A smiling woman walked across the large stage until she reached its middle.  Waving she turned to face the crowd.  “Hello!  How are ya’?”  Cheers and applause.  “Thank you.  It’s good to be here.”  Continued exuberant applause.  “Thank you,” she motioned for everyone to quiet down.  “Thank you,” she bowed slightly and waved.  The audience quieted.

     “What a historic occasion, right?”  Enthusiastic applauding and cheering erupted again.  The woman waited for the crowd to settle down on its own.  “This is our night!”  More clapping.  “This is the first Innovative Party Convention, and we will make the first ever nomination for our candidate tonight!”  Wild and joyful applause and chanting. 

     “But let me also give a grand shout out to our delegates from the Moon.”  She put her hands across her forehead to shield the Dilsah light from blinding her eyes as she scanned the audience.  “Where are ya’?”

     “Here!”  “Over here,” came voices from stage right. 

     The comedienne fixed her gaze in that direction.  “There you are.  Welcome!  It’s so exciting and another benchmark for history.  Permanent inhabitants of the Moon have earned the status of statehood, so you delegates finally get to join the political process with delegates from the other 53 states.  Congratulations Lunarists!”  The audience cheered as the new delegates beamed with delight and slowly stood to wave.

     “Oh, come on you Moon delegates.  My great-grandmother can get up faster than that,” the comedienne teased.  Everyone laughed, but they understood the Lunarists wore Gravity Reduction Suits.  The body encasement gave their skeleton and muscles strength to maneuver on Earth’s gravity while lowering some of its pressure.  Infused with a mild anesthetic, it also provided some pain relief as they grappled with the strain of the unaccustomed weight.  

     “It’s good you all aren’t referred to as Mooners.  Think of the jokes that comics would make at your expense.  Things like, ‘We associate craters and cracks with Mooners.  Of course, we also link them with the lunar surface.’”  Snickers.  “Oh, wait.  I was that comedienne who made that joke.”  Guffaws filled the hall.    “Seriously though, congratulations again.”  She tipped a nonexistent hat to the Lunarists, then turned her attention to the entire audience.

     “I gotta tell you, as an A Lister, I’m not used to being the warmup act.”  Titters circulated throughout the audience.  The comedienne on stage seemed miniscule compared to her massive image projected on the gigantic screen behind her or the myriad of her holographic images floating with the bouquets of balloons and bunting around the arena.  No one in this 25,000-seat convention hall would complain of being unable to see the person on center stage.

     “Yeah, but I get it,” she continued.  “I mean Daniel Piper is a demigod, right?”  Whoops and whistles erupted.  “He’s got a killer body with six-pack abs I’d like to stroke.”  More cheers.  “And this handsome stud is going to be our next president!”  Excited clapping grew with a crescendo.  “Yeah, I’d follow him anywhere, so I decided to call him Daniel Pied Piper.”  Laughing, the spectators enjoyed the epithet. 

     “There has never been a United States President like we know Daniel Piper will be.  Not even John F. Kennedy had as good looks, charisma, and obvious leadership qualities like our candidate.  What’s more, JFK didn’t create a new political party to suit his agenda and provide a better choice for us voters.  Daniel Piper is going to take our country to new heights faster than any president before him!”  The group cheered with approval.

     “You all know his story by this point, but it’s worth recapping it again because his is the actual American dream.  He was born to an addicted mother with no steady partner and grew up in extreme poverty.  His grandparents took him in when he was barely a year old because his mother passed away from a Pamcepithal overdose.

     “Then his grandfather constantly verbally and physically abused our candidate when he was just a small, defenseless boy.  The old man’s mean, petty ways and his self-serving excuses for his impoverished life made our candidate the consummate victim.  His grandfather believed the child deserved to be beaten to atone for his own faults.

     “Once Piper began school, his teachers spotted the signs of abuse and ultimately he became a ward of the state.  Some foster homes were better than others, but Daniel rebelled at each of them.  He became a very troubled youth who seemed destined to end up on a penal island or suffer an early death.

     “But he changed.  In high school, he realized he could excel in studies to achieve co-valedictorian honors and scholarship offers from prestigious universities.  He graduated summa cum laude from Harvard as an undergrad and second in his class of graduate students.  I mean, really?  I’m such an underachiever that I can’t even beat myself at Solo-Wefty.”  Chuckles. 

     “Our bright candidate also joined activities like the Debating Club and Glee Club to find a better way forward.  Ultimately, he and his business partner built the greatest and most prosperous company the World has ever seen.  He literally went from rags to riches.” 

     The comedienne tapped her lips with her index finger a few times quickly.  “Saaayyyy.  Now I know why he’s got such a great physique.  There’s that adage, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’  So, he’s gorgeous and stinkin’ rich.  When he wins the presidency, he’ll be the trifecta!”  A lot of applause and laughter. 

     “Now, we’ve heard him debate circles around every opponent.  But do you think he would display his Glee Club talents for us tonight?  I don’t think Grub Grubbers would mind if he sang their hit Won Big and Fast.  Do you?”  A few whooped and many clapped in the audience.

     “Yeah, I think we should just skip the nomination process and have a Karaoke Night.  And you know what that means.  We break out the booze right here and right now.”  A majority of the crowd roared with delight.

     “But I guess we can’t skip protocol.”  Some moans echoed in the cavernous hall.  “I know.  I know.  But some might cry foul and say that Daniel Piper must walk the walk.  Nevertheless, even if he goes through every political hoop, none of the pundits, nor the political establishments expect him to win the office of President of the United States.”  Hisses and boos.  “But he will!  And I predict that he will do it handily!  Let’s follow Daniel Pied Piper!”  The crowd went wild with applause.

     A pensive man leaned over one person sitting at the end or row B and the empty seat next to him.  “Doctor Case,” he tapped a petite woman with jet-black hair, latte colored skin, and almond shaped eyes in the third seat over.  “I’m Special Agent Petrov.  Please follow me.”  His hologram credentials beaming across his chest clearly indicated that he was a U.S. Secret Service agent working at the political convention now underway.

     Somewhat astonished by the firm command, Dr. Syia Case stood up, and felt dazed for a millisecond before answering, “Oh, yes.  As soon as my husband gets back …”

     Interrupting her, he demanded, “Now, please!  This way.”  The agent turned to walk up the aisle.

     “Excuse me for the disturbance.”  Syia turned to the person blocking her speedy exit to the walkway.  The seated delegate frowned.  “Sorry,” she apologized again as she activated her seat to form a platform that would lift her up and over the two seats between her and the aisle.  The platform set her down within seconds, but the USSS agent had already started up the aisle.  Trotting to catch up to the agent, she asked,    “Where are we going?”

     “This way, please, ma’am.”

     “How long will I be gone?  I’d like to let my husband know.”

     “I don’t know.  We have a situation.”  He picked up the pace to exit the auditorium more quickly.

     “What kind of a situation?” Syia asked as she matched his quickened step.

     “This way, please, doctor.”

     “Is it Mr. Piper?”  Daniel Piper would accept the presidential nomination for the Innovative Party this evening.  He had asked Syia to be his personal physician on the campaign trail.  “Has he become ill, or is he injured?”

     “Ma’am, please do not ask questions until we have reached the MACC and you receive a briefing.”

     Syia knew when to shut up.  Obviously, something very wrong affected either her patient, the political convention, or both.  She would find out what that the problem was soon enough when she got to the Multi Agency Command Center.

     Not a new concept the organizational construct of MACCs remained useful but had enhancements beyond the original twenty-first century design.  Everything associated with the MACC from the operating systems to the environment necessary for humans to survive most threats up to 150 hours was self-contained and hardened.  Much like its military version, the Command network was closed, allowing MACC staff to operate with the artificially intelligent tool safe from outside nefarious intrusions.      

     Only 10 minutes away and nestled within the newest Nonpareil Hotel, the Secret Service leased the grand salon for its the political convention’s Multi Agency Command Center.  Scheduled to open in six weeks, construction crews busied themselves with finishing work to bring the luxurious hotel up to the standards its guests would expect while personnel in the MACC for this political convention worked to ensure the safety and wellbeing of all those participating in this National Special Security Event.  It would facilitate the coordination of multi-agency responses if an emergency arose.  In the case of an NSSE, the US Secret Service assumes the lead over all federal, state, and local partners. 

     As they pulled up to the Dilsah crystal building, Syia couldn’t help herself from drinking in the hotel’s beauty.  Massive Dilsah crystals cut in gigantic prisms defined the ascending architecture as it stepped into the sky.  The crystals shimmered and sparkled, casting showers of light onto the gold-leaf base.   

     Another Secret Service agent met them, commanding the door of the terracraft to open before it came to a complete stop.  Terracrafts are standard issued transports to law enforcement officers.  In addition to the modern hover/flight feature they have a xycastricum powered engine with wheels that can be engaged when necessary.  The off-road capability allows LEOs to chase fugitives that leave the magnetic highway grid. 

     “Dr. Case,” he spoke briskly.  “Please follow me.”  Syia obliged, matching the swift strides to enter the building.

     Special Agent in Charge Dianne Bartlett, who held the position of Federal Coordinator, stood at the open door to the temporary sensitive compartmented information facility, nick-named the Blue Room.  “Dr. Case,” she called above the controlled chaos on the main floor where numerous personnel worked at their assigned computers and audio from the abundant hologram screens displaying blue force tracking, local crowd-sourced data, traffic cams, media broadcasts, and other real-time data came up when key words prompted a program to do so.  Additionally, a 10-foot cube hologram of the auditorium filled the center space around which all the MACC personnel worked at their stations.  Waving, she called again, “Over here, Dr. Case.”

     Syia beelined to the Blue Room.  “Ms. Bartlett,” she nodded.

     Bartlett nodded in return and said, “You can leave your ESHICON on the repository surface.  A floating plane of energy capable of holding objects beamed at attention to the right of the door.  “An agent will stand here.  It’ll be fine.”  Mobile robots could not serve as security in the MACC or any facility conducting sensitive operations because bad actors could hack them for spying.  Even medibots had to stage outside.

     Syia placed her ESHICON next to many others as she entered the room set aside for conveyance of secret information or private meetings.  The energy field encompassed the devices.  The security measure scanned for spyware and bugs.  When the scan proved the ESHICONs were not compromised, the halo retracted, leaving them available for their owners.

     “Thank you for coming so quickly, Dr. Case.”  Bartlett then ordered, “Command: Open Blue Room door.”  The Blue Room’s door could only be opened and closed by a few select individuals, making its access controlled.  The Special Agent in Charge, of course, was one of the designated few. 

     When it opened, the agent motioned for Dr. Case to go in.   They caught the middle of a conversation by someone with his back to the door.  “I agree,” he bantered.  “This doodoo could be so deep that captains of alien ships will tell their passengers to roll up the windows and lock their doors as they rocket by this dangerous neighborhood.”  He noticed the eyes of everyone at the conference room table moved toward something behind him.  He swiveled around quickly, reddening as he recognized Dr. Case.

     Bartlett scowled at the embarrassed individual as she and the epidemiologist approached the table.  “Joking aside, we have a situation that we hope you can help us with.   Command: Close Blue Room door.  Dr. Case, I think you know everyone in the room, so we’ll skip introductions.”

     “Hello,” Syia nodded and sat at the rectangular table with 10 faces staring intently at her.  Like the repository surface on the other side of the door, beams of energy activated when members wished to sit at the table.  By tapping their place at the table four times, the energy field arose, conforming to them.  The energy field provided the ideal ergonomic seat for each individual.

     Bartlett tapped the table, so she could sit down at the head.  “I’m going to get right to the point, Dr. Case.  Biosensor assays from the convention center picked up biomolecules that baffled our team. The Pathorefdex came back inconclusive, so as one of the world’s foremost epidemiologists, I hope you’ll be able to identify what the biomolecules are.  Command: Retrieve today’s assay report.”  A portal opened on the tabletop.  Then a fileport rose up.  Grabbing the fileport, she checked the screen to confirm that it was the file she requested.  Then she slid the unit colored with the telltale orange Top Secret markings to the epidemiologist. 

     Dr. Case swiped through the file.  She read the data and then scanned the images.  She gasped.  “These images came from the assays collected from the biosensors in the convention center?”

     “Yes.  What do you make of them?”

     With a tone of disbelief, Syia answered, “This is a hybrid virus and bacterium.  A Chimera.  It should only be hypothetical.  I haven’t any idea who might have been successful in creating this potentially dangerous pathogen; but there is no doubt that it is manmade, and it likely is a very substantial threat.”

     “What?!” gasped the Federal Protective Service Commander.  “That’s a real sucker punch!” 

     “I can’t even begin to believe it,” stated another.  “Important lives, including a presidential hopeful, are in immediate danger!” 

     Bartlett leaned forward with her arms folded on the table.  Staring intently, she said, “Spell out what you mean by ‘substantial threat’.”

     “At the very least there is a likelihood that everyone who has been in the convention center will become sick.  We likely will not be able to find treatments or cures fast enough, so I expect that they … we … will succumb to it.  The medical community has never seen such an organism, so we would work as if we were blindfolded and with one arm tied.  We’ll have to learn everything about it as we go.  It’ll be trial and error to treat patients or prevent infections.”

     The Special Agent quipped, “In other words, it would be like building a rocket as it blasts off.”

     “That is a fair analogy.  However, that’s not all.  There is a worst-case scenario.”

     Bartlett frowned and leaned toward the expert.  “Go on.”

     “Worst case boils down to how transmissible this pathogen might be.  Can those exposed in the convention center pass it to people outside of that location?  If so, how contagious is it?  Will those who are infected pass the disease to one person or to 10? 

     “Then to compound the issue we must find out how virulent this Chimera is.  Will people become mildly ill, or severely ill?  If there is a high rate of transmission and extreme morbidity, a lot of people will die.  Further, it has the potential to create a devastating endemic or even a pandemic.”

     Everyone seated around the table looked shaken.  Silence hung in the air for a moment.

     “Okay,” Bartlett spoke out with authority.  “We must prevent anyone from going in or out of the convention center.  Cordon it off immediately and set a one block perimeter.”  In a discreet voice, an aide relayed the command from his hologram computer to the main floor of the MACC.  Bartlett’s order had to be implemented now.

     The Federal Coordinator for this political convention continued leading by stating, “Next we’ll activate the PODs.”

     “Ms. Bartlett,” Dr. Case interjected.  “We do not know what medication to dispense or administer at those points of dispensing locations.”

     Exasperated, the Secret Service agent asked, “Isn’t there some kind of universal drug?”

     “There are broad spectrum medications, but we do not know whether we should use antivirals, antibiotics, or both drugs.”

     “Can’t you just go ahead and give both?”

     “We …” before she could finish, the commander from the Federal Protective Service who sat across from Syia convulsed with a massive seizure.  He would have spilled from his chair if it had not sensed his unusual movement, wrapping him tightly in place.  Nonetheless, he jerked fitfully.  People around the table jumped up from their seats.  Those closest to the commander darted away, cowering in the farthest corners of the Blue Room.  Syia rushed toward him but kept some distance.

     Frothy sputum dribbled from his mouth and nose at first.  Then he vomited profusely, causing him to choke.  His airway compromised, he struggled to gasp for air.

     “We need a medical team!” the epidemiologist called out.

     Bartlett yelled, “Command: Open door and dispatch a medic and medibot to the Blue Room right now!”

     Command activated both medibots standing by outside and the paramedic inside.  Instantly, they zoomed into the MACC, heading directly to the Blue Room.  The paramedic could not react as fast as the robots but responded as quickly as humanly possible.  She opened communications with the medibots as she scampered around MACC floor obstacles to include stunned onlookers.  “Medibots, analyze scene safety and provide initial patient survey.”

     The agent standing directly outside of the door to the Blue Room dropped in front of Bartlett.  He, too, had a grand mal seizure and projectile vomiting.  Another member of the group in the Blue Room doubled over and screamed with pain.  Her muscles contracted so forcefully that she could not help but yowl.

     “What’s happening?!” Bartlett barked.

     “Warning!” the first medibot to arrive next to the spasming Secret Service agent announced.  “Scene safety uncertain at this time.  Maintain a perimeter of at least three meters to await further analysis.”  It launched a miniscule probe into the patient to get data.  The other medibot established a perimeter with an electronic version of hazard tape.  The yellow strip hovered with words DANGER, WARNING, and DO NOT CROSS LINE flashing along it.

     “Ma’am!” someone from the main floor shouted.  “Look at this!”  He flipped the center floor projection into the Blue Room.  The image of the convention center hall showed numerous people becoming violently ill, too.  Panicked delegates scampered over those inflicted with the horrifying symptoms.  Those able to run to the exits stampeded and pushed without mercy.  Some who fell suffered the fate of being trampled.

     Syia heard her ESHICON.  She ran to the repository surface and picked it up so she could answer it.  Her husband, Paul, appeared before her with a contorted look of utter pain.  His skin color seemed gray, and his lips turned bluer as the seconds ticked.  “Paul!” she answered.  “Where are you?”

     Her husband opened his mouth, but before he could talk, copious amounts of vomit spewed at the ESHICON.  He dropped it, and it landed propped against a wall of a restroom.  Paul’s head struck the floor next to the ESHICON. 

     Syia could see his agony.  His eyes rolled about and bulged as if they would pop out of their sockets altogether.  Tears of blood streamed down his cheeks.  Then he convulsed so forcefully that he bit off his tongue.  Blood and foamy spittle splatted on the screen of the ESHICON.

     “Paul!” Syia shouted.  “Paul!”  She bolted upright, clutching her chest.  She looked about franticly, and saw she was in bed next to Paul who stirred from a deep slumber.  “Oh,” she sighed with relief.  “It was a nightmare.”

     “You, okay?” he asked with a groggy voice.  He sat up to look at Syia’s face and placed his arm around her.

     “I’m sorry to wake you.  I just had a bad dream.  It terrified me.”

     “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

     “Oh, no.  Go back to sleep.  And you know … maybe I should go.  I’m sorry to have bothered you.  Maybe this was a mistake.”

     “No, don’t even think those things.  Stay here and tell me about your dream.  I want to hear it.  Tell me,” he said again.  “I’m right here for you.”

     After a brief hesitation, she recounted the dream.  “We were at the Innovative National Convention, and someone let lose a Chimera pathogen.  Lots of people died horrid deaths.  When you fell, I awoke with a start.  The thought of losing you forever is terrifying.  My heart’s still racing.”

     Paul inched closer and held his wife tightly.  “It’s over now.  You’re just thinking about Tahnee and that report we discussed at dinner.  Your mind weaved them into a place and time from the past.  The convention went off without any issues, Daniel won the presidency, and we’re here in our bed in our room of our house.  We’re back together.  All is well.”

     “I’m still struggling with some issues.”

     “Dr. Lartal is helping you with those.”

     “Yes, but yesterday’s session unsettled me.  It’s hard to realize my faults.”

In his mind, Paul couldn’t help but think: You nearly obliterated my heart.  “Let’s move forward.  I accepted your apology.” 

     “You’re right.”  She hugged Paul.  “Let’s try to go back to sleep.”  They scooted down under the covers still embracing one another.

     Paul yawned, “I know Tahnee’s death struck you hard over this past week, particularly since you witnessed that unthinkable incident.  I’m so sorry about that tragedy, but I must admit that I am happy you came home because of it.  You know I love you, and I will always be here for you, right?”

     Syia gave her husband a feeble smile.  “Of course.  You’re so good to me.  Thank you for being understanding, and to think I almost ruined everything.”

     Paul snuggled closer and continued, “No, no.  Don’t say that.  You needed more time, and I needed to be more supportive.  You’re back now.  We have all the time in the world to be happy.  Things will be better.  We’ll get through any challenges together.  Tahnee’s death will be one but remember that it was a fluke accident.  The World War III wires in those underground shelters were jumbled.  The investigation uncovered faulty wiring throughout the facility.  Try to ease your mind by knowing no one will ever use them again.  Chinese officials estimate the complex will be completely decommissioned over the next few months.  Also remember that you were a wonderful mentor and friend to Tahnee.  And there’s one more thing not to forget.  She died doing what she loved.”

     “Yes, she did.”

     “And don’t worry.  I’ll bring up what we talked about at dinner to Daniel.  And until there’s more information, there’s nothing we can do.”

     “You’re right.  I’m sorry to have awakened you.  Goodnight.” 

     Paul smiled sleepily as he pulled her closer.  He caressed her body and whispered, “I’ll never let you go again,” as he gently kissed her.  The kiss grew more intense.  Their passions flared.  They intertwined, making fiery love.  Afterwards, Paul wanted to hold her and comfort her more, but he immediately fell back to sleep. 

     Despite his love and forgiveness, Syia could not calm her mind.  Frightful memories of Tahnee were bad enough, but the dream of a terrible plague that caused Paul’s ghastly death, and the session with Dr. Lartal also haunted her.  Unable to relax, she whispered, “Command: Activate nightlight to bathroom.”

     A soft illuminated line shone the way for her to find the bathroom without awaking her husband with bright room lights.  Having a historic home, they did not have an ensuite restroom.  The path took her from their master bedroom to the hallway. 

     Before reaching the bathroom, she stopped in front of a door to another bedroom.  It was closed.  Reaching for the doorknob, she hesitated.  Only the front and back doors of their home had the voice command features to unlock and lock them, and to open and close them.  The couple had painstakingly restored this house.  Doors with doorknobs not only aesthetically pleased them but were required under the guidelines mandated by the Historic Registry. 

     “Don’t do it, Syia,” she scolded herself in a harsh whisper.  “This is what caused you to walk out before.  Turn away.”  Dropping her hand, she stood still, staring at the doorknob.  Finally, she sighed deeply and opened the door wide to step in.

     She moved to the crib and ran her hands along the rail.  Then she leaned over it to adjust the baby blanket.  Pulling back and holding herself tightly, she asked, “Why couldn’t we have a baby?  Why?”    

     Syia recalled her most recent session with Dr. Lartal.  “You know why,” the psychiatrist stated.  “Why didn’t you opt to have a fetus gestate in a CERIGAT?  Afterall, you had a history of spontaneous abortions.”

     “Because they would have removed the fetus with my uterus and put them in a machine operated by a computer.  That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.  Moreover, it would have rendered me sterile, barren, infertile, fruitless, impotent!”

     “You make it sound so final.  Wouldn’t you have had a child?”

     “But only one.  We wanted a whole family.”

     “Wouldn’t three of you have been a whole family?”

     “We always wanted our allotment of two children.  We both were only children and didn’t want that life for our kids.  We wanted two happy little ones running around.  Playing and learning together.”

     “Why?!” Syia called out, moving away from the crib.  Then she wondered Why can’t you let this go, Syia?  You should be able to overcome this!  Why can’t you accept the truth?  She continued to recall her session with Dr. Lartal.

     “We don’t always get what we want.”

     “I do.”

     “Do you?”

     “Yes.”

     Dr. Lartal stared deeply into Syia’s eyes.  “Do you?” she repeated.

     “Yes.  Do I have to spell it out?  I graduated at the top of every class from high school through medical school.  I discovered Vastiago Cellulae Apicales and developed a treatment that has helped oh so many.  Soon I’ll find a cure.  And I became the Director of Epidemiology at one of the most highly respected medical institutions.”

     “Those are truly remarkable achievements.  But it’s interesting that you ticked off only milestones in a career.  What about other successes?  Emotional ones.”

     Syia blinked several times.  “I … I fell in love with a kind, intelligent, funny, successful man who loves me more than I deserve.”

     “Surprising.  Consider what you just said and then answer why you’ve been trying to drive him away for the past several months.”

     “You know the circumstances.  When he took the Chief of Staff position, he was gone so much of the time, and I needed him to help me through my pain.”

     Pulling away from the memory, she asked herself, Why did you call Paul and invite him to dinner?  Why did you come home with him afterwards?  Why do you struggle to answer these questions?  Syia walked back to the hallway, closing the door behind her.

     With sadness, she entered the bathroom, whispering, “Command: Turn on sink faucet – warm water.”  A comforting stream instantly flowed.  She splashed some water on her face but didn’t wash away tears.  Having shed so many over the years, particularly over the past few months, she had none left.

     Allowing the water droplets to cascade down her face, she studied her reflection in the mirror.  Then she relived more of the session.

     “You’re deflecting my question.”

     “No, I’m not.  When Paul took the Chief of Staff position, he was gone so much, and I needed him to help me through my pain.”

     “Oh?  Hadn’t he been there for you for years, and during those many years didn’t you dedicate long, long hours to discover Vastiago Cellulae Apicales and develop a treatment?  Think about the hours you’ll continue to spend as you find a cure.  Why is it appropriate for you to be away from home nearly every day and half your nights, and it’s not okay for Paul?”

     Syia flinched.  “I … I”

     “This isn’t about Paul’s job so much, is it?” 

     “Are you suggesting that I am punishing him because I cannot achieve a goal that I set for myself?”

     “That’s something only you can answer.”

     Shaking her head, she tried to escape her thoughts.  “Command: What time is it?” she asked.

     “The time is 3:46 am,” came the reply.

     She knew she would not go back to sleep.  I might as well go to work, she mused.  “Command: Shower on for Syia,” she ordered and stepped into the space ready with her personal specifications.  Over and over,    Dr. Lartal’s statement played in her mind.  Only you can answer that.  Jets of soapy water and conditioning lotions barraged her form and yet she could not wash away that nagging declaration.  Frustrated, she ordered, “Command: Rinse and dry, Syia.”

     “Only I can answer why I tried to punish Paul!  Only I can answer why we never had a child!”  She hung her head.  Leaning against the shower wall, she realized, “I have been a fool.” 

     “That’s it, then, Syia.”  She moved out of the shower to the center of the bathroom.  Staring hard at her reflection she spat, “You are responsible.  You must own you’re your decisions and repair your marriage.” 

     Standing a little taller, she directed, “Command: Leave a message for Paul on the bathroom mirror.  Begin message, ‘I decided to go into work early.  See you tonight.  Don’t worry.  I’m not running away again.  I just can’t sleep.  Tahnee’s death and that bad dream won’t let me rest.  Also, I have been thinking about more issues.  Let’s talk about converting the nursery into a Transcape Portal.  I think that I’m finally ready to let the idea of having a baby go.  You were right.  I should have listened to you months ago.  Thank you again for being so patient.’ End message.” 

     Instantly, the words appeared on the mirror.  The epidemiologist studied them.  She asked herself, Is that enough?  Scrutinizing the message, she instructed, “Command: Add to message on mirror, ‘Have a good day.  I’ll look forward to seeing you at home tonight.’” 

     Syia followed the soft light line to her closet.  Dressing inside, she pulled on her formfitting composite suit.  The modern apparel was custom fitted and highly flexible with microscopic display lenses adhered in concentric patterns every few centimeters.  When activated, the lenses would project the attire chosen from apps.  Syia chose her hologram outfit from an app that targeted business professionals.  Approving of the blue suit with a white blouse and red scarf, she asked once more for the light to guide her out.  This time she headed to the first floor as she grabbed a pair of walking shoes and high heal shoes.

     “Command: Have Walker meet me out front.”

     “Walker will be out front in 37.75 seconds.  What will you have for breakfast?”

     “No breakfast now, Command.  It’s too early.”

     Syia left the house quietly.

     “Good morning,” a boxy machine with various wheels, one 12-inch antenna, multiple sensors, and one large port greeted her.  “Destination, please.”

     “Work, Walker.”

     “It’s a nice morning to walk to work,” the machine answered as it opened its compartment to allow dozens of small drones assume their air patrols.  Like a swarm of bees flying from a hive, they jettisoned skyward to scan and protect their charge.  Walker Escorts all but eliminated crimes against individuals and groups.  The escorts deterred would be muggers.  Being barraged by the mini drones that would tase the assailants relentlessly while the “mother” Walker summoned police caused thugs to abandon their trade.

     Syia strode briskly in her walking shoes, and chastised herself, “Don’t blow it, Syia!  This is your chance to make things right.  You chose not to use CERIGAT to have at least one child.  You must forget about not having a baby.  Paul’s willing to take you back even though you hurt him terribly.  He was just as devastated not to have a child, and he wanted to go with either the CERIGAT or adoption routes.  You did this to yourself and to Paul! 

     “Besides, you idiot.  No one else can make love to you the way he does, and apology sex is the best.”  Smiling broadly, she tsked her tongue.  “Three times in one night.  We haven’t done that in years.”

     She looked over to Walker.  “Walker: Send a message to Command.  The message should be added to the one on the mirror in the bathroom.  Begin addendum: ‘I love you and want you forevermore.’ End addendum.”

     Picking up her pace, she made the trip to work in an invigorating 15 minutes.  I feel good, she mused.  Things are going to be better than ever.  Changing into her pumps, she sent Walker home as she entered the secure campus.

     The deserted halls of her building echoed, and lights turned on as she made her way to her office.  An early riser, she usually came into work before seven in the morning, but this early hour was unusual even for her. 

     Two custodial robots stopped to greet Syia.  They seldom had humans interrupt them because they kept night hours.  “Good morning, Dr. Case,” one of them said.  “Please be careful.  We just made repairs to the floor in this hallway.  We are only now evaluating the surface.”

     “Good morning,” she replied as she whisked by.  “I will be careful, thank you.”  Rounding the corner to enter her office, she directed, “Command: Computer on and make a large coffee latte.”

     Sitting down at her desk, a rectangular hologram appeared at eye level, but she could wave it to any place in the room.  While it gave a clear image, she could look through its translucence.  Syia could sit behind her desk and see whoever walked through her door without diverting her attention from the screen unless she chose to do so. 

     A steaming cup of coffee rose to the top of the desk.  Grasping it gratefully, she inhaled the aromatic steam and said, “Command: Access ForuM-ID and show entries from Doctor Xiu Ying Zhau.” 

     The titles of two entries appeared.  The epidemiologist recognized the first was the same one that she and her team had seen the day before.  The second showed today’s date.  “Command: Open the entry for 2113 March 21.”  Instantly it appeared.  She read,

     Published Date: 2113-03-21 00:52:54

     Subject: PRO/AH/EDR> Unknown Illness – PRK and Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture Region of        ROC:

     Archive Number: 21130318.0001857

 

UNIDENTIFIED ILLNESS – PRK and Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture Region of ROC

**********************************************************************************************************

A ForuM-ID-mail post

vhb://ttt.forum-id.consortium

ForuM-ID-mail is a program of the

International Society for Infectious Diseases

vhb://ttt.isid.consortium

 

Date: Mon 21 Mar 2113 9:01 am UTC

Source: Contributor – Zhao Xiu Ying

 

 

This is a follow-on report to yesterday’s description of an illness that struck the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and may have clusters in the city of Hunchun and the region of Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture. 

 

There appears to be no survivors from this unknown illness that may have emerged in DPRK.  That country is closed, but a colleague on the border of DPRK sent the report below.  I continue to try to contact my collaborators in Hunchun without success.  Officials barred travel in and out of the area. 

 

--- Colleague’s Report ---

 

To access video, instruct Command to play //ΩΔΣΘΨΞΩ//.  Complete transcript is located below.

 

 

     Syia wished to see the reporting doctor as he dictated his account.  The transcript could not reveal his condition or perhaps those around him.  “Command: Play //ΩΔΣΘΨΞΩ//.”  Immediately, the image of a clearly exhausted face appeared.  The doctor’s high cheekbones and sunken cheeks magnified his strained look.  His short hair stood wired and wet likely from perspiration.  A small clinic room blazed with sterile white walls and a vibrantly blinking control panel in the background, contrasting the graying skin and sluggish doctor. 

     “The situation here is dire,” the doctor began.  “An unidentified illness causes grave morbidity and mortality.”  He coughed, grimacing as he did so.  “All my patients expired within hours of onset of symptoms.  Not one patient lived longer than 24 hours.  Symptoms vary, but common ones are dyspnea, necrotic tissue, hemorrhaging from avulsed areas and orifices, excessive salivation, lacrimation, urination, and defecation.”

     Syia zoomed in to look directly into his eyes.  They were hazy as if he had cataracts, but that did not prevent her from also observing his bloodshot sclera.  Then a drop of blood seeped from the corner of his left eye.  He wiped it, and she zoomed back out.

     The doctor’s scratchy voice continued, “I believe this may be a novel hemorrhagic fever.  My team and I could not find any treatments or procedures to mitigate the effects of this disease.  Never in my experience have I seen such deterioration of multiple systems in such a short time and with unparalleled intensity.” 

     A drop of blood escaped from his left nostril.  He quickly dabbed his nose and resumed his account, “I believe that I am infected and have isolated myself.  If that proves to be true, then I expect the incubation period is 18 to 24 hours.  I also must conclude that standard personal protective equipment does not provide a suitable barrier.” 

     The physician sighed.  “Cephalgia affected me first.  Overall, malaise increases geometrically.  Myalgia does not concern me whereas dyspnea is increasingly concerning.  I will place myself back on 15 liters of O2 when I complete this report because my pulse oximetry reading has fallen below 85%.  Epistaxis became problematic until I cauterized both nasal cavities.  I fear hyperpyrexia will prevent me from making further entries, but I will attempt to do so again in one hour.  Currently, my temperature is 39.5° Celsius.”  The man swiped the airspace in front of him to end his transmission.

     Syia’s eyes widened as she sat back slowly, the energy field chair accommodated her reclining motion.      “Oh, my God!” she whispered.  “Command: Call Paul,” she blurted. 

     A second later Command stated, “Paul’s ESHICON cannot be reached at this time.” 

He must be in the shower.  That’s the only time he shuts his ESHICON off.  She giggled.  Well, one of two times, she thought to herself.  “Command: Record this message and deliver it to Paul in our shower, ‘Paul!’” Syia spoke intensely.  “'Call me as soon as you can!  This contagion could be more serious than I imagined.  My dream may not have been too far off!’”