He stood for an agonized moment in the middle of the room, so small that he could almost touch its opposing walls by stretching out his arms. It’s got to be in here someplace, he told himself. Where? He checked under her sink. Nothing.
Where the hell is it? She can’t be carrying it around with her. Can she?
Then he saw it. So obvious that he knew she wasn’t trying to hide it. She was using it as a base, beneath the flower vase. Its gold plating complimented the deep burgundy of the vase nicely. Killifer felt his pent-up breath ease out of him. Feeling enormously relieved, he slipped the cover out from under the vase and tucked it into the back pocket of his coveralls. : Cautiously, he cracked the apartment door open. Two people were coming down the tunnel, talking earnestly. Killifer let them pass, then eased himself out behind them, closed the door and heard its lock click, then walked swiftly in the other direction.
With the cermet cover in his pocket.
“It’s been almost twelve hours,” Joanna said to Zimmerman. “Shouldn’t we see some change? Some improvement?”
She and Greg, the Swiss scientist and Cardenas were in the infirmary’s observation room again. A young oriental woman had been sitting there when Joanna entered, but she got up and left so swiftly that Joanna didn’t even get the chance to ask her who she was. She was wearing the pumpkin orange coveralls of the scientific staff; maybe she was working for Zimmerman, Joanna thought.
“There is improvement’ Zimmerman said, pointing a stubby finger at the monitors above Doug’s bed. “Look at his vital signs. Heartbeat is stronger. Blood pressure is almost normal. Kidney function is returning.
“But he hasn’t moved,” Greg said, peering through the window.
“That’s to be expected,” Cardenas said softly. “He’s using all his energy internally.”
“I believe,” Zimmerman said, pulling out another long black cigar, “that it will be possible to remove the hypothermic blankets in another two hours.” He chomped on the cigar with relish. “Three, at most.”
“And then?” Joanna asked.
With a sloppy shrug, Zimmerman said, “And then, sooner or later he will wake up and ask for food. He will be very hungry. Very!”
“He’ll be cured?”
“If that’s the word you want to use, yes. He will begin to function normally again.” Zimmerman grinned around his cigar.
Joanna looked from his florid, fleshy face through the window at her son. Doug will be cured! This nightmare will be over. Even Greg looked pleased, she thought.
“He’ll be all right,” Cardenas said to her. “The nanomachines are working inside him.”
For an instant Joanna wanted to throw her arms around Zimmerman and kiss him. But she controlled herself and the moment passed. As calmly as she could, she said to him, “Dr. Zimmerman, I want to find some way to repay you. What can I do?”
“Let me go home,” he snapped.
Laughing, Joanna said, “Of course. Of course. As soon as Doug regains consciousness — although I suppose you’ll want to see him after he’s on his feet again.”
“Yes, yes. You have virtual reality equipment here. I can examine him using VR.”
“But won’t you want to see him in person?” Joanna asked. “In the flesh?”
Zimmerman shook his head violently, making his cheeks waddle. “I am not coming back to this cavern! Never!”
“All right. Doug can see you in Basel, then.”
“That will be impossible, I fear.”
“Why not?”
“A young man who is carrying millions of self-replicating nanomachines in his body would not be a welcome person on Earth. I doubt that he would be able to get past your own customs and immigration inspectors.”
Feeling confused, Joanna sat down on the couch facing the observation window. “I don’t understand.”
Cardenas sat next to her. Zimmerman remained standing. Greg was staring at him now.
“Your son is carrying nanomachines,” Zimmerman said. “He would not be permitted to land on Earth. Every nation has laws against nanomachines in the human body. They are all afraid of nanomonsters.”
“But the bugs will flush out of his system once they’ve finished their work,” Joanna said, then added, “Won’t they?”
Zimmerman would not meet her eye.
Joanna turned to Cardenas. “What’s he talking about?”
With a careful sigh, Cardenas said, “You know about the laws against injecting nanomachines into human patients, don’t you?”
“Oh, that stupid stuff.”
“It’s stupid, all right, but it’s still the law. If Doug still has any trace of nanomachines in his system, he’ll be stopped by the immigration inspectors at any rocket port on Earth. They’re terrified of nanobugs running amok and killing people.”
“But—”
“May I point out,” Zimmerman interjected, “that perhaps these laws are not so stupid after all. How many military establishments have supported research into nanoweapons? Nanotechnology could make biological warfare look like child’s games.”
“But there are laws against military applications of nanotechnology,” Greg objected. “International treaties.”
“Yes, of course. Those are precisely the laws that do not allow nanomachines to be injected into human patients.”
“But Doug isn’t going to hurt anybody!” Joanna said.
“’Still, he will be carrying these self-replicating nano-machines for as long as he lives.”
“What?” Startled, Joanna snapped, “You didn’t tell me that-’„”
“That,” said Zimmerman, bending to put his cigar-clenched face close to hers, “is the payment I extract from you.”
“Payment? What are you talking about?”
“Your son is my living laboratory, Madam; my lifetime experiment. He carries self-replicating nanotnachines within his body. Forever.”
“What have you done?” Joanna cried.
“I have given your son a great gift, Madam,” Zimmerman replied.
Before Joanna could say anything, Cardenas said, “You’ve enhanced his immune system.”
Zimmerman took the soggy cigar from his mouth. “Yah, but there is more to it than that.”
“What?” Joanna demanded.
Almost smirking, Zimmerman said, “Frankly, I do not know. No one can know. We have no experience with self-replicating nanomachines in the human body.”
“You’ve turned my son into—”
“An experiment. A living laboratory,” Zimmerman said. “A step toward the perfection of nanotherapy.”
Before Joanna could reply, Cardenas said, “It’s a great gift, really! His immune system is now so enhanced he’ll probably never even catch a cold anymore.”
Zimmerman nodded. “Perhaps. The machines should be able to adapt to destroy microbes and viruses that invade his body.”
“But you don’t know for certain what they’ll do,” Greg said, his voice hollow.
“They should also repair effects of aging and any injuries he might incur,” Zimmerman added, still speaking to Joanna. “Your son will most likely live a long, long time, Frau Stavenger.”
Greg muttered something too low for Joanna to hear.
“But mat doesn’t mean he can’t return to Earth,” Joanna said.
“Yes it does,” said Cardenas. “They’ll never let him off the rocket.”
“They don’t have to know.”
“They already know,” Zimmerman said. “I have informed my colleagues and by now the authorities know.”
“You informed… why?” Joanna wanted to scream, yet her voice was barely a whisper.
“I have my own fish to fry, Madam. My own agenda. Your son will be a living advertisement that nanotherapy is not dangerous and not undesirable. I will see to it that his case is broadcast all over the world. Some day, sooner or later, he will jecome the cause celebre that will lead these ignorant politicians and witch doctors to lift their ban on nanotherapy.”