Chapter 2: The Escapee

“Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it!” Uhura says to the transporter ensign Mr Adventure in Star Trek III “The Search for Spock”

Am I being clever now? I’m trying my best! “Is she the same damaged personality perhaps?”, I’m thinking. I’m HOPING!

With the bare minimum of decision delay, I pounce upon this barely hopeful premise, because, well, other options I have none.

Acting immediately, I launch three ‘Spy-N-Sky’ drones.

Too many details about the equipment is boring to tell, and more mind-numbing to read. Just a quick inventory then.

One in high orbit overview, while another one, hazer (ultrasound pain field) armed, skims the rooftops, and one more, a very high speed unit, initiates a ladder search, scouring the alleys and back streets. This one is maser (microwave amplification) equipped.

The possibility of a manhunt, woman-hunt, was always apparent and I prepared specifically for such an eventuality.

The maser will interfere with the chip’s hive communications and slightly heat up the chips. Encourages them to ease off in a cool down effort. The pain field will drive her out of hiding. The hunt is on automatic!

The computer controls the flights, has access to detailed electronic maps of the city streets and alley ways, and construction blueprints of the buildings layouts.

My search program will find her shortly, I’m reasonably confident. Coded it myself. It hacks into all the police crosswalk intersection cameras, ATM security cameras, and display windowed store front security cameras. The computer’s AI assesses the data and modifies the search pattern logically.

She has only been gone for fifteen minutes and can’t have moved far on foot, not in that short time, and barefoot. Public transportation isn’t an option for her, not while dressed in an open split back hospital smock, and she has no money. Grace period, I have time to think!

The NANO DOCTOR CHIPS or NDCs, that’s my own designation, are not capable of diagnosing and recuperating non-physical mental problems. How would they? I’m reasonably certain it’s accurate to say that.

They really are only bio-mechanic infantry. Killing virus, bacteria, and other parasites, is a hand-to-hand combat soldier function. Repairing damaged cells, is pretty much, merely swapping parts. Destroy the bad cell, and stimulate a new replacement cell division.

Reading and repairing DNA, activating dormant genes, is their nearest to a real intellectual skill, but actually, it’s all programmed, and I mean the chips do it by the book. According to the parts manual, tab A inserts into slot B. If A doesn’t exist, create it. If it’s bent, warped, then replace it. Nothing intuitive. No analysis. Simple following instructions.

In order to even understand a psyche was troubled, the chips would require immense computing power, an AI. As incredible as these microscopic robots are, they will need to evolve many generations more before attempting something requiring insight and judgment like psychiatry. Okay, I’m convinced! Convinced myself they’re limited.

Sally, the test subject’s street name, may have a souped up suspension, racing running gear and refined coach work, but her newly turbo-ed engine isn’t firing on all cylinders. An ignition problem. Sally is not a self starter. Lot’s of new bells and whistles she may have, but doesn’t yet know how to use effectively.

She is still a drug addict, habitual. A creature of habits. She is heading home to familiar turf. Common knowledge in which areas the homeless tend to aggregate, dictates where the epicenters of the search will be. Her humble home will be found.

What is her immediate agenda? Her stash of clothes. Sure she must have such a stash. Right now, she is nearly naked, dressed only in that smock, and vulnerable. Her first priority has to be clothes. Her own, or borrowed, or stolen. A nearly naked woman cannot mix into the anonymity of the crowd.

Second priority? Cash and a hideaway. Harsh reality is intolerable, she prefers escaping to a foggy drug induced refuge. Although she isn’t undergoing physical withdrawal, her mental dependence on drugs is still a strong force. She will look for a dealer or a drug house. Those are all known to police, and to my hacked in computer. Just a matte of time.

My time is limited. I mentioned I am ill. Incurable. Only the NDCs offer a chance at a cure.

I have Lou Gehrig’s Disease, also called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a progressive and usually fatal disorder. I’ve got it bad. Had it for years. I’m falling apart. Literally. Too soon, I’ll need a wheelchair and assisted living. Unless I get cured by my NDCs!

It’s great! It’s a successful new technology. The NDCs are a real breakthrough in medical science. In five or ten years, they might be approved and placed on the market at an exorbitant price. Affordable priced NDCs in maybe twenty years or so.

I need them now. This month. Because next month, I might not be still walking! Or alive!

Where are you Sally? Ahh!

There you are, my girl! Poor Sally. You didn’t make it completely out of the woods. A gang of thugs has captured Sally and is gang raping her in a garbage strewn alley. WHO THINKS HOSPITAL SMOCKS ARE SEDUCTIVE? These punks apparently! Help is on the way, Sally. She isn’t far away and not moving. She is thrashing and struggling but she isn’t moving any further away. Not for awhile, not unless the party breaks up! Appears that’s unlikely. There is quite a lengthy line of expectant suitors.

I’m coming to your rescue, Sally! Your charming murderer will save you from the detestable rapists.