cheek. Withdrawing her hand she finds the flesh on her fingers liquefying. She tries to rise to her feet, but topples back.
Robert strains to lurch forward, just managing to catch her. The two of them tumble to the floor, Monica struggling the get her words out.
“You… mustn’t… touch.”
She writhes in agony, a distressed Robert not knowing what to do.
He reaches out. She knocks his hand away.
But it’s too late—he sees the brown spot on his right palm, at the base of his index finger, grow larger. He stares in horror as it erupts, oozing out a thick, bloody goo that spreads out over his hand.
He stands, staggering backward only to bump into some furniture, topple off balance and come crashing back down. He tries to rise once more, but collapses, lesions breaking out all over his body.
DAY 79
Landelle is already awake. She finds that the routine helps with the monotony. After the hell of the first few weeks had come a full month of probing, prodding, and general intrusion at the hands of medical Embies, guided at a distance by their human masters. But that came to an end and these past weeks had become a waiting game. Eleven more days to the all-clear, the full ninety days having been a hasty dictate of the Supreme Court, in whose care she had been placed as a ward.
As a causality she had experienced nothing of the immediate aftermath. Dr. Felton’s team had found the horror on the Sky Floor, taking considerable personal risks in the extraction, despite all the precautions they could muster. The whole of Manhattan had been evacuated for a full three weeks. Even now a three-block radius marked an exclusion zone around the Cantor Satori tower, enforced by the National Guard.
But today promised a respite from all that.
She checks herself out in the mirror. Despite the unflattering medical gown she agrees with herself that she looks great. Amazing in fact. It would normally have taken a good couple of weeks of vacation, with daily visits to a health spa, and a considerable amount of buffing in a beauty salon to get her approaching anything like what she now sees in her reflection. And she feels just as amazing as she looks.
A set of double doors leads from her small suite of rooms to the main facility. Pushing them open, she is greeted by the usual crowd. Medical staff for the most part, but also the armed guards. All stand behind a thick, yellow line on the floor, several meters away. Felton stands foremost.
“Good morning, Deborah.”
“Richard. So, are we all set?”
“We are. If you would like to make your own way, we’ll watch over the monitors.”
Landelle looks about, “Where are the Embies?”
“We’re not going to use them. In fact they are to be returned to the Cantor Satori building to help out with the investigation. I’m afraid you will be performing their duties here. But something to do, right?”
“Right.” Landelle didn’t like the sound of that. Fetching and carrying—and worse. Mopping.
“So, if you please,” Felton gestures along the path marked out by the yellow line.
Landelle saunters along the short route to another set of double doors, the crowd looking on. As she reaches the doors most of the medical staff turn their attention to a bank of display monitors. Landelle pauses before entering.
“She’s awake,” says Felton. “We have spoken with her and she is broadly aware of her circumstances, but try not to startle her.”
Landelle gently pushes open one side of the doors and steps in. A small suite of rooms like her own, the lighting subdued. Stepping forward into the main living area she finds a young woman standing before a mirror. She is exceptionally beautiful. Early twenties perhaps, but no older.
Transfixed by her own reflection, the young woman does not acknowledge Landelle’s presence.
“Sharanjit? How do you feel?”
With a look of shocked disbelief, Toor gently runs her hand over the perfect almond skin of her face.
THE THIN MAN
A large
Robert strains to lurch forward, just managing to catch her. The two of them tumble to the floor, Monica struggling the get her words out.
“You… mustn’t… touch.”
She writhes in agony, a distressed Robert not knowing what to do.
He reaches out. She knocks his hand away.
But it’s too late—he sees the brown spot on his right palm, at the base of his index finger, grow larger. He stares in horror as it erupts, oozing out a thick, bloody goo that spreads out over his hand.
He stands, staggering backward only to bump into some furniture, topple off balance and come crashing back down. He tries to rise once more, but collapses, lesions breaking out all over his body.
DAY 79
Landelle is already awake. She finds that the routine helps with the monotony. After the hell of the first few weeks had come a full month of probing, prodding, and general intrusion at the hands of medical Embies, guided at a distance by their human masters. But that came to an end and these past weeks had become a waiting game. Eleven more days to the all-clear, the full ninety days having been a hasty dictate of the Supreme Court, in whose care she had been placed as a ward.
As a causality she had experienced nothing of the immediate aftermath. Dr. Felton’s team had found the horror on the Sky Floor, taking considerable personal risks in the extraction, despite all the precautions they could muster. The whole of Manhattan had been evacuated for a full three weeks. Even now a three-block radius marked an exclusion zone around the Cantor Satori tower, enforced by the National Guard.
But today promised a respite from all that.
She checks herself out in the mirror. Despite the unflattering medical gown she agrees with herself that she looks great. Amazing in fact. It would normally have taken a good couple of weeks of vacation, with daily visits to a health spa, and a considerable amount of buffing in a beauty salon to get her approaching anything like what she now sees in her reflection. And she feels just as amazing as she looks.
A set of double doors leads from her small suite of rooms to the main facility. Pushing them open, she is greeted by the usual crowd. Medical staff for the most part, but also the armed guards. All stand behind a thick, yellow line on the floor, several meters away. Felton stands foremost.
“Good morning, Deborah.”
“Richard. So, are we all set?”
“We are. If you would like to make your own way, we’ll watch over the monitors.”
Landelle looks about, “Where are the Embies?”
“We’re not going to use them. In fact they are to be returned to the Cantor Satori building to help out with the investigation. I’m afraid you will be performing their duties here. But something to do, right?”
“Right.” Landelle didn’t like the sound of that. Fetching and carrying—and worse. Mopping.
“So, if you please,” Felton gestures along the path marked out by the yellow line.
Landelle saunters along the short route to another set of double doors, the crowd looking on. As she reaches the doors most of the medical staff turn their attention to a bank of display monitors. Landelle pauses before entering.
“She’s awake,” says Felton. “We have spoken with her and she is broadly aware of her circumstances, but try not to startle her.”
Landelle gently pushes open one side of the doors and steps in. A small suite of rooms like her own, the lighting subdued. Stepping forward into the main living area she finds a young woman standing before a mirror. She is exceptionally beautiful. Early twenties perhaps, but no older.
Transfixed by her own reflection, the young woman does not acknowledge Landelle’s presence.
“Sharanjit? How do you feel?”
With a look of shocked disbelief, Toor gently runs her hand over the perfect almond skin of her face.
THE THIN MAN
A large
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