terrain.

"Ok, listen," Stu said at last, "I can get you on stage Thursday night. It shouldn't be too hard. But you need to work on your empathy, Ok? I'm not going to stick my neck out for someone who's just going to flush their chance down the john and take my reputation with it. You need to find a reason to do this other than applause. Laughter can be your reward, but it should never be your motivation."

A swell of elation surged through Aegis. Still, on one hand he was being given the chance to get on stage before an audience. On the other, Stu's words had sunk in. A part of him began to wonder if he really had it in him to be funny outside of the Genie dining halls with their targeted, minority population.

"Where and what time?" he asked, pushing his fears down.

Stu flipped open his data assistant. "Ok, I'll have to confirm this, but how about Tusker's Tavern at eight? It's a pretty progressive crowd."

The minotaur nodded. "Three and a half days," he said, slowly, looking at his watch. "Ok, I'll be there."

Stuart stood as Aegis began fishing in his pocket for his wallet.

"No, kid; don't," Stu said, putting his card through the pay slot next to the booth. "It's on me: I always treat a client to dinner twice ... at the beginning and the end of their career." He slid his credit card against the table, putting both tabs on his bill. He left nothing for the tip. "I just hope this isn't both."

"You can count on me, Stu; I'll do it... I'll be funny..."

The agent winced and looked into Aegis' ruby eyes sagely. "Don't be, Aegis. Just find your motivation; the rest will follow."

Crammed into his small booth Aegis just nodded as Stuart picked up his coat and walked out into the rain. It was 3 a.m. on a hot summer night in Minneapolis and the storm was only getting worse.

two

A minotaur and his girlfriend got into a fight over money. It was pretty typical; times were tough.

"Why don't you get a better job?" she asked him, angrily. "The economy may be bad, but anybody would offer a good position for a big, strapping guy like you! If not in construction, you're handsome enough to be an escort!"

"Think so?" he asked of the 5'4" human woman he'd been dating, "You should know better than anyone, Claire: that job market's just too tight..."

Muffled by an intervening wall, the sound of the front door clicking open barely caught Aegis' attention. He sat at the kitchen cubicle, hunched over his computer. The place he rented was small and barely fit him, let alone Trinny. How the diminutive woman put up with being trapped in such close quarters with him was just one of the many wonders about their relationship.

"Hey there! I saw the light on from the street," came her voice, followed by the sound of the front door shutting. "You just get up?"

She'd been gone for a week visiting her mother in Duluth. It used to be an annual trip that had become more frequent since the older woman had moved to a rest home. Of course, she'd blamed Aegis for that. Her daughter dating a Genie was just one more stressor in her life of tragedies.

Aegis didn't look up. Trinny walked into the small confines of the kitchen and put a bag down on the limited counter space.

"Naw. Been up all night." He smiled sheepishly and looked up. "I finally got a gig." He paused at the sight of her.

Nearly forty, Trinny looked half her age. She wore her red hair long cropped abruptly over bright blue eyes. The faint shadow of adolescent freckles still adorned her cheeks. While barely five feet tall, she made made up for it in attitude. The two had become a fixture in their lower-income neighborhood.

Aegis' eyes narrowed. Perched near top of her head was a pair of feline-like ears. Tufted and rising to points, they were obviously alive and a part of her. Her own, human ears were gone. He rose and one of the two body mods twitched as his chair squeaked against the floor.

Trinny skipped across the kitchen tile to squeeze up against Aegis to give him a big hug. "Oh my God; a gig? A real one? That's great! When is it?" She rubbed her hands over his shoulders, trying to address the rock-hard, stress-filled muscles of his neck.

He snorted. His thick, over-sized fingers fumbled on the too-small keyboard. "Day after tomorrow," he replied. "Stu got it for me; over at Tuskers."

"That's great news," she said, hugging him again. "God, it's finally happening for you!"

He reached up to touch the ears. "Trinny... Oh God, not again..." he said, his face falling into an expression of concern.

She ignored his tone and tossed her hair back over her shoulders, showing off her new attributes for Aegis. "You like them; I_know_ you do," she said vibrantly. "They're based off a lynx, you see, and have augmented my hearing, like, a hundred-fold!"

"But, Trinny..."

"Not to mention," she continued, "the inner-ear balance things--I don't remember what_they're called--are better for coordination and agility than in a normal human. I just have to get used to them. I feel so much more _nimble, now!"

"Trinny..."

"Not only that," she interrupted again, "but--well--now when winter rolls in, my ears won't get cold; how cool is that?"

Aegis sighed. He recognized her tone of voice: she'd done something impulsive and wanted validation. Bio-engineered traits were common enough amongst the young, hip artists in their neighborhood but tended to cost a lot when professionally done. Trinny and he didn't have that kind of money.

"Well..."

Standing back from the cramped kitchenette table, she looked him in the eyes triumphantly. "And it only cost $1,200!"

He grimaced. "You went to another body shop, didn't you?" he asked.

She nodded and spun about. The genetically engineered tuft of raven's feathers that grew from her shoulder blades flexed and ruffled with the movement. The glossy black, vestigial wings between the shoulder straps made her look like a dark angel. His disapproving tone wasn't lost on her.

"Oh, please: you know the Med Corps only charges ten times as much because they're sanctioned. A good body shop can do the same job for a fraction of the cost!" She walked over to their small refrigerator and opened it. "Besides," she continued, "I like supporting the local artists..."

"They're not 'artists'; these aren't tattoos," Aegis insisted. "It's dangerous."

"Pfft," she responded, sticking her tongue out at him. "I've only had a few things done and, frankly, when did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?"

Aegis bumped his head against the edge of the wide-brimmed lamp that hung over the table. They'd wired it up as high as it would go but even with their almost unheard-of ten-foot ceilings, the over-sized minotaur still often hit it.

"Trinny," he said, "I'm just worried; you know that there have been side-effects..."

She chuckled and closed the fridge door, dismissing his concerns. "Which is why I only go to the good back-alley docs."

"But Trinny..."

"God, give it a rest, already!" she snapped, finally looking annoyed. "Shit, Aegis, I'm not a kid! Hell, I'm old enough to be your mother!" Her expression fell into a pissed-off glare, the feathers on her back rising like the hackles on a dog. "I go my own way; I don't ask for permission. I thought that's why you loved me!"

Aegis squeezed his way past the table and bent down to hug the tiny human.

"It's one of many reasons," he affirmed in his rumbling voice. "But you love me too, remember? Even my cautious side. And it scares me that you can be so ... so impulsive." He held her close to inspect the new ears.

They had her scent, definitely: something that not all genegineers could manage. But they also had another smell, too: a musky, almost spicy odor.

"You don't do these things to yourself because ... because you want to be more like me, do you?"

She looked up at him and scowled, her palms on his chest. "I'm not a 'Genie Fever groupie' if that's what you mean," she said. "I get my augmentations like I get my tattoos: for me." She pulled away from his embrace and stormed towards the front door. "I would have thought that, by now, you'd know that I don't do things for approval."

"You asked me..."

"And I didn't really care," she replied. "It's social convention, Aegis; I asked for your opinion because I'm _supposed_to."

"Trinidad, please," he said, "let's not fight about this. I'm sorry..."

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at her boyfriend. She looked hurt and contemplative. "Aegis," she said, "that's even worse." She sighed and he stopped in the entrance to the kitchen. "You don't fix things by capitulating to me all the time. Maybe ... maybe we're just not right for each other, okay?"

The words stung. She'd said things like it before but Aegis' hours without sleep made them cut deeper.

"Maybe you're right," he rumbled.

The atypical answer caught Trinny by surprise. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she regained her composure. Then, scowling even more fiercely, she stormed out of the apartment.

"I'll be at Umar's, if you need me," she shouted. "Although I doubt you will!"

The door slammed and Aegis grimaced.

He hadn't meant it. She really was right for him and, he hoped, vice-versa. He loved her spontaneity and she relied upon his solid practicality when times got rough. Both of them were vegetarians, had a passing interest in Buddhism, and enjoyed Alochel's Quartet when they came through the coffeehouse circuit. But it wasn't just having interests in common, Aegis honestly loved her, quirks and all. At times, times like this, she just...

A squeal of brakes and glass-shattering crashed erupted from the street, outside. The minotaur raced to the small, living room window and looked out into the early morning light.

His heart began to race.

One window of a '44 Prowess wagon was still intact reflecting the dozen-or-so faces of those rushing to help with the accident. Rainwater from overnight had fallen from tree the tree the car had struck making the sidewalk slick and greyer than usual. The driver, a heavy-set woman in her sixties, was trying to get out of the wreck, but the person who'd been struck had been flung against the metal railings of the pawn shop wasn't moving.

Through the haze that settled over his brain, Aegis could only hope that one of his neighbors had called the police as he shook off his shock and ran outside to help Trinny.

three

"Are you sure you don't want roses?" the shopkeeper asked. The Wolf was shopping for a gift. "Twenty-second century men always love bright red flowers..."

"You'd think so," the young Genie responded, "but each date I've had with a guy for the past year has ended in disaster."

"Why's that?"

"Well," the Wolf said, "I dated this Goat-fellow about six months ago and I really thought things were going well: we both liked baseball, long walks in the park, and Oolong tea. But every time I brought him flowers, his eyes would glaze over and he'd start eating them..."

"Well," said the shopkeeper, "what about your next boyfriend? He wasn't a goat, was he?"

"No, the next guy I met was a bricklayer from Harlem ... a real solid sort: a man's man. He didn't need to pump weights; he just worked day-in and day-out putting up buildings. Problem was, when I brought him flowers on our second date, he looked at me--all offended--and asked, 'What do you think I am? Gay?'"

"Old-fashioned," the shopkeeper nodded, knowing the type. "But surely your bad luck can't continue..."

"Don't be so sure," the wolf sighed, picking up a small box of candies to take home. "The_minotaur _I'm dating now is a great guy: sweet, articulate, and really smart. The roses I bought here last week were for our 2-month anniversary dinner..."

"He sounds lovely," the shopkeeper said, smiling. "Why not get him some more?"

"Well," said the Genie ruefully, "last time, when he came home, he saw the color of the flowers, snorted angrily, and charged the dining room table."

Downtown hospitals always felt small, even at the best of times.

The white walls, bright lighting, and small armies of medical personnel, androids, and impoverished patients waiting to be helped lent a sense of cramped desperation to the entire building. For the largest genies, the feeling was magnified. But even though Aegis was used to crowds and a world that was built for people two-thirds his height, having to wait while Trinny--fresh off of their most recent argument--was being operated on, made him feel even more out-of-sorts.

"Look, can't I go to--like--an observation room or something? I've got to be there for her!"

The nurse looked up at the minotaur with a no-nonsense demeanor borrowed from any one of a number of movies he'd seen with stereotypically evil hospital staff. "You're not married to Miss Hallen," she said for the eighth time, "and even if you were, our facilities are not built to accommodate someone of your size ... or body hair."

"Please," he said, bending down in what he hoped was a non-threatening stance, "at least let me onto the same floor with her. I can wait up there, can't I?" The myth about the Genegineered having infestations in their fur or hair was widespread even though they kept as clean as any human. Aegis was so used to hearing that particular slur, it didn't even register as the nurse said it.

She scowled at the suggestion glancing at Aegis' tattered clothing with a disapproving eye. She looked about to say something caustic but paused and peered down at her monitor.

"Ok, fine," she said, taking a visitor's pass from her drawer. "Here: wear this and go up to the fifth floor. The Emergency Room waiting area is there and you can wait to hear more news."

He snapped up the small badge and pinned it to his grey shirt, nodding gratefully.

"Thank you... I really appreciate..."

"But," she continued, "there's no guarantee that you'll get to see her once she's out of surgery, Ok? You say you're her boyfriend but, frankly, there's no evidence of that nor any law that says we gotta let random genies in off the street see their ...hmph... 'significant others'."

Aegis was too relieved to dwell on the racist overtones to the hospital employee's remarks and--instead--just ran off down the hallway to the elevators.

Minutes drifted by in a haze becoming hours of mind-numbing boredom mixed with a constant replay of both his last words with Trinny and the act he was still trying to put together. He might have to call it off, he thought ... Stu would understand, wouldn't he?

The fifth floor staff weren't much more helpful than the on-call duty nurse downstairs and, for the most part, tried to ignore the giant, pacing minotaur. They even didn't try to stop him when he got nervous and started walking down one of the adjacent halls in a fit of frustration.

His mood soured as ten o'clock approached without any word. Part of him wondered if the staff would even tell him if the operation to save Trinny's life had been successful. In his mind's eye, he had a dark vision of finding out about her death when he read the newspaper the next day.

Witnesses hadn't told him exactly what had happened; he could picture it easily enough.

The street, wet with rain, had been slick and strewn with trash from the on-going garbage collector's strike. She'd not been paying attention any more than the driver had been. Whether impulsively crossing the street at the wrong moment or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a half-ton of fiberglass and metal careened into the love of his life.

His thoughts of performing at Tusker's were nearly gone from his mind even though his subconscious screamed at him to at least use his time to prepare some more.

He was angry: grateful for the first time that some engineers had installed the nano-machines that helped him control his violent, racially ingrained temper.

"How's Tiny 'Taur doing?"

Aegis looked up at the voice, his sharp hearing picking up the exchange from half a hallway away. A haggard-looking woman in a professional doctor's coat was talking to an orderly who just smiled in response to her question. "How do you expect? Bull-headed..."

She smiled back and shook her head. "Look, I'll go in and see him, now, but--frankly--I don't think the counselor will be able to make it up here, today."

The orderly sounded annoyed. "Great. I've got to babysit."

"Only until we can get him transferred to a Genie clinic; shouldn't be more than a few days."

The minotaur felt himself getting angrier and could just about envision the molecule-sized neurotransmitter-controllers working overtime to keep him from going red at the apparently insensitive conversation. He watched the doctor go into a room while the orderly turned and walked towards him down the hall. Aegis started walking in that direction.

The orderly, his Asian features badly hiding the look of guilt as he passed the towering man, tried not to appear as if anything had just happened. Aegis wondered if he was hoping that he'd not been over-heard. They passed uneasily in the hall as the minotaur approached the room the doctor had entered.

"So, how's my little wiener schnitzel, today?" he heard her voice say, and peered in to see the patient.

"Fine," came the glum response to the doctor's emotionless tone.

Aegis saw a young minotaur, perhaps no older than eight or nine, in a hospital bed, looking forlorn and bored.

"Well," the doctor continued, "we'll get you out of here, soon, Ok? Doctor Rasmussen won't be able to see you today but that'll give you time to watch videos or something, right?"

"I don't like videos," the boy responded, not meeting the Doctor's eyes.

The woman shrugged and made a few wireless updates to her patient's report from her hand-held. "If you like; either way, it won't be long, Ok? So try to keep your spirits up."

In his mind, Aegis could see himself grabbing the woman by the throat, lifting her relatively small body effortlessly off the floor and slamming her--head first--into the ceiling. He ground his teeth as she finished her work with the patient and turned to leave.

He moved to one side as she left, standing to the right of the door as she re-entered the hallway. He looked down at her comparatively frail body realizing that her tired appearance probably implied an all-night shift.

"What the fuck was that shit? He's a boy; just a kid! And what th' Hell was that 'wiener schnitzel' crap?"

The doctor walked passed him, not hearing the imaginary shout, as Aegis internalized his anger and, out loud, said nothing. Getting thrown out of the hospital now, when he had to be here for Trinny's sake, meant more to him than his outrage.

"Clench your fists much harder and you'll get carpal tunnel," said a calm voice beside him.

He looked down to see another Genie--small, even by the standards of the human world around him--and shrugged it off. "I'm waiting for a ... friend."

The other man had short, fine fur befitting his feline heritage and resembled nothing more than a humanoid cougar in hospital garb.

"Let me guess, that friend is human?" The cougar flicked one, black-tipped ear idly, his voice reassuringly calm. "The staff, here, isn't the most enlightened, I'm afraid. With emancipation they've had to deal with the Gengineered being able to go to any hospital and not just corporate-run clinics. Things'll change, but it could take awhile."

"I hope so," Aegis said glumly.

The cougar's whiskers twitched as he sniffed the environment, curiously. "One thing about working in someplace as sterile as a hospital," he said, "is it makes it pretty easy to pick up on pheromones. This friend of yours: girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"The first."

"Lucky boy," he said, without a trace of sarcasm. "Since mainstream humans tend to live into their two-hundreds these days, it's rare that one of 'em will stick with one of us long enough for a relationship..."

"Yeah, well, what's this kid's story?" Aegis asked, changing the subject from his guilty conscience to the young minotaur in the room next to him.

"Not a happy one," the feline replied. "His father and mother were two of the first to be brokered out of slavery about a decade ago ... bought lock, stock, and barrel by some Gengineered Rights group and 'liberated'. But his dad started having heart problems about five years back and--well--didn't manage to see his forty-fifth birthday. His mother couldn't handle it and took her own life a few months later."

The cougar lowered his voice even further to the point where only another Genie with augmented hearing could make out the words. "Rumor is, she tried to poison the kid, too, but he managed to survive..."

"God..." Aegis muttered, staring back at the room. "So he's gonna be Ok?"

"As Ok as he can be," the cougar said. "I mean, honestly, he goes through a life of not having anyone but his parents to look up to and--then--one suddenly dies leaving him with another who tried to kill him. I don't know if you ever get 'Ok' after that."

"What's his name?"

The cougar pulled out his handheld and scanned it in the general direction of the hospital room. "Christos. Christos Fabrezzi. Isn't 'Christos' Greek?"

The minotaur nodded. "Most of us got Greek names; it's the whole classical mythology thing..."

Everywhere he looked, it seemed as if the world was spinning out of control. He couldn't get his heart rate down and, as he stood there silently watching the young boy stare blankly at his bedsheets, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of world was waiting for the next generation.

"It's not pretty, but I've seen worse," the nearly forgotten cougar said after five minutes.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better about it? That there're worse depredations out there?"

The feline shook his head. "No, but that he stands a better chance than some. His odds of coming out of this relatively healed aren't bad. As I said, I've seen worse people do better..."

"And better people do worse, no doubt," Aegis said, grimly.

The cougar nodded. "That's how it goes," he admitted. "But I've been there. Felines like me were engineered to be battlefield medics because of our naturally high senses of smell and hearing. It was cheaper than finely-tuned equipment to put a few of us into a war zone ... heck, we could even fight back if the enemy came our way..."

"So why do you work in a hospital? I would have thought you'd have seen enough of that sort of thing..."

"I have," the cat said, his golden eyes peering up into the minotaur's red. "But it's what I do best. I saw more battles in more countries over the past decade than any 20-year veteran. And even though the health department still won't certify me as a doctor, I can still be a medical tech."

"But why?" Aegis repeated. "I'm best at heavy lifting in high-temperature and pressure environments but I'd die before I went back to that, again..."

"It may be what you were designed to do, but I doubt it's your calling," the cougar replied. "The reason I do what I do is simple: I saw something in all those faces, both enemy and friendly. They're still people, y'know? If I don't help them, no matter how short my life is, what kind of impact am I really going to make?"

"So you're doing it for ... what... immortality?"

"If you like," the cat admitted. "But I prefer the term 'legacy'."

"Ramsay Collins," came a voice over the hospital speaker system, "Ramsay Collins needed in cardiology, STAT ... Ramsay Collins..."

The cougar sighed. "Well, that's me. Probably have a test they need double-checked." He put his hand on the minotaur's elbow and smiled a sharp-toothed grin. "Look, hospitals can be depressing, I know, but--please--you can make a difference. All you have to figure out is what you're really good at and what your legacy is going to be..."

The feline turned and walked away, leaving Aegis feeling even more conflicted than before.

Slowly, he walked back to the waiting area and took a seat, watching the latest news with the rest of the anxiously waiting people.

"Mr. Aegis?" came a voice, eventually.

The minotaur felt like sarcastically asking if the nurse saw any other minotaurs in the waiting room. Instead, he just said, "Yeah?"

"I wanted to tell you as soon as Trinidad Hallen got out of surgery: she's going to be fine, sir. She should be ready to go home again in just a few days..."

Relief washed over the massive man. He sat back on the couch he'd been using as a chair, with relief. "Thank you," he said, quietly. "Just ... thanks..."

"It's what we do," the human woman said with a smile. "Caring for the healthy as well as the sick is part of the job description..."

She started to walk away when Aegis put his hand on hers, stopping her from going. "Wait a second," he said, "I have a question. It's about that boy down the hall ... Christos..."

four

"So, really, if you're ever in an IKEA China Imports shop, please ... tell 'em I'm sorry!" The massive man paused during the laughter for a comedy beat. "I really need that new teapot..."

The crowd applauded at his final joke and Aegis took a bow and scanned the dimly lit comedy club with satisfaction. It hadn't been perfect--that was for certain--but people had a good time and really seemed to enjoy his jokes.

Despite his fears, he'd had no hecklers and even Stu, standing at the back with the club's owner, looked happy by the turnout.

Trinny was watching from her hospital room via an uplink camera set up at Christos' table where the young boy sat with Ramsay. He still was avoiding laughter--it would probably be awhile before he was ready for that kind of emotion again--but even at this distance, Aegis could make out the slight, upward turn at the corner of the boy's mouth. He looked up at the big man on the stage with an expression Aegis hadn't expected to see but was grateful--more than grateful--to have brought about.

Short lives and racism aside, there was hope out there in that laughter.

There probably always had been but, for the first time, he really felt it.

Stu had told him not to perform for selfish reasons ... not to draw the audience along for his own gratification, but he'd only been partly right. Maybe the key was not looking for the laughs but looking for the laughers. Maybe there was a legacy for genies in this tired, too-small world. Maybe, if he looked at it the right way, that legacy was here, in all these faces and all those laughing voices...

Maybe.

"You've been a wonderful crowd," he said. For the first time in a long time, the smile didn't feel forced. "I'll be here all week! And for God's sake, don't try the veal."

End