3G: the Glowing Green Goo

Even if the Circle was less strict about waste in general, drinkable water was a precious resource even Residents took seriously. Sabotaging a water purifier was a serious affair. Sure, they might have bio-technology to help, mutated filter-roots or something, but the Disfavoured were likely more heavily reliant on standard methods.

Sabotage was a serious affair, affecting their whole distribution network, and in the best-case scenario, draining their already scarce resources.

Fortunately, it was nothing dotters could do anything about, so Zax was content to give the information and move on.

The rest of the haggling went smoothly. Vester agreed to take a new dose of nanites, and Azar was in a hurry to move on to the recently discovered urgent business. The feline mutant had activated since their last encounter, but it didn’t leave visible effects – which was even better for the hobbyist.

The community centre would spread word of his proposition to the whole block, supply volunteers for similar prestation, and if required, serve as middle-men for potential volunteers with their own appliances to fix, urgent need of cash or other.

Zax would come back the next day with more appropriate equipment and more nanites. He would take Vester’s updated template, start on the new volunteers and on other restorations.

The day was relatively advanced when the dotters left. They had to hurry their steps, but a strong walk to the edge of the block, a tramway to the train station, a train to the dot’s entrance, and a leap on the light road saw them arrive in time to avoid curfew. Barely. Zax didn’t have time to feed the mice and go home after, so he elected to spend the night in his shop. He had room and material to make a futon or a hammock; he’d done it before, at the start of his career. It didn’t mean he enjoyed the responsibility.

Pets truly are higher maintenance than plants.

Those didn’t have to be fed or watered daily.

At least he had a lot more time and materials to work with before going back. He launched production of several batches of nanites, tinkered an automatic food dispenser for the test subjects, a surveillance system to keep an eye on their progress, and a remote access to manage everything from afar if needed. He wouldn’t have to come every day to take care of them anymore; one less chore to worry about. He should have thought about it earlier, honestly.

The experiments didn’t reveal anything special or unexpected, so he moved to the planned next step.

As he was working, Aran contacted him so the three could discuss the part of the day he specifically didn’t want to dwell on:

“I thought Bathor was overplaying it, but that speech of yours really had an impact. It’s been so long, and there are still people who talk about it in the street.”

“Memes.” SG’s voice added.

“Yes, there were enough memes to fill a wiki. I’m pretty sure some of the tags and a few ads we saw referenced it too. Tho those could just be a fashion trend.”

“Maybe that’s what they wanted us to see? So we’d take it seriously?” The main concerned sighed.

He still didn’t like it, but he recognised the folly in continuing to deny or ignore the signs.

“‘You’ to see. They don’t care about us. It certainly had/has an effect, but it doesn’t seem to be a bad one? People seemed to feel better when they talked about it. More spirited. Not always a lot, but it was definitely there.”

Zax had missed that, but his nanites scanned his memories and confirmed it.

“Too early. Can’t tell.”

“True, true.” Aran relented to SG’s comment. “It was everywhere, but we can’t say much after looking at one or two demographics.”

The mutations in that bubble were varied, but a certain type of people was common: young men and women at the beginning of their adult life. They had probably brought what few children or elders were there. And the foxy girl had noticed like it was obvious.

She really is something.

The conversation moved to the new experiences the day had wrought; the people, the sights, the culture…

Despite a few hiccups, it couldn’t be denied: they had all enjoyed this outing.

The next day, Zax was surprised to meet Aran at the entrance point, taking half his luggage without a word and not letting him discuss her decision to come again. He didn’t need to ask why.

His apprehension about the Circle had been smoothed, but it wouldn’t disappear that easily, and she could tell. He smiled without saying a word. He couldn’t hide his relief at not going alone either.

They took the transports straight to Garuza’s Gym-dojo-arcade-thingy, grabbing more than a few eyes with their cumbersome luggage. Nobody stopped them though.

There were more people around this time, but the dotters were immediately led to the Doctor’s office.

“Doctor Shelly is currently busy, but he’ll be there shortly.” The staff member – handsomely muscular but no obvious non-human traits – told them as she left

He?

Rather than pointlessly discussing misgendering, the visitors examined the room. It was… not far from a typical doctor’s office. A miniature consultation table/bed was shoved in a corner as an afterthought, various anatomic charts were displayed everywhere as decoration, there was even a computer on the side of the desk; an old model, sure, but with all the expected functionalities.

The Doctor arrived shortly, taut as a sinew string; but she deflated in relief as soon as she laid eyes on them.

“Bad news?” Aran enquired.

“No, why?” She answered casually.

“You looked, unwell, when you opened the door.” Zax explained.

“It’s nothing, I just thought… nevermind. It’s nothing.”

The dotters exchanged a glance, but didn’t insist. It was definitely something, but they wouldn’t pry. That was her friends’ role.

“Let’s start.” She shoved the matter aside. “I examined your results, and I have questions.”

She moved to sit behind her desk, but Zax moved to the consultation bed:

“Of course. You can ask while I take a look at yours. Come and sit here please.”

He took an empty Z-Box he had brought for this very purpose.

It was a new model: the Blue Zax-Box, or BZ-Box for short.

He hadn’t been idle the previous night. Among other things, he had started experimenting with the blue paint. This box was such an experiment: its outside was coated with two layers of the paint. It was the recommended number for smaller rooms.

The name was a work-in-progress.

The control Z-box hadn’t survived the trip here, but the BZ-Box had. That was encouraging.

Zax put the box’s opening against the Doctor’s chest, under her clothes, and his other hand on her shoulder. With that hand, he connected to his nanites through her clothes, to get their data and to check if the box did its job properly at the same time.

It did; everything was done in minutes.

The paint had effectively protected the box. Now to see if it would protect its content. If it did, it would be a great development for his project with the Disfavoured. In case it didn’t, he had filled his body with as much nanites as he dared, based on the last results of the relevant mice experiment.

That limit was way higher than expected, but now wasn’t the moment to ponder about it or his old lessons.

He answered her questions about his lifestyle, diet, habits, hobbies and so on as he examined the Doctor’s template.

Or rather, the error filed data report, unable to process what they had detected.

Probably why Garuza said she was a unique specimen.

Examining the data, it was quickly made obvious she’d had surgery before. Did she have contacts with the Black Market? Unexpected, but didn’t explain the issues.

Surgeries, plural. Many contacts. More unexpected, still didn’t explain the issues.

Actually, most of her body had traces of surgeries, even actual scar tissue in some parts. The only way for that to happen, was to have been wounded in the same place so often the medical devices couldn’t compensate anymore. And no 3G activation since, of course.

Which gave a basis for a timetable of her medical history; small scar tissue meant older and more activation since.

It also hinted that some parts had had multiple surgeries.

That would explain his program’s issues. The dotter had never considered such a thing, but the overlap invalidated the established baseline of calculations. In theory, it was an easy fix; just adapting said baseline.

In practice, identifying the surgeries and their chronology was not that easy.

“Aran? You should go have fun. I’ll call you when we’re done.” Zax advised his friend. “This template will definitely take a while to make, and I don’t know how long it’ll take to analyse.”

“That’s the time-consuming part?” The tailed girl was nonplussed.

“I agree. His case has me stumped.” Doctor Shelly voiced her own thoughts, not lifting her frowned eyes from her papers. “Most frustrating. It’s the first time it’s happened to me.”

“Guess that challenge was exactly what you both needed, uh?” Aran must have noticed something, for she had a knowing smirk as she left the room.

Zax silently acknowledged the thought, then dove back in his puzzle. He quickly gave up on a manual resolution. There were just too many past operations, over too long a period. The borders between each were too hazy or jumbled for the programs to spot on their own. He had to make a middle ground.

For each surgery remnant, he established a list of possible surgeries, and what other traces or effect they could have had. He set the programs to test each configuration, and he would work around the results. He might need to access the actual database about surgeries later, but it should at least clear the clutter. He was so deep in his task he didn’t hear the Doctor’s questions anymore; he just answered automatically.

Slowly, but still faster than manual sorting would get, a timeline of events was outlined. A worrying one. When he thought “over a long period”, he didn’t think those surgeries were, like, infancy-old. And, more concerning but the data didn’t leave any doubt about it…

It was nearly all grafts and transplants.

Overlapping transplants. What could it mean? Did she have organs swapped for fun? Did she not like her mutations, so she exchanged her mutated organs for more fitting ones? Repeatedly!? What about the donors!?

No, it didn’t make sense.

What kind of life did she have?

Plus, some had been done before the previous one was fully healed and integrated, and it was definitely not to support it.

Should he ask about it? There was no way it was a pleasant subject, and she had already demonstrated her secrecy.

He eventually settled to only ask if it became relevant.

Stay professional.

With all those grafts, it was hard to pinpoint what was left from the original Shelley. He had planned on starting around there, but was it even relevant? Did new organs affect subsequent mutations? Did their mutations? If so, how?

All intriguing questions he would have never considered on his own.

And he had no response to propose. Not even theories. Mere guesses, at best.

A cohesive template was completed before the timeline was completed, but he wasn’t closer to an answer. Most organs had mutated, but he couldn’t always tell if they had already been when grafted or had mutated afterwards.

Some of her bones had a higher density, others were more flexible; those were obviously mutated pre-graft. Bone marrow improving her clotting factor? Not as obvious. Could even be a re-routine of the bone’s previous mutation.

Gallbladder producing several kinds of juices but not the original one. An adaptation to repeated heavy medication? Could go either way.

One lung with reduced capacity, but built-in filters for noxious gases; the other with increased exchange surface for higher efficiency. At least one had been grafted as such, but which?

Only one kidney, but it couldn’t process everything right. She had to constantly watch her nutriment intake, or she would have issues.

It was a rare case of too much information to know what to look for; Zax couldn’t reach any conclusion.

He related to Shelley’s frustration.

Not even the surgeries themselves hinted at a planned direction. Some were general improvements, some were hindrances, some would only be useful in specific situations that didn’t fit together, and some even felt incomplete. As if she wasn’t done, but she last surgery happened several years before.

She was older than she looked too, but he couldn’t tell if it was natural, from a mutation of from surgery too.

As maddening as it was, he wouldn’t get further without actually interrogating this patient:

“Uh. Fine. I give up.”

“I can’t find- what?”