<strong>Mary Nash's Van, One Week Ago</strong><br/><br/>So far it had been a rather quiet night.  Quiet nights were peaceful and enjoyable in their own way, and it always meant that not too many people were getting hurt, but it also meant that she wasn't getting paid.<br/><br/>Vaccines were good for six months, maybe a year tops, but if they didn't get sold, they would go bad.  Many medical supplies had some sort of expiration date.  As many of the costs of medical care skyrocketed, a street doc was all that many people could afford, but even then, many people felt that the best they could do was to simply heal and rest without modern medicine's aid.  Such people only came to a doctor when things were so terrible that they would need months or years when they would have only needed weeks.<br/><br/>Eventually, though, her phone did ring.  If she answered it, the voice on the other end, in pain and exhausted.  "This is the street doc, right?  No questions asked?"  He sounded barely conscious, voice trembling from exquisite pain.  "My name's Bill.  If you could come on down to the alleyway next to the Cafe Georgio's on Fourth Street-"  A sudden, painful hack cut off his words.