by Chris Hepler
I sprint up the stairs by the original escalator. As the two women head up to the Red Line's double tracks, I stand on the far side, immediately across from them. If Infinity is going to reach me, she'll have to dash thirty feet over two maglev rails. I grip the weapon in my pocket.
"Lost?" I call.
They look over, and both freeze. Infinity puts a protective hand in front of her friend and hisses something to her. The woman hurries away, glancing behind herself fearfully.
"I thought you had a car," Infinity says.
I'm not in the mood for small talk. "I thought you were an idol worshipper. You and your friend, do you just stay off the topic of religion or something?"
"We've got lots in common. What happened to your hair?"
"Let me tell you." I jerk my head, and we walk in parallel down the length of the tracks. Hardly anyone is near us—the Red Line has just come and gone. There is a chance of being overheard, but she is a more immediate threat than some curious bystander.
"They tried to eliminate me," I say.
"Right." One utterance. She quashes my hopes, then checks for F-prots.
"Have I ever lied to you before?" I ask.
She shrugs. "It'd be fair play."
"Are you with our friend Mr. L now?"
"What do you care? If you're independent, run for the hills."
"I thought you had no secrets left."
"Give me a break, it sounded better than 'peace, out.'"
"If this trial doesn't shake out in your favor, things are going to get worse for you. I want to get your side some information before the fact discovery is complete."
"My girl's our expert." Infinity frowns. "What do you have that she doesn't?"
"You got a pad?"
"Just a phone."
"Pop open the notes."
"I can memorize. What's this about?"
"I bet she doesn't know where the vectors end up when you bring in a live one," I say. "Do you?"
"No."
"Right, we started compartmentalization when some of the field operatives got squeamish. But originally, here in D.C., I was the one bringing them in to a place called Greenbriar Health. Remember the following address." I tell her, and she repeats it back to me.
"This is what, because we're on the same side now?"
"You said no one ever is. I disagree. I'm not on Kern's anymore, that's for sure."
"Doesn't mean I'm giving you anything." The silence stretches painfully long. She is an interesting, resilient, beautiful creature, but I must remember in my affection that she is not me.
Infinity speaks. "Assuming the team doesn't jump me the second I get off my train, I'm supposed to take this back. I give it to the crew, they give it to the lawyers, the cops then raid the place. That's what you're saying you want?"
"What you do is up to you. Just consider. Law is slow, and crime is fast."
The track lights start to blink on her side.
"This wasn't a good idea, you know." Her words speed up. "I don't know how you latched onto my aura or whatever, but I'll have to feed more often, now. I mean, I can't talk to you. Even if I could trust you, Morgan can't afford to. The other vipes, they'd shit a brick oven—"
"If you trust me—" I start.
"I can't. You just forced my hands. You think about those people I have to infect, and ask yourself if seeing me was worth it."
It stings. All my planning, all my skill, and the wrong words crash it all. "I was going to give you your present back," I say. "One of these days you're going to have to tell me which of the commandments was toughest to break."
Infinity stalks away, shaking her head as the oncoming train grows louder. Then, she looks for her companion, then turns back to me. That turn is everything.
"Number five," she calls, "honor thy—" and then, the train shoots in front of her. I can't see anything through the windows until it stops, and both women are obscured. I feel paranoid. Even if Infinity isn't hostile, another vipe, an expert in something, could be highly dangerous.
I should slap myself. The truth just revealed itself too late.
I run across the tracks. It's dangerous, but as long as you jump the third rails, you're fine. I vault onto the stone lip of the far side, hoping they are there. But either they're stuffed in the cars or they've gone to the surface. I kneel on the floor, trying to feel which it is.
Where once there was a vibrant tug on my net, now it feels like trying to catch water. It happened too fast for her to have fed. I'm being blocked. I pull out the tube of lipstick and paint my hand with it, but the skin cells are gone now.
There is nothing to do but hit the cold, reddish hex tile of the station floor. I missed every clue. A stimweb. An expert witness, afraid to show her face and body because she would be recognized. Infinity wasn't the real threat. The vipe who has always gotten away, the one most familiar with my locating methods, she is countering my functions with her own.
I step into the train to leave behind anyone who might have seen me jump the tracks. My head is a jumble of commandments, missed opportunities, and Dr. Jessica Ulan.
34 - KERN
September 15th
"State your name for the record."
"Marcus Kern," I say.
Campion, lead lawyer for the Health Initiative, starts our routine. We practiced plenty, and today is the payoff. It's all too easy to get distracted by the packed house, the scurrying media trying to get good camera shots and the stare of Judge Bayat. Instead, I let my gaze settle on Campion's polished features. The sharp arch of her sculpted eyebrows. The gold of her earrings. The crochet-braids of her hair. Her confidence buoys mine.
"Dr. Kern, did you supervise work at the Benjamin Rush Health Initiative's Advanced Biophysics Lab on the date of the outbreak?"
"Yes."
"And have you supervised contact with that department since then?"
"Yes."
"Has your work there given you experience with people infected with Virally Induced Hematophagic Predation Syndrome?"
"Yes, just about every day."
"Did you observe biological changes in the individuals infected with this syndrome?"
"Yes."
"And what were your conclusions in a broad sense?"
"That VIHPS-infected individuals were medically unable to join normal human society."
"What observations led you to conclude that?"
"There are deep physiological changes in them. Bone, muscle, brain—where do you want me to start?"
"How about the brain? How does it change?"
"The brain undergoes a substantive development in the number of synapses between the sensory strips and the rest of the cerebral cortex. This development is unparalleled in normal adult human brain development."
"Can you be any clearer, for those of us who know a synapse is part of the brain but aren't really sure what it does?"
"A chemical synapse is basically a connection between a neuron, that is, an informational processing brain cell and another kind of cell, like a motor cell. We start off with about 10 quadrillion synapses when we're young, and stabilize to 1 to 5 quadrillion when we're older. But normally the number doesn't go up again after that. VIPHS changes that equation."
"What do you think this change to the brain does?"
"Based on our interviews with VIHPS vectors, that is, carriers, we think a few things are going on. The first is that the brain wires itself to respond to its senses differently. The vectors say they can smell and hear better, and our tests seem to back this up. They're more sensitive to light hitting the structures in their eyes."
"You said that's the first thing. What's the second thing?"
"Well, technically what's next is, after some changes occur in the brain, the body releases hormones and a storm of electrical signals. This increases absorption of calcium and compounds that increase bone mineral density. They also show a slight strengthening in skeletal muscle."
"Slight?" The lawyer looks askance. "Dr. Kern, from all accounts, a
n infected person is strong like a bull."
"Yes, but if you'll look at a vector, you know, a carrier of the disease, he doesn't look like a bodybuilder. His strength comes from different physiological changes."
"And what are those?"
"The increased mineral absorption leads to ossification—bone growth. The bones become slightly more striated. If you look at them with a microscope, you can see they are rougher, which leads to more muscular adhesion points. In short, because the muscles have better grips on a reinforced bone, they can generate and withstand greater forces."
I watch the man behind the bench. Judge Bayat has been listening, slightly bored, but now he rises in his chair, puzzled. Campion's eyes go to Bayat as well. There's an opportunity here. If we can establish ourselves as Bayat's guide through the science, half the battle is won.
Campion feeds me. "Dr. Kern, that doesn't sound like something that would make me nonhuman. In fact, that sounds like a pretty good deal."
"The other reason is just as important."
"I don't have to ask, do I? You want to enlighten us."
I flash a smile. "The other reason that they're strong is because they use more primitive parts of the brain."
"Objection," Cho says. "Inflammatory."
Bayat gets involved. "Dr. Kern, avoid pejorative labels. And while you're at it, I think we'd all like to hear how any part of the brain can make someone stronger."
I lay it on. "We did functional MRI scans on vectors and on humans making the same grasping motions with their hands. In the case of the humans, the predominant brain area lit up was in the cerebrum, in the primary motor cortex. Now, you can guess why a motor cortex has that name. It controls movement functions. But more specifically, it controls them in conscious humans. And not all functions. Just voluntary activities like walking, turning your head, stuff like that. Your lungs, your heart, your blood flow, your balance, that's part of the cerebellum, down in the brain stem. Now, I don't know how familiar you are with the biophysics of qi—"
"Assume we're not," Param Bayat interrupts.
What? "I thought you presided at trials involving—"
"Mr. Kern, I am telling you, assume we're not. I want to hear your explanation." Bayat looks at me coldly.
Bayat's walking straight into my plan. If he wants the lecture, I have the theatricality to back it up. "I'll start with an example. Have you ever seen a demonstration of iron shirt qigong?"
"Assume no."
"Well, you're in luck. I brought a friend who can demonstrate. For safety reasons, he's not infected. Your Honor, can we—"
Campion overrides me. It's her prerogative to ask permission. "Your Honor, may Dr. Karras approach so we can observe Dr. Kern's expertise in action?"
"What would this entail?"
"Counsel accepts Dr. Karras as a demonstration subject so Dr. Kern can prove his biophysical expertise. May he approach?"
"He may. Just keep it relevant."
Campion turns and gestures to the crowd. A middle-aged man with a slight paunch rises and approaches the bench. I met Karras through Ranath, back when the three of us were young and enthusiastic about all things qi-related. We go into the routine: Karras removes his shirt, causing a lot of confused faces among the reporters and onlookers. This is not on their agenda.
"Is removing his shirt necessary?" asks Geoffrey Cho from across the room.
"We will be going into anatomical details." I say. "I want Dr. Karras's physique clearly visible so there's less doubt about the results. For the record, Dr. Karras does not have what most people call six-pack abs. Most people would say, if you punched him in the stomach, you'd probably expect him to double over and start sucking air. Correct?"
Campion thinks I'm addressing her. "What I'd expect is that he'd get really mad." Laughter from the audience.
"Yes, but the point here is demonstration. I promise he's not going to hurt anyone. Now, if you hit him in the stomach, nobody would think his brain would save him. I mean, if he stands right there, he can think all he wants. His ab muscles are not going to get stronger, correct?"
"Objection," Cho calls. "Witness keeps asking questions, and counsel is answering."
"Sustained. Dr. Kern, stick to explaining."
"All right. The usual answer is no. Maybe if he worked himself up with adrenaline, he'd get a little tougher, but we're not even going to allow Dr. Karras that luxury. I would like to ask Ms. Campion to assist the demonstration. In the interests of showing how the brain can strengthen the muscles, I am going to request that you hit Dr. Karras in the stomach as hard as you can."
The silence is nervous. Campion looks around. "Are you sure you two are friends?"
A low murmur of laughter.
"Counsel..." Bayat says, with a finger gesture that says, move it along. We have done our homework well. Bayat presided over a similar demonstration eight years ago. Instead of asking what the hell we're doing with fisticuffs in a courtroom, he looks bored.
"Okay, I'll do it," says Campion. "No harm intended."
"No problem," says Karras, who looks completely unconcerned.
The lawyer takes a breath, balls up her fist and swings.
Karras snorts out a small puff of air as there is a brief thap. Campion looks bewildered. Karras's expression doesn't change.
"That it?" I say.
Campion's face hardens. Without a word, she tries again. I know a little about punching, courtesy of Ranath and Karras, and it looks like Campion saw boxing on TV and is attempting to emulate it. She puts her body into this shot, swinging low and hooking into Karras's unprotected stomach. Then, the lawyer steps back, shaking her hand.
"Are you all right?"
"My wrist stings. He's like a rock."
Geoffrey Cho frowns. "She's not doing it right." Sinclair, the bailiff, also looks unimpressed. Bayat's expression is neutral. Maybe I can get away with just a little more.
"I hear the voice of a skeptic. Your Honor, with your permission, I'd like to extend the invitation to Mr. Cho, Mr. Sinclair, or anyone else who would like to try."
"Dr. Kern, this isn't a sideshow. Mr. Sinclair is going to keep order over this courtroom. If Mr. Cho has issues with what is going on, specifically your expertise, I will allow him to rebut. Mr. Cho, explain your earlier comment."
"Well, Dr. Kern hasn't really gone into his explanation yet, but I don't think that punch was very hard."
"Do you think it was faked?"
"I think it was at least an untrained punch, Your Honor, and not necessarily demonstrative of the point Dr. Kern is trying to make. This whole thing supposes that he's using qi, not muscle. But Dr. Karras doesn't have a stimweb, he's not being hit all that hard, and the main point, really, is that Dr. Kern, Dr. Karras, and Ms. Campion obviously all know one another. This demonstration has been rehearsed."
"Dr. Kern, do you have anything to say in response?"
"These are all excellent points, Your Honor. There is a mountain of propaganda and misinformation about the nature of qi. For centuries, people who have reached Dr. Karras's level of martial training have exploited it and claimed all sorts of things. They've said they're the sons of gods or enlightened, and most of all, they've said, 'I'll only teach this to you if you give me a lot of money.'" The audience laughs. "Seriously, I would like to extend my invitation again to Mr. Cho. If he thinks he can show us a proper hit, it would only help."
"Your Honor?"
"Mr. Cho, I do not want to get into an extended discussion of your technique versus Ms. Campion's, so with the caveat that you absolutely do not get carried away, you may participate in Dr. Kern's demonstration if it will help your case."
"Well, I'm not sure it will, Your Honor, but it will certainly resolve whether this is a fraudulent display or not."
The audience murmurs. Karras smiles at me. I give it back.
Cho approaches, and I notice he's slightly taller and larger than Karras. I try to assess Cho's musculature, but the suit hides it.
Ch
o gives Karras a head nod, an abbreviated bow. "You ready?"
"Anything you've got," says Karras.
Instantly, I know from Cho's eyes that something is wrong. Cho drops one foot back, balls his fists and lunges, driving a karate-style kick into Karras's stomach.
Karras shifts slightly and exhales, and Cho stumbles backward, knocked off balance by a sudden reverse of momentum. The whole thing is over in about a second. The crowd murmur is like sweet honey.
"Mr. Cho," snaps Bayat, "I allowed this demonstration as a matter of verification. I did not allow it as a venue for venting testosterone. You are extremely fortunate that your burst of temper will not get you disbarred. Are you able to continue?" Cho is leaning on a table.
"Yeah," he says, too distracted to add the honorific.
"On the matter of fraudulence, then, have you... reached a conclusion?" The spectators laugh. "While I'm glad we're putting on an entertaining show, Dr. Kern did promise us an explanation of how this is accomplished. Sit down, counsel. Dr. Kern?"
My turn. "Now if we simply look at the size of the muscles—" I try to slow down. Public speaking is about cadence and clarity. "—you would think Dr. Karras would be on the ground. Mr. Cho was using his thigh muscle for that kick. It's the biggest muscle in the body, but it worked against Mr. Cho. This is because Dr. Karras is not using simply his stomach muscles.
"The muscles of his ankle, his calf, his thigh, and his hip all squeeze in ascending order. Like an egg that is so much stronger top to bottom instead of side to side, this path of muscles through his body provides a straight line of force down to the ground. Along that path, he's pushing back. When that fist hits him, he's quite literally hitting back with his stomach and stopping that fist. It's just not visible. That's why it's called an internal martial art. You can't see it. You can feel it, you can see its effects, but for centuries, it was a mystery.
"Even the people doing it passed on the knowledge of how to do it without knowing how it worked. There was a pattern for how to learn it, and they taught that. If you went into the right martial arts class, they would tell you to relax, to visualize and to have 'no mind.' That's important. I can tell you, squeeze that bottom muscle, then the middle, then the top," I say, drawing a line up Karras's leg. "But if the signal from Dr. Karras's brain is just a tiny bit off, he might tighten them top, bottom, middle. And he'd get knocked flat like anyone else. It has to be in order and in under a quarter of a second." I snap my fingers. "That's how fast a punch or kick is from the moment the other guy starts it. If he thinks wrong, his foundation falls apart."
