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"A trauma doctor in Andalusia, Spain, has supposedly demonstrated a remarkable ability to heal anyone of any injuries or disease, regardless of severity. Closer to home, a Slidell man is killed in a vehicular accident last night on I-10 just to the west of the Twin-Span Bridge. And in the weather, the cold continues to drive into the New Orleans area. Temperatures will be dropping later in the week.
"Good morning. At the top of the news this morning, we go to Costa del Sol Hospital in Andalusia, Spain, where a Doctor Isabella Riveria has, according to reports, restored a teenager who was near-death to perfect health. As the trauma team worked on the girl, she flat-lined on the table. Refusing to give up, Dr. Riveria continued trying to restore her to life when suddenly, according to eyewitnesses, her hands began to glow with a golden light that flowed over the victim, completely healing her injuries. Dr. Riveria apparently has no explanation, as she fainted when the girl sat up and asked where she was. The hospital is providing Dr. Riveria with asylum and is refusing all interviews."
Such are the headlines this morning, December 14, 2013 in New Orleans, LA. The current time is about 7 AM.
"Now that is interesting..." Warren muses to himself. He turns his attention from the TV back to his laptop and does a quick search for Isabella Riveria, looking particularly for any shared contacts they might have.
Moments later, he realizes that he is, once again, going to be late for work. Regardless, he spends more time than is necessary to put on a nice suit before heading to work, a step up from what most of his colleagues wore. He then walks at a brisk pace out the door and skips steps on the way down to the parking garage of his complex, hops in his car and drives to work.
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'Que? Un milagro de sanación? I wonder how long before Central America has a rash of hospital healings?" muses Paul Corkran, as the spanish-language channel playing on his small radio resumes its entertaining mix of salsa and pop music. He continues to meticulously check the timing on his pickup truck, then the gear packed into it. Paul casts a sloppy salute at the dapper Professor passing through the parking garage of the complex.
"Good morning Dr. Mulheer - looking good! Oh hey - you want to avoid the Boulevard - big crash. It'll make you late. er." Paul taps the portable radio with his timing wrench. "Enchufado... news of the world."
"Thanks for the tip! Seems the radio always plays the traffic report after i am hopelessly stuck in traffic."
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"You need to know about transportation, you just ask me. Next time I needed a tachyon last week, I'll look you up." Paul quirks an eyebrow a bit at Dr. Mulheer to see if he'll bite on the bad physics pun.
'He's not a bad one to know - maybe someday he can get me a meeting with a high-tone professor that won't take my call.'
Warren, mind consumed with running late, manages to mutter "Heh, yeah. Must be going!" before closing his car door and heading out.
Dr. Hail was in full-bore concentrations on his nanites. If he could just get this last test tube experiment to work he'd be ready for human testing. Due to his focus on his work, he barely heard his grad students discussing the 'Miracle of Andulasia.' His only thought on the matter was Hokum, pure hukum.
"Now if only he weren't in Spain..." Reve muses as he eats his breakfast in front of the TV. His apartment was dingy, and not much in the way of furniture--he didn't exactly do much entertaining--but it was home, and where he spent a depressing amount of his time--that was, when he wasn't at the gym, or his dead end job flipping burgers.
He didn't have to be there for a couple hours at least. The cupboards were starting to look a little bare though--more than usual at least--he should probably do a grocery run...
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Paul finalized his maintenance, stepped out for a quick wash-up, changed shirts, then set off to the university. The social anthropology department was considering an expedition to Bolivia, and had set a logistics meeting at 11:00. Paul maneuvers deftly through traffic, pays for parking (pocketing the receipt for expensing...) and makes his way into a solid, hulking brick building - the conference room on the 4th floor. Through the meeting Paul doesn't have much to say, mostly making notes about the interactions between expedition participants, expedition payers, and self-important 'reviewers'. After the meeting, Paul takes a few moments to discuss the outcomes with several of the players - gathering their thoughts, pushing their impressions and take-aways.
After a brief lunch with a client in the biology department, Paul makes his way back to anthropology - this time via the loading dock. He takes much of the afternoon sifting through several crates of stored travel gear - reviewing, evaluating, checking fastenings and weak points, and when finished, packing them in a series of field-grade shipping cases. He diligently ensured each case was packed and labeled, with a manifest secured inside the lid.
'Just like clockwork. All the non-perishables, at least, should be good to go with time to spare.' Paul looked again, and briefly patted, his own pelican case - video camera, extra storage, extra batteries, a few dozen specimen jars, and a ruggedized GPS for geo-tagging. Anthropology wasn't his preferred kind of field study, but the time the anthros spent talking to the locals was time he could spend scoping the local flora and fauna. Anthropoligists at least had a strong desire to get away from the urban centers and mono-culture farm communities. And it was that 'off-the-beaten-track' kind of place that allowed a decent field observer to find some extraordinary biological sites. Paul had had more than one repeat-location from biology groups that saw interesting biology and ecology in the background of slide-shows the anthros brought back.
Warren pulls into his parking spot and heads into his office in the hospital. He peeks into the open rooms along the hallway as he heads to his office. An old habit since moving out of the role of 'worker' and into the role of 'supervisor' years ago, he checks to see if everyone is doing everything just right. He missed the hands-on time with the machines, but he certainly didn't miss the pay compared to what he was getting now.
He turns into his office, takes his jacket off and places it on a hangar. Taking his lab coat off of the hook behind the door and replacing it with his suit jacket, he dons the coat and checks his email.
"Emails, emails, emails. Brilliant leap in communication, catastrophic setback for productivity..."
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Kelsey had been waking up at five in the morning like clockwork for almost a year now, but going out before the sun rose still put a little fear in her heart. She didn't like it. There were shootings, and cars were dumped into the river, and strange people out at night. But then again, it was easier this way. Her mom had said something about her dad's drinking habits and how, if he was drunk in the house, something something sole custody you can spend more time with me and Brad. Nope. Not happening. Five was a good time to leave the house in case he was passed out on the couch with a ritual circle of beer bottles circled on the side table. This was almost always.
She'd navigate the winding roads from her father's home to the south, then head west across a bridge over the Bayou St. John. She liked the foot path that ran alongside the canal. Scenic. Easy to get lost in the motions of running.
So by the time it was seven, she had realized she was still out there. The sun had gone up and the people had come out, and she was joined by other bored runners shuffling up and down the sidewalk. Her stomach gurgled inbetween her legs aching and she decided to go home to see if her dad had picked himself up yet. Inbetween periods of unconsciousness, he was a writer. He had sold a couple books, written a screenplay, that kind of thing. They'd paid for most of her mother's things and, oh yeah, the house her and her dad lived in. He was creative and smart, so he expected her to be creative and smart.
Instead, she liked punching things, kicking stuff, being outside, running. All the things he didn't like doing. Star Trek and comic books weren't on the list. He was confused by her devotion to asking him to buy a heavy punching bag for her eighteenth birthday. Don't you want a car, he'd ask?
It was a tough question. She did want a car. Can she have both?
Someone at an intersection crosswalk said "It must be fake" loud enough to get her attention over the music blasting from her earbuds into her skull. When the crosswalk sign said walk, she went.
His initial experiments finished for the day, Jackson contemplates the reports from Spain. Seemingly reliable witnesses...Mass Hysteria or something else? I wonder if my Nanites could somehow recreate that effect...
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As the morning wears on, more reports come in of the miracle woman in Spain. It is soon picked up by the major networks and by lunchtime, she is the topic of everyone's conversation. Most people assume the reports to be embellished or erroneous, but more than a few are talking about the possibility of religious miracles. The woman keeps her silence, refusing all interviews.
After a fruitful morning of retrieving additional supplies Reve had made his way from his apartment, wheeling his way the few blocks to the local burger king where he worked. He simply sighed at hearing the same story again. It was remarkable enough, but he was sure the story would blow over in a couple days, especially if the doctor continued to keep her mouth shut. He still wasn't quite sure if he believed it, but permitted himself a little bit of optimism to think that it really might be a miracle like they claimed.
Dr. Mulheer finds his way out of the office for lunch, and against better judgement gets pasta for lunch. Better than cafeteria food, anyway. The news is all that's on at the local bistro, and he hears the anchors mull over the same few topics as he hopes against the odds that his espresso will save him from the cheese-and-starch-induced lethargy on the horizon. Tired of hearing the same few facts. I'd like to hear the real story.
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As Ace works through the day, prepping for his upcoming expedition to Costa Rica, he finds the story of this 'miracle healing' in Spain growing in his consciousness. Without fully forming an intention, he picks up the phone, and discerns who in the university is most likely to have some measure of insight into such a thing.
In the early afternoon, he makes a call to Dr. Hail, "Hello, Doctor Hail? Yah, this is Paul Corkran - I'm doing some work with the Anthropology department. I was wondering - I know this is a little out of the blue - but this 'miracle healing' in Spain - it seems pretty unusual. --- yah, I realize the media reports are pretty sparse. --- yah, a bit tough to pin down with what we know about it. It's pretty unusual though, the lady at the center of it doesn't seem to be looking for press coverage, and the hospital seems to be playing it down. Some of these things I've seen in the past, image of Jesus on toast, weeping statues, things like that, they've all been motivated by a need for attention. These folks don't seem to be looking for exposure, it seems to be beating down their door. --- what? oh, my interest? Well, I'm about to head out of country, but I have a window of a few days. I was thinking about checking it out. I was wondering if there was any real data gathering I could do over there. Anything that might put a more solid basis under this thing. Seems you're the man that might have an interest. --- when? Oh, I was thinking about catching a red-eye. Be there tomorrow morning."
~~~~
Although Ace hadn't really thought through what he might do about this - acting purely on impulse and instinct - he discovered he'd formulated a kind of plan of action.
'Why am I so drawn to this? I disparaged the 'Jesus-in-Toast' scenario, but why is this really different? I must be losing it, but this just seems... so compelling.'
In the latter part of the afternoon, Ace finished his review of the Costa Rica materials, and sealed everything to ship directly to Costa Rica. 'See you on the far side, little shipping containers.'
He made his way to gather instruments and materials for his impromptu visit to Spain, changed his tickets from early the following week to Costa Rica, to that night on a red-eye to Spain, laying over a few days, then onward to Costa Rica.
In the car park, he saw Dr. Mulheer again. "Hey Doc - hope the traffic treated you well today. I'm going to be out for a while, so you'll have to mind the traffic reports before you hit the roads. I have a gig with the Anthro department for a while, but I'm actually swinging over to Spain first. I know it's all over the news, and it's a little loco, but I'm going to check in on this Isabella Rivera thing. Cost me a couple long flights, but I'll still wind up in Costa Rica to support the Anthro crew. Have you given any thought to this crazy news out of Espana?"
~~~~~
As he dug around in his apartment, hastily (but carefully) finishing his packing, he thought, 'There may be crazier impulses, but this one's near the head of the list. At least I'll sound sophisticated in Costa Rica, with a few days of High Spanish burnishing my accent.'
Instruments, camera, and other sundries in tow, he started to the airport.
"Hi. Yeah, lemme know what you find out. It does sound pretty interesting, made all the more intriguing by the fact that they cant get any more information out of her."
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"Yeah, weird innit? Usually these 'miracles' are a cry for attention - look at me, I'm special - come to our town and spend your dollars while you see the weeping statue - bathe in our healing waters and stay at our hostel. But these folks seem to be turtling down. Again, weird. Weird enough to stop through and take a look."
"Yes, if my work schedule clears i might do the same. But who knows?"
As Ace works through the day, prepping for his upcoming expedition to Costa Rica, he finds the story of this 'miracle healing' in Spain growing in his consciousness. Without fully forming an intention, he picks up the phone, and discerns who in the university is most likely to have some measure of insight into such a thing.
In the early afternoon, he makes a call to Dr. Hail, "Hello, Doctor Hail? Yah, this is Paul Corkran - I'm doing some work with the Anthropology department. I was wondering - I know this is a little out of the blue - but this 'miracle healing' in Spain - it seems pretty unusual. --- yah, I realize the media reports are pretty sparse. --- yah, a bit tough to pin down with what we know about it. It's pretty unusual though, the lady at the center of it doesn't seem to be looking for press coverage, and the hospital seems to be playing it down. Some of these things I've seen in the past, image of Jesus on toast, weeping statues, things like that, they've all been motivated by a need for attention. These folks don't seem to be looking for exposure, it seems to be beating down their door. --- what? oh, my interest? Well, I'm about to head out of country, but I have a window of a few days. I was thinking about checking it out. I was wondering if there was any real data gathering I could do over there. Anything that might put a more solid basis under this thing. Seems you're the man that might have an interest. --- when? Oh, I was thinking about catching a red-eye. Be there tomorrow morning."
~~~~
Although Ace hadn't really thought through what he might do about this - acting purely on impulse and instinct - he discovered he'd formulated a kind of plan of action.
'Why am I so drawn to this? I disparaged the 'Jesus-in-Toast' scenario, but why is this really different? I must be losing it, but this just seems... so compelling.'
In the latter part of the afternoon, Ace finished his review of the Costa Rica materials, and sealed everything to ship directly to Costa Rica....
"Mr. Corkin, thanks for reaching out to me. I personally think we have a case of mass hysteria. However, see if you can obtain a sample from the miracle doctor that we can use to analyze her DNA. Blood would be best, but hair would work too. Get samples from her patients. Get environmental samples too, air, water, soil, plants. I've got a couple of grad students that can be put to work churning through the samples once they are in my lab."
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Kelsey, fresh out of the shower and into a clean pair of clothes that didn't smell like the canal and body odor, had nothing to do.
Well, she was a teenage girl. She would always have Facebook.
Except Facebook was taken up by pages and pages of people in internet fights and arguments about something happening in Spain that sounded like it was viral marketing for the next Summer blockbuster.
Her opinion? "Pics or it isn't real," she posted with all of the boldness that apathy could give her.
Uninterested, she browsed the web. Reddit was infected too. Ugh, fail. She checked some of her MMA and boxing online communities she lurked and even they were talking about it. Double fail.
When her attention faltered, she turned on the television. More news broadcasts. Yeah, whatever! She turned on the PS3 and comfortably vegged out on her bed watching Netflix. No one was talking about the publicity stunt on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
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Evening comes, as it must. The miracle doctor maintains her silence, though several people have come forward, claiming to be former patients of hers. Most are fakes, seeking their fifteen minutes of fame, but a few seem to be on the level, even if the first reports of her amazing abilities occurred just this morning.
Local news is mostly quiet, though one item of mention is a strange report regarding a supposedly haunted mansion about 8 miles to the south of New Orleans along Barataria Boulevard. According to reports, the structure had not previously existed and seems to have sprung up overnight. Local authorities are calling the reports "ludicrous nonsense made larger than life by the media."
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That evening, Ace is traveling tonight on a Plane. I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain. You all can see Ace waving goodbye.
Ace works hard to get some sleep on the red eye overnight, preparing to make as good an impression as possible in the morning, and track down the mysterious 'miracle doctor'.
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Frank, hasn't been paying much attention to the news. He has his boy, James, this weekend, and the pair are enjoying fishing on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia Parish.
Hail as is his custom sleeps in his office so he can get up every hr to take a sample and analyze it. He's essentially shut himself off from the world until his graduate students return in the morning.
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2018 hours, CST (8:18 PM)
Breaking news comes across the radio and television of something happening on Canal Street...
"This is Nora Walker for FOX 8 News. I'm here on Canal Street where the scene is one of chaos. Moments ago, an unidentified man began shooting people from the roof of the Marriot. Six people are wounded or dead, we are unsure which at this time. Police have cordoned off the area, but the gunman is shooting at them, as well."
By that time of day, Warren is usually in his home catching up on required professional reading, or more seldomly, reading for pleasure.
The phone rings. Hospital personnel recall.
Although these were almost universally bad circumstances, at least he might be DOING something.
He quickly changed from sweatpants and a tshirt into a button up shirt and the first pair of slacks he could grab. Slipping on loafers, he takes the steps two at a time down to the parking garage.
Turning news radio on to see what fresh hell awaited him at the hospital, he began to drive.
Hail as is his custom sleeps in his office so he can get up every hr to take a sample and analyze it. He's essentially shut himself off from the world until his graduate students return in the morning.
Jackson is awoken by one of the janitors who relays what's happening on Canal Street. His labs being several miles away from the touristy area on Canal he thinks no more about the matter.
As I return the boat at the rental shop at the end of the day, I see the grim news being shown on the TV set above the counter. "Do you sometimes get the feeling you're living between two worlds," the sad-eyed man behind the counter says, looking out across the bayou, where the setting sun is spilling its final light.
"Yes sir, I do."
He nods sagely, as I head out to the car where James is waiting.
"Christ, what would posses somebody to do something so stupid." Reve finds himself muttering at the TV again. He shifts the weight from his left hand to his right as a helicopters-eye view takes in the scene from a little too far away, the camera not able to make out much more than the blurry figure on the roof. He fumbles for the remote with his free hand as he starts his next rep, switching channel before he starts to get depressed.
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At the medical center, things are in a state of panic. LSU University Hospital is less than two blocks from Canal, the scene of the chaos, and traffic is impossible. It takes you nearly 20 minutes to get to the turn for Galvez Street. As you are making ready to turn, you notice something that causes you to double-take.
A helicopter cuts close to the rooftop, ignoring the police choppers trying to keep it away. From the helicopter, a figure, a man, drops to the rooftop. You cannot see what is happening after that, but at least the shooting has stopped.
In the car, a special report breaks into the station, the reporter's voice one of excitement and panic. "We're barely able to see what is happening from our vantage point, but a man in a black jumpsuit and wearing a white and blue jacket has just jumped from a helicopter to the rooftop and appears to be approaching the gunman. The gunman is turning towards him and appears to have drawn a pistol. My God, he's shooting at the newcomer!
"Oh my God! We can see shots being fired, but the mystery man just keeps coming! He's lifting the gunman off his feet with one hand and, wow! He just threw the gunman against the wall. The gunman appears to be down. The newcomer is picking him up and has entered the building."
The flight is long and boring, but offers plenty of time for you to catch up on your sleep. We'll continue with your story when the others catch up to you, time-wise.
You finish your routine without mishap. What are you doing afterwards?
You continue your work uninterrupted until one of the janitors bangs on your door. "Professor Hail! You've got to hear this! That guy that was shootin' people on Canal... he's been taken down! By one guy!"
You are well into your fourth episode when your phone rings. It's Amy Harrow, a friend from school. She seems quite excited. [b]"Kels, are you watching the news? Shootout on Canal Street, but the guy got taken out by one man who jumped to the roof from a helicopter! They're gonna interview him!"
Reve sighs as he finishes toweling himself off and begins the slow process of redressing. Having finished with his regular home workout and washing off after, he prepares to head out for a nightcap at his regular bar.
Puzzles, located conveniently about a block away from his house is a nice, generally pretty quiet bar run by a couple of friends who lived the dream and opened their own bar together. One of them turned out to be gay and things got a little weird for a while, but it's still a good place to hang out, and wheelchair accessible. He wheels in, orders his usual from Carl the bartender, and settles down to sip his whiskey in the familiar ambiance.
James looks at me wondering, and I can only shake my head.
I don't know son. I don't know what it means. Hey, want a burger and shake?
Dr. Mulheer parks his car as quickly as he can, and tries to enter the building. When he approaches the inevitable police cordon, he points to his hospital ID and asks if anyone is hurt.
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Ace is deep asleep... almost as though switched off.
images of dynamic equilibria excursing - ecosystems disrupted and dominated by a single hominid species - that hominid species fragmenting, with offshoots - greater in diversity than the protohominids radiating from the the Rift Valley - thrown into new configurations - seeking new equilibria.
A poorly articulated but portentious question looms over the vision of radiating species, 'Are these fragments in competition, will they find symbiosis, or will new niches become available to these versions of the naked ape?'
Far beneath the bio-mimetic transport device (species envy - naked apes overcompensating for a lack of wings), moonlight glints off rough seas, topped by faintly phosphorescent plankton colonies signaling their disruption by the sea swells.
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"What's so special about a single policeman taking down some psycho shooter. How many people got shot anyhow? Are they bringing the victims our hospital?"
After a greasy, hot meal, Frank and his son return to their hotel room.
James entertains himself with Ipad. Frank packs their gear, getting ready for the trip back to the city in the morning.
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It is all over the news; the man who took down the shooter single-handedly. The man was interviewed shortly after the takedown, when he carried the gunman down to street level, where police were waiting.
The man is a clean-cut Caucasian with blond hair and blue eyes. His hair is cut in a crew cut style and he wears a black jumpsuit under a blue and white jacket with the words "Alpha Male" in red on the sleeves.
"Sir! Can I ask you a few questions, please?" Nora Walker pushed to the fore to try to speak to the man.
"I have time for a few questions, ma'am," the man replied.
"Who are you?"
"Well, my name is John Wright, but you can call me Alpha Male," he replies, looking somewhere beyond the camera.
"Alpha Male? Isn't that a bit... pretentious?"
"Actually, I think it's rather fitting."
"I guess. How did you do it? Take the gunman down, I mean."
"I really didn't think about it, ma'am. I just jumped in and did what comes naturally."
"And who brought you to the scene? Who was flying that chopper?"
"Uh, sorry ma'am." He presses against an earbud, listening. "No more questions. I've got to go! Another emergency." With that, he leaps over the crowd, clearing a dozen yards easily, and disappears down a side street.
"Yes, sir. A few of the victims are being brought here."
Some of the victims have been brought to your emergency room. Two have gunshot wounds, one to the shoulder and one to the leg, but neither wound is life-threatening. A few other people are being treated for shock. Altogether, an easy day.
Jackson, his curiosity peaked, heads over to the hospital and nods to the guard showing him his faculty ID to gain entrance into the patient section of the hospital. Asking a passing orderly where the wounded are to be found he makes his way to the ER and tries to listen in to any conversations that either the wounded or the police are having.
The doctor settles into his work, although doesn't get his hands dirty. The scene isn't severe enough for him to be able to get away with that without a tongue-lashing from the Senior Director, if she caught on.
Reve settles in with his drink in time to see the end of the report. Some vigilante had shown up in a helicopter? and he was wearing a costume and had an earbud. He gives a snort, looking around to see if anyone else was paying attention. Talk about a laugh. He was surprised the police hadn't arrested the guy.
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As expected, much of the discussion hinges on Alpha Male's daring takedown of the shooter. Some people seem to think that the whole thing was a publicity stunt for a movie, but the wounded speak otherwise. For them, it was all too real. The gunshot wounds are real enough, and look to have been caused by a high-powered rifle. By some miracle, there were no fatalities.
Much of the discussion in the hospital hinges on Alpha Male's daring takedown of the shooter. Some people seem to think that the whole thing was a publicity stunt for a movie, but the wounded speak otherwise. For them, it was all too real. The gunshot wounds are real enough, and look to have been caused by a high-powered rifle. Fortunately, there have been no fatalities.
Much of the discussion in the bar hinges on Alpha Male's daring takedown of the shooter. Most people seem to think that the whole thing was a publicity stunt for a movie.
Without warning, a man in the corner rises unsteadily to his feet, threatening the woman sitting with him. "I'll kill you, witch!" The woman shirks back in fear, but says nothing.
The night is cool and clear. Looking up, you can't help but notice proliferation of meteor activity in the sky. Within a few moments, literally a dozen shooting stars streak across the night sky.
Your flight arrives in Málaga at 5:13 PM local time. Coasta del Sol is a hour's drive across the province.
What in the world is going on? First someone that can spontaneously heal people and now this Alpha Male...
Publicity stunt did seem fairly likely, some tv channel trying to launch a new show or movie perhaps? He laughs over it with some of the other regulars and is a couple rounds into a game of darts with his buddy Francis, when the drunken man's shout erupts through the bar.
A tense silence falls over the bar, and Reve slowly lowers his arm from his throw, setting the dart in his lap as he turns his wheelchair towards the guy. He looks around for the bouncer who seems to have inconveniently gone on his break. "Hey buddy. I think you need to go home and cool off."
Warren compiles the reports and does his best to remove any bias or rumor before submitting the report to the police for use in their paperwork.
Look at this! Frank pulls back the hotel-room curtains, peering up at the night-sky.
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Ace checks his plane schedule, ensuring he's got all the timing down. He checks his substantive luggage in advance, retaining only his field kit and sample collection kit. First he checks his phone, ensuring it's operating on the local network. He rents a car, grabs a couple of local newspapers, and heads off to Coasta del Sol.
He calls ahead to the hospital, "Hello! This is Paul Corkrin, from Tulane University, working with Dr. Hall. I'm hoping to find your head of surgery. I realize it's a bit late, but I just stepped off a plane. Can you please connect me?"
Frank asks James to get online, and check to see if there was a meteor shower predicted for tonight.