Nano

CHAPTER 55

Pia felt as if she were swimming in molasses. Without another sedative injection, it had taken her an age to fall asleep, but once she did, she fell hard. It was obvious to her that she still had some of the drug on board. As she slowly awoke, Pia wondered how much time she had lost. She hadn’t seen Berman since he had left her in the underground cell after making his big speech about nanotechnology. It was impossible to keep track of time. She had been denied the usual diurnal cycle; the light in the room was always on. When was it that she saw Berman? Yesterday? Last week? It might have been last year, for all she knew. Pia’s head was throbbing and her vision was blurry. She felt terrible, but she had to try to focus on what was happening to her.

However much time had passed, Pia hadn’t had much of an opportunity to think about her situation because of the drugs she’d been given, but now, as she passed through her mind whatever details she could recall, she came to an understanding. Berman had told her too much for her release to be a viable proposition. Her position was extremely precarious. She’d have to submit to Berman or face the consequences.

It took only seconds for Pia to look around her room. An IV ran to a bag that hung on a plastic drip stand for hydration. There was nothing else she could use as a weapon, even if she could reach it, as she was still loosely restrained.

As Pia tried to clear her head a little, a slot in the door that she hadn’t noticed opened, and then closed quickly. The lock on the door was activated and the doctor came back in. Pia sat up, ready to fight him again.

“I come to look at your arm. They want you healthy.” The man avoided making eye contact with Pia.

“So you do speak English. They want me healthy for what? What do they plan to do with me? And who are ‘they’? If you are a doctor, you have an obligation to help me.”

The door swung open and a powerful-looking guard came in, closed the door, and silently faced forward, an intimidating presence.

“Where is Berman, the American…?”

“You cannot talk, miss.”

The doctor took hold of Pia’s bad arm. In addition to her muddy brain, her arm was hurting. Pia knew enough about bone fractures to understand that ideally she should have been holding her arm in the sling to maintain the proper alignment for it to heal. But she had been spending most of her time prone, and she may even have been lying on the arm, she didn’t know. However much she hated the doctor, she let him manipulate her arm gently. She didn’t want a nonunion, meaning the shaft of the humerus would not reconnect to itself, or a misalignment if they connected but did not line up properly. Both situations would require operations to rectify.

“How does this feel?”

“It feels okay. I mean, there is some tenderness but it’s not overwhelming.”

“You know this could be a problem if you do not look after it.”

“I’m being held prisoner somewhere shackled to a bed. It’s not like I have a lot of say in the matter. You’re too much, telling me it is my responsibility.”

“If it doesn’t heal, your arm may be bad forever.”

“Like that is the worst of my problems.” Pia realized she was not in the best of shape, and she wondered if that was the reason Berman hadn’t forced himself on her. “I’m rather vulnerable on a lot of fronts,” she added.

The man said nothing.

“Maybe being infirm has its advantages. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been taken advantage of by the wealthy American.” No sooner had the comment escaped her lips, than a dreadful thought crossed her mind.

“Unless he has. He hasn’t, has he?” Pia thought not, but when she was awake she couldn’t remember much, and when she was out of it, she wouldn’t know, as heavily as she’d been sedated. But she’d feel something, and Berman would have bragged about it. Wouldn’t he?

“You know what kind of man you are working for, don’t you?” she said to the doctor.

The doctor did not respond, but scribbled some notes in a small book, pocketed it, and left the room. A moment later he came back with a bowl and a bottle of water. He had a manila folder tucked under his arm.

“This is soup. You should eat. And water. The American boss man wants you to read this.”

The man left the soup on the floor, where Pia could reach it, and left. The folder contained a document about ten pages long. It was stamped CONFIDENTIAL in red and had a serial number printed like a watermark on each page. Pia skimmed through before tossing the document on the floor in the corner of the room. It was a business prospectus for potential investors outlining plans for Nano’s expansion through the year 2020. He’s trying to impress me, she thought. And a prospectus is supposed to prove that he’s a legitimate businessman. Do legitimate businessmen do this? she asked herself holding up a shackled arm. Pia’s head hurt too much for her to read what she was sure was Berman’s self-aggrandizing BS.

“If you want me to read this crap, let me out of here,” she yelled at the door.

Pia lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t feel well but didn’t want to sleep anymore. Some time passed and Pia remembered the soup the man had left her. She sat up, which made her head pound anew. After a minute her head cleared a little and she ate the cold soup. With her foot she pulled the prospectus to where she could pick it up. Out of sheer boredom, she read through it.

According to what Pia read, nanotechnology was going to change medicine forever. Tell me something I don’t know, thought Pia. Nanobots could eat plaque and fix clogged arteries. They could consume even the most rapacious of cancers and infection. They could attack the sites of inflammation; seal wounds; clean teeth, even.

One application was given more prominence in the document than any other. Nanobots could have an impact on the buildup of proteins in the brain of a patient with early-stage Alzheimer’s; they might even have prophylactic properties that would ensure a person at risk of the disease could be treated before the onset of any symptoms. Berman had told Pia about his mother suffering from the disease while she lived out her life in an assisted-living facility near Nano.

Of course, thought Pia in a moment of clarity, this is why Berman is taking so many chances, cutting so many corners. This is why he was desperate to get a ten-year march on his competition. Berman was how old? Late forties? If he was susceptible himself, the first changes may already be taking place in his brain. In ten years, they might be irreversible. Pia felt sure she was right. But what could she do with this information?

Pia thought about Berman’s motivation. Working to cure Alzheimer’s was a legitimate reason to pursue research. It could be vitally important, even noble work, but not when it was carried out as Berman was doing it. Pia finished her meal and drank some water. She knew there was nothing she could do until she saw Berman again.