The waiting room clock ticked, measuring the long nanos with nervous precision.
Davic, AndrAIa, and Turbo had dragged three chairs around a small table, and Turbo had talked Copland into providing a board game to pass the time.
Davic rolled a game piece around in his fingers, his brow furrowed. He finally sighed, and placed the piece into a fragile-looking tower standing on one edge of the board. "Go ahead," he told AndrAIa.
AndrAIa propped her chin in her hand and looked at the board, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. Her eyes skipped from piece to piece, and then her face cleared as she reached across the board and moved a few slender rods. "Connections complete," she announced with satisfaction. "Do I get an upgrade for that?"
"Yup," Turbo answered as AndrAIa's tower suddenly changed color. "Processor upgrade."
"A processor upgrade?" Davic protested. "She only laid in that new memory two turns ago."
"And she took advantage of it immediately," Turbo said approvingly. "She had her system planned for easy expansion. She didn't have to waste time uninstalling old parts." The Prime Guardian made his move as he talked, shifting a tile here, a wire there.
"System design isn't my function," Davic defended himself. "I don't tell people how to run their system, they don't try to tell me how to hunt viruses."
Caen, wrapped around its Guardian's head, chittered.
"No, thank you," Davic told it sourly. "You already scanned me for brain damage, remember? Help me figure this out."
Caen clicked.
"Thanks a lot, Caen."
"The game isn't about system design, Davic," Turbo said with an air of mild reproof. "It's about taking advantage of whatever resources the game gives you to start with, and building from your strengths."
Caen buzzed, and Copland whistled back. Turbo chuckled as Davic rolled his eyes.
"What did they say?" AndrAIa asked.
"Caen said Davic's strengths are finding trouble and making trouble, and Copland told it that it's still trying to train me out of that habit."
AndrAIa smiled, but then her eyes strayed to the clock on the wall.
"Signal canceled," Wayne reported. "Code stable."
"OK," Mouse said with a breath of relief. "That's four."
"Ready for number five?" Doctor Bingen asked.
Mouse stretched in her chair, then flexed her fingers. "I'm ready. How about you?" she asked the medical resident manning the insertion heads.
"Ready and waiting," the ponytailed young doctor answered.
"Good," Doctor Bingen said. "Doctor MacHewlett?"
"I'm fine," Wayne said, his eyes on the monitors. The virus monitor on his left arm had not so much as beeped. "The boards are clear," Wayne went on. "BP within tolerance, pulse a little slow but within expected range. When you're ready, Doctor Bingen."
"Very good," Doctor Bingen accepted the report. "Galen, would you set heads one through five and twelve through sixteen, please?"
Copland beeped, declaring AndrAIa the winner of the game.
"Well played," Turbo complimented the younger sprite. "You sure you've never played this game before?"
"I'm a fast learner," AndrAIa said with a smile. Her smile quickly disappeared, though, as she glanced at the clock.
"It's only been a microsecond, AndrAIa," Turbo said gently. "They couldn't possibly be finished yet."
"Yeah," Davic put in as Copland retracted and set itself back onto Turbo's arm. "If we haven't heard anything, that's good news—he's not dead."
Caen burbled something and lifted one end of itself out from under Davic's hair to give its Guardian a solid rap to the side of the head.
"Hey! Stop that," Davic said, grabbing Caen's free end before it could strike again. "OK, so it was tactless. It's still true."
Caen gave a short clack of disgust, then shifted in Davic's hand. Still clinging to Davic's head with one end, the keytool wrapped its other end around Davic's hand, then retracted, slapping Davic's palm over his mouth. Davic rolled his eyes, Turbo chuckled, and AndrAIa took her eyes off the clock long enough to giggle nervously.
"Signal shifting!" Wayne cried. "Mouse—"
"I see it!" Mouse's hands flew over her board. "That doublecrossing…these things are adaptive!"
"Thirty picoseconds to propagation," Doctor Bingen said.
"Write heads in place," Galen said.
"Come on, faster," Mouse urged her equipment. "Match that thing—got it!" she crowed, slamming her hand down on the board. "Countersignal deployed."
"Head three, signal canceled," Wayne reported. "Head eight, four, thirteen—there they go. Code's going stable."
"How's he doing?" Doctor Bingen asked.
"BP has dropped, and his pulse is starting to flutter," Wayne answered soberly. "I'm getting some isolated immune response, though."
"He's fighting, then," Doctor Bingen said.
"He's a tough kid," Mouse said fiercely.
"Dinner's here!" Bob said with a cheerfulness that sounded just a little forced. He strode into the room with Dot trailing along behind. Bob's arms were piled high with bags and boxes, and Dot carried a tray of drinks.
"Bula mashed the potatoes herself," Bob said as he approached the table where AndrAIa, Turbo and Davic sat. "I've never seen someone put that much energy into cooking before. Huh, Dot?" He turned to look over his shoulder at Dot, and several boxes fell off the top of the pile to the tabletop.
"Yes," Dot answered distractedly. She glanced at the clock as she set the drink tray down on the table, then mechanically set about setting the table and opening boxes.
"Bula's in trouble with the ship's cook now—what's his name, Dot, did you catch it?"
Dot didn't answer.
Bob filled the intervening silence. "Anyway, there are potatoes all over the galley now. I haven't seen such a mess since I left the Academy."
"Why, have you taken to eating all your meals out?" Davic teased. "Our team leader used to threaten to put Bob in the kitchen to get us to run laps faster," he told AndrAIa.
"You're the one who ruined the salad," Bob reminded him.
"That was a labeling problem."
"Most sprites can tell the difference between spam and bacon bits without a label…"
"Code stabilizing," Wayne said as one of his monitors went off. "We're losing the pulse again."
"I've got it," Doctor Bingen said. Matrix flickered unsteadily as the surgeon worked.
"Poor kid," Galen said sympathetically as Doctor Bingen placed yet another code shunt. "It's gonna a long recovery."
"Let's concentrate on making sure he gets the chance to recover, Galen," Doctor Bingen ordered. "Retractor, please."
"That's four microseconds," Dot said, staring at the clock. "They should be almost done with the interrupts."
No one had anything to say to that. Bob, Davic, and Turbo exchanged a three-way glance, then Turbo lowered his chin just a fraction—the barest hint of a nod.
"Well, I'm going to go stretch my legs," Davic said casually. He got up, and Caen snapped into a long, slender staff. "It's a little stuffy in here."
"Good idea," Bob chimed in. "Turbo, would you mind staying here, in case there's news?"
"Sure, Bob," the Prime Guardian said. "You kids look like you could use some fresh air."
"Come on, Dot," Bob gently helped Dot to her feet. "AndrAIa, how about you?"
"Yes," AndrAIa said, with a wan smile. "That's a good idea, Bob."
Turbo watched the trio leave the waiting room, then murmured something to Copland. The keytool gave a soft click in reply.