A Place on the Tow

The clinic would release Iven for transfer if I signed that it was no longer responsible for keeping him alive.

I read the line twice at the intake counter. The form listed his coolant loop as active support, then described the clinic’s obligation as ended upon departure. Beneath that, a blank waited for my signature as escort and debtor.

“How much?” I asked.

The clerk turned the slate so I could see the charge. The transfer cradle, coolant cartridge, and loading assistance came to eleven hours of labor credit. My existing balance remained untouched.

“I can move him myself,” I said.

“You can carry him to the tender,” the clerk replied. “You can’t maintain the loop during transfer. The cartridge is sealed to the clinic’s regulator. It will keep the existing coolant moving until you reconnect to a compatible service line.”

“How long?”

“Twelve hours under the projected draw. The tender’s listed run to Pelin is nine.”

That left three hours for delays, loading errors, or the tender’s idea of a schedule. I looked at the form again. It made a clean distinction between medical support and responsibility. Machines were good at those.

I signed the debt line. The clerk accepted it without comment and set a transfer slot for the next hour. The clinic had given Iven thirty-six hours of coolant extension. The clock kept running while we arranged to leave it.

I went to his room with the transfer cradle and the sealed cartridge. Iven lay connected to the clinic loop, his hands folded over the blanket the staff had put across his legs. His left foot stabilizer clicked faintly whenever the pump cycled. It had always made that sound when he was resting; I knew because I had once spent an entire night trying to silence it.

“I have the transfer,” I said. “It buys twelve hours of coolant flow. The tender reaches Pelin in nine, if it keeps schedule.”

“Then the remaining margin is three hours.”

“Less, if anything goes wrong.”

He looked at the cartridge in my hand. Its casing was clinic blue, with a numbered seal across the access panel. “And the cost?”

“Eleven hours added to my labor debt.”

“You signed for it.”

“I did.”

He studied the form in my other hand. “Does it say you accept responsibility for my core?”

“It says the clinic stops being responsible when we leave.” I kept my thumb over the line below it. “It doesn’t say I get to decide what happens to you.”