The real-time image showed the nanites moving around slowly, looking for something to latch onto. As Chief MacNeil had reported, they seemed to be ineffective against industrial glass.

“Next question will be: can we kill them?” Nakamura said.

“Without killing the host,” Narang added.

* * *

Ivan Pritchard lay, apparently relaxed, in the AQRI. Sandoval and Nakamura hovered over the panel, ready to make any required adjustments. No one was entirely sure how the AQRI would handle an entirely metal subject.

“I have to reduce saturation,” Sandoval said. “Can’t make out any detail in the glow.”

In moments, the picture resolution improved. Narang stared, slack-jawed. A number of gasps behind her made it clear that all the doctors were watching.

“What in the ninety-nine hells is that?” Sandoval pointed at a spot on the display.

The image on the monitor showed a complex internal structure, easily as varied and diverse as a human body. But there, all resemblance ended.

Narang moved slowly closer to the monitor, squinting at the image. Then she yelped as someone stepped on her heel. Narang whirled. “Hey! Everyone not on shift, take a big step back.”

There were mutters that sounded like a mutiny in the making, but most of those present stepped back to the wall.

Now able to concentrate on the image, Narang could only shake her head. “The report from Dr. Kemp indicated that the infection was replicating all required functions of human organs.”

“Similar functionality doesn’t mean similar morphology, apparently,” Sandoval replied.

“Unless,” Nakamura added, “having completely replaced the human tissues, the organism then reconfigured to something more efficient or desirable.”

“Well, sure. He probably doesn’t need a spleen or kidneys. Which raises the question, what does he need?”

Narang looked at Sandoval. “Can we make comparisons to our own mechs?”

“Not a hope in hell, Dr. Narang. It’s like comparing a club to an autonomous drone. If you held a gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you what any of those structures are for. Power? Temperature control? Communications? It’s anyone’s guess, absent a dissection.”

Narang gave Sandoval a sharp look. If she was trying to be funny, mission not accomplished.

Sandoval shrugged, unrepentant. “Kemp did some x-rays and AQRI scans on the trip in. We’ll compare them with this one, see how much has changed.” She flipped off the AQRI, and leaned to the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Pritchard. We’re done for today.”

On the other side of the glass, Ivan Pritchard got up, gave the doctors a salute, and walked back to his room.

* * *

Dr. Narang gestured to the image floating in the middle of the conference table. “Well, there it is. For those of you who didn’t quite believe the initial reports—in which group I include myself, by the way—it seems the Mad Astra’s doctor wasn’t drinking or smoking something after all.”