The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [67]
“Also, and most significantly, I can find no indication or evidence that this device is entangled. Though if such entanglement is among its inherent properties, it could conceivably vanish at any moment. Insofar as I can determine, however, it appears to be stable. If it is entanglement-reactive to simple observation, mine has not triggered such a feature.”
Remarkable, Ingrid found herself thinking. Given its astonishing composition, the mere fact of the thread’s enduring stable existence hinted at a knowledge of metallurgy beyond anything with which she was familiar. Not that it was a specialty of hers, but the use of a diversity of medical instruments carried with it a certain minimal knowledge of their makeup. The creation of stable MSMH might of itself make the thread incredibly valuable.
As to what it might have stored on it …
Interrupted by a querulous voice, she was startled to see that the patient had come up right behind her. She saw him before she heard him—a quality that might go some way, she realized, toward explaining her visitor’s Meld name.
“I don’t understand a lot of what your machine is saying.” His tone was timid, his attitude challenging.
Trying not to show that his proximity was making her nervous, she edged away from the slender, looming presence. “Chiefly, it’s saying that this thread is made from an unusual metal.”
Whispr perked up. “A valuable one? I told you it was valuable.”
“I didn’t say it was valuable,” she half lied. “I don’t know much about metals.” A delicate hand gestured toward the slot that held the thread. She was glad she didn’t wear good jewelry to work. “I do know that if the lab analysis is right, this is an unusual material. Now we need to try and find out what’s stored on it, if anything. Maybe if the container isn’t valuable, the contents are.”
“I already had friends try to find out,” he told her. “They couldn’t get at any contents.”
She had to smile. “I don’t know what kind of instrumentation your friends used, but the equipment in my office is pretty up-to-date. Some of it might be more advanced than anything your friends were using.”
His eyes met hers before she could avoid them. “I hope so.”
As she carefully extracted the thread from the study slot it struck her that this afternoon’s ongoing activities had nothing to do with the practice of medicine and a great deal to do with activities she was aware of only from watching the news and casual entertainment. But curiosity continued to overcome apprehension. They had already established the extraordinary nature of the thread’s composition. Suppose that was compounded by the discovery that it also held information of value or importance? What then? Among her friends and professional acquaintances she could count a considerable number of specialists, but “fence” was not one of them. Stealing another surreptitious glance at the man who had brought her the thread, she had no doubt that he would know exactly where to locate such a person.
What was she thinking? And what was she getting herself into? She had already taken one risk by treating him.
She ought to send him packing. Right now, this minute, before things grew any more complicated. She insisted to herself that she held back from doing so only out of scientific interest. She wanted to know what, if anything, was on the thread. More crucially, she needed to know in what way if any it might be related to the vanished nanodevice she had removed from Cara Gibson’s head.
Conveying the thread to another part of the inlab, she started to insert the end featuring the connector into the nearest self-adapting flex receptacle—only to have it snatched from her fingers. Startled, she turned on her visitor. He was not just thin—his reflexes were lightning-fast.
“Wh—why’d you do that?”
His expression was impossible to read. “You want to know what’s on this, don’t you? To see if it’s valuable?”
“So do you,” she shot back accusingly.
“Utterso. But there’s something even more important to me.” Digging into a pocket with his other hand, he pulled out the envelope