Tachyon punched in a marker. Brought up another thirty-block section. Studied the two red dots. Wished he had a really big screen that could give him a full view of all of Manhattan. Decided that despite the growing crises at the clinic he would have to spend several hours aboard Baby. Her wetware and hardware were far superior to anything on Earth, and she could give him a full-screen view of this mysterious and elusive wild card source. Victoria Queen, the clinic’s chief of surgery, entered without knocking. “Tachyon, you can’t go on like this. Spending time with the joker patrols, working with patients, doing research, and racing around with your grandson trying to be superdad.” He dug his thumbs into his gritty eyes, then rapped his knuckles against the CRT screen. “The answer is here somewhere. I just have to find it. Eighteen new cases of wild card in a four-day period. It’s not rational, it shouldn’t be happening. I had hoped it was something simple. A hitherto undisturbed cache of spores.
