Upstairs, I give Doc Simmons’s door a perfunctory knock before sticking my head inside. “Doc?” I call.
“I assumed that cacophony was you,” the doc says, standing up from a stool in the corner. “I couldn’t fathom why you would be making a noise like that, but I knew that since something was making that noise in my hospital, it could only be coming from you.”
“Look, if you’ve got better rubber footwear, I’d be happy to trade,” I say. “In fact, if you’ve got any spare clothes at all, I wouldn’t say no. I’m kinda soaked.”
Simmons looks me up and down skeptically, but pulls a lab coat from the back of the door and hands it to me. I put it on gratefully, layering it over my wet shirt. It’s not overly warm and it’s pretty tight across the shoulders, but it’s better than I had before, so I’ll take it.
“You don’t look like this is one of your better days,” Simmons observes as I struggle into the coat.
“Well, let’s see. I’ve been tackled by the police, thrown in jail, accused of being a terrorist, escaped from jail, robbed a vending machine, brewed a chemical bomb, set a house fire, stolen a kid’s bike and been told by the authorities to leave the city and never come back. Meanwhile, I can probably still stick my pinky through the hole in my cheek. And it’s what, lunchtime? Maybe a late lunch? I wouldn’t say this has been my best day, no.”
“I appreciate you making time in your busy schedule to come see me, then. Did you talk to Officer Peterson?”
“He was the one who told me to leave town and never return, yeah.”
Doc Simmons makes a sympathetic face. “So no friend on the inside with the police, then?”
“Worse—I’m pretty sure that that was him being friendly. I think this latest escapade has been the straw that broke the camel’s back, though. He seems to have worked through the suggestion nanos, but something definitely set him off.” A thought strikes me. “Aw man, my house!”
“Your house?”
“Peterson mentioned the house fire when I talked to him. If he knows about it, it must have been called in. If it was called in, that probably means it was big enough to do damage—which means my house is probably screwed.” I sit down heavily, depressed. “Well, at least maybe the rain kept it under control.”
“Mhm,” says Simmons noncommittally. There’s a short pause, and then she says, “Well. Shall we get started?”
“Geez, Doc. All business, huh? Can a guy get a bit of sympathy here?”
“What do you want me to do, pat your shoulder and say, ‘There, there’? I’m sorry that nanomachinery is making your life miserable. Now could we please move on to attempting to fix that?”
I stand up from the chair, leaving a puddle of rainwater behind me. “It’s not that you’re wrong, Doc, but your bedside manner...sheesh.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before. Arm, please.”
I push back my layers to expose the inside of my elbow, which the doc swabs briefly with alcohol before sticking in a needle to draw blood. I look away as she preps the syringe, and my attention is caught by an area in the corner of the room which is cordoned off by drapes.
“What’s behind the curtains, Doc?” I ask.
“That’s where I’ve got Brian.”
“Brian!” I jerk involuntarily, and the doc frowns at me. “You’ve got us in the same room?”
“Please be careful of the needle, Dan. Yes, you’re in the same room. It’s fine, I increased his sedative dosage before you arrived. He’s not even conscious right now.”
“Well, what if he becomes conscious?!”
“Then there are backup plans in place. Calm down before you magnetize my needle.”
Easy for her to say. She’s not the one who might end up disintegrated if Brian’s sedative wears off. Still, there’s not much I can do about it if I want the doc’s help, so I take a few deep breaths and focus on calming myself. By the time she’s pulling out the needle and putting on a bandage, I’m basically back to where I was when I walked in. It’s not calm, exactly; more of a state of acceptance.
“What’s your plan with this blood, anyway? I would’ve thought you had plenty from me by now.”
The doc smiles. “I think you’ll find this really interesting. Come take a look at this.”
I follow her to the far side of the lab, over to the microscope she was sitting at when I walked in. “Okay, tell me what you see,” Doc Simmons says, prepping a slide with my blood.
“Blood and nanos,” I say.
“Descriptive as always, Dan,” says the doc, sounding a bit exasperated. “Do you notice anything in particular about the nanos?”
I squint at them for a minute. “Not really? They’re little black dots. What am I supposed to see about them?”
“They’re not aligned in their grid, right?” prompts the doc.
“Oh! No. I guess not. I mean, they sort of are, but it’s kind of ragged.”
“Okay, now watch this.”
I hear a scraping noise and look up from the microscope to see Doc Simmons moving an unwieldy metal box across the counter toward the microscope. She points a metal probe at the slide and says, “Look what happens now.”
I peer back through the eyepiece of the microscope, and at first everything looks the same. Then I hear the click of a switch being flipped and a faint hum from the machine, and as soon as that happens all of the nanos snap into position, forming a perfect grid.
“Hey, cool! What did you do?”
“I believe—although I’m not one hundred percent certain—that I’ve reactivated the nanos.”
“That’s amazing!” I snap my head around to look at her. “Nice work! Can you turn them off, too, and fix Brian? Or wait, can you just turn mine on so I’ve got a power back? Or more than one, even?”
“I’m not there yet, Dan. In fact, if you’ll please step back from the machine for a minute...”
She’s already reaching a gloved hand for the slide before I move out of her way. She sets the slide on a metal tray and picks up a petri dish, holding it poised over the slide.
For a moment, nothing happens, but just as I’m about to ask what we’re waiting for, the slide bursts into a small but definite flame. The doc drops the petri dish over it, smothering the fire, and it quickly goes out.
“And that is why I’m not quite ready to move to human testing yet,” says Doc Simmons.
I swallow. “Yeah. Good call there, Doc.”
“Now, in addition to the baseline sample, I’d also like to get one where you’ve been using your powers, to observe differences in the nanomachinery’s structure and behavior. Activate one of your remnant powers, please. Any one you like.”
That’s an easy choice. It takes just a few seconds of thinking about the amount of stress in my life right now before I start to feel a tingling in my fingers. I reach out to the steel tray, and as my hand approaches it, it slides the last inch to meet me.
“Excellent, thank you,” says Doc Simmons, standing up. “Now keep that going while I draw blood.”
She takes a step away to get the necessary equipment, and as she does the curtain at the edge of the room suddenly parts. For a moment, I think it’s being drawn apart, and then I realize it’s disintegrating. Behind it, Brian is sitting weakly up in bed, one hand outstretched to touch the curtain. A tube is taped to his nose, and another runs from the back of his hand to an IV pole. His eyes are unfocused, but when he sees me, they do their best to lock on.
“R...rotten...scummy...” he mumbles, trying to stand up from the bed. His hospital gown begins to disintegrate, and the tubes on him fall away and swing free.
Doc Simmons tsks and takes a short step to her right, twisting a valve on what looks like an oxygen tank. It hisses for a second before she pulls a trigger on a metal tube perched on top of the tank, and with a quiet whuf!, a small dart flies across the intervening space and buries itself in Brian’s abdomen. It falls away almost immediately, landing on the floor in a plastic clatter, but Brian’s
eyes cross and he slumps back into the bed.
The doc walks briskly over and begins attaching new oxygen and IV tubes to Brian, as if this was completely normal. I am less sanguine.
“What on earth was that?” I demand.
“I thought that might happen, actually. I think the activation of your nanos caused a response. I told you, there were backup plans if that happened.”
“Yeah, I saw your backup plan. You shot him!”
“It was a tiny amount of sedative, just enough to counteract the extra adrenaline. It won’t hurt him.”
“Wait. Wait, wait. You said you didn’t have a trank gun,” I accuse.
“I didn’t. I built this one this morning. It’s not complicated, just compressed air and a tube. It wouldn’t work beyond maybe a dozen feet.”
“But you said there was no point in having one around a hospital!”
“And now there is a point, so I made one. I thought you’d be happy that there’s a tranquilizer gun now, Dan.”
“Well, can I use it?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not happy about it.”
“What would you even use it on, Dan?” The doc’s clearly just talking to humor me now. She’s gotten Brian resettled on his cot, and is back on task to draw my blood.
“I don’t know. What if Vince comes in? It’d be handy then. If this can affect Brian before he can dissolve the needle, probably it would work on Vince too, right?”
“It’s possible, I suppose. From what you’ve told me, though, he can repurpose foreign material to repair damage to himself. So it’s also possible that he could absorb the sedative and convert it instead of suffering its effects.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I stick my arm out for the doc, the metal tray still attached to my fingertips, and let her slide a needle into my arm. “But I mean, the gas I made took him down, so maybe it doesn’t work for chemicals or something.”
Doc Simmons pauses and fixes me with a look. “There are several things I’d like to unpack in that statement. First of all, it is nonsensical to think that the nanomachinery couldn’t work on chemicals.”
“I’m just saying that maybe they’re smaller or move faster or something.”
“That’s really not...chemicals are just—” The doc stops and presses her left hand to her temple. “That’s not how it works, Dan. You’re going to need to take my word for that. I’m not getting into it further with you right now, because I’ll end up frustrated and you probably don’t want that from someone currently draining blood out of your body.”
She cocks her head at me to see if I have anything to say, but this situation seems to call for being quiet, so I say nothing. Satisfied, Simmons continues.
“Second of all, ‘the gas you made’? I assume this is related to your earlier comment about a chemical bomb?”
“Yeah, when Vince was coming at me, I poured a whole bunch of bathroom chemicals together and chucked it at him. I think it actually took him down. He fell back coughing, and then when I ran off, he didn’t come after me. I think maybe his clones had to take him to the hospital.” Suddenly, what I’ve just said strikes me. “Oh man, what if he’s here? Look, see, I do need to use the trank gun! Is it reloaded? How do I shoot it?”
“Calm down!” the doc orders, glaring at me. “You poured bathroom cleaners together? Dan, that’s how you end up with chlorine gas, or chloramine, depending on what exactly you mixed. That’s extremely dangerous.”
“Well, yeah! I was trying to stop him from killing me. I was aiming for danger. Asking politely didn’t seem likely to work.”
“Dangerous to everyone, Dan. I somehow doubt that you took reasonable precautions to protect yourself from the effects of the gas.”
“I covered my nose and mouth with a wet washcloth.”
Doc Simmons shakes her head. “And just ran into it eyes open, I assume?”
“Well...yes. I didn’t really think about that. But it worked! My eyes are fine.”
“Dan, when you finally die, I’m going to put you under a microscope and find out what mutation you have that makes you this lucky.”
I snort out a laugh. “You think I’m lucky?”
“To be doing as well as you are, given the choices you make? Unbelievably so.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about my luck to have Vince be checked in a floor below here, and be on his way up to take another shot at me right now. Can you teach me how to use that trank gun, please?”
“Dan, I find it very unlikely that an escaped felon would check into a hospital. We do check patient IDs here, you know.”
“Okay, fine, but he might still track me here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dan. Why would he look for you here? I never met Vince. He doesn’t know who I am, and can’t tie you to this hospital in any way.”
“Yeah, but he could still track me.” The doc’s usually quicker on the uptake than this. I can’t believe I have to repeat myself to her. This is a new position to be in.
“You keep saying ‘track.’ What do you mean by that?”
“Track me through the nanos....” I trail off, because the doc is staring at me. I thought she’d been glaring before, but this is an exponentially increased level of intensity.
“What?” I ask uncertainly.
“You can track each other through the nanobots, and you never thought to mention this?” She’s seething. I’ve never seen her this angry.
“We can’t track each other. My nemesis can track me. Nemeses, at this point. You think I would have gone through all that rigmarole with Brian if I could have just pointed to where he was the whole time?”
“I don’t find it a rewarding venture to speculate on how your thought processes work, Dan! This is clear evidence of communication between the nanotechnology in different host bodies and you didn’t think it was the sort of thing I might find relevant?”
“It never came up when you were around! I’m sorry for not briefing you on every stupid thing, but I have had a lot on my plate!”
We’re shouting at each other now, and we would probably be standing nose-to-nose if I weren’t sitting down to serve as the doc’s own personal blood bank. I’m suddenly disgusted with the entire process. “You have enough samples yet? Get this needle out of me.”
Doc Simmons looks down at the needle and I hear her take a deep breath, hold it, then slowly let it out. She holds a gauze pad to my arm as she pulls the needle out, and when she speaks again, her voice is calm and measured.
“I can’t ask all of the questions I need answers to, Dan. Because I don’t even know that they’re a possibility. I need you to tell me everything, no matter how minute. It’s all important.”
“My brain doesn’t work like that, Doc. I forget things. I’m not a machine.” Simmons may be calm, but I’m still peeved and looking for a fight.
“Maybe you could write them down, then?” There’s sharpness to the doc’s tone. Seems like her calmness is just a veneer. I might get that fight after all.
“Ooh, yeah, I could text them to you. Except that you’re not a fan of that lesser form of communication!”
“Listen, Dan—” the doc begins, pointing at me accusatorily. I don’t find out what I’m supposed to listen to, though, because she’s interrupted as the lab phone starts to ring. She glares at me again, then stalks off to answer it.
“Yes?” There’s a pause, during which she glares at me again. “Fine.”
She puts the phone down on the counter and gestures at me peremptorily. “Dan? Phone for you.”
“Who’s calling me here?” I ask, but the doc has turned her back on me and is walking off to do something, possibly with the blood vials, possibly just to ignore me. I stick my tongue out at her as I walk over to pick up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Everton. Leave the hospital.”
“Officer Peterson? What? How do you know where I am?”
There’s a short pause, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “You’v
e answered a land line.” A hacking cough, and then, “It’s not that hard to figure out where you are.”
Okay, so that was sort of a stupid question. I try again with better phrasing. “But how’d you know I was here in the first place?”
“Vince. The cyclist. Being tackled to the ground this morning.” Peterson sounds like he’s ticking these off on his fingers as he says them. “You’re hurt, so you went to your friend the doctor. Simple.”
“I guess this is why you’re the detective, huh?”
“Shut up. This is not the time for banter.” Another cough. It sounds wet. The guy needs to take a day off to recuperate, if you ask me. “Regina. The storm’s coming for you. I want you out of that hospital before people get hurt.”
“What about me getting hurt? Where am I supposed to go?”
“Anywhere away from people. You’re one person, and I will absolutely sacrifice you to save many.”
“What do you mean, ‘sacrifice’?”
“Too unclear? If I hear about an unusual amount of lightning at the hospital, or a power outage, or even rain making it difficult for the ambulance drivers to see, I will come down there myself and put a bullet through your head.” He snarls the last part, and I hold the phone away from my face, staring at it wide-eyed.
“Leave. Now,” I hear tinnily from the speaker, coming through clearly despite the distance. I return the phone to my ear.
“Okay, I’m going. Thank you for the...warning, I guess?”
Peterson snarls again, wordlessly this time, and hangs up. I stare at the phone for a minute before slowly putting it down.
“He probably called a number of places and asked for you,” offers Doc Simmons, who has clearly been listening in to my half of the conversation.
“Oh. Yeah, could be. That would make sense,” I say. “Hey, do you think the nanos could simulate a cold?”
“I have no evidence of that, but it seems well within the realm of possibility, yes. Why?”
Day of Reckoning Page 6