Quaranteam Book Two Ch 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

May 11

th

, 2021

"You're completely sure this guy is safe, Phil?" Linda asked as she drove the car away from the White House, Melody and Fi up in the front seats, Violet and Lexi in the back, Ming, Andy, and Phil in the middle. They'd decided to make an unscheduled visit to someone Phil thought might be able to answer some questions about the virus and the serum, from a neutral observer's point of view.

"Safe might be a little bit of a stretch, but he's the person we need to go and talk to, especially since we're in town," Phil sighed. "He's a little bit paranoid of phones. And the internet. And communications systems in general. Last time I heard from him, it was in an actual handwritten letter, wax sealed and everything. John can be... a little out there." He shrugged and offered a mysterious smile for a moment. "All that said, he did predict basically all of this, in one level or another."

"The whole DuoHalo thing?" Andy asked. "That seems unlikely."

"No no, just our reliance on nanobots to get us out of a crisis," Phil said, as Linda took the car further and further away from central D.C. "John likes to talk on global scales and big timelines, and that makes a lot of people very,

very

nervous, especially since he tends to be right on many of these things. They've got him surrounded by his own little private security squadron."

"How the hell do you know this guy, Phil?" Linda asked.

"John was one of my adjunct professors in college, and the advisor for my doctorate thesis. He's been one of the preeminent big brains in the nanotechnology field for decades, before we really even had a name for it," Phil said, the buildings around them starting to turn to warehouses instead of block housing and apartments. "All that said, the last few years haven't been kind to him. He lost both of his kids to the Kill Zone right at the start of the pandemic. His son, Alex, was only a couple of months from turning eighteen when he died in March of 2020. If we'd known what we know now, we could've gotten him secluded into some kind of protection bubble until he was old enough to take the serum, but we didn't know in time. His daughter, Opal, was fifteen. Both very bright kids, but the deaths were so sudden, back-to-back, that John and his wife, Lau, didn't even get a fair chance to grieve."

"That's horrible," Violet whispered quietly.

"It was important to keep John around, so he was one of the very first people outside of the New Eden group to get partnered up and on the Quaranteam serum. The first batch we sent to Washington had five thousand doses, enough to take care of everyone in Congress, the White House and a handful of earmarked 'top priority' people. John was at the top of that list."

"How come this is the first I'm hearing of this guy, Phil?" Linda asked. "I feel like he should have his own security detail and be under as much scrutiny as you are, just in a different way."

"He is, Linda," Phil said with a wry smile. "The reason you haven't heard about him is that all of this predates you having total access to my entire life. We set it up

early

and then did everything we could to keep his presence off the radar, especially with his knowledge about nanotech. He's got an independent security team to keep him safe at all costs, and their mandate is to keep his research and studies off the grid and out of the sight of basically anyone and everyone. Like I said earlier, his last communication came a few months ago in a physical envelope with a wax seal on it. It was about twenty pages of very promising research in terms of what he'd been looking into with the Swerve. He's got some fascinating theories on nanobots relaying information back and forth, establishing their own internal networks and communications protocols, maybe even their own languages, which is jiving with the kinds of things I've been seeing. It's important to have independent research going on, so that everyone is coming to their own conclusions and not just relying on the ideas coming out of New Eden. I wanted to take the research we'd gathered from the Ibanez variant out to him, see if he can make head or tails of it better than I can. The last thing I want to do is leave LP and everyone else over there with that shit floating around inside of their minds like unexploded land mines."

"You think this friend of yours will be able to do something with it?" Melody said. "And if so, you think it might also be able to help me get this shit out of

my

head?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if John can figure it out at some point. It's just a question of when, and how many other things will come up along the way," Phil said. "Like I said, genius of a man, terrible at maintaining focus."

"How many partners does he have?" Linda asked. "The last thing I want is this guy under protected and his--"

"Twenty-eight," Phil replied, cutting her off.

"That... That's... Jesus, Phil..."

"Yeah, just two shy of our current record holder, Isaac Gosher, who, as of last week, is at a nice round thirty, and having to eat like a goddamn whale to keep up with his metabolism," Phil chuckled. "One of his girls found out the girl she stayed with during her semester studying abroad in Spain wasn't paired with anyone, so we ended up making a special Funnel Cake request, even though that program's starting to wind down now. I think if anyone suggests Isaac take on anyone else, he may very well lose his temper, which is amazing for a guy as amenable as that. He's having to eat like nearly 20,000 calories a day to keep up with his body's metabolism. When I asked him how he was doing, he asked if I could put him on a pure sugar drip so he could have a good day off, without any eating or fucking."

"And this other guy is on twenty-eight?" Andy asked.

"Yeah, John's always been popular with the ladies, so it wasn't too hard to get women volunteering to pair up with him, even with his age."

"How old is he?"

"Mid-sixties, I think," Phil said. "He's from Hong Kong originally, and I feel like he's resisted the aging process better than anyone I've ever met."

Their vehicle reached a checkpoint that seemed a bit out of place, with a couple of women stationed at the gate holding AR-15s. It was clear they were military, but they were out of uniform, trying to be semi-discreet. Linda rolled down her window and slowly reached for her credentials. "Lt. Colonel Hayes, here escorting Dr. Phillip Marcos from New Eden, and Andy Rook, from the Civilian Oversight Group. We're here to meet with Doctor John Lam."

"You all security detail?"

"All except her and her," Linda said, pointing at Ming and Fiona. "They're Andy's partners but not on security detail. We just came from a debrief over at the White House."

"Hang on, let us do our jobs and sweep the vehicle and then we'll have you on your way," the woman in charge said, an African-American woman in her early 40s. The sweep of the car took a couple of minutes, checking for bombs mostly, it looked like, as they were clearly armed, but the paperwork had cleared them of that. "Hey, you're that dude from television," she said, gesturing at Andy. "The one married to that chick from those magic school movies."

"That's me," Andy said with a slight smile, being that he was for the first time getting recognized as Mr. Emily Stevens, rather than himself. He'd figured the

60 Minutes

story had done enough work for him to be his own person in a lot of minds across America, but apparently there were some that just saw him as 'those famous actresses' husband. "She's off filming a tv show in the UK, I'm afraid, so she isn't with us this trip."

"Are they planning on making any more of those Dagger Academy movies, sir? Has she told you?" the woman asked while her colleague completed her sweep of the car.

"They don't have any more books to base them off of," Andy told her. "Plus, I think a decent number of those actors died in the Plague. So making more of them wouldn't be that easy to do. But she's got more stuff coming up. The series she's filming right now in the UK will be out next year."

"Yeah, okay," the woman sighed. "Sorry, sir. Don't mean to bum you out. Those books just meant a lot to me as a kid, and I was hoping she'd write another to try and give us more hope."

"I don't know E. F. Winston, but I'm sure Em knows how to contact her, and I can have her send a message that the fans could use another book," Andy said with a soft smile. "No idea if it'll have any effect, but we can try."

"All anybody can ask for Mister... Rook," she said, fishing for Andy's name before it came back to her. "Okay, looks like you're good to go. Straight ahead, park in the designated visitor's spot, and then head straight up the stairs to the red door right in front of you. Do

not

attempt to wander away from the building, or you

may

be shot. Clear?"

"As mountain spring water," Linda said, as she shifted the vehicle back into drive, and started pulling the vehicle away from the checkpoint, heading towards the building ahead, rolling up her window. "You think that woman knows Winston's outed herself as a bit racist?"

"She's against immigrants in the UK, Linda," Violet sighed. "It might be a little racist, but it's not

super

racist."

"It's pretty damn racist," Andy grumbled. "I know everyone's all attached to her as an author who wrote this beloved series of books for children, but I've read her editorials and her interviews, and saying shit like 'we need to take back our country' and 'Britain is for the British' isn't healthy for fucking anyone. I know the whole Leave referendum wasn't really any of our business, but she can't go through a single goddamn interview without talking about how she doesn't feel safe in her own country because there's an immigrant on every corner. It's part of the reason Em's had such a hard time talking about those films - she doesn't want to seem ungrateful, but she also can't endorse that kind of ridiculous xenophobic shit."

"How come Em doesn't come out about it in interviews?" Phil asked him.

"She might," Andy sighed. "She doesn't want to bite the hand that feeds, and the Dagger Academy books brought in

shitloads

of money for everyone involved. Rumors are Winston's even thinking about writing a sequel series, now that the prequel series she wrote has run its course. The problem is that all that anti-immigrant shit has come out, and I think Winston doesn't want to run the risk of providing a sequel that they'd have to completely recast, since none of the original actors would want to come back again."

"They could probably get away with it, considering the number of actors Hollywood lost to the Pandemic," Linda said.

"Maybe, although Phil will be the first to tell you, the actors were surprisingly the cohort that got hit the

least

in terms of the pandemic," Andy said with a laugh. "Everyone talks about how they're going to be preppers, how when the apocalypse comes, they're going to be ready, but it turns out those folks ain't got

shit

on the paranoia of performers from Hollywood. They took an overabundance of caution to levels

unheard of

by just about anyone else. Directors? Not so much. Producers? Ha! Them fuckers died off quick. General crew? About half and half. Even screenwriters, who are a notoriously cagey bunch, only survived at slightly better-than-average numbers. But actors? They had the perfect mix of suspicion and finances to enable that suspicion which guaranteed that they did

well

. They've got survival numbers comparable to doctors, and those folks

knew

how to protect themselves."

"You know what's even

funnier

?" Phil said as she pulled the car into the parking spot. "Because of how the

actors

were taking care of themselves, that sort of survivalist mentality spread to a lot of their friends and support networks, most notably chefs and restaurants. In fact, having seen the data, if you want a great place to eat in America, regardless of what kind of food you're looking for, I'm betting Los Angeles is currently the place to go."

"I'll take Jenny's home cooking any day," Andy said as they all got out of the car.

"Big sacrifice you're making there, hon," Fiona laughed.

"You know Jenny's a world-class chef, right, boss?" Melody asked him with a grin.

"She's right, you know," Lexi laughed. "Calling what Jenny does 'home cooking' is like calling Em and Sarah 'local talent,' in terms of acting. The words are accurate - Jenny's cooking in a home, and Em and Sarah are from around here - but the context you're framing them in is deceptively wrong and sells them way short."

"Suddenly everyone's a goddamn writer and wants to argue word selection," Andy smirked. The building looked like a typical warehouse, although Andy could hear a sort of soft insistent humming off in the distance. They were met at the door by an Asian woman in her mid-fifties, dressed in a military style jumpsuit with no patches, no insignia, no markings of any kind and no indication of rank. "Hello there."

"Good afternoon, Mister Rook, Doctor Marcos. He told me you'd be coming, yesterday. He just wasn't sure when. I think you're an hour or two earlier than he expected," she said. "I'm his wife, Lau Lam, and his chief of staff."

"Pardon my asking, Lau, but

how

did he know we were coming yesterday? We only just decided to come by

today

," Phil asked her.

The woman turned to walk them into the building, waving her hand in the air dismissively. "I've learned not to ask my husband how he knows the things that he knows."

"Afraid he might tell you?" Lexi asked.

"No, no might about it. He'd certainly tell me if I asked. That's why I don't ask anymore. The answers are... well, I think I'm being generous by calling them answers," Mrs. Lam said to them. "You've known my husband a long time, Dr. Marcos. The last few years have only made him... more indirect than he used to be. I love my husband a great deal, but he's gotten hard to reason with over the past few months. His research has... taken him down some interesting pathways. I am starting to think he needs less scientific assistance and needs more religious assistance. He says he's talking to the machines inside of our blood."

Phil very quietly said, "He might be."

That stopped the woman walking as she turned to look back at him. "Excuse me?"

"We've... gotten reports of a few individuals being able to talk with the nanobots, at least in extremely limited form," Phil said. "That's partly why I'm here. I figured if anyone would know about that kind of thing, it would be him. I know he's been doing research with the information we've been sending him, but he... hasn't been great about sending reports back."

"Wonderful. Simply wonderful. As it turns out, my husband isn't losing

his

mind, but I might be losing

mine

," she sighed. "I know our research has already displayed great flexibility in interacting with the nanobots, but I hoped communication

from

them beyond basic informational queries might be a step too far. Come on, let us go see him and you can see what he can teach you today."

They were led down a passageway that was nondescript before opening into a large, almost warehouse like open area, with several people standing around near mannequins or near chunks of machinery. The inside of the walls was lined with a steel mesh that Andy recognized as a Faraday cage, something to prevent signals from going in or out, although that didn't seem to deter people from their experiments. At one point, it looked like a young woman cupped her hands, and a small electrical bolt jumped the inside of hands into a mannequin, something that made them all jump, entirely uncertain what had happened. To Andy's eyes, it almost felt like they'd walked into Q's workshop in an old James Bond movie, and he half expected Desmond Llewelyn to walk out from around a corner.

Instead, an Asian man in his mid-sixties wearing a bright blue and white Hawaiian shirt and beige khaki shorts clapped his hands as he spotted them entering the room. The man wore socks and Birkenstocks, and Andy couldn't help but wonder why no one had told him how weird that looked. His hair was cut short, and Andy imagined the good doctor must've been quite popular with the ladies when he was younger until he glanced around and realized the dozen or so women scattered around the lab were probably all his partners. "Ah! Phillip! You've finally arrived! Knew it wouldn't be too long before you came knocking on my door!" Professor John Lam's voice still had a hint of a Hong Kong accent, but the man spoke eloquently and confidently. "You've come to talk about my research into the nanobots, I take it?"

"You haven't been

doing great

about keeping me abreast of the research you've been doing into

my

nanobots, Professor," Phil said with a laugh. "I mean, we've been sending you all the data out of courtesy, mostly, with the hopes that you might be able to give us some ideas but barring the pages on the Sergei Swerve you sent me in a goddamned sealed wax cylinder a few weeks ago, you've been radio silent. I'd started to think I was sending them for nothing."

"We've been busy, busy, busy, Phillip. Not just me, but all the others, as well. Did you really think the New Eden group was operating without any kind of peer review, Phillip?" the professor asked with a sly smile, a toothpick resting at the corner of his mouth. The professor, Dr. John Lam, had been one of Phil's instructors at Cal Tech, someone who'd specialized in what would eventually be called nanotech, someone who'd always been one step beyond the horizon, thinking not of what the tech could do

now

, but where it would be years, even decades from that moment in time. Phil had often talked fondly of the man, even if he did sound occasionally batshit crazy. Greatness always came at a cost, Phil said, and sometimes that cost was a few irregular moments of insanity here and there. "The project's had about a dozen different research teams studying what you're working on, trying to see if we can split off from it, built our own variants of it, or iron out some of the more... unusual kinks you've picked up along the way. One group in the FBI, one group in the CIA, each branch of the military has a couple of groups, and there are a few 'free thinkers,' like this group, although nobody else is really going as experimentally blue sky as we are."

"I knew there were other groups working on offshoots," Phil grumbled, "but I wasn't aware you were leading one of them. Hell, nobody will even tell me who the other groups are or what they're focusing on. We just recently came across a general who'd had a variant made that allowed her to imprint instructions, using some sort of variation on the Sergei Swerve."

"Yes, the Ibanez Variant," the Professor said, shaking his head. "We've heard about it. Dreadful thing. I have to confess I was a little disheartened that you didn't shoot her fatally, Mister Rook, instead of aiming to wound, or so the after-action report made it out as."

"Sorry, professor, I've gotten this far in life without being a murderer. I don't see that changing any time soon," Andy said, glancing past the professor as he saw people hovering near a mannequin, examining what looked like a freshly smoldering handprint on part of it. "Have you had any luck with trying to find a way to negate the process?"

"We'd already been looking for a way to extend past the Sergei Swerve, but the only thing we've found is something of a dead end..." the professor sighed. "It

could

be used in the direst of circumstances, but I wouldn't

recommend

anyone use it. Not at least until we've had a chance to try and remove the most dangerous side effect it has."