"I've made more progress in the area of method of dissemination than in finding a cure, I'm sorry to say." , who had been leaning against the lab bench as she ruminated on her own strange desire to feel human emotions, now straightened up and was looking as unemotional, as thoroughly professional, as she always did. "As I mentioned before, this virus has been classified simply as A99, implying that it's carried by arthropods, which as I'm sure you can appreciate is absurd at this time of year in this climate."
"Wait, wait," Jane interrupted. "Arthropods?"
"Insects." Dr. Isles resumed her monologue. "Nevertheless, the disease was designated A99 because it met the criteria: it was viral, it invariably presented with massive internal bleeding, and Jacksonian seizures were witnessed in many cases. Regardless of how it has been spread, it seems likely to me that this was orchestrated; outbreaks of viral hemorrhagic fever are usually sporadic and unpredictable. So far, this virus has been localized in the Northeastern United States, and it has been going strong for several weeks."
Jane interrupted again. "So you think that somebody is intentionally making all these people sick?"
"The outbreak pattern is consistent with a virus introduced into a population intentionally." Jane felt a surge of nausea that was matched by a completely involuntary surge of excitement. It was a case—the largest murder case she'd ever been involved in. But that was inappropriate—she wasn't a detective anymore. Her job was to listen to Dr. Isles, even if she didn't quite understand half of what the doctor was saying, not to do anything about it. Come to think of it, who was she supposed to report this information to? Shouldn't Dr. Isles be reporting all of this to some kind of medical team? Her thoughts carried on in this direction for a minute before she reluctantly returned her attention to the stream of information coming from Dr. Isles' mouth.
"As I mentioned earlier, the usual natural reservoirs involved in this type of virus are virtually nonexistent in this region at this time of year, leading me to conclude that whoever is disseminating this virus is using a fabricated reservoirs. It would be relatively straightforward to transform a population of simple flying or crawling robots into a vector for the disease.
"What I can't tell you is the origin of the disease. It is extremely unlikely that the primitive robots used to disseminate the virus evolved their pathogenic qualities on their own. It is much more likely that someone developed the virus with the intent to distribute it via these carriers. Furthermore, VHFs are largely dependent on their hosts for survival—"
"VHFs?"
Dr. Isles finally stopped her expertly-delivered monologue (really, whoever had taught her to present her findings as if she were being interviewed on the seven-o'clock news was incredibly talented, Jane thought briefly) and looked exasperated. "Viral hemorrhagic fevers, which is what this is. As I was saying?"
It took Jane a minute to process the expectant look on Dr. Isles' face. "Oh, please continue, doctor."
"Whoever created this virus would need to constantly be renewing the population of robot vectors in the population."
"So the bastards must still be in the area," Jane murmured to herself, already thinking about the best way to track "the bastards" down.
"That seems probable, yes." Dr. Isles shuffled the papers on the lab bench before her, eventually picking out a diagram from among the lists and charts. "This is a sketch of a possible vector, although there's nothing to say exactly what it would look like. This is simply the most efficient design for a simple insect-like robot." Jane took the drawing, examined it dazedly. "I want to emphasize, Jane, the difficulty of tracking down the source of this virus simply on the basis of their using this particular type of vector. Nanites are not difficult to obtain, I understand; you could probably buy a package of very simplistic ones at a hardware store."
"Jesus, why do they let them sell these things..." Jane said to herself.
"Do you want me to answer your question, Jane?" said Dr. Isles after a moment. "I've made an extensive study of the history of robots and our relationship with humans."
"Oh! No, no, sorry for interrupting. So once they've...distributed this virus using these tiny robots, what can we do? Besides arresting them," she added.
"As far as treatment goes, most VHFs are treated with drugs that interfere with RNA replication, but that kind of treatment takes a very long time, and this virus—as we have witnessed—takes a very short time to dispatch the infected. The most efficient way to combat this virus, in my opinion, is going straight to the source. Shut down the means of distribution, and we can try to develop a way to lessen the intensity of the virus' effects. Beyond that," she shrugged. "I don't have any good answers for you, Jane. At least not yet."
Jane nodded absently, lost in thought. She had gotten deep into a daydream in which she, Frost, and Korsak were tracking down the source of the evil killer robot insects before she realized that that was no longer her job, and that it hadn't even really been her job even when she was a detective. Then she realized that Dr. Isles was no longer talking but was looking expectantly at her. At a loss, Jane said the first thing that came into her head:
"Thanks for going to dinner with me last night."
If the doctor was thrown by this extremely abrupt change of subject, she didn't show it. "It was my pleasure, Jane. I enjoyed getting to know you a little better." She smiled politely.
"And thank you for all the work you've done so far. I'll be sure to get this to my colleagues at the Police Department. If someone really is infecting people, it's their job to track them down."
"You realize, Jane," Dr. Isles said respectfully after a moment, "that there is a high probability that a virus of this level of infectiousness and lethality was produced and disseminated by robots, don't you? In that case, both our governments would be dependent on your efforts as liaison to facilitate the arbitration of this case. This is still your job, and it is a job that I realize you probably will not relish. If the press was upset over the murder of five humans by one robot, think of the explosion if a robot turns out to be behind these thousand deaths. Not," she added hastily, "that that is necessarily the case."
"But you think it's likely," said Jane.
"I'm mostly concerned about the stress such a situation would create for you." Jane stared warily at the doctor. It was not a reaction she would have expected out of a robot, but strangely, it didn't surprise her, coming from Dr. Isles.
"Can I ask you something, Maura?" The doctor nodded. "Why do you care? I mean-" she hurried to add, "why do you care what happens to me?"
There was a long silence.
"You'll notice that I didn't actually said I cared about you." Jane was surprised and delighted to find that Dr. Isles was looking flustered. "I merely said I was concerned about the stress such a situation might create for you. I am well aware that humans—like robots—do not deal well with excessive stress, and after our discussion last night I suspected that you would be uncomfortable with the idea of being responsible for dealing with the fallout of what would amount to an international incident. As I mentioned last night, I simply want the relationship between our respective countries to be a peaceful one."
"But you want to be able to care about someone, don't you," said Jane. "You said earlier that you felt your lack of emotions. … I'm right, aren't I!"
Slowly, improbably, Dr. Isles began to blush. "Maybe."
"Robots can't lie, Maura," teased Jane. "You're starting to care about me." But this time the doctor was silent, and gradually Jane realized her mistake in making fun of the doctor's secret aspirations. Feeling awkward, she cleared her throat. "Well, um, thanks for the info about...the virus...if I can help you with anything, just let me know." Once again, she found herself fleeing the doctor's presence, and once again she found herself being called back.
"Wait, Jane." Already at the sliding doors of the lab, Jane turned back toward the doctor, her heart beating abnormally fast. Dr. Isles appeared to have recovered from her embarrassment and was looking serious. "I don't know why I was dishonest earlier. I don't know what it's like to...care about somebody but..." Jane waited with bated breath. "Will you come back tomorrow, Jane? I might have made some more progress by then."
"Progress?"
"On a cure for the infection, Jane."
"Of course." Jane hastily rearranged her expression, into something more professional. "Until tomorrow, Dr. Isles." The doctor smiled weakly in return. Jane pushed the button to open the sliding doors and left the lab.
As soon as she was out in the hallway Jane gave way to confusion. What had happened back there? Had Dr. Isles—Maura—had Maura admitted she cared about her? Surely that was impossible. How could that have happened? And did she care about Maura? About that strange, frigid robot?
She stopped in the middle of the hallway, pressed a hand to her forehead. It seemed impossible, even disgusting, a human starting to care about a robot, but then what about the guys and their cars? Humans were perfectly capable of feeling pride in objects, of worrying about their safety...why shouldn't she become attached to Dr. Isles?
Well, there were perfectly good reasons why not: it was inappropriate, for one; they were colleagues. Pretty soon, Maura would develop a cure and then she would go back to Canada forever; that was inevitable. Jane hastily stifled the disappointment that arose in her chest at the idea of Maura leaving, going back to a society that couldn't possibly appreciate her quirks, her originality...she had been standing in the middle of the hallway for several minutes, she realized, with a look of distress on her face, and as a nurse turned the corner she started to walk again, slowly at first but then more briskly, until she was practically jogging down the hallways that lead toward the exit.
Thoughts swirled around Jane's head as she strode through the sliding doors at the entrance of the hospital, but at the bottom of them a hard fact remained: being around Maura made her happy.