"Thanks, I appreciate it" touching the cigarette off the offered flame and, after a deep draw, blowing the smoke off to the side making a little gap in the corner of his mouth to try and control the drift "I'd like to say this was just for stress or indulgence but I've needed a lot of the infuser lately. It's in the files under the file marked additional. The patch? Oh! That reminds me it's almost empty but there might be a little of the formula left on it so it might be best if you have a go looking at a fresh one. I've got all the kit on the ship, maybe even the instructions I was given for it, which, as long as I can get a fresh patch every so often, you're welcome to have. Who I got it from is a bit trickier.
I'm used to chasing the rarer stories in life and I always have refused to have them tainted by an angle or agenda. That's probably why I've never had any fame or fortune from it but also why sources that wouldn't come forward to others would consider coming to me. I'm a nobody with no power or influence who'll not spin the story in any way. Some people need their story to be heard by someone like me. Like the man who gave me the details on the psuedoskin and put me on to the story that led to all of this. I never asked for a name and he certainly wasn't interested in telling me so, in conversation, I just called him Professor.
On our first face to face he nearly ran when I said that, he must've actually had the title and assumed I'd guessed who he was. An hour and many drinks later, all drank by him I should add, he told me about the psuedoskin. He'd been approached by persons unknown with deep pockets to assist on designing it. They were especially interested in getting the three main elements to mesh properly. The synthetic base that made up the majority of the skin, the biomesh that I'll come back to and the tissue sample that reacts with the base.
The biomesh was the problem. They'd provided it and although it is clever and can do all sorts of things like stay stuck to the base, dispense compounds into whatever the psuedoskin is attached to or stay otherwise chemically unreactive so, if it were used as a bandage say, the psuedoskin'd stay permanently untainted by bacteria, dirt, et cetera . . . the biomesh had a fatal flaw. Once it integrates itself with the base and tissue sample each bit of psuedoskin takes on a very unique nature. Like . . ." staying face forward he waves over at his patch on the table, takes another draw of the cigarette and blows it off to the side again before continuing ". . . that one there. I could go back to the ship, make another exactly the same using the same equipment, assuming I've remembered to top up the basic chemicals that the thing that makes the base needs of course, but they'd be different.
The nanotech gee-whizzery in each biomesh seemed to be able to detect other meshes within about an inch of itself but, upon detecting a 'different' patch, they'd then attack each other each trying to deconstruct and reconstruct the other in their own image. Whilst doing this they'd take any matter within about a foot, I think, around them in and convert it into the molecular weapons that they waged war with. I should add I've not put any of this to the test. This is just what the Prof told me was the problem he'd been drafted in to try and help fix.
He had came to me however as, despite his best efforts and explanations to them, it couldn't be fixed. By him at any rate. As the mesh is unreactive and chooses to stick to the base they couldn't coat the mesh in something to stop it detecting others, they weren't allowed to try and alter the mesh and it's operation and, if there was something else to try, he didn't know what it was. He wanted me to print an expose on the psuedoskin to stop any chance of it being put forward as a commercial medical product. I asked if it was being made to be put on the market and, eventually, he admitted he didn't actually know what they wanted to use it for.
I explained to the Prof that I'll get something written up but it'll take a little time as I'll need to check out exactly who these people are and what they're up to. It was chasing that lead that lead to the rumours of a possible retro-aging program which lead to the transport which . . . You get the idea. Despite any efforts on my part I've not been able to get back in touch with the Prof or had any further activity around the station that this all happened on. After I found it again I checked it out, it was cleaned out by then, and I left sensor relays to watch out for any further activity. Anyway, that's all I know about that." taking another draw, blowing it away whilst staying face on then repeating the process again Matt eventually started speaking again by saying "I need to ask something, if it's okay. I've had a disaster scenario in my head from when I first seen the scar healing.
I assumed, should any human being alive cast eyes on it, that they'd go 'AAAA! AAAA!' and start shooting. You didn't even as much as flinch when you seen me, sans le patch, as they might say. What I'm asking is . . . is this something that you, or one of your professional colleagues or peers, have seen before or something like it? Have you had some experience in this area before? I'm not complaining, please don't get me wrong, but it scared the whatchamacallits out of me when I first seen it. How are you so calm? I just ask as, even now, seeing it spooks me. I sometimes wonder if the patch has helped hide it from me rather than anyone else. I . . . just could doing with feeling calm like that. Instead of just doing my best impersonation." taking yet another draw and blowing another plume of smoke out to the side this time the seated man remains silent instead of saying any more.
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Doc studied the scans as he listened. "Interesting," he said softly. For a couple of minutes, he said nothing as listened and read before finally taking his glasses off to say something.
"I'm curious why you feel most men would start shooting if they knew what this was. Remember, I'm not just a doctor but a man of science, a man who always seeks newer and or better treatments," he explained. "I get the impression you know all to well what the compound is so would you like to tell me or do I need to take a sample and find out? Remember, it won't take me long to find out."
"What? Do you mean the formula in the patch? I'm sorry. I've been calling it formula, I even think I typed it up that way in the notes, just a bit of writers license there. I should say it's liquid cardamine diluted in water with a rough ratio of 1ml to 1l concentration. I just found formula a bit shorter to say whilst holding the same meaning.
As to why I fear what I fear . . . it's nothing new. I was an orphan dotted about different places until I was old enough to stand on my own. The places, faces and houses changed as I moved about but the story was the same. I was different, for whatever the reasons were, and that, invariably, lead to a beating. As my writing turned from a passion into a career and as I gained my freedom from being tied to a particular planet or station I learned two things. First that the stories I wanted to write were in and around these places as they were the stories that were trying to be kept from being told. Second, in these places, due to the accepted attitudes of their people, difference equaled suffering.
As a result I suppose my reasoning goes like this - I'm at a point I'm the most different I've ever been, therefore, I should expect the greatest suffering I've experienced so far. Now I know it's biased and personal opinion but it's what's going on in my head, it's not a story to compose and put to print. Regardless, is it so far from the truth? If a political, military or company man from these places had seen me as I am now would they really take the time to talk to me first or follow the knee-jerk reaction? Have they ever reacted so objectively to the others I've spoke to? You may have better sources than I but I can only tell the story based on the information I have and that I can verify.
I was speaking to someone in a state of change. She was hoping to 'ascend' fully from someone more like you or I to someone more like her own kin. While we were trading stories a pilot hailed me telling me to move away as he intended to engage her in combat and 'save' me in the process. Despite returning the hail explaining that I was in no danger and to remain on his original course he continued and fired upon her.
Even during the firefight I repeatedly asked him to disengage and return to his original flight plan. The reward for my efforts was he turned his guns upon me. It wasn't to any avail however as she was unnaturally . . . I almost want to say graceful as she was more dancing than fighting and with me clumsily bearing the brunt of his fire, despite my appalling efforts to dodge, he soon retreated. She, in fact, gave me the current bottle of liquid cardamine that has halted the rotting of my face along with her best wishes.
I know I'm digressing a little but, when composing a piece, I usually write everything down then try to neaten it up and shorten it down in the redraft. Don't get me wrong though - times are changing and I am trying to change with them. Only problem is I'm a little slow sometimes, a failing amongst many - I accept, but I am trying to keep up. Oh, and if you need a sample off of the patch or the stuff on the ship it's no problem but I'd wear some gloves it stains something terible even after watering it down. My ships unlocked and the bottle's in the top black plastic box, the one with no lid. That's undiluted though and it's not a great seal on the bottle top. Just in case of a spill. Coming back to the matter at hand, what can you tell me so far?
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Doc looked at the scans some more. It was the unknown elements that had him wondering. He then looked at Anon inquisitively, "would it be possible to get a sample? All I need is a tiny bit. I can then cross reference it from things that I know and from my own personal files."
Oh man, I knew this was coming but it's so very . . . very . . . stupid. It's better to say than not.
"Doc, I know that there are various tests, samples, and so on you'll need to do. It's not like I need to sign a consent form or anything but a few things before we do this. First, from years of medicals to keep my press accreditation, I've one good vein in my right arm so any bloods'll have to come from there. Trust me you'll spend longer trying to find another than it'll take waiting on this" nodding briefly at his arm "to heal. Also, just to be on the safe side, if you're gonna be taking a sample of the scar . . ." pausing to sigh for a moment ". . . as silly as this sounds if there is a chance that the scar can 'feel' anything I'd rather let it know that it's alright, just a test, nothing to worry about. So even if I can't feel this" he pokes a finger into the scar, pushing quite hard, then releasing "is there any way to numb it? Lastly, got an ashtray?" he nods to the burned out cigarette in the holder.
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Doc slid an ashtray forward as he replied to him, "I can numb it a bit." Doc stood up, going around to Anon with a medical kit. He leaned over to him with a needless syringe in his right hand, a cloth in his left with he put below an area of his skin. He then gently sprayed Novocaine on the skin and allowed it to numb. With a laser scalpel, he took a small sample and then bandaged the wound. With a "thank you," he stepped away and returned to his desk as he placed it under a med scanner.
"Now we'll find out what this is....I hope," he commented. "Hopefully it will match something in my files."
Doc watched as the files flipped through. After a minute or so, a match was found. Doc's face turned to one of concern as he leaned forward in his chair. His gaze then turned to Anon where he removed his glasses, "Um....how long have you had this?"
Oops. That's a point. How long has it actually been. "Umm . . . let me think, it's been a bit of a blur . . . Just a sec . . ." Let's see . . . wait, what am I thinking! I got a proper timestamp of the exact time of the scratch when chasing up leads on the facility. Think man! Right. Got it. "In total about three months from being scratched up to now. If you need a more exact timing the high-res scan I done was to find out to the minute when I got scratched. It helped me set a search pattern for finding the place it all happened in."
Three months? Is that all? I feel like I've lived many, many lifetimes more than everything I've done up to before the scratch. I've changed too. I don't feel angry any more about being orphaned or bullied, couldn't work out for the life of me why though, and, for the first time ever, I really feel like I'm living instead of existing. I suppose it's true what they say though - it's a funny old universe and to always know where your towel is.
"Oh and thanks." the man takes the now emberless cigarette butt out of the holder and stubs it in the offered receptacle. Absent mindedly he puts the holder back in his mouth and continues to puff away. Unaware of this the man continues "Doc . . . how odd is all of this? To your knowledge has it ever happened before?"
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"Well now I understand why people are trying to kill you," he explained, "the unknown element is showing as Nomad tissue. Whoever made this killed and still may be killing them to make it."
Doc became cross, "I stand by what I said about new treatments and such but using something made from harvested Nomads just doesn't set with me well at all. I research them and don't need them trying to kill me for it."
Doc wanted to throw him clear out of Baffin but he figured he'd try to find out who was doing it. He took the empty cigarette holder out of the man's mouth and demanded of him, "I want to know who gave you this? A person? A group? I want to know.....and I suggest you not lie about it because I'll hand you right over to the first Outcast that happens by if you do so I suggest you give me some answers."
Yes. there we go. I really wish talking about this stuff didn't make people so angry but I get it. I'm sure, if I weren't always waiting to see if the next thing I do will result in certain death I'd have time to feel something instead of just, these days, numb.
"Okay. One thing at a time. Removing the euphemism so there's no shadow of doubt here. I was trying to expose the story of people being experimented on. I didn't know the subjects of this diabolical . . ." Matt lowers his head for a moment, as if mourning a lost friend, sighs, raises his head then continues " . . . whatever you want to call it, were indeed nomads but, to be honest, that changes nothing. No living being should go through what they did. They got more than their own back though from what I seen there. I've been through this conversation before and, no offense Doc, compared to the cross-examination from the LNS-Tundra and a battleship sized scientist by the name of Genesis . . . well let's say I understand the anger but please do forgive me if I say that, in this case, you're misdirecting it.
If the telepathic, hyper-advanced beings that are the nomads offered me help instead of reducing me to my component atoms after hearing my story what makes you think that I've missed something out when retelling it to you? Actually, before I forget, that" pointing at the holder "was given to me as payment for a story on the history of the Hispania by an Outcast and, in addition, the 101st's cybernetically prominent figure already heard the details of my story, scar and all, and she is still happy to let me freely fly within the nation.
Furthermore, although I admit my notes are shambolic, on that data drive are the details of the efforts I've made to find that horrific place again to aid the nomads in finding the 'persons unknown' responsible, the location of the now vacant site and the transponder references for the sensors that watch out in case whomever it is returns to that place.
All the details of how I destroyed myself, digitally speaking, so that those chasing me would not have anywhere to look and a sufficient period of watching my back to ensure that they wouldn't regain a trail on me when I reached out to you. It's all on there." The man's tone, throughout, has remained calm, cool and collected. Unchanging in his measured manner he then says "However, like I say, I understand the reasons that what I've brought to light may anger you.
That does bring me neatly back to why I did approach you. I don't understand what has happened to me. Not exactly. I know what should have happened if that Incubus hadn't been interrupted, I now understand a little about hybrids from the one I spoke to and other bits and pieces. However I also know even the nomads themselves are scratching their heads, as it were, when they've looked at me. They can't 'talk' to it, but it's there and, by everyones' standards, it's strange.
Strange like the moments where I've been able to just know if there's a nomad around. It's not like I just woke up one day and accidentally bumped into a chatty wild who just happened to refer me on to his colleagues purely out of the kindness of his heart when I went to get help. I knew I was speaking to the right person. However I digress.
I'm here as I am, literally, the man who does not know enough. One particular ethical problem troubles me, for which I think you may be able to provide some professional, objective advice. Although please understand me when I say anything I know, anything I can give, anything at all - just ask. That wet work site hasn't been used again and every person ship and bit of equipment was off the books. You can buy cardamine infusers if you know who to ask. Or get given them by those who have them.
Now, I'll come back to something else I said before. Should you wish I walk away and never see you again say so. No one knows I'm here and no one'll see me leave. My problems are just that. So I ask again - Can you help me?"
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Doc just looked at him, drumming his fingers on his desk as he listened.
"LNS Tundra," he said, "I crossed paths with it once and ran, thinking it was after me. It cried for help but it made no sense. I'd like to know more about your time there.....but that's for another day."
He sighed, "All right, perhaps I overreacted a bit but the nomad composition concerns me nonetheless."
He then tapped his com badge, "Jeffrey, get me a shuttle ready for the Temple. Two passengers including myself. I'll be there as soon as possible."
He then turned to his patient, "you're coming with me. I might have an idea."