The ambulant, with its bright green cross, slammed into a hover and then settled onto the surface. The ambulant’s drive system wound down from growl to silence and the side doors lifted. Jake and his partner Genevieve stepped into the busy night-time street corner. The smell of street food, especially chillie-fried trench worm, filled their noses, as did the smell of alcoholic vomit and the coppery wreak of spilled blood. The Orinoco Corp Artificial Intelligence noted their time of arrival and it spoke through Genevieve’s neural implant, requesting she ID the casualty. Simultaneously, the AI was talking to Jake about the situation on the ground. There were way too many debased citizens (DC’s) nearby. The AI advised extreme caution. Both Jake and Genevieve were dressed in light green paramedic body armour but Jake nevertheless slapped the taser night stick in its holster at his waist and double checked the sonar stun pistol in his left wrist panel. Genevieve was first to the casualty. She read the casualty’s neural implant for ID information. Jake faced the people who were now starting to close in on him and Genevieve. “Orinico Corp Health Sciences. We will take whatever measures are authorised to assist the casualty and maintain the safety of ourselves and our equipment. Please disperse now and let us do our job.” There was some jeering and a large chunk of granite paving bounced on the ground, missing Jake but hitting the ambulant. The ambulant’s rail gun fired three non-lethal rounds and three DC’s were rendered unconscious. The crowd cleared and people went about their nightly business of drinking, shouting, partying and drug abuse. “Looks like another dickhead who tried to fly under the influence of drugs. Let’s get him into the jelly-bag and get out of here,” said Genevieve. “Patient ID returns Alex Carp, age 29. No Orinoco Corp Insurance credits, zero balance on any bank account,” said the AI. “Carp is a debased citizen and not eligible for Orinoco Corp aid. Emergency assistance is not authorised. Retasking now.” Jake looked at Genevieve. Genevieve looked at Jake. They both hated this aspect of their work, Genevieve was shaking with anger. It was just plain wrong to leave a person dying in the street. But if the AI would not authorise it, none of the many tools at their disposal could be deployed. If they tried manual override against AI authorisation they would immediately loose their jobs. They were returning to the ambulant when a figure appeared from the shadows behind a street food stall. “I’ll pay,” she said, “here, scan my imp’.” “Why?” said Genevieve. The woman was old but spry, small, about 1.6 metres tall, and dressed in light green full length robe. Her grey hair hung in a long, thick plait. “I am too old to assist him directly, but you can. Genevieve scanned the woman’s implant. Jake was bemused to note that the AI, as far as it were possible for a machine to do so, had a surprised tone in its voice when it said “authorised.” Jake, pulled the tab on the Orinoco Corp Life-Sustain® kit. The kit enfolded the patient in a green, jelly-bag, which then levitated into a hover. Jake and Genevieve guided the package into the rear doors of the ambulant. “How do we get in touch with you again?” Jake asked the old woman. “I will be here,” she said. The AI took control of the patient and they set off to the Orinoco Corp Med Facility. An hour later, after their shift, Jake and Genevieve sat in The Pig and Cushion, winding down over cold beer. “I really hate our job when the bloody system decides someone is DC and we can’t help. It just never seems right,” said Jake. “No it doesn’t,” said Genevieve, “actually, I hate our job. We trained for years to provide emergency medical aid and all we do now is scoop up the bodies for the AI to fix. Refuse collectors in green armour, that’s all we are these days,” she said. “Anyway, who was that old woman tonight?” “Rest day tomorrow,” said Jake, “let’s go and find out.” The next afternoon they found the old lady sitting on a bench under an old plane tree. “That was a great thing you did last night,” said Jake. “It was my duty, nothing more,” said the old woman. “How do you mean, duty?” asked Genevieve. “I am the last living member of the Guild of Paramedics,” explained the old woman, “It is the duty of every Guild member to render medical assistance wherever it is needed. No matter what the circumstances. Throughout the last three centuries, so before either of you were born,” she chuckled, “our Guild members applied their skills the world over and saved thousands upon thousands of lives. We did our duty in war zones, at crime scenes, in extreme peril and in peoples homes. It did not matter the circumstances. Those who could pay, paid, those who could not, did not. Then along came Orinoco Corp, selling everything, including peoples lives. We were sidelined. Not commercially helpful, they said. All new paramedics are trained through company schemes. Indentured for life. Great for the rich, not so good for the DC’s. Now I am all that remains, the last medic. Well, me and the endowments.” Genevieve was moved. “How can I help?” she said. “You cannot, not while you work for Orinoco. If you were free you could join the Guild and help build again what has been forgotten. But I cannot ask it. “Ask it,” said Genevieve, her mouth set in a grim line. “Very well. Will you leave behind your life as you know it and join the Guild of Paramedics?” “Yes,” said Genevieve, looking at Jake with shining, excited eyes. Jake hesitated, he struggled to imagine a different life, a life without certainty. He feared for what might happen “No,” he mumbled.