Ben placed his elbows on his desk and lowered his head into his hands. He sighed deeply. He reached down and opened a desk drawer, where his eyes fixed on the single item inside: a framed photo. It showed a young woman standing next to a prop plane on a dirt landing strip. She was holding a Bible.

Hours passed slowly at the hospital. Abby stayed at my side. I entreated her to return to Lauren’s and get a decent night’s sleep. She relented. FBI agents had also been assigned for security at the congresswoman’s. Abby gathered a few items and departed for the night.

The doctor had given me the psychotropic, but it would require a day or two to take effect. In the meantime I was left to my own impaired thoughts. I looked around the hospital room. I felt confused again. Abby had gone to Lauren’s. What was I doing in the hospital?

I accessed my memory stream and scanned the last several days. I had been infected with nanites. They had eaten my frontal lobe and were now dormant. The doctor wanted to surgically remove them.

Should I do it? Why wouldn’t I do it? Shouldn’t the nanites be removed?

I tapped the nurse.

“Yes, Dr. Daniels.”

“I’d like the surgeon to go ahead and do the surgery now.”

“We’ll have to contact Abigail Caldwell before scheduling surgery.”

“Contact Abby? Why?”

“You signed a statement requiring her consultation before any surgical decisions were made.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want me to tap her?”

I accessed the time on the Grid. “No. She’s probably asleep by now. Thank you.”

I accessed my memory stream again. Abby and I had discussed the surgery not three hours earlier. Surgery, especially on the part of my body just invaded, carried risks. But what were the risks of letting the nanites lie dormant inside my head?

Even if surgery did remove all the nanites—an unlikely proposition—then what? What was going to happen to me? Over time my brain would rewire itself. But not enough to compensate for what I had lost.

“Abby, what will happen to my career?” I had asked her. “How can I possibly function as a professor?”

What I didn’t say out loud, but what my memory stream recorded, were my other thoughts. How could I have an ongoing relationship with someone? With someone like Abby? Who would want me as a partner?

I had never thought in those terms before. I was still in my forties. I had eighty years of life span left. Most people at my age—or before—had settled down with their first life partner. Perhaps I had waited too long. If I had done that earlier, I wouldn’t have become entangled with Abby. Perhaps I’d still …

Fatigue came quickly. I exited my memory stream and closed my eyes.