FairPoint

FairPoint

Published by Barry Foltos (a.k.a. Dr. Tar) at Smashword

Copyright 2017 Barry Foltos

Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

The author thanks Big Fur Hat for the wonderful cover, Lisl for her suggestions for improving the text and his family for their support and patience during the writing and editing of this work of fiction.

FAIRPOINT

PROLOGUE

He was on his back, just conscious enough to sense the chill in his limbs bring on the shivers through his arms down to his thighs. Trying to keep his eyes open, he just couldn't quite rouse himself enough and fell back into the black.

A light snow touching his face brought him around. Eyes open this time, the cold was still there, but his teeth had stopped chattering. Something was wrapped tightly around his body. Rolling his shoulders, he could tell he was still wearing his work clothes and winter coat under some kind of blanket. Setting aside the question of how he'd gotten here, he focused on getting to his feet. Unable to just sit up, he tried rolling his upper body to get his arms underneath and push himself into a standing position, but he only managed to lift his head a little higher.

Time to reassess, he thought. I'm on the ground, somewhere I don't recognize, it's dark and I'm cold. I'm not drunk, but feel groggy and it's hard to stay awake. Maybe I've had a stroke. Leaning forward this time as he tried to get up, he swept his left arm across his body and tried to shift his weight to make his hips roll to the right, hoping to generate enough momentum let him get to his knees. Though his arms were obeying better now, he wasn't able to generate enough momentum to shift his weight.

Pausing before making another attempt, he looked up into the late October sky. He could see the trees around the clearing light up like a blind had been opened. Thanking God, he wondered who it was as the beam grew brighter. It wasn't swinging like someone carrying a flashlight and it wasn't a car, there was just the single shaft that floated too high off the ground.

Sensing something on his chest, he lifted his head and caught sight of a strange sort of butterfly or beetle-like creature lift off and become silhouetted against the oncoming light. The wings lit up with a transparent iridescences that flickered as they beat to gain height before disappearing entirely into the night sky. Searching for the strange visitor, he heard the air horn's warning blast and finally noticed the steady rumble of steel wheels and the hum of a giant diesel engine. Turning his head from side to side now he could see the rails lit up and bright wit regular use. He tried to roll again, to crawl, to wiggle out of the way. Waving his arms meekly and uttering a feeble last cry at the oncoming monster, he closed his eyes to the void that took him moments later.

The metal insect made its way up a side road to where the trees crowded in on the tracks. The electric creature found an empty port in the charge station and settled inside. A pair of gloved hands closed the cover over the micro drone and its many sisters, picked up the charge station and walked to a waiting truck. Placing it in a utility box in the back, the figure stepped up to the driver's window.

OK, can we go now? the man at the wheel asked. He tried to sound calm, but couldn't hide the stress in his voice from what he had just witnessed.

Take us back, there's still work to do, was the reply.

Parking far enough away to avoid the fresh blood, the passenger got out, instructing the driver to keep an eye out for traffic. He walked back out onto the overpass and leaned over the south facing girder plate. He began spray painting large block letters in white upside down and backwards along the metal surface. After a few minutes the would-be graffiti artist tossed the can down to the shoulder of the highway beneath the railroad bridge. He yelled back for the driver to get out and help. Using their flashlights they walked up the rails about 100 yards, bagging what few shreds of blanket they could find. Finally done, they returned to the truck and drove away.

I can't believe you did that.

What, make you watch?

No, kill him. I thought we were just going to, you know, scar him a little not...that.

You told me he was in the way. Now he isn't.

I didn't say kill him.

It's a bit late for regrets. If you had a better way for dealing with him you should have said something.

The two drove on in silence until they pulled up in front of the passenger's house.

I'll never be able to forgive you for this, you know. We're not friends anymore, the driver said.

That's fine, I'll settle for co-conspirators. Just do your part and no one else gets hurt.

The passenger climbed out and walked around to the other side to retrieve the charge station. The driver watched in silence, shifted the truck into gear and said under his breath, God, how I hate you right now.

He startled at the rap on his window. His partner held up the transparent top of the charge station so the drive could see into it and gave it a shake. Multiple red eyes from the resting swarm glowed into life, glaring out to see who had disturbed them. The owner tapped his head, motioning for his former friend to remember, then gave him the I've got my eyes on you hand gesture and indicated that the electronic bugs did too.

CHAPTER ONE

Sitting at the kitchen table, Stanley Williams sipped his coffee, contemplating the day ahead. He sighed in resignation at having to deal with the thin layer of frost covering his car. His father, George, joined him at the table with his own cup and a bowl of oatmeal. The television filled the space with news neither paid attention to until the anchor referred to their home town.

Tragedy struck outside Paddock last night as a local man was killed in an apparent act of vandalism at an area railroad bridge. We go to Michelle Fields at the scene, Michelle?

The screen went to a pretty young reporter standing on the highway about 50 yards from the overpass. She suddenly sprung to life and began talking quickly.

Thanks, John. She moved toward the camera as spoke while the camera backed up as well.

"It appears an area man trying to write a message on the side of this railroad bridge on Highway 15 was caught in the act last night by a fast moving freight. Authorities speculate that the victim, John Chisholm, was on the bridge spray painting a message on the side at around 2:25 a.m. when he was struck and killed by a eastbound train.

Police believe he was trying to taunt long time high school rival, Milton, with a personal message for their football team as they travel to Paddock this week's for the Panther's homecoming game. Authorities tell us that they have warned students in this community for years not to engage in the aged old prank, but last night one man appears to have lost his life trying to revive the tradition.

The reporter had stopped and now viewers could clearly see over her right shoulder --lton Sucks written in four foot high letters.

This is Michelle Fields, outside Paddock for Action Six News. Back to you, John.

I guess they'll stay off that overpass now, George said.

Seems like a strange thing for a grown man to do.

Probably under the influence or something.

Given the penmanship, I'd say that's a pretty safe bet. Did you know him, Dad?

I think I've seen him around town, but he's not from around. I think he worked at that private hospital out at FairPoint.

Seems even weirder that an out-of-towner would do something like that. I mean I could understand some local trying to relive old glories, but for an outsider...it doesn't make sense.

Maybe he was a big fan of the Paddock Panthers.

Or really hated the Milton Maunders.

They fell back into silence. Stanley went to the pantry, pulled down some cereal boxes and grabbed the milk from the refrigerator.

I'll be going into town today, want me to pick up anything? he asked.

That's OK, I'll do the shopping on Wednesday. What are you going in for?

It's time I registered.

Going to see someone about those dreams?

No, not that. I want a doctor to take a look at this bulge I've got going on here, Stanley ran his hand across the right side of his pelvis.

Just don't expect to get anything else done today. Hopefully you'll make it back before dinner, but just in case, I'll put a plate in the refrigerator for you. You should ask someone about those nightmares while you're at it.

One problem at a time.

I hate to see you do this. From what I've heard, once they get their hooks into you they never let go. They get all nosy and stuff, demanding you quit smoking or drinking or eating donuts.

Well, they're my only option right now. You know if Public Health is half as good as they claim, this'll be fixed in no time.

Just remember to be patient with those people. They can't help who they work for and some of them might be our neighbors.

Stanley had worked for an investment firm in the city before they closed the office and gave him the choice of taking another position out of state or a severance. He took the settlement and moved back home figuring he'd use the time to decide what to do next. That had been a year ago and he still hadn't found a direction.

Since the collapse of the medical industry, people had the option of either public or private care. Called the Great Meltdown, it had started with the insurers and spiraled out of control until hospitals started going down too. The crisis had been years in the making. Between the empty promises, unfulfilled expectations and ineffective compromises, the system just couldn't sustain itself any longer.

The more diversified got out of health care and survived on their other lines of insurance. Those that couldn't, rode the spiral down to the end. Some tried to raise premiums, others dropped coverage or increased deductibles and co-pays, all to no avail.

Sensing the coming implosion, the sick rushed to get what care they could before it was too late. The healthy dropped their insurance and either went without or paid cash. Overwhelmed with the sick and left to rely on failing insurers who defaulted on their obligations, the hospitals were soon in dire financial straits themselves. As the collapse accelerated, voters demanded their government do something before there was nothing left.

Washington responded by rushing emergency legislation through that created a new agency tasked with protecting what was left, rebuilding what was lost and expanding where needed. Called the Public Health Service (or just the Service or Public Health for short), it became the only insurer and nationalized the surviving hospitals. The whole healthcare system was centralized under its authority with the justification that it would then be able to create efficiencies, lower cost and provide better services to all.

The Service was granted broad regulatory powers with only the vaguest of controls restricting its authority. All citizens were required to either secure insurance through PHS and use their hospitals or make arrangements with one of the new private that had sprung up during the reorganization. Public Health relied on local offices through out the nation to sell insurance, access medical needs and schedule appoints. The privates were allowed to operate independently of government care, but were still subject to tight regulatory oversight by the Service, leaving them with the thinnest of profit margins.

Public Health functioned on a kind of hub and spoke system with registration centers funneling those seeking healthcare to the large regional hospitals located in the cities. Patients underwent careful screening before being allowed to see a doctor. With the crisis averted the government declared victory over medical needs and set about enrolling as many as possible in their new system. In reality, PHS had a reputation for long delays, denial of service and unsatisfactory care. Those outside the politically powerful districts were left to either move to the cities, hope that the Service had excess resources available or find some way to embarrass them into keeping their promises.

Though highly regulated, the privates were still allowed to choose who they treated and what to charge. The best employers, like Stanley's previous firm, enrolled their people with a private provider. It was common knowledge in town that a group of investors had acquired the old FairPoint ski resort a few miles outside of Paddock and converted it to private hospital. Like most people in town however, Stanley couldn't afford their care, even if he'd been invited to enroll.

Finishing breakfast, he bundled up, got his car ready and made his way to town, noting the browns, rusts and deep reds of the late autumn leaves along the highway. Though not as vibrant as the week before, the ones that hadn't be stripped yet by the winds were still quite beautiful.

By now the summer residents had closed their vacation homes until next summer, leaving the locals to face winter on their own. He and George had most of the fall chores done now that the boat and motor were stored away. If the weather remained agreeable they would pull the dock next, then he'd cut, split and stack the firewood. The physical labor always relaxed him and he enjoyed the satisfaction of actually seeing his accomplishments at the end the day.

As he pulled in to town, Stanley took inventory of the changes over the last thirty years. Paddock was similar to any number of small towns along the snow belt of the lower forty-eight states. The seat of Woodland county, there was a new BoxMart store at the city limits that had not hollowed out main street which stayed alive on the tourist trade. They had a four screen theater, five gas stations and three stop lights along highway 15 as it ran through town. Though large enough to be thought a city, there was never that much traffic that anyone ever complained of getting caught in rush hour.

Stanley had grown up knowing his future lay else. After high school, he did like most kids his age and headed to where the streetlights blotted out the stars and nature was corralled into a few small parks by busy streets. He'd found the hard surfaces, sharp corners and gray colors of the city depressing. Craving the open air and the curves of an unscarred landscape, he would return to Paddock at every opportunity.

The years dedicated to earning a nearly meaningless degree and taking a career path seemingly going nowhere took their toll on his will to remain in the city and gut it out. He'd been promoted to office manager, but it was a relief in the end when they came to close it down. He had been decompressing since, that was until he noticed a bump just above the right side of his groin, that was slightly sensitive to the touch. He'd tried to ignore it for months, but decided it couldn't wait any longer.

The Public Health Service occupied its annex to the Woodland County Municipal Building. Its designated parking area was full that morning with a steady stream going in and out through its separate entrance. Parking three blocks away, Stanley walked quickly through the morning chill to his appointment.

The receptionist sat at her desk guarded a set of heavy metal doors with her bulk. He walked through the crowded waiting room and stood quietly in front of her, allowing time to be notice without being so rude as to demand recognition of his existence. Being of average height and physically nondescript, he was easy to ignore. Realizing she might not notice him until she locked up at the end of the day, he finally cleared his throat.

Um, is there a number I need to take or a line I'm suppose be in?

Looking up she gave him a once over, indicating with a look of annoyance that she believed he'd received the reception he deserved.

Name?

Stanley. Stanley Williams. She typed on her keyboard.

You don't come up in the computer, have an appointment?

Yes, 9:30 a.m. She typed some more, then put a finger on the screen to track down some stray bit of information.

And what is it that we can do for you today, Mr.... she referred back to her computer screen, Stanley.

I'd like to see a doctor.

Are you registered?

No ma'am.

You're required by law to provide at least two forms of identification before we can consult with you. You are also obligated to provide proof of insurance or that you've made arrangements with another qualified provider. Do you have those?

Ah...well you see, that's why I'm here. I currently don't have insurance and I need to see a doctor.

You'll have to purchase a policy first.

And after that?

We'll assess your medical needs.

You mean a doctor.

You'll see a doctor if we decide you need too. Do you have two forms of I.D. with you today?

I have a passport and Social Security card?

Their fine, Mr. Stanley. Please, let me have them so I can make copies.

The last name is Williams, ma'am. Stanley's my first name.

She gave him a scowl, letting him know he how dangerously close he had just come to getting on her last nerve. He gingerly handed over his identification. She put them through a scanner, then returned them.

I'll call your name when we're ready to process you, find a seat and wait quietly.

Stepping back, he nodded his thanks then looked around for a place to sit. The only available chair was under a television blearing away near the bathroom. He headed over, trying not to step on the sprawled feet of the other waiting clients. No one looked up or moved as he carefully squeezed through. All appeared to have no pressing engagements that day, most were in their pajamas and appeared to have just crawled out of bed. There were mothers with young children and some older folks, but none that struck him as retirees. Many appeared to be wearing some sort of electronic monitor around a waist, arm or across a chest.

Taking his seat, Stanley's discomfort quickly intensified as the sunlight streaming through the large windows that overlooked the parking lot to blast him directly. He got up to shed his coat and sweater. There was some mindless talk show droning loudly over his head. Everyone on the television laughed uproariously at their own jokes, shared some personal bit of gossip or went on in unnecessary detail about their latest project. Stanley wasn't sure who was watching it. The informal rules of etiquette dictated that he ask the room before turning the annoying thing off. Based on the volume, he concluded that the receptionist must be the only one paying attention and he wasn't going to try her patience again. He got up to find somewhere else to sit on the pretext of finding something to read.

Scattered around the end tables were gossip or news magazines at least six months old and government pamphlets on proper diet, health tips, common diseases or information on drug treatment programs. Every ten minutes or so another name was called and someone else would go through the metal receiving doors. He found an empty seat near the drafty entrance and settled down with a year old magazine declaring the sexiest people on the planet. He recognized about a third of them. Individuals would re-emerge from behind the metal doors with either a monitor conspicuously displayed somewhere on their body or a Band-Aid over a gauze on an arm.

After an hour or so, Stanley began to wonder if they would let him go home and call him to come back when they were ready. He figured they wouldn't until they had him in their system for fear he'd never return voluntarily.

Williams?

He looked around, but no one else stirred. Um, yes...here?

Come up to the front, please.

The receptionist gave him a pained look of someone wearing the most uncomfortable shoes in her closet.

Registration is a two part process. First, we'll take some blood so we can screen you for pre-existing conditions. Then you'll meet with the navigator to create your account. Have you ever given blood before, Mr. Williams?

Yes

That's good, just stand by receiving and the nurse will be right with you.

Stanley approached the metal doors and was soon met by an obese woman in an orange Halloween surgical smock complete with little jack-o-lanterns, bats and spiders. She lead him through the doors and directed him to a scale.

Weight: 102 kilograms Height: 182 centimeters. That give you a body mass index of 30.5, obese.

Well, I've got my shoes and clothes on.

That's already been factored in. Please, sit here and try to relax.

She wheeled a machine over, slide the sleeve of a pressure cup up over his arm and flipped a switch to begin the process of taking his blood pressure.

Just breath normal and don't clench. The machine pumped air into the cup then let it out.

150/ 90 that's a bit high.

Well, I'm a bit nervous.

She got up and brought over a tray with the items needed to draw blood. She straddled the stool next to his chair and with a large rubber band fixed tightly around his arm began looking for a good vein to tap.

OK, I'm going to take three vials today. The first is to check your past, the second tells us how you're doing now and the third is to look into your future. We'll be screening for any existing conditions like diabetes or cancer as well as check your genetic profile to see if you have a predisposition towards something in the future.

Well, I was just hoping to get a doctor to look at this little bulge I've got going on here. Is all this really necessary?

Everybody has to do it. It helps us better determine your needs and how to properly allocate our resources. The information is kept strictly confidential, though it may be shared for research purposes or with those who may offer a product or service that would benefit you.

He let the implication that they were going to sell his information pass in order to ask about something more pressing, You can't turned anyone down, right? Whatever you find.

That's correct. Everyone has the right to health care and everyone is required to have insurance. The Service merely wants to know more about you in order to set your premiums at the most accurate level.

What if I don't like what's offered?

Then you'll have to secure coverage somewhere else or face incarceration and/or fines.

Wait, I can go to jail?

That's right. Though that usually only happens to those who've been warned again and again.

Seems I have little choice, lets get this over with.

Stanley didn't know of any medical problems in the family, but he was still uneasy about giving them his DNA. He began seeing the wisdom of keeping these people at arms length now. The nurse settled on a good vein and with a prick quickly filled the vials. She applied a gauze and Band-Aid over the puncture.

OK, you can go back to the receptionist and let her know that we've completed this part of the process.

Stanley re-entered the waiting room and stopped at the reception desk.

The nurse wanted me to tell you that I've given blood and am ready to see the navigator now.

She'll be ready at 1:00 p.m. You can wait here or come back.

Not wanting to stay in the loud, stuffy waiting room any longer than necessary, Stanley excused himself and made his way outside. He hadn't planned on this taking most of the day and hadn't packed a lunch or brought enough money to buy a meal. Rather than drive home, he decided wonder over to the library to scan magazines for the couple of hours while he waited. Leave his jacket in his car, he noticed a paper sack on the back seat. There was a note from his father. He'd have to find some way to repay him for sneaking a sandwich into his car when he wasn't looking.

As Stanley ate lunch he wondered what would've happen if he'd had an emergency this last year. Would he'd still been required to jump through hoops before they'd let him see a doctor? It was unsettling that based on his experience so far with these people, he wasn't sure.

He returned early to a nearly empty waiting room. His name was called just as he had fallen into a light nap. Returning to the reception desk, Stanley was met by a plain, but pleasant looking women in her mid thirties.

Hello, my name is Amy Lamphere and I'll be your navigator today. Have you had health insurance in the past or have you always been an absconder? She lead him to her office in the back of the building.

Absconder?

Yes, that's what we call people who've avoided buying insurance.

Well I've only been without coverage for the last year or so. Prior to that I worked for someone who contracted with a private.

Oh, I bet that was nice, please have a seat.

Her office would have been cramped if she hadn't kept it well organized and clutter free. He noticed her name and titles on a plaque on her desk. She was officially a navigator and certified life counselor. Stanley had no idea what the second job title meant.

"Now, I'm going to ask you a series of questions, some of which may seem unrelated to your registration, but believe me, they're all necessary. Answer as honestly as you can since the information is used to determine the policy options we will offer you.

As we proceed I may mention one of our wellness programs. These are offered to help you obtain the optimal life outcomes you desire and enhance your overall health indicators. You may even qualify for a subsidy for participation. Would you be interested in hearing more about these opportunities?

Oh...kay, I guess, He wondered how many of the improvement programs required a monitor. It's all voluntary, right? I mean I don't have to commit to anything if I don't want to?

That's correct, but with the possible savings and potential for personal improvement, I'd be remiss if I didn't encourage you to enroll in as many as possible. Now let's get started. She waited for him to share her enthusiasm, but like a man caught in the open under heavy rain clouds, he hesitated before bracing for the inevitable unpleasantness.

Now before we start, I must inform you that you have the right to refuse services at any point. The burden will then be upon you to arrange some form of coverage within the next 30 days.

You're the third person to tell me that today.

All right then, I'll ask you to sign the keypad here, signifying your understanding of your rights and penalties.

Stanley took the stylus, signed and then dated the screen where indicated.

Name in full?

Stanley David Williams

Age?

Thirty-five.

We have your body mass indicator and blood pressure. Based on those readings I'd like to make you aware that we have an obesity prevention program that would benefit you.

How does it work?

Participants wear a monitor that records their daily eating events. We also provide a home scale with its own transmitter to track your weight with you. Members meet weekly to set goals, discuss their progress and encourage each other.

It was as bad as he'd imagined. He waited a few beats before declining the chance to have his meals tracked and be harangued by overweight strangers. Even if they waived his premiums, he couldn't see it being worth untold hours of listening to exacting details of how others battled away at that last stubborn pound.

You know, as great as that would be, I just don't think I'd be right for the program. I really only came in to have a doctor to look at something for me.

All right, Mr. Williams, we can always sign you up later if you change your mind. Given your blood pressure perhaps you'd find our hypertension program more to your liking.

What's that?

We track members' daily blood pressure patterns. The individual keeps a diary, recording events that may have triggered a spike. We then compare the readings with the diary and look for ways to avoid those occasions that elevate our blood pressure. Then we meet as a group and seek ways to better deal with our daily stressors.

Is the information from the monitor looked at by a doctor at any point?

No, this program relies on our certified life counselor to evaluate the readings and teach relaxation exercises and inform participants of alternative medical approaches that have been shown to work just as well as any prescription drugs.

You know I live on a lake and I find that pretty relaxing, so I don't think I'd really benefit that much from your program.

Do you smoke, Mr. Williams?

I have been known to have the occasional cigar on a weekend when I was working regularly. Its been a while since I've indulged.

I'll put you down as a recreational user. We have a smoking cessation class that a lot of clients really like.

Have any of them actually quit smoking?

As I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Williams, smoking is one of the hardest vices to overcome.

I'll take that as a solid not yet. Just out of curiosity, what's this program like? knowing the answer before she started describing it.

Members wear a monitor that tracks their smoking behavior. There's a weekly meeting where we review progress toward cessation and lend support to fellow group members.

You know, I haven't wanted a smoke in a long time, so I really don't think this program would be right for me. He tried to say it as nicely as possible, but suspected some sarcasm still managed to creep into his voice.

Did I mention that any improvements in your health will be documented and used to evaluate your overall life outcomes. It might even lead to a reduction in your premiums.

But I don't get anything like a price break now if I participate, do I?

That's correct. The programs with subsides are usually for those with a genetic predisposition. We'll have to wait for your results before we know if you'll qualify for one of those. Those you're being offered today would still help improve you're overall health status and that would most likely reduce your premiums anyway. Plus, of course, the added benefit of being healthier.

I wonder, just a little off topic here, but how does this office afford to run all these wellness programs?

Well, one of our mandates is to promote prevention. The Service provides additional funds to local offices based on how many clients we sign up in one of our initiatives. Its a win-win for all for all of us after all, since it helps keep medical cost down while helping people live better lives.

He had a hunch why she kept pushing the wellness programs. Say, I bet you're not getting a lot of people signing up for insurance anymore, are you? I mean most absconders around here must have come through those doors, moved away or died off by now, haven't they?

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

It's just that it probably means this office doesn't really need a full time navigator anymore, does it? But with a lot of wellness groups going on there's going to be a need for a... what did you call it, certified life director?

Certified life counselor, Mr. Williams, and lets get back to your registration.

And so the afternoon dragged on. She brought up screen after screen of questions he did his best to answer honestly. The topics ranged from diet to alcohol consumption, to exercise, hobbies, sexual orientation, sexual activity, gun ownership, personal and family medical history, employment history, computer and internet usage and family relations.

Stanley started to wonder if she'd stop with the questions if he'd just give in and sign up for one of her wellness class. He wondered how much of the information being generated was for legitimate medical usage and how much was for resale. After what seemed like a lifetime, he heard the town clock chime five. The navigator had been showing signs of fatigue for the last hour or so and was obviously relieved that it was quitting time.

All right, Mr. Williams, I believe we have enough information to generate your file. Your insurance package will come in the mail in three to six weeks. Once you've selected a policy and paid your first premium you'll be official covered.

So I'll be able to see a doctor?

First you'll have to have an appointment with one of our screeners, to determine if your medical concern warrants a doctor's visit.

"I would guess that would be the nurse who took