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hand, she remained troubled by anything to do with bots. It was prob-
ably for the best that so much administrivia needed attention, even
though, unlike years past, Tyra wasn t hounding Kim for it.
There was a sharp knock-knock and her door opened. Walk with
me, Aaron said.
Just a sec. Kim locked her workstation and stood. Where to?
A few laps around the factory floor. It s too nasty to go outside.
Inauguration Day wasn t a holiday exactly, but half the computers in
the building and all the TVs in break rooms were showing D.C. festivi-
ties. And while Washington enjoyed a day like spring oh, how she
missed Virginia! Aaron was spot-on about the Utica weather. More
snow, amid enough wind to make it hard to distinguish what was falling
from old stuff that was only blowing around. A fair number of people
had decided to work from home. Tempting as it was, bosses can t do
that.
So: no one paid Kim and Aaron any attention as they wandered
about the factory.
I learned something new, Aaron said cautiously.
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About their private project, Kim presumed. She answered equally
cryptically, About . . . getting across?
Yeah. He jammed his hands into his pant pockets. How do you
feel about guinea pigs?
As pets, not, well, as guinea pigs. Not as lab animals. Conflicted.
I guessed as much, seeing how quickly you bonded with Bruce.
That s why I didn t discuss a test I had in mind. No reason to upset you
if I didn t find something.
Their meandering took them by the loading dock and laughing
voices. Kim said nothing until they were past. Yeah, I understand.
How sorry should I feel for the guinea pig?
He s in guinea-pig heaven now.
A forklift turned into their aisle. Kim led Aaron down a side passage,
ignoring the crabby look from the forklift driver. Okay. Out with it.
Aaron grimaced. The short form: I can get bots across the BBB.
Without a good reason to order a PET scan on a guinea pig, I had to
do an autopsy to know.
They were in a staging area of some sort, piled high with crates on
pallets, quite private. Tell me everything, she said.
The test Aaron described sounded simple and elegant and damn-
ing. He had injected interleukin-6, an injury marker common to people
and many animals, through the skull of a guinea pig. Then he injected
some of his purloined bots into its torso. In theory, IL-6 would leak
into the bloodstream and attract the bots, just as they inferred had hap-
pened to Brent.
That morning Aaron had found bots in the guinea pig s brain.
He looked away when she asked for details. She remembered
Brent s crack about a very fine sieve, and guessed the examination had
been messy.
So bots in the brain could have happened to Brent. It could yet hap-
pen to soldiers in the field trial. And bots in the brain stimulated mas-
sive formation of synapses. Kim s worst fear had come true, and yet
she felt oddly calm. Now, surely, people must listen. Something would
be done. That s it, then. It s time to contact the FDA?
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And the state department of health, and OSHA, and the Army. The
field trial can t go ahead as planned, not with the current version of
bots. Aaron patted Kim s arm. And knowing what I now know, I ll do
whatever it takes to get Brent to undergo a PET scan. You have my
word.
They headed back to the R & D office area, Kim wondering about
how to make contact. They had already seen tampering with experi-
mental data, and even Brent was implicated in the cover-up. Was it so
far-fetched to think her and Aaron s office phones might be moni-
tored? Feeling a bit paranoid, she asked, Can we make the call from
your house?
He raised an eyebrow.
I don t trust the phones here, Aaron, and my only phone is a cell.
You think I have a landline? I m not that much older than you.
Cell phone it is then, Kim said. Grab your coat and meet me in
the main lobby.
Kim and Aaron tromped through icy slush to her car. She had bundled
up in coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, and was glad she had. New snow was
coming down in big, wet flakes. She estimated three inches had accu-
mulated that morning, and guessed she would be leaving early today.
They both got into the car. Masses of snow slid off as Kim, shiver-
ing, slammed her door. She started the engine to run the heater before
taking the cell from her purse. FDA first?
Okay.
Raging paranoia had even kept her from looking up the FDA s
phone number in her office. She surfed with the cell to an FDA org
chart, finding a hotline for clinical trials. That number seemed like as
good a place as any to begin. When the other end began to ring, she
put the call on the car s speakers.
Voice mail picked up. Naturally. The connection was lousy, perhaps
because of the storm. The greeting ended and Aaron began to leave
their message.
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...............
We have a problem, Brent read. Attempted contact with the FDA.
The IM was from Morgan McGrath, with other copies to Tyra and
Charles. Morgan s people were monitoring most everything. All calls
on the in-house phone system. Intercepted cell calls and text messages.
E-mails and IMs. Even web surfing: Have-Mercy had deinstalled secu-
rity patches from the company WiFi routers, so that a worm could
plant keystroke-logging software on every PC in the building.
Brent flick/blinked through to the attached file for details. The cell-
phone scanner had picked up an interdicted number within the FDA.
He blinked through again, to a recording of the call. The connec-
tion was staticky, from the storm, he supposed. That, perhaps, was for
the best.
The call was from Kim s cell, but Aaron Sanders was speaking.
These bots pass through . . . change . . . brain. Cover-up. . . have un-
altered ver . . . data sets
At that point jamming began. To the unsuspecting, it might seem
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