Dream Drive Ch. 05

He withdrew a syringe from a tiny holster sewn on the inside of his suit and approached his father's IV catheter. The teflon nodule protruding from his skin allowed the direct insertion of medications into his bloodstream. That included poison the that Charles was slowly killing him with.

Charles pressed the syringe slightly, flicking it to rid it of air bubbles. He slid the needle into the catheter and injected the drug. It was a slow, steady killer; something made custom to his father's genome, gradually reducing his immune system's adaptive response capabilities. It was like AIDS - without all the fuss of sexual transmission, antivirals, and a ten year latency period. The drug would do its work, then be broken down by George's body before his daily blood test the following morning.

His father would thank him, if he knew. Charles had noticed his mental decline; he had become a burden on the company. He hadn't been predicting the market right; if it wasn't for Charles, they would have missed the boat on prosthetics entirely.

More importantly, he couldn't see the forest for the trees. In an attempt to regain the control that was slipping through his fingers, he became oppressive, micromanaging the company and Charles's life. The son just didn't have the heart to tell the father that he'd become the very inefficiency he'd so strived to avoid. George had been a hell of a researcher, and perhaps an even better businessman, but age had caught up with him.

It was only natural, but he would never willingly step aside. He thought himself the living embodiment of Ransfeld International. And with good reason – he had been, for a long time.

That time had passed.

Charles took his father's hand. George didn't stir. Charles held it for a time, and he smiled. His father would die, and everything would be a little more perfect. And if there was a heaven, Charles knew that George would look down and smile.

That was how he'd raised Charles, after all. Life was a march toward perfection.

That was what mechanical prosthetics were, in a way – the physical enhancement of the human body was a way to make it that much more perfect. Charles had seen it clearly; he'd felt it, especially in that short time he'd had Jackson at his back.

Jackson felt the same way. They used to talk about it at length; they would debate the world itself, and how to change it. Jackson had more of an affinity for his computers than Charles ever could, but he still acknowledged that it was all fake. The convenient mutability of virtual reality rendered human accomplishment meaningless.

George couldn't see that. He was a relic of the former generation; Charles and Jackson were the vibrant heralds of the next. At least, Jackson almost was. But he'd bogged himself down. Somewhere, they'd diverted.

Charles left his father to his rest and made his way down and into the other branch of the hospital, the mental research center. The walls were lined with sweeping windwos that exposed the cityscape outside. The sills spilled over with vines and potted plants; benches were flanked with flowers. The idea was to soften the hard lines and sharp corners of the hallways into something more inviting.

The atrium of the research center was a two-story affair, topped with a glass ceiling that peered up into a square of blue sky locked between the hospital's towers. A few trees sprouted from wide planters in the center of the lower floor. A green-white banner greeted new patients. The Ransfeld Research Hospital: A Forest of Recovery in the Boston City Centre.

Dr. Chi was sitting on the edge of the planters. She was watching the misters that kept the soil moist.

Charles stopped in front of her. "Dr. Chi."

Dr. Chi slowly stood. She was a striking woman; short-cropped black hair, high cheekbones. "Mr. Ransfeld. I've been waiting for half an hour."

"I know."

Her face flashed with irritation. "I see."

Charles just smiled. "You know, Dr. Chi, I'm not sure how to react in this situation." He left her with that, and glanced around the room. Several patients were being escorted about by workers, or their families. Nurses flitted here and there, bearing messages and tasks from doctors in distant arms of the facility. Robots monopolized the second floor; without humans to worry about smacking into, they could move much faster. A few TOMS buzzed in the air overhead.

Chi was starting to sweat. She pushed a breath through her nose. "Maybe if you clarified the situation, I could offer a helpful opinion."

"See, the thing is," Charles said, turning to look at her, "you're a real world class physician. I'm lucky to have you. I think we can easily pin at least several dozen millions of dollars on your coat alone. Your biomechanical work has been stunning." Charles steepled his gloved fingers. "On the other hand, my little sister has now been missing from her room for over five days, and I'm a little distraught." Charles pressed his lips up until the teeth of his smile looked like tombstones. "I'm on edge, you might say. I find myself wondering how one of the world's most renowned doctors let a young woman escape from her locked rooms on a secure medical campus."

"...we're reviewing all the tapes," Chi said. "A third time. She never left her room, not by any of the windows or doors. If we had a camera inside –"

"Her privacy will not be violated."

"Mr. Ransfeld," Chi said, "we have men posted constantly around all the possible exits and entrances to her suite. She didn't leave the room."

"Are you suggesting she escaped via sewer?"

"...the toilet was found intact," she muttered.

It made for one of those few instances when Charles truly had to work to keep the smile on his face. "Did you actually check the bathroom?"

"We're a little low on scenarios."

"I had to severely stretch the truth in front of my father a few minutes ago," Charles said. "I hope you won't make me into a liar."

"You listen to me," Dr. Chi said. "It's exactly as you said – I'm a doctor. I'm a researcher, not a babysitter. You can't hold me responsible for this."

Charles looked at her, and smiled. "Yes, I can."

"But I –"

"Dr. Chi, if what you were about to say included a contradiction of what I just said to you, I highly recommend you reconsider before speaking again."

Dr. Chi's throat worked, but she didn't say anything.

"You told me you were tired of being locked in the laboratory," Charles said. "You said you needed a change of pace. I can understand that. Being a valued employee, I decided to put you in a position of trust, where your skillset might do some good. It was a simple enough job - make sure that Rachel was as content as possible, in good physical and mental health, and secure in her accommodations here at the hospital. You have failed in the third task, and now we have no idea if the first two are still maintained. I am extremely frustrated." Charles sighed through his grin. "I don't understand why you can't find her."

"Neither," Chi said, "do I."

"Patients can't leave the hospital's local wireless boundary without setting off their alarms," Charles said. "The tags are subcutaneous. She didn't even know she had one, and supposing she somehow found out, tampering with it would have also triggered the alarm. At this point, there are only two possibilities."

"...and those are?"

"First," Charles said, "and most likely, is that Rachel is still inside the hospital. Second - she had inside help in escaping her confines."

Chi took a breath. "I'm glad you trust us enough that you find the first more likely."

"Oh, I don't trust you at all," Charles said. "You see, I had my own tracker on her person, separate from any official channels. My signal disappeared at the same time and on the same day as the hospital's tracker. Rachel might be good with computers, but she simply didn't have the equipment to do that."

"Then...what are you suggesting?"

"My company is powerful, but that makes it a target," Charles said. "Dr. Chi."

"Yes?"

"You have one more week to locate Rachel. If you do not find her by then, I will pursue alternative methods. I will also hold you personally responsible if anything happens to her in the meantime."

"That's ridiculous!" Chi said. Her raised voice drew attention from the rest of the atrium. Charles closed his eyes. "I refuse to accept that kind of ultimatum. I'm a goddamned professional, and I'll be treated like one, whether or not you're the owner of this building." She folded her arms. "If you don't like it, fire me. I'm sure Highland could use me in their R&D."

Charles could have laughed, but he kept the humor of the fact that he was on the verge of buying a controlling stake in Highland Pharmaceuticals to himself. Laughter was served only after the dust had settled, along with a chilled bottle of wine. "A poor bluff, Dr. Chi. You know how the reputation of people that get fired from my company tends to suffer." Chi's face soured, but she didn't look convinced. "Anyway, I'd have different priorities than job security, were I you."

"Like what?" Chi snapped.

"Who had the easiest access to Rachel besides myself?" Charles asked. "Who helped design the security protocols for our mental health patients? Who could bring outside hardware into the building without many questions? Who seems to be almost anxious to leave the company, to the point that I've been baited into letting her go? Who, Dr. Chi, do you think would be best positioned to conduct the sort of corporate espionage that seems aimed at me, personally? Can you think of anyone in particular? Anyone that hasn't considered the 30 some-odd years of federal prison that comes along with being found guilty of that sort of crime?"

Chi's gaze was glued to the tile floor of the atrium. "I'm a loyal employee, Ransfeld."

"Then demonstrate that loyalty," Charles said, "because if I find that you've been playing both sides of the field, there will be serious consequences." He grinned brightly. "And that would just be a waste of time for all involved, frankly, and no one wants that."

Chi nodded.

"I'm glad we've come to an understanding." Charles's shoes clacked away, echoing over the bustle of the vast room. "And try to smile a little more, doctor. You almost look depressed."

Charles glanced back. Dr. Chi was still staring at the floor. She was not smiling. What a shame.

"Dr. Chi!" A man in a black suit was running toward them – security. Not the obvious uniformed guards that dotted the emergency sectors of the hospital, but the company's private security force that served directly under Charles.

"What is it?"

"We've found something, in her room."

Charles turned on the spot and marched toward the man. "What did you find?"

The man glanced up. His eyes widened, flicked to the name on Charles's security pass, then back. "Mr. Ransfeld."

"What," Charles said, "did you find?"

"Ah..." The man swallowed and ducked his head, looking across the floor. He was almost a foot above Charles, but he seemed to be doing his best to shrink down into himself. "It would be better if you came to see for yourself."

Charles half-nodded; he'd already planned on that. "Let's not waste time." He marched off in the direction of Rachel's suite, his shoes clacking in rhythm over the atrium floor. Chi and the security guard followed closely. Charles watched them exchange glances in the tiny camera on his Ftap.

After a few plant-strewn hallways, they reached Rachel's rooms. Four guards was probably overkill, but you couldn't be too careful. "Out of the way," Charles said. The black suits and shaved heads scattered.

He grabbed his encrypted security badge, drew it forward on the line from his breast, and pressed it to the black box outside Rachel's door. Normally, that would just ring Rachel's doorbell, but she wasn't home at the moment. "Charles Ransfeld," Charles announced. "Prepare for override."

An electric voice echoed from the box. "Override active. Please provide today's code."

"1, 4, 6, G, K, L, 7, Z."

"Voice recognition complete. Override enabled." The red door slid open.

They were immediately blasted with blaring heavy-metal music.

- drag him underneath the ship
A terrifying deadly trip

Keelhaul, that filthy landlubber,
send him down to the depths below!
Make that bastard walk the plank
with a bottle of rum and the yo-ho-ho

Charles stepped into the entranceway. There was a short tile entrance which had two pairs of shoes – bright pink cross-trainers, and brown flipflops. The air was hot and dry. Rachel hated the cold almost as much as she hated humidity; water allowed germs to breed, apparently.

"You didn't turn off the music?" Charles practically had to shout to be heard.

"You told us not to touch anything!" Chi said.

"I'm paying a bunch of idiots!" It was hard to keep his smile on. He forged into the living room.

In front of a wall-sized display screen was a mess of electronics feeding into a central hub. The hub acted as a switch for the devices. The greater portion of them were video game consoles; the rest were computers of various models and capacities. A wood table near the couch held a packed collection of cleaning equipment – de-static spray, isopropyl alcohol, canned air, monitor cleaner, and dust-repellent.

Up on the television was the still image of a flower Rachel had been drawing using her Ftaps. He could see the yellow-tipped thorns of a rose. The pink petals were only half finished.

Charles struggled through the wiring until he found the computer that was playing the violin-strewn rock song. He clicked it off. His ears rung slightly in the sudden silence.

Charles sighed, then pointed at the screen. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

Chi looked at the drawing. "I'm sure that was on the report."

"The fact that the last thing she was doing was drawing was there," Charles said," not that it was half-finished."

"Is that important?"

Charles closed his eyes and focused on the muscles in his face for a moment. No frowning. Frowns were bad. Think positive. He'd learned something new. "I asked you to include every detail, no matter how minor."

Chi's Her face was crusted over with her discontent. "Should I have included a grid map with the coordinates of all these cables? If you were so concerned about your sister – my patient – then you should have come yourself. I did the best I could. "

Charles's smile did not quite die, but his voice grew very, very quiet. "I was in Germany, doing something that involved preserving the source of your next paycheck." Charles closed the gap to the small Asian woman. "Rachel never leaves her drawings unfinished. Once she starts, she goes until they're done. She'll even skip meals. Do you know her at all, or are you her doctor only in name?"

Chi swallowed. The security guard looked at the doctor pointedly. His face was asking if his muscles were required. Charles sighed, shrugged, and let the moment pass.

"So, it's not the drawing," Chi said, trying to clear the air, "it's the fact that she was interrupted."

"Precisely," Charles said. "What happened just before her signal vanished?"

"She received her copy of the new Isis game." Chi folded her arms. "That was the only thing that went in or out of her suite that whole day."

"We still haven't found that," the security guard said. "Not the copy of the game, or her Dream Drive."

Charles rubbed his nose. "What was it you wanted to show me?"

The bodyguard led the way into Rachel's bedroom. It was about as messy as the living room, but the wires were replaced with a rainbow mosaic of clothes, pillows, and blankets. There were enough stuffed animals to satisfy the toy need of a war torn African country. The border between the floor and Rachel's bed was a sloped pile of soft objects.

"Here," the bodyguard said. He pointed to an oddly clear section of mattress. "See the slit cut there?"

Charles did see it. He pushed his feet across the floor and bent to examine the edge of the bed. A tiny bit of micro-foam stuffing was protruding from inside the mattress. He peeled it back.

Tablets of some medication spilled out from the pressure. He recognized them – he'd seen them on presentation slides quite a few times, lately. Mentra tablets.

Charles let the mattress fall closed. He stood straight. "Dr. Chi. It seems Rachel hasn't been taking her medication properly."

"There's at least a few months' worth right there," the bodyguard added. "Could be more. Didn't have a chance to dig deeper."

"What made you think to look there?" Charles asked.

"Experience," the bodyguard said.

"Despite Dr. Chi's orders not to touch anything?"

"We weren't getting anywhere," the bodyguard said. His voice was respectful, but stiff. "I took the initiative."

Charles turned and appraised the man more thoroughly. He was clean cut; there was a scar on his right cheek. He was a bit too big for his suit, but in a way that said he prioritized personal fitness over looking good in suits. "What's your name?"

The man smiled brightly. "John Steinson."

"Good work, Steinson. I'll be sure to note your performance to Mr. Miller. Any other ideas?"

"I think we ought to scan the walls," he said. "If she's hiding pills here, she might be hiding other things elsewhere."

Charles didn't like the idea. He wanted Rachel to be happy; she insisted on privacy. She hated any invasion of her personal space. Just having all these people in her rooms at once would be viewed as a form of contamination; normally she shuttled people through a little sort of airlock to the right of the atrium, rather than letting them straight into the living room.

But this Steinson had produced results. He couldn't ignore that. "Alright. Be as minimally invasive as possible."

Chi snorted.

Charles rotated to face her like a laser finding its target. "Is something amusing?"

Perhaps it was the fact that she knew her job was just about forfeit, but Chi had apparently thrown caution to the wind. She cocked an eyebrow. "You want him to scan the walls, but be minimally invasive. Are you even listening to what you're saying? This is why it's impossible to work for you, you immature little brat. You ask for the world and then expect the entire universe."

"Healthcare is a small world," Charles said. "You really ought to be careful about burning bridges."

"I really don't give a damn," Chi said. "Consider this my two weeks."

"Steinson," Charles said, "I'd like your expertise for a moment."

The man pressed his hand back along his cropped scalp. "Yes sir?"

"What do you think Dr. Chi needs?"

It didn't take Steinson long to put a few key details together. "A serious attitude adjustment," he said. "A smile, maybe."

This one is a keeper. "You read my mind," Charles said. He was still staring at Chi. Her face had been getting more and more concerned as their conversation began to reach its event horizon. "What do you think we could do about that?"

"Oh, I've got any number of ideas."

"Do tell."

"Well, Dr. Chi doesn't seem much up to individualized patient care," Steinson said. "She's probably better back downstairs, in the labs."

"Well, can't do that," Charles said. "She just declared she was quitting the company. Giving her access to our latest research without an extension contract would be market suicide."

"Well, there are plenty of positions in the lab," Steinson said. "A more hands-on role would be perfect. Something like direct testing of the new equipment."

"I like the way you think, Steinson," Charles said. "Remind me to recommend you for a promotion."

"What the hell is this?" Chi said. "Are you threatening me?"

"You're still not smiling," Charles told her.

"Fuck off, Ransfeld," Chi said. Her voice cracked. "I quit. Right now. No two weeks."