The new recruits jogged in a ragged group, making slow laps around the training field in the early morning. Wayne scanned them as they trotted by the front steps of the Ward, then joined the pack. He fell into step beside Turbo, and ran for nearly half the length of the field before remarking, "You worried they'll get lost without you?"

"It's tradition," Turbo replied, puffing a bit. "You read that file yet?"

"Why else would I be out here this early?"

"Did you figure it out?"

"There's nothing to figure out, Turbo. That file is just a collection of unrelated errors."

"I wish I could believe it was that simple," Turbo said.

They jogged around the far end of the field, keeping pace with the sleepy-eyed cadets. One cadet instructor swung in beside Wayne and asked, "Hey, Doc, any word on Argus?"

Wayne smiled. "With anyone else, I'd say it'd be at least two decacycles before he's back on his feet. Since it's Argus, I'd say we'll only be able to keep him for another four cycles or so."

The instructor, whose name was Geri, chuckled. "Tell him I miss planting his face on the mat."

"And have both of you cluttering up my Ward next decacycle? Please, Geri, I don't keep that many tranquilizers on hand."

Geri laughed as she picked up the pace to catch up to some of her faltering cadets. She plowed right into the middle of the stumbling group. Moments later, heads came up, and the group started moving a little faster.

"She's good," Wayne noted.

"One of the best," Turbo answered. They rounded the last turn, and headed back toward the Ward.

"Be seeing you," Wayne said. Without breaking stride, he turned and ran up the steps to the Ward.

Wayne was roughly halfway through his rounds, working his way to his fourth-floor office, when the racket started. Wayne cocked his head and listened to the steady pounding, and shook his head. "Ladies and gentlemen, Argus is awake. If you'd care to come with me..." He led the interns down the hall toward the noise. Two shift nurses joined them as they passed the nurses' station.

Argus was jumping on his bed. Or rather, bouncing on it one-legged. The rangy Guardian bounced on his left foot, somehow keeping his weight from landing on his right leg, which was bandaged from toes to knee. The thumping sound came from the bedstead, which slammed against the wall with every bounce. Argus had a small towel wrapped around each hand. He threw his right fist at the wall, and followed up with a left that shook flecks of paint down onto the pillow. Next came a barrage of quick jabs, all striking the same spot and causing more paint to crack.

Wayne waited until Argus broke off, then said, "I think you beat it, Argus."

Argus glanced at him, and stopped bouncing. He unwrapped the towels, and dropped into a seated position on the bed, which squeaked and thumped against the wall again. "Got to keep in shape, Doc," Argus said. "Just because I've got a bum foot doesn't mean I should let the rest get soft."

Wayne rolled his eyes. "You're just trying to make a nuisance of yourself. It won't get you out of here any sooner."

Argus grinned wolfishly. "It's worth a try. I'd hate for Geri to think she beat me."

"Geri can wait. She's got all those new cadets to mop the gym with."

Argus snorted. "Wait'll they get a load of me."

"Yes, I'm sure they'll be absolutely terrified of a random old coot hopping around on one foot," Wayne said dryly.

"Who're you calling a coot? I can take you any cycle with one hand behind my back." Argus's grin widened, and he punched one hand into the other. "Two falls out of three?"

"And be accused of taking advantage of you? Don't be ridiculous. Besides, I have other patients to see this second." Wayne gave the older sprite a gentle punch on the arm. "Now, are you going to relax and enjoy some bad TV, or should I get a restraining field?"

"Well, since you're so busy, I guess I can watch some TV." Argus returned the punch. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your interns, anyway."

As Wayne and the interns left, Rudyard asked, "Doctor MacHewlett?"

"Yes?"

"Is Argus suffering from head trauma?"

Wayne laughed. "No. No more than usual, anyway. He likes to play the tough guy for the cadets. He and Geri have been pounding on each other since we—they were cadets."

Cass interrupted, her eyes bright with curiosity. "So it's true you were a Guardian once?"

Wayne sobered, and he lengthened his stride. "That was a long time ago." His tone indicated that the matter was closed.

"Oh," Cass said, flustered.

One of the nurses touched Cass's arm and whispered, "That's all right. Everyone asks that sooner or later."

Wayne pretended he hadn't heard.

Wayne worked in the quarantine lab that evening. He pulled up his scans of the interns, from before their infection and afterward. The code scrolled across the screens, a seemingly endless procession of zeros and ones. The cycle waned from evening to late night, and still Wayne sat there, surrounded by softly glowing data. He sorted. He decompiled, then recompiled. He tried running simulations. He ignored the comings and goings of other Ward staff. Even the formidable Lil, who usually would have chased Wayne out as soon as her shift began, took one look at his face and went back to the nurses' station, telling her colleagues, "He's not going to listen tonight."

The simulated entity decayed into nonsense yet again. "Argh!" Wayne slammed his fist down on the counter, then propped his elbow up beside the screen and leaned his head on his open hand.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" The voice was soft.

Wayne jumped around in his seat. "What?"

Turbo was slouched in a chair across the room, his long legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. "It oughta make sense, and you know the answer's there somewhere, but no matter how hard you try, you just can't find it. Sound familiar?"

Wayne's eyes narrowed. "How long have you been sitting there?"

Turbo rose, and stretched. "Long enough to realize you're as stubborn now as you were fifteen minutes ago."

"Don't go there," Wayne snapped.

"All right, then, take a look at this," Turbo reached over Wayne and tapped a few keys on the networked interface. "What I'm going to show you is classified." A voice-recognition protocol came up, and demanded Turbo's password. Turbo answered in a language Wayne had never heard before. The file opened.

Wayne looked. The screen showed a secured door. Nothing moved in the image, except for the numbers on the clock, which was the only proof that the file was indeed running. "Looks pretty quiet for a classified—" He didn't finish. Several sprites suddenly materialized in front of the door. Most of them were dressed in cadet uniforms, though a few had evidently been in the shower or napping, to judge from their clothing or lack of it. "What the…?"

"Watch. It gets worse."

The cadets on the screen looked at each other and laughed uproariously. Some of them started dancing, though there was no music. Their eyes were bright, happy, and green. One of them slapped the secure door. The data pad beside the door sparked and beeped, then disengaged with a noisy thump. The door swung open, and the green-eyed cadets danced and laughed their way in. The door swung shut behind them, and the data pad beeped again, locking itself. The file ended.

Wayne sat utterly still, eyes wide. "What in the Net was that?"

"I figure it's some new kind of infection," Turbo answered.

Wayne shook his head, disbelieving. "It can't be. There was no trace of infection when we admitted them."

"Maybe your scans just didn't pick it up."

"I'll admit that's possible, but…" Wayne shook his head again, then propped his chin on his hand, looking at the screen with his brows furrowed. "What kind of virus would do that kind of thing? Why attack just a few cadets, when there are several hundred sprites around? And why send them into a simulator? What purpose does it serve?" He dropped his head nearly to the countertop, and ran his hand up over his head and down across his face. "It doesn't make any sense."

"No, but now we've got more than reports to work with," Turbo said. "Now we know it's here."

Wayne nodded. Then he called the nurses' station on the third floor.

A smiling redheaded nurse answered. "Yes? Oh, hello, Doctor MacHewlett." She broke off as she caught sight of Turbo standing behind Wayne. "Prime Turbo?" Her smile disappeared. "Is something wrong?"

Wayne didn't bother to confirm the obvious. "Janine, move those scrambled cadets upstairs into quarantine. Now. Use Infection Protocol 6."

Janine paled to the roots of her flaming red hair. "IP 6? Doctor—"

"You heard me, Janine. I'm locking this place down." Wayne took a deep breath. "Signs of infection include bright green eyes, irrational behavior, and uncontrollable laughter. Victims appear to be capable of instantaneous transport. I'll let you know as soon as I know more."

"Yes, Doctor," Janine said faintly. Then she shook herself and turned away from the screen. "Mona! Go find Patrick and Mickey. We've got work to do."

"I'll let you get to work," Turbo said. "Call me if you need anything." He turned toward the door.

"I hope you're not planning on leaving the Complex," Wayne said.

"I know what IP 6 means as well as you do," Turbo answered wearily. "Since I can't do anything here, I'm going to get back to Headquarters and start sifting those files for mentions of green eyes."

"We might have to go to IP 9," Wayne said quietly, rapidly keying orders into his control pad.

"Systemwide quarantine? You think this thing's spread that far?"

Wayne tapped one last key, and turned to meet Turbo's gaze. "I met an artist outside her shop yesterday. She sold me a bauble for three hundred units."

"So?"

"Have you ever known me to buy expensive art objects?"

"No, but what's that got to do—" Turbo's eyes widened, and he took a step back.

Wayne nodded. "She made a glass ball roll up her arm. She laughed uncontrollably. And her eyes were bright green."

Turbo was silent for a moment. "You think she's the virus?"

"Could be. Or she might be a more advanced case. She told me that until a second ago, she was an accountant."

"Did you get her name? I can check her story."

"I didn't think to ask." Wayne paused. "I wasn't thinking much at all." He looked up at Turbo and demanded, "What color are my eyes?"

"Purple. Same as they've always been."

Wayne let out a breath. "All right. I should get to work."

"I'll get out of your way." Turbo left.

Wayne waited until the door closed behind Turbo. Then he pushed himself away from the counter and rose. He crossed the room, and opened a drawer. The sampling units lay in neat rows, closed in sterile boxes. Wayne opened a box, and contemplated the unit as it lay in his hand. Then he closed his eyes and pressed it against his upper arm. It buzzed, then beeped to indicate that it was finished. Wayne opened his eyes, and carried the sample to his workstation. He cleared the screens and settled in to work.