Agnar on the Hunt
Twelve scientists in comas. Each of them working on the frontiers of medicine, chemistry, biology, that sort of thing. Each found sitting upright in bed by wives, roommates, children. Each otherwise healthy — but their souls took one-way flights out of town. Twelve of the best and brightest gone for good, and I’m trying to figure out why.
There are two common threads. The first is the faces. Usually, when you see a soul-suck, you’re looking at a vacancy. There’s a glassy stare, limp body, and lots of drool. But these scientists had faces twisted with spite and hate. Their eyes didn’t move — didn’t respond to stimulus — but shone with hate that was almost palpable. I got the sensation that each one was about to say, “Shining a light in my eyes? How dare you!”
The Doctor’s Symphony
“Have a seat, Ms. Bauer. I appreciate you meeting me this late at night — laboratory time is at a premium, even for me.”
“Of course, Dr. Gilman.” Kristen reclined on the examination table. She shivered, then briefly wondered why. She was used to being cold at the doctor’s office, and her paper robe didn’t provide much warmth. But Dr. Gilman’s lab was warm, almost stuffy.
The pale, balding form of Dr. Gilman appeared from behind an immense, donut-shaped imaging unit. “You passed the last batch of tests with flying colors, Ms. Bauer. In a few hours, your diabetes will be a thing of the past.” Read the rest of this entry »
