Machine State

by Brad C Scott

  “You’ll be tagging along with me and my team.”

  The smile finally reaches his eyes. “You’re on.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Ah, hell. I should’ve used a stealth insertion. Just keep moving…

  “Ah, Mr. Adams,” says Doctor Hannum, drawing me up, “here for your follow-up?”

  Sighing, I turn to see the good doctor peering at me from within the nurse’s station, a medical pad ignored in one hand. A pair of nurses in green scrubs manipulate holoscreens beside him, eyes dark-circled with exhaustion.

  “No, here for Ms. Mathis.” Sam woke up yesterday, the first time I’ve thanked God in years. She’s done little more than sleep since. “Any change?”

  “She’s resting peacefully,” he says, “as you should be.”

  “Thank you, doctor, but I’m not checking myself back in.”

  “Just as well with the bed shortage,” he says, rounding the counter. He pulls out a medical scanner and holds it near my head. “Nausea?”

  “Some. A little dizziness, nothing I can’t manage.”

  “Headache?” he asks, leaning forward to squint into my eyes.

  “Bearable.” Meaning, my head’s not threatening to explode anymore. Progress.

  The light on his earpiece activates, blinding me. “Hold still.”

  “My eyes are fine. If the blurriness returns, I’ll rest them.”

  “You do have some experience with head trauma, don’t you?” He pulls the scanner away and looks at the readings. “Just don’t overexert yourself and get plenty of sleep. That part’s crucial – your brain can’t recover without it.”

  I realize he hasn’t even glanced at my left arm, the break healing nicely, the sling to come off in a week or so. No, he’s bigger fish to fry. “How many critical cases are left?”

  He removes his spectacles to rub at weary eyes, heavyset figure slumping inward. “We lost two more last night. Three left, but only one is expected to regain consciousness.”

  “I’m sorry, doctor.” I lower my eyes before glancing back down the corridor, seeing it again as it was five days ago. “This never should have happened.”

  We traded one hell for another when we carried Sam into the ICU. Many of the injured had preceded us, their cries and moans competing with the shouts of medical personnel rushing everywhere. Bodies lay unmoving or writhed on gurneys, their loved ones begging for too little help to go around from desperate scrubs forced to triage the overload in the neon-bathed halls. Evans says I threatened the orderlies, not that it matters since it worked, the whitecoats rushing Sam away as I fell into a chair. Before passing out, I saw Simmons on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the blood on the floor with his own shirt. A young constable with a bloodied chest lay unmoving on a gurney beside him. It was then I knew I’d need to deal with the chief.

  The doctor dons his spectacles with a tired smile. “Who can say? Acts of terror are as senseless as acts of God.”

  “God had nothing to do with this. Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “Sounds like you want a priest more than a doctor.”

  “They can go to Hell with the rest of us.” With a heavy sigh, I swallow the anger that’s been burning me since the blast. “Sorry, it’s been… You know how it’s been. Doc…” I stop there, unsure if I should broach this. But I need to know. “What happens if St. Louis gets federalized before the end of the month? Are you ready for it?”

  Doctor Hannum crosses his arms and cocks his head at me. “Can you be more specific?”

  “ID implants. Are you prepared for what you’ll have to do?”

  He frowns and looks around. “No, we aren’t. But I’m aware of the regs, we’ll do whatever the law requires. Health and Human Services would send help.”

  “They did in LA. Do you know about the ALX10s?”

  “One of the newest models, I’ve skimmed the literature. Why do you ask?”

  I shake my head. “So, you don’t know.”

  He uncrosses his arms. “Mr. Adams, I hear all kinds of rumors and, frankly, nutjob theories about IDs. I take no stock in them. Are you implying that perhaps I should?”

  “What would happen, Doc, if some of those theories turned out to be true? Would you and other medical providers still perform the implants?”

  He buries his hands in his coat pockets. “The Hippocratic Oath is pretty clear. I’d refuse any treatment that would do more harm than good. As would most of my colleagues.” He scrunches his brow. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m not sure I should.” I shake my head and sigh. “Forget it.”

  Doctor Hannum peers at me for some seconds, lips pursed as he reads the concern on my face. Then he sighs. “Mr. Adams, I’m no fool. FDA isn’t infallible, and HHS is more worried about politics than health. We try to screen everything that comes into our hands, but the IDs?” He shrugs. “We’re not engineers. If you know something that can save lives, please tell me. Tell everyone. People have a right to know.”

  “If people found out…” Protests, riots, perhaps a full-blown uprising. Lots of people dead. Innocent people. I shake my head at him. “I’ve said too much already.”

  “Have you?” He frowns at me. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

  “Yeah.” I shrug and try a feeble grin. “Sorry, everything, it’s got me on edge.”

  “Perhaps seeing your lady friend will lift your spirits.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Overall, good. We’ve had no additional complications from the surgery – the internal bleeding shouldn’t reoccur if she takes it easy. For her head, she has symptoms like yours – headache, dizziness, fatigue – only worse. Bed rest is what she needs.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” We shake hands. “For everything.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The memorial attack brought in close to three hundred patients in a single day. Of those that survived, many remain. Through every open door, I glimpse occupied beds and the patients’ visitors. I’d be surprised if there was an empty bed anywhere in the facility.

  Nearing Sam’s room, I see her standing in the corridor dressed in a blue patient’s smock, swaying in place with a faraway look in her eyes. Her bedraggled blonde hair’s back in a ponytail, pale face slack from days of unconsciousness and sleep.

  I step forward and hug her with the one good arm. “Sam, what are you doing up?”

  “Malcolm. I just needed to stretch my legs.”

  I step back, holding her at arm’s length. She blinks, the unfocused look going away as her eyes find mine. She reaches a hand up to caress my cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” I guide her along.

  “Dizzy,” she mutters. “How come you got released and I didn’t?”

  “Because I’m a big strong man and you’re not.”

  “I remember,” she says, looking at me with a coy grin.

  “Here we are.” I help her into bed. An older woman with wispy gray hair sleeps in the other. Thankfully, the visitors she had over last night, her son and his wife, are absent. It was quite a scene. They lost a husband and a father. One more I couldn’t save.

  I open the blinds a bit more to allow more sunlight in and then pull up a chair. Sam’s undone her ponytail, hair fanned around her face, the light causing her pale cheeks to glow, sea-green eyes to shimmer. I take her hand in mine and smile like a simpleton.

  “Oh, you’re here,” says Evans, stepping into the room. She volunteered to take shifts staying with Sam after the attack, freeing me up to step away. By the rumpled state of her street clothes and hair, she slept in one of these chairs.

  “My jailer,” mutters Sam.

  Evans steps to the other side of the bed. “She tried to escape twice last night – nothing I couldn’t handle. How are you doing?”

  “Better,” I reply. “Thanks for staying with her. I owe you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I�
�m right here,” says Sam.

  “Go catch a nap back at HQ,” I say to Evans, giving her that intense, game-on look. “You’ll need the rest.”

  Her tired eyes regain their luster. “We found them?”

  I nod. “Simmons came through. Check in with Hawk, he’s coordinating personnel.”

  “Copy that. Good luck,” says Evans, raising an eyebrow at Sam, before walking out.

  “You don’t need luck,” says Sam. “You’ve got me.”

  “Then I’m going to need a lot of luck.”

  “How are you holding up?” she asks, reaching up a hand to caress my stubbled cheek.

  “Doctor Hannum scanned me when I came in. I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. Frustrated. Angry.”

  I take my hand from hers and touch her face. I stroke her cheek, her forehead, her chin, her lips. I lean forward and kiss her – lips, nose, forehead, lips again.

  She smiles at me. “Kari says you called out my name. After the explosion.”

  I lean back and clear my throat. “Did she?”

  “She did.” She rests her hand on my cheek again, her smile drawing me in. I keep my mouth shut, but my eyes must give it away. I can’t hide it from her, how I feel.

  I get to my feet and turn toward the window. “I’ll have to have a word with her.”

  “Don’t blame her, Mal. I blackmailed her into telling me.”

  “Blackmail, huh? One of your talents? Like disarming bombs?”

  “Here it is,” she says softly behind me. “OK, give it to me.”

  I turn back to her, voice tight. “What made you think you could disarm that bomb?”

  “Experience and self-confidence. I could have, if the window was wider.”

  “That’s not the point. You put yourself in harm’s way, walked right into it. Were you trying to get yourself killed!”

  “No, that would be your department.”

  “What? This isn’t about me, goddamnit! How could you…” I clamp my mouth shut and turn my head away, fists clenched at my sides. Why am I so angry?

  The woman in the other bed stares at me, awakened by my shouting. Emptiness cores her eyes, the unfocused despair of loss. Nothing I might say would make any difference, so I step over and grab the curtain, lowering my eyes as I draw it across to conceal the poor woman.

  I reseat myself and retake Sam’s hand. “Sorry.”

  “I’m a big girl, Mal.”

  “So you keep saying, yet here you are. Have I mentioned how much I hate hospitals?”

  “I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

  Shaking my head, I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “You’re the kind of woman my mother should’ve warned me about.”

  “Every day an adventure. You wouldn’t want it any different.”

  “How do you know so much?” What else does she know? The thought draws a frown.

  She studies my face, disengaging her hand to rest on my throat. “So, tell me – you’ve found Leeds and his associates? You’re going after them?”

  “Henrikson and I, we’re working it. He asked about you.”

  “He hates hospitals as much as you do. He’s seen a lot of people die in them.”

  “A lot of that going around.” I search her face, read her eyes, try to divine if she’s keeping secrets from me. She is. “How long have you known about all this?”

  She drops her hand from my throat, looks away out the window, bars of sunlight lining her face. “A long time. Close to a year.”

  “The NIDs?”

  She turns her head to face me, eyes filled with sadness and… regret? “Very few out there know about it. But it affects them all. It’s do or die for everyone.”

  “The war that has no name?”

  “Yes, that fits.”

  I frown at her, don’t bother hiding the hurt in my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I had my reasons. Would you have believed me, back when we first met?”

  “You should’ve told me before now. Sam…” I shake my head. “You need to be honest with me.”

  “I’ve never lied to you, but don’t expect me to tell you everything. Some secrets aren’t mine to share. Some are just too painful. If that’s not good enough, then walk away.”

  I get out of the chair and reseat myself on the bed next to her. “What can you tell me? Help me to understand.”

  She pushes her head back into the pillow, eyes roaming over the ceiling. I can’t tell if she’s preparing to lie or tell the truth. “We didn’t know who they were or what they were up to, not at first.” She grips my hand, meets my eyes again, gaze steady and sure. The truth, I’d guess. “A new terrorist network with access to extensive manpower and intel, we thought. With well-connected insiders at DSS, HHS, and NDL. A serious threat. They proved it with the attacks in Atlanta and New York last year. And LA, where you first encountered them.”

  Grimacing, she sits up in bed, steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder, face inches from mine. “We realized our mistake after New York. This wasn’t a terrorist group. No claim of responsibility for their attacks, no mission statement or published objectives, not even a name for who we were dealing with. It was being run like black ops, only on a scale we’d never seen domestically. We shifted gears, tried to get a handle on them, but our intelligence efforts hit wall after wall. Earlier this year, we got a break with an insider of our own.” Sam blinks at the moisture in her eyes and firms her jaw. “She told us about the NIDs, that they were a crucial part of their plan. Before she could tell us more…” Sam shakes her head.

  “What do they do?”

  “We don’t know. We’ve had people looking into it, but they haven’t cracked the code or reverse engineered them. The nanotech refuses to be manipulated. We’ve lots of theories, but no real evidence to support them.” She sighs, leans her forehead against mine. “They’ve got another tech advantage, too, a superintelligence, the most advanced AI there is. There are only three in existence that we know of, and this isn’t one of them. It’s something new. It’s how they keep outthinking and outmaneuvering us.”

  “I know about that,” I say. I lean back and lift her chin. “You’ve been fighting it, haven’t you? That’s your job.”

  She smiles, but it’s a hard smile, eyes filled with a desperate determination. “I can’t beat it. But I’ve gotten good at avoiding it, getting around it, blinding it sometimes.”

  “Why haven’t you gone public?”

  “With what? Speculation? Until we have proof of what the NIDs can do, we’ve been ordered to keep quiet.” She smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “Need to know. If it were up to me, I’d leak it to the press, but it’s not. I have a chain of command, Mal, same as you.”

  “How the hell have they kept this quiet?” I ask. “It only takes a blood screening to find the nanobots, you’d think we’d have heard news stories, something.”

  “Stories have got out, at the local level and on the dark web, but the superintelligence cleanses them or discredits the sources before they gain any traction. And we’ve discovered that the longer a host is infected with the nanites, the harder it is to detect them through blood screenings. Over time, they congregate more and more in the nervous system.”

  I run a hand over my stubble and sigh. “Of course they do.”

  She looks into my eyes, searching for answers. Not that she’ll find them – I’ve none to give. “What will you do now?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t know. This is bigger than me, I don’t have all the facts, and any choices I have to make… They’re all bad.”

  “The devil’s choice.”

  I nod. “That’s the one. The lesser of evils: fuck how I hate it. You know what that really means? It means choosing who lives and who dies. The lesser of fucking evils. My whole goddamn life…” I shake my head. “The choices I’ve made, the ones that mattered, they all came down to that merciless fucking calculus.
Save as many as you can, that’s the right call, but those fuckers over there? Sorry, pal, you can’t save them all. And sometimes, you can’t save anyone.”

  Sam gives me a quick kiss. “So what’s the right thing to do?”

  I sigh, resigned to it. “Expose them. Broadcast everything we have on the NIDs and this conspiracy behind them. Go for full transparency, let the public know, get it on every mediacast, shout it from the fucking rooftops, ram it down their throats and watch them choke on it. They’ll try to cover it up, to downplay it, but they can’t hide from it, they can only delay the day of reckoning. Once it’s out, it’s out. There’s no burying something this big.”

  She nods and strokes my cheek, her eyes saying she approves, go ahead, do it then.

  “And it sure as hell needs to be done. Because maybe we won’t stop them, or can’t, but if people know the stakes, maybe they can.” That nameless darkness rises up like bile, threatens to choke me. I reach out to clasp Sam’s face, eyes wide. “But if I do that? If I do that. It may be the right thing, but the lesser of evils? Shit. A lot of people will lose their lives if I go public with this. It’ll be –” I swallow and look away, Houston and Detroit flashing in my mind’s eye, the bodies and gore. Little Mary Swanson, the ghost that will never leave me, the look in her dead eyes telling me she’d still be alive if not for me. “It’ll be on me, Sam. I don’t get to play God and then turn my back and pretend I had nothing to do with it.”

  She squeezes my hand, eyes glittering with passion. “If people choose to fight, that’s on them, not you. Better now, as free men and women. At least their deaths will have meaning.”

  I pull back, her eyes holding mine with their intensity. “Sam –”

  “This is war, Mal. Sacrifices have to be made.”

  I scowl and say nothing. Haven’t I sacrificed enough already? Worthy, my best friend. My brothers and sisters in service, so many lost in the last decade that I struggle to remember them all. My wife, Rachel. Rosalie. And so many more over the years, in the line of duty, a parade of the dead that will haunt me forever, long after I’ve forgotten the names. But that’s not enough, now I have to enlist ignorant innocents into the slaughterhouse of my life?