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Caregiver
Bruce Golden

It moved with even certainty through the labyrinth, down long, dim corridors fed by uniform passageways, each artery branching out to its own finality. It passed row after row, cluster upon cluster of marginalized cubicles, adroitly avoiding other busy caregivers going about their tasks with stoic competency. Their activities were not its concern. Its objective was still ahead, its function yet to be engaged. The muffled resonance of efficiency was momentarily fractured by a caterwaul that resounded with frantic vigor. The plaintive cry did not cause it to break stride. This was not its designated ward. It continued, secure that proper care would be provided where needed.

Though it had never traversed this particular annex, it was familiar with every aspect of the structure’s design. A three-dimensional imaging model embedded in its memory enabled it to proceed unerringly to its assigned section. Once there, it would fulfill its charge until relieved. The notion of responsibility, the promise of ordered ritual, of unadulterated routine provided impetus to its progress through the repository. Fulfillment of its programming was imminent.
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