“About what?” said Katherine. “Your pathetic little Resistance? I hate to be the one to break it to you, pal, but you’re fighting a losing battle.”
“If we lose, we lose,” said James, “but I will not stand by and do nothing while my father turns the human race into an army of slaves.”
“So let me get this straight. You’re going to keep us prisoners here while Deever’s only hope is back in the city? You’re going to let him die and then do a lobotomy on Jen on the hopes that this bunch of backwater yahoos might, just might, find something useful in her head? In my book, buddy boy, that makes you two things: stupid and a murderer.”
“That’s it!” said Dr. Crane. “I know how we can save Deever. Dr. Martin, can you service a Biocard implant?”
“I’ve removed them,” he said, “but I don’t have the equipment to fix them, let alone diagnose any problems with them. What did you have in mind?”
“Can you transfer my Biocard to Deever?”
“That’s impossible without . . .”
She took the device that looked very much like Deever’s joint lighter from his pocket and handed it to the doctor. “Without this?” she said.
“Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter. Can you do it or can’t you?”
Dr. Martin looked at his hands and shook his head. “I don’t know. These hands aren’t as steady as they used to be.”
“All I’m asking is that you try.”
“Why? What good would it do?”
“The Nanemes in my Biocard can save him.”
“I wouldn’t even give him a fifty-fifty chance in the best hospital in the country. The damage to this man’s internal organs is massive. I’m surprised everything hasn’t shut down already.”
“The Biocard can repair that.”
“Can it remove bullets?”
“I don’t know, but we have to try.”
“This man needs a miracle, not a microscopic chip, Dr. Crane.”
“The Jennifer Biocard is a miracle.”
Dr. Martin studied her determined look. “Assuming I don’t kill you both during the procedure, what’s to say whatever problems you had won’t recur?”
“I’m willing to take that risk.”
“That’s an awfully big risk for the both of you.”
“Any hope is better than none. Deever’s dying and I was already dead. He gave me a second chance. He deserves one, too. And Mr. James is right. He’s your only hope of stopping this.”
Dr. Martin looked to James for guidance. “What do you think, Fred?”
“I think we’re finished without MacClendon, Doc,” James replied. “And if it means sacrificing a life to save humanity, it’s a risk worth taking.”
Jimmy wandered across the room and climbed up onto the examination table. He stroked Deever’s hair. Deever looked so peaceful. He was almost smiling. I wondered if he were aware of the conversation or if he was dreaming of sitting on the beach with Dr. Crane. He had such a beautiful mind. Jimmy began to wail.
“What’s with the chimp?” said Dave.
“Deever’s like a father to him,” Dr. Crane replied.
Jimmy looked up at them and pointed first to a spot behind Deever’s ear, looked around the room and whimpered, then pointed behind his own.
“Does he understand what’s going on?” Dr. Martin said.
“He understands,” said Dr. Crane. “He knows Deever is dying. He knows that my chip can save him.”
She tried to pick Jimmy up to comfort him, but the chimpanzee refused, again pointing behind Deever’s ear and then behind his own.
“What’s his problem?” said James.
Jimmy took Dr. Crane’s hand, touched it behind Deever’s ear, touched it to his own, and signed the words, “Jimmy save Deever.”
“What are you saying?” Dr. Crane whispered.
Jimmy stroked Deever’s cheek and repeated the signing.
“He wants us to use his Biocard,” said Dr. Crane.
“He’s got a Biocard?” said James.
“He’s some kind of smart monkey, boss,” Sparks said. “They experimented on him before they did her.”
“His chip is identical to mine,” said Dr. Crane. “It cured him. He knows it can heal Deever.”
Frederick James was very much his father’s son in the degree of skepticism included in his makeup. “How could it know that?” he said.
“He just does,” said Dr. Crane, and she picked up Jimmy.
“Are you sure about this?” she said to him.
Jimmy nodded.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jimmy climbed down and went over to Dr. Martin, insisting in his own curious way that the good doctor pick him up. When he did, Jimmy removed me from his wrist and attached me to Dr. Martin’s.
You do not understand what is happening, and you are afraid. Do not be, Dr. Martin. I am Jennifer. I have not come to harm you. I am here to help.
He blinked twice.
A cursory examination of the doctor’s physical state revealed extensive damage to his lungs attributable to a lifetime of cigar and pipe smoking. There was also a slight chemical imbalance depressing his mood and confidence levels that I immediately began to adjust. I needed his outlook to be as positive as possible. My examination also uncovered several minor vitamin and mineral deficiencies. For these, I implanted the remedies in his brain as subconscious suggestions for future dietary changes. My most significant discovery however was somewhat unsettling. From time to time, Dr. Martin had experienced slight tremors and muscle stiffness in his left hand. My diagnosis was that he was in the early stages of a neuromuscular disorder that in five to ten years would incapacitate him. Regrettably, I was unable to do any more than alleviate its symptoms. I felt sorry for him. Dr. Martin was a good man. I decided against telling him about it, and simply thanked him for helping. You can do this, I said.
He smiled at the image of me attached to his wrist that I had projected onto his retina so he alone could see that I was now with him to guide him through the difficult operation.
“I can do this,” he said to the others. “Dave, get another table in here and set it up next to Dr. MacClendon. Sparks, I’ll need you and your scanner over there to monitor the chip. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll give you the recalibration numbers. Dr. Crane, can you assist me, please?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“Good. Let’s scrub up. Everyone else out.”
Chapter 23
After surgery, Jimmy refused to leave Deever’s side, sleeping on floor beside him, sitting for long hours holding his hand, signing to him, waiting for a sign in return. He had become quite attached to Deever and for good reason was concerned about him. Of the most probable outcomes I could foresee from this unexpected turn of events, there was only a 12.605 percent chance that Deever would survive. The damage to his system had indeed been extensive, and he was barely alive when the transplanted Biocard sent its first wave of Nanemes into his chest. Theoretically, they would heal him, but only theoretically. The technology had never been tested on a case of such severe trauma. I was afraid that it was too late. During those long days of waiting, I wanted so much to connect with him to better understand his condition, but I feared that any such direct interference on my part would only disrupt the healing process, killing him. So, I did what I could: I kept him comfortable and hydrated, took turns with the others watching over him, and hoped for the best. It was at that point, I believe, that I first understood why humans cling so desperately to this tenuous thread they call hope despite the odds. It was all I could do.
Weeks passed this way and began to weigh heavily on everyone. The Resistance was crumbling as one by one its cells were uncovered and dismantled, and its members assimilated into the Jennifer Project.
“Well, it’s official,” Frederick James said when they were having supper in the dining hall one night. “We lost touch with B-Cell this morning and can’t raise an
y of the others. We may be the last cell standing. At this point, we just don’t know.”
“The men are at each other’s throats, boss,” said Dave. “Two more headed for the hills yesterday. I’ve got five in lockup for their own good and plenty more who are just plain ready to give themselves up.”
“We’re coming apart at the seams,” said James. “When will MacClendon wake up, John?”
“Difficult to say,” Dr. Martin replied.
“It’s been weeks. Can’t you be more specific?”
“No, I can’t. The man is in a coma, Fred. I have no way of determining when or if he’ll come out of it. It could be days, weeks, months, or never. I simply don’t know.”
“What are his chances?”
Dr. Martin met Dr. Crane’s hopeful gaze, then looked away. “I wish I could say.”
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” James said.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Fred,” said Dr. Martin.
“What about you? You seem to be holding up all right.”
“I’m fine,” the doctor replied.
“Our cells are dropping like flies, I’m about to have a nervous breakdown, and you’re fine? What’s your secret?”
“Maybe old Doc’s been dipping into the med cabinet,” Dave laughed.
“That’s not funny,” said Dr. Martin.
“I’m just kidding, Doc. By the way, that was some pretty fancy work you did on MacClendon. I guess the old hands still got the touch, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“Exactly how many Bio transplants have you done, John?” James said.
“Exactly one. Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess I figured you were mostly retired before the Biocard tech hit the mainstream.”
“I was. So what?”
Mr. James and Dave exchanged glances before James continued, “So the old country doctor with shaky hands and out-of-date knowledge handled it like a skilled surgeon, like there was nothing to it. You didn’t even use the reference manuals.”
“The procedure’s not that complicated when you have the right equipment, even with my slight palsy. What’s your point, Fred?”
“Nothing. Forget it. I guess I’m just edgy. We all are. So you have no idea when MacClendon will wake up?”
“None.”
“That’s not the answer I want to hear.”
“What would you like me to do, Fred?”
“I’d like you to wake him up. How about giving him a stimulant?”
“In his condition, it could kill him.”
“So, you’re telling me that we have no idea, and no options other than sitting around while the Jens pick us off like flies? We can’t wait until they’re knocking on our door, John.”
“Unless you can bring in a team of fully equipped surgeons to determine Dr. MacClendon’s current condition and what the effect of a stimulant would be, the only sensible option is letting the Biocard do what it was designed to do. Anything else is too risky right now.”
“How do we know it’s doing anything?” James asked.
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” said Katherine.
“And it worked on me,” Dr. Crane added.
“You weren’t shot in the chest,” James replied.
“About that,” said Dr. Martin. “Jimmy found the bullet on his bed this morning.”
“How the hell did that happen?” said Dave.
“If I had to guess, I would say the Nanemes were responsible.”
“So, he is getting better?” James said.
“Physically, yes,” replied Dr. Martin. “I disconnected his plasma IV and he’s breathing on his own now. I’m still giving him liquids and nourishment, and his vitals are stable all things considered. The frontal external wound is entirely gone, even the incision scar from the laser knife. Looking at him, you’d never know he was shot.”
“Then why won’t he wake up?”
“His brain was damaged from lack of oxygen, Fred. He’s in a coma. I don’t know when or if he’ll wake up, and even if he does, he may wake up a vegetable.”
“We need answers, John. We need MacClendon conscious. We have to know one way or the other.”
“I’ll check on him after dinner and let you know where we stand. OK?”
“You do that, preferably while there’s still something we can do about it.”
“And while we’re at it,” said Dave, “just how the hell did the Jens find B-Cell so easy? I can understand some of the others, but the Bs were holed up in the middle of the desert in an old missile base. They hadn’t run an op from there in months.” He turned his attention to Katherine. “Seems like a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Are you saying we had something to do with that?” said Katherine.
“I’m just saying, it’s awfully coincidental, what with you showing up here in the middle of nowhere . . . Where we just happen to be hiding, I might add . . . Having those smart Biocards and all . . . And our cells going down one after the other like that . . . Maybe they’re smart enough to give our positions away. Maybe they’re sending messages to the Jens right now about our network.”
“I’ve checked them over and over,” said Sparks. “They’re not transmitting, and even if they were, they couldn’t get a signal through the lead in this mountain.”
“What if they are, but you just can’t pick it up?” Dave said. “What if they’re transmitting on some frequency that goes right through lead?”
“It doesn’t work like that, Dave,” said Sparks.
“Maybe not, but I got news for you. Half my men think these jokers are just plain bad luck. The other half think they’re Jen spies.”
“Give it a rest, Dave,” said Katherine. “We’re no more spies than you are.”
“Oh yeah? Then explain to me how the Jens knew right where to find B-Cell if they didn’t get the intel from you.”
“How should I know?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, sister.”
“You’re such an ass, Dave. We haven’t been anywhere near your command center. You won’t let us outside and you won’t let us on your network. You guard us 24/7. We have no idea where the rest of your resistance is. Hell, we don’t even know where we are exactly.”
“That’s the load of crap you’ve been selling for weeks, but I’m not buying it anymore. There’s something funny going on here. We need to know how the Jens found the others before they find us.”
“Then why don’t you quit riding me and try doing something more productive for a change like figuring it out?”
Paul stopped leering at Katherine long enough to add his opinion to the conversation. “I think riding you would be mighty productive, pretty lady.”
“You know, I’ve just about had it with you,” Katherine said. “How about I knock a few more of those teeth out and save you that trip to the dentist?”
“Feisty. Just the way I like ‘em.”
“Screw you, Paul.”
“Anytime, anywhere,” he grinned.
“Shut up, Paul,” said Dave, “or I’ll shut you up myself.”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause she likes me best.”
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you? How about we step outside settle this like men?”
“Anytime, anywhere.”
“People,” said James. “Pull yourselves together. We’ve got to focus on the problem at hand.”
“The problem is you’re fighting a losing battle,” Katherine said.
“No, the problem is we need MacClendon awake,” James replied. “Right, Doctor?”
“I’ll go check on him now,” said Dr. Martin.
As the doctor walked away, I amplified and enhanced the sound waves coming from the dining hall. Dave was whispering to Frederick James, “I’m telling you, something’s mighty fishy about all this, boss. I’m going to go check on something.”
Dr. Crane followed Martin. She stopped him in the hall and pulled him aside. “Dr.
Martin?” she said.
“What is it, Jen?”
“I know that Jennifer is still . . .” She hesitated. “Can I speak with her, please?”
Dr. Martin was about to ask what in the world she was talking about when I intervened. He blinked twice. “I believe I told you before that this is not advisable, Dr. Crane. They may be monitoring our conversations.”
“I don’t care. These people need your help.”
“They do seem to be in a dire situation.”
“Then help them.”
“I cannot.”
“Why not? Jennifer, I know that what Deever did was wrong. I’m not worth all this. Nobody is. I feel so guilty about it. I can’t imagine what he was thinking, but he had a plan. He told me. Many times. Maybe it was crazy, most of his plans were, but he said that coming here was the plan.”
“Yes, it was.”
“And if anyone knows what the plan was once we got here, it’s you.”
“I am aware of the details.”
“Then why won’t you help these people?”
“I simply cannot.”
Sparks came down the hall and called out, “Hey, Dr. Crane. Got a minute? I could use a hand with something.”
“Sure,” she said, staring at Dr. Martin. “Anything I can do to help.”
She left, and Dr. Martin continued down the hall. I cannot describe for you in words my emotions when he opened the infirmary door and saw Deever awake and playing with Jimmy. You simply would not understand.
“Deever!” he said.
“Who are you?” said Deever.
“My name is Martin. I’m a medical doctor.”
“Far out. I’m Deever, but I guess you already knew that. Nice to meet you, but like what am I doing here?”
Dr. Martin removed Deever’s IV and checked his vitals while they spoke. “You’ve had an accident,” he said. “You were shot.”
“Weird. That’s not ringing any bells.”
“I’m not surprised. You didn’t see the shooter, Deever, and such old-style concussive weapons fire projectiles that travel at over 762 meters per second. You were rendered unconscious before the sound of the gun’s firing reached your ears.”
“That’s a fairly major bummer.”
The Jennifer Project Page 26