<<@Doc, Katsina [Ace] We're less than an hour out from Baltimore right now. Where should we meet?>>
<<@Ace, Katsina [Doc] Meet me on the Waterfront Promenade, on the north side of the harbor. Park on the south side and take the water taxi across to make sure you're not being followed. I'll walk down from the hospital and we'll get some lunch. Or, at least Ace and I will. It's AAA so wear your nice clothes, use your good SINs, and don't pack anything too obvious.>>
James and Katsina exchange a look. They give new directions to Stevens and then retire to the bathroom and bedroom to freshen up and change clothes. James makes sure his facial hair is in order and then puts on his Rapid Transit suit. Illeana puts on her Argentum Coat but debates whether it looks too heavy for the weather. Yesterday was Labor Day and, right on cue, the weather has already started to drift toward autumn, but a long coat might still look out of place. Illeana settles on her form-fitting body armor, over which she puts on some regular clothes and casts Fashion to turn them into a fashionable cut of her own design. Leaving behind her sword and throwing knives, she slaps a Victorinox Memory Dagger around her wrist as a bracelet and then a Victorinox Memory Sword around her waist as a belt.
Following Doc's directions, the pair find parking and then step out onto a water taxi, ensuring that they are not being followed or drawing undue attention. The sun is out but not hot, and the wind on the harbor actually makes the transit cool. It's the first time they've been on a boat since the swamp; James finds his muscles flexing with each skip of the water taxi on the waves as he listens for suppressive fire. Illeana keeps an uncertain eye on the harbor, both wary of falling overboard as well as wondering if the harbor might Awaken at any moment.
The transit is uneventful. Stepping off on the other side, they find themselves on a brick-paved promenade favored by rich corpers and the families of rich corpers. There are high-rise condos all along the waterfront . As promised, the security presence is liberal. Illeana uses her best SIN.
"Ares Arms - the military hardware subsidiary of Ares Macrotechnology - is headquartered in Baltimore," James says as he stiffens around all the Ares corporate personnel. Has he wandered into the lion's den by being here?
Illeana walks at a professional arm's length from James. "I'm Saeder-Krupp right now," she says under her breath, knowing his cyberears will pick it up. "Act accordingly."
They see Doc waiting by a seafood shack that has been intentionally modeled to look charming and rustic even though it's state-of-the-art and quite expensive. Doc, not much of an actor, has to suppress a smile when he sees them. He takes on an air of formality, although it is clear that he would try for a hug under other circumstances.
Doc is wearing a white lab coat, which looks out-of-place among the suits but still commands respect. "I am pleased that you could make it on short notice," he says, extending a hand for handshakes. James notes that Doc's obvious cyberhand is under a glove, perhaps in deference to their surroundings. He turns to the shack and its menu. "I can recommend the crab cakes and the soft shell crab sandwich."
The orders are placed and the food is received. Doc orders a beer, perhaps because it is traditional with crab or perhaps because the nanites insist. James is also heavily tempted by the expensive beer options, so he orders one as well. Drinking it with the crab under the midday sun alongside the water is exceptionally pleasant and activates all the reward centers in James' brain.
"Doctor," James says, erring on the side of formality, "is this a good time to talk?" James eyes flick around their surroundings.
"Yes, I believe this is one of the most private public spaces you will find," Doc answers. "Security keeps a tight lid on things, and most people here are too self-important to pay attention to what others might be saying or doing."
Indeed, a good percentage of the promenade seems to be filled with trophy wives with trophy bodies who are jogging in their Vashon Island athletic attire. The number of eavesdroppers and snoops appears to be zero, and Katsina can naturally keep a lookout on the astral.
"Johns Hopkins?" Illeana asks as the men finish their lunches.
"Yes, it is complex," Doc responds. "We went south after our initial parting. After visiting Fun City, we went to the Caribbean League, which is where the Johns Hopkins Institute of Health is currently headquartered. (The University lost its university status back in the 50s, after which they renamed themselves and relocated their headquarters.) They were doing relevant research and I slipped into the system. Let us just say that their security protocols were less-than-adequate." He taps his cyberarm coyly.
"Really?" James asks. "Even with all the patient data?"
"As I said, it is complex," Doc responds.
Illeana gets it. "The Institute of Health was a holding of Hestaby's," she says. "But Hestaby lost her hoard after falling out with the other Great Dragons. Last year Lowfyr put enough financial pressure on the Institute that it collapsed, then Saeder-Krupp swept in and gobbled up the remaining assets."
Doc makes a pistol with his hand and shoots Katsina. "Correct. Between the depleted personnel ranks and the fragmented security protocols associated with a hostile takeover, it was not difficult to insert myself. While the University is gone, a research hospital remains in Baltimore. Although my formal medical training is only the equivalent of an intern, I learn quickly and can forge any credentials or certifications that are necessary. I will say that it is convenient that you have come with a Saeder-Krupp SIN. If we are confronted, I am reporting to you, Miss Anghelescu."
Illeana nods and steps into the role. "Report," she says crisply.
"None of this is public yet," Doc begins, "nor formally vetted by peer review. As you know, there appears to be an infectious strain of nanites that makes adjustments to the pre-frontal cortex of its host. Sample sizes are limited. Occasionally the changes are inconsequential, occasionally they are dramatic."
"Chino," Illeana says, her thoughts drifting to the man-child.
"Yes, he is at the Institute presently, playing AR games with the nurses," Doc nods. "His maturity level has continued to regress, but he has proven to be a valuable test subject. He is highly cooperative if he is properly persuaded with the appropriate junk food." He looks to James. "Have you noticed any cognitive dissonance?"
James shakes his head - or is it the nanites shaking his head? Doc looks to Illeana out of the corner of his eye to confirm. She also shakes her head to indicate that James has been acting normal.
"Victims of HMHVV - all strains - have proven immune," Doc says, not looking Illeana in the eye. "As for metahumans, the effects appear to be dependent upon the source of the nanites. The nanites replicate themselves into competing strains. A strain of nanites from a nanoforge that produced consumer goods might be more adaptable to the metahuman condition than a strain of nanites that were originally used in a mining capacity, for example."
"You knew Chino long before you knew us," James says. "Why is his case so much different than ours? After all, odds are good that we are all your 'children'."
Doc nods. It's clear that he has had the same thought and has spent quite a bit of time with it. "I do not know," he says, bowing his head. "I wish that I did. It is a pressing question. If I can uncover the divergence, it may help to chart a course of recovery, or even prevention."
Illeana can see Doc's aura and knows that this is a sensitive subject. She redirects the conversation. "You implied that the strains also infect industrial equipment. Does that mean that metahumans are not the only ones affected?"
Doc nods. "That is a troubling but unproven implication, correct. In early March last year, five Yamatetsu Nautical Technologies aircraft fell apart in mid-flight. In June last year, Amazonia experienced a five-day streak of spontaneous mid-flight structural failures in its aircraft. On July 28 last year, buildings in Bogotá built by Central Industrial spontaneously collapsed. The connection between all these is that the aircraft and buildings in question were all produced by state-of-the-art nanoforges." He glances about and lowers his voice. "There have even been unsubstantiated rumors of catestrophic failures in some local production lines of Ares Arms. If you uncover anything during your stay, please let me know."
James shifts uncomfortably. "Does this mean I have to worry about my equipment?" Then, with growing alarm, "Or my body?"
"Yes," Doc says matter-of-factly. "The newer it is, the greater the risk of failure. You should be attuned to unexpected changes in performance."
"Our food processor won't stop making toast," James says bitterly, wondering if his body will spontaneously melt into goo in some alleyway.
Doc blinks. "That is a potential symptom, yes."
"Do you have any good news, Doctor?" James asks, eyeing the sun and wonder if this is what Icarus felt the moment his wings melted.
"I do. We are all alive. We have all retained our sentience. Furthermore, it may be more accurate to describe the nanite strains as symbiotic, not parasitic."
"Oh?" James asks, the cyber singularity seeker in him flaring with curiosity.
"We have identified three primary positive symptoms," Doc begins. "First, an acute stress response may trigger an unexpected surge in physical performance, even above and beyond the limits of augmentation. It is unknown if this response may be triggered voluntarily or whether it is strictly involuntary.
"Second, the nanites may trigger an adrenal response that will allow someone to stay conscious long after their physical condition would have rendered them unconscious."
"The nanites will drive my body if I pass out?" James asks, skeptical.
"Yes, if they sense danger to the host. They will use their understanding of metahuman physiology, which may be limited, to pilot the host to safety, if possible."
James blinks. He remembers passing out in the swamp. But it wasn't in the swamp, was it? It was after they were safe 'at home' in Stevens.
"And lastly, the nanites will automatically combat threats to the host, including toxins or disease. I daresay you will find yourself in peak health."
"So you're saying I didn't need to bother making all that Rock Lizard Blood?" Illeana deadpans.
"Our understanding is incomplete," Doc answers with all seriousness. "It would be unwise to put any trust in the effects I have described. You should take all due precautions in all circumstances. I simply wished to alert you to all possible risks."
The trio stop walking. They have returned to their original meeting place. Loud seagulls circle overhead, although tiny drones subtly shepherd them away from the land, lest they defecate on someone important.
"My lunch hour is almost up," Doc says. "I must return to my research. Chino is also expecting lunch. A soft-shell crab sandwich is not his first choice, but he will accept it because it is deep fried."
"Thank you, Doctor," James and Illeana say, still uncertain of whether James has been given a terminal diagnosis or not.
