With my initial “defense in depth” plans in place and functioning, I set off for the hospital to visit Abe and Zander again. I drove and parked the Escape a block from the hospital—and this time I walked into the complex confident of my surroundings and my ability to do what I needed to do.
However, when I arrived at Zander’s room, he was gone. Without my asking them, the nanomites hacked the hospital’s directory and reported that Zander had been discharged. Next, I checked on Abe. He had been moved to the same wing and floor where Zander had been.
“What about John Galvez, Nano?”
John’s medical records appeared before me. He, like Zander, had been discharged, but John had been sent to a rehabilitation facility where he was undergoing physical therapy to treat minor motor skill deficiencies.
The leftover effects of the tumor, I thought. I shook my head, glad that the mites had saved this man’s life—had saved his son from growing up without a father.
I felt good about that—despite my recent antipathy toward the mites.
I went in search of Abe’s room. His bed was the second of two in the room; his was closer to the window. A curtain separated the two patients. I paused at the first bed to give his roommate a nap so that Abe and I could talk.
When I rounded the curtain, I found Abe sitting up! He had a newspaper on the rolling table across his bed and was working the crossword puzzle.
The terrible skin tones that had terrified me were completely gone, replaced by Abe’s healthy, warm hues. Although Abe normally wore his hair short, the hospital had shaved around the gash in his head that had caused so much damage. I was glad to see that the wound looked less intimidating, not as horrifying as it had seemed the last time I’d seen it.
Abe hummed a snatch of an old hymn, and I sighed with relief. He was going to be all right.
I was grinning like mad when he glanced up, stole a glance in his roommate’s direction, and whispered, “Gemma? That you?”
“Hi, Abe. Don’t worry about Mr. Newcomb. We gave him a much-needed nap.”
Abe guffawed at that. “Mighty convenient! Well, I thought I sensed someone. You sure can steal up on me, though.”
“Yeah, I’m getting better at the sneaky part, I think.”
Yes, I was. I moved without fear now, going wherever I liked with impunity, operating in my invisible state as though I’d always been concealed. I was comfortable in my skin, perhaps starting to like it . . . and starting to like other changes . . . such as sleeping less each night because I didn’t need an entire night of rest. Like the hours I spent training. When I wasn’t working with Gus-Gus, I read voraciously, and whatever I read I retained. And the videos I watched online? I was training myself in other areas, learning new skills that might, someday, save my life.
That awareness of . . . power and the mindfulness that the merge was still changing me, continued to build within me. Even now, while I was trying to move beyond my anger at the nanomites, I sensed that we were growing together. Our “bond” was tightening.
But I was uncertain of what exactly comprised the “together” part. You see, I couldn’t decide if the nanomites had given Abe’s roommate a nap—or if I had. The line between the mites and me was blurring. Either the mites intuited my commands at virtually the moment I thought them, or I was, somehow, tapping into the mites’ abilities and appropriating them for my own use.
Regardless? The merge and its effects were ongoing, and I could not predict where they would lead.
***
After leaving the hospital, I set out for Zander’s house. I hadn’t been there before and found that his place was a simple duplex north of I-40 and Rio Grande Avenue. I parked down the street and walked the rest of the way. Two cars were in the driveway.
Oh, yeah. Izzy!
I was glad Zander’s sister was staying with him, glad I’d see her today, even if she wouldn’t see me. I had to laugh, though. Not for a second did I think that Izzy “helping” Zander would be easy on Zander—but it might be entertaining. I snickered as I swung up the driveway and around to the back door where I let myself in to what turned out to be a laundry room. It led into the kitchen, where Izzy was laying out lunch things.
The first words I heard, from beyond the kitchen, were, “Iz! For heaven’s sake! I can make my own sandwich!”
“With one hand? I doubt it. Anyway, I want to make it for you.”
I slipped through the kitchen, sidled up to the easy chair where Zander sat, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at my touch, but settled almost as quickly.
I leaned over and whispered, “Izzy. Gotta love her, right?”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “She’s gonna kill me!”
I sat on the wide arm and put my mouth near his ear. “Care to share?”
I had good intentions, but the snigger at the end blew the whole thing.
“You’re a snot, Gemma! All I asked for was a simple grilled cheese sandwich! Grilled cheese! Butter, bread, cheese, grill it, right? What does she bring me? A slice of cheese between two pieces of toast—heated up in the microwave! Blasphemy.”
I shook my head in total agreement. “Ugh! Nasty.”
Zander huffed. “I have to get her out of here. She’s making me crazy.”
“Well, yeah. We can’t talk if she’s here, right?”
His bellow could have raised the dead. “Iz! Izzy! I need a burger! Could you run get me a burger instead of making sandwiches? I’ll pay! A green chile cheese burger would hit the spot.”
My mouth salivated. It sure would!
Izzy bounced into the room and grabbed the twenty Zander held out to her. “Sure thing, bro!” She paused and cleared her throat. “Uh, I, um, I was making you a grilled cheese sandwich—the right way, the way you told me to—and I might have burned the butter in the frying pan.”
As Zander’s and my noses twitched and our heads turned—simultaneously—toward the kitchen, Izzy bolted from the house.
Gemma Keyes, something is burning.
“I think it’s under control, Nano, but I’ll check.”
I hopped off the arm of Zander’s chair and went into the kitchen. What a mess. Izzy’s forte was not in the culinary arts by any stretch of the imagination—in fact, I would dare to say that any cooking genes of which the Cruz family may have boasted had taken one look at Izzy and run the other way.
I made sure the burners were off and put the offending skillet in the sink.
“Gemma? Where’d you go?”
I plopped down on the arm of Zander’s chair again. “Here. Made sure the house wasn’t going to burn down while we were talking.”
Zander gave a whoop, grabbed me from where I sat, and pulled me into a one-armed hug. I wasn’t prepared for that! He let me up immediately, and I told my pounding heart that he was just elated over getting Izzy out of his hair for a few minutes.
I sat on the floor in front of his feet. “Don’t kick me. I’m sitting right here.”
“Oh. Right. I’d say I’m sure glad to see you, but I guess I’ll settle for I’m sure glad to hear you. What’s new? What have you been doing?”
I filled him in on Emilio and Abe, then added a few details about my own life since I’d seen him last.
“And the nanomites? Any change there?”
“Ha! Funny you should ask. You might say that the nanomites and I are feuding—but, then, that’s not new.”
Under Zander’s gentle prodding, I told him about our most recent squabble.
Well, I didn’t tell him how furious and scared I’d been when I figured out exactly what the “merge” entailed—you know, the whole “nano brain surgery” bit? I’d acknowledged that I couldn’t change it, struggled to accept it, and gotten beyond it somehow. But Zander? Based on his reaction in the hospital, I think he would have had more difficulty forgiving them than I had.
I also said nothing about my training. First, as I rehearsed it in my head, it sounded dumb. Far-fetched. Second, it would have led to “Training for what?” My response of, “To rescue Dr. Bickel, of course,” might have triggered a blowup.
As a wise woman, I didn’t broach either of those topics.
But I did tell Zander how I’d lived in the safe house for three weeks before the nanomites bothered to tell me about Dr. Bickel’s secret room.
“All along I have been concerned, and rightfully so, that Cushing’s people might, in their investigation into Dr. Bickel’s finances, uncover his ownership of the house. I was worrying about it the other night, so I asked the nanomites how I might stay a few steps ahead of Cushing. The mites gave me a bunch of reading on a strategy called ‘defense in depth.’ It’s about multiple layers of defense that make it harder and take longer for an adversary to reach what they are after.
“The stuff I read about defense in depth made me realize just how stinking vulnerable I truly was! Anyway, then I asked the mites to help me make some contingency plans, especially escape plans—and do you know what they did? They showed me the blueprint of a secret room beneath the safe house. A secret room! With an escape tunnel! Right under my nose.”
Yeah, I told Zander about the room. It couldn’t hurt, because Zander had no idea where the safe house was.
“A secret room under the safe house?”
“Complete with years of food, a hidden hatch behind the kitchenette that opens to an escape tunnel, and a security system that monitors the outside and inside of the house. The security system also controls several sweet little deterrents should Cushing’s goons break in.”
“And why were you mad at the nanomites?”
I snorted, angry all over again. “Because they knew about it and didn’t bother to tell me until I asked them! Why didn’t they tell me right away? I mean, what if Cushing had found me before they told me? If she’d come in the night, I would have been trapped! Stupid bugs.”
Zander chuckled.
I was not appreciative. “What’s so funny?”
“Just you, Gemma. You act like the nanomites can think. Like they have feelings or common sense. They’re devices, Gemma—they’re technology, not people. You sound as if they should have known better when they were just following their programming.”
If Zander could have seen me, my glower would have curdled his blood. As it was, I’m certain the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
“Why, Gemma! Are you mad at me? Are you pouting?”
And he laughed again!
“Not funny,” I growled.
“Well, it is to me. Not the whole, ‘What if Cushing had come in the night before you knew about the secret room?’ part but the ‘you having arguments with the nanomites’ piece. Come on, think about it. You and the nanomites are like squabbling roommates. It’s sort of funny.”
I huffed. “In a way, we are squabbling roommates, Zander, and it hasn’t been easy. Sometimes they don’t think!”
Zander leaned over, cradling his cast, and tried to look me in the eye. He got close—but I wasn’t going to help him.
“Gemma, the mites don’t ‘think’ sometimes because they aren’t people. Yes, they are incredibly smart machines, but maybe you shouldn’t expect them to understand human stuff. Like, I doubt that they understand your anxieties—but I do. I’m glad you asked them for help, and I’m glad they showed you the hidden room. I feel better knowing that you are better hidden from Cushing. I feel better knowing you can get away if you need to. I understand.”
His words lightened my heart, and I backed away from the anger toward the nanomites, anger I thought I’d already dealt with.
Zander and I talked for half an hour before Izzy returned, bags of burgers and fries in her hands. None for me, of course.
I perched on the arm of Zander’s chair, near the wall. Izzy brought Zander a tray, put it across his lap, and poured the contents of one bag onto a plate. When the heady scent of fries, burger, and hot, roasted green chile reached me, my stomach lurched. What I wouldn’t give . . .
I sighed. With my ravenous appetite, I could have polished off both bags with ease.
When Izzy ran to fetch a plate for herself, I grabbed a handful of fries from Zander’s tray and stuffed them into my mouth.
“Hey!” Zander whispered his indignation, but he was also laughing under his breath.
“Yummmmm.” I pilfered another handful and scarfed them down before Izzy returned.
With Izzy back in the house, my alone time with Zander was over. I waited quietly for them to finish their meal. When she carried the trash into the kitchen, I said goodbye to Zander and slipped out the front door.
I walked to my car, the smell of hot fries and burgers making my stomach rumble, but I was smiling. In the short span Zander and I had been alone, I’d felt the companionship we’d enjoyed last summer, the ease we’d shared sitting on my back steps sipping lemonade or iced tea.
I shook my head. Far too much had happened since then. I was different. The last vestiges of childhood or youth or whatever label was most appropriate—the remnants of those innocent years? They were forever gone. I carried the full weight of adulthood upon my shoulders. I was responsible for myself, for the nanomites and, to a certain degree, for the safety of others.
Being with Zander had been a respite from those responsibilities. As I drove away from his neighborhood, I was easier in my heart for the time we’d spent talking. I was grateful for his friendship—
Gemma Keyes.
“Um, yes?”
Why are we stupid bugs?
The mites and I hadn’t entirely “made up,” so to speak, since the business with the room under the safe house; obviously, I still harbored some animosity toward them. Nonetheless, why had I shot my mouth off to Zander? Knowing the nanomites could hear me, why had I vented?
I was the stupid one.
“Um, no, Nano. I . . . I spoke out of, well, out of frustration. I . . . all these changes to my life and body have been rough on my emotions. It’s been . . . well, hard to adjust—but I’m trying. Really, I am. I’m sorry I said . . . what I said about you.”
We do not wish to be stupid bugs, Gemma Keyes. Please tell us when we are being stupid bugs. Just as you seek to adjust, we will seek to adjust.
I truly was sorry then, and tears stung my eyes.
Oh, Zander. How can I explain this to you? The nanomites may not be people, but . . . they are more than “just” technology.
~~**~~