“He’ll be cured?”

“If that’s the word you want to use, yes. He will begin to function normally again.” Zimmerman grinned around his cigar.

Joanna looked from his florid, fleshy face through the window at her son. Doug will be cured! This nightmare will be over. Even Greg looked pleased, she thought.

“He’ll be all right,” Cardenas said to her. “The nanomachines are working inside him.”

For an instant Joanna wanted to throw her arms around Zimmerman and kiss him. But she controlled herself and the moment passed. As calmly as she could, she said to him, “Dr. Zimmerman, I want to find some way to repay you. What can I do?”

“Let me go home,” he snapped.

Laughing, Joanna said, “Of course. Of course. As soon as Doug regains consciousness — although I suppose you’ll want to see him after he’s on his feet again.”

“Yes, yes. You have virtual reality equipment here. I can examine him using VR.”

“But won’t you want to see him in person?” Joanna asked. “In the flesh?”

Zimmerman shook his head violently, making his cheeks waddle. “I am not coming back to this cavern! Never!”

“All right. Doug can see you in Basel, then.”

“That will be impossible, I fear.”

“Why not?”

“A young man who is carrying millions of self-replicating nanomachines in his body would not be a welcome person on Earth. I doubt that he would be able to get past your own customs and immigration inspectors.”

Feeling confused, Joanna sat down on the couch facing the observation window. “I don’t understand.”

Cardenas sat next to her. Zimmerman remained standing. Greg was staring at him now.

“Your son is carrying nanomachines,” Zimmerman said. “He would not be permitted to land on Earth. Every nation has laws against nanomachines in the human body. They are all afraid of nanomonsters.”

“But the bugs will flush out of his system once they’ve finished their work,” Joanna said, then added, “Won’t they?”

Zimmerman would not meet her eye.

Joanna turned to Cardenas. “What’s he talking about?”

With a careful sigh, Cardenas said, “You know about the laws against injecting nanomachines into human patients, don’t you?”

“Oh, that stupid stuff.”

“It’s stupid, all right, but it’s still the law. If Doug still has any trace of nanomachines in his system, he’ll be stopped by the immigration inspectors at any rocket port on Earth. They’re terrified of nanobugs running amok and killing people.”

“But—”

“May I point out,” Zimmerman interjected, “that perhaps these laws are not so stupid after all. How many military establishments have supported research into nanoweapons? Nanotechnology could make biological warfare look like child’s games.”

“But there are laws against military applications of nanotechnology,” Greg objected. “International treaties.”

“Yes, of course. Those are precisely the laws that do not allow nanomachines to be injected into human patients.”

“But Doug isn’t going to hurt anybody!” Joanna said.

“’Still, he will be carrying these self-replicating nano-machines for as long as he lives.”

“What?” Startled, Joanna snapped, “You didn’t tell me that-’„”

“That,” said Zimmerman, bending to put his cigar-clenched face close to hers, “is the payment I extract from you.”

“Payment? What are you talking about?”

“Your son is my living laboratory, Madam; my lifetime experiment. He carries self-replicating nanotnachines within his body. Forever.”

“What have you done?” Joanna cried.

“I have given your son a great gift, Madam,” Zimmerman replied.

Before Joanna could say anything, Cardenas said, “You’ve enhanced his immune system.”

Zimmerman took the soggy cigar from his mouth. “Yah, but there is more to it than that.”

“What?” Joanna demanded.

Almost smirking, Zimmerman said, “Frankly, I do not know. No one can know. We have no experience with self-replicating nanomachines in the human body.”

“You’ve turned my son into—”

“An experiment. A living laboratory,” Zimmerman said. “A step toward the perfection of nanotherapy.”

Before Joanna could reply, Cardenas said, “It’s a great gift, really! His immune system is now so enhanced he’ll probably never even catch a cold anymore.”

Zimmerman nodded. “Perhaps. The machines should be able to adapt to destroy microbes and viruses that invade his body.”

“But you don’t know for certain what they’ll do,” Greg said, his voice hollow.

“They should also repair effects of aging and any injuries he might incur,” Zimmerman added, still speaking to Joanna. “Your son will most likely live a long, long time, Frau Stavenger.”

Greg muttered something too low for Joanna to hear.

“But mat doesn’t mean he can’t return to Earth,” Joanna said.

“Yes it does,” said Cardenas. “They’ll never let him off the rocket.”

“They don’t have to know.”

“They already know,” Zimmerman said. “I have informed my colleagues and by now the authorities know.”

“You informed… why?” Joanna wanted to scream, yet her voice was barely a whisper.

“I have my own fish to fry, Madam. My own agenda. Your son will be a living advertisement that nanotherapy is not dangerous and not undesirable. I will see to it that his case is broadcast all over the world. Some day, sooner or later, he will jecome the cause celebre that will lead these ignorant politicians and witch doctors to lift their ban on nanotherapy.”

Feeling fury rising within her, Joanna said, “I don’t want a cause celebre. I want a normal, healthy son!”

“Healthy, he will be,” said Zimmerman. “Normal, never.”

Trying to cool her down, Cardenas said, “Think of it, Joanna. He’ll never get ill. He might never even get old! And if he’s ever injured, the nanomachines will repair him.”

Joanna thought of it. And turned to Greg, who stood mute and deathly pale, staring through the observation window at his half brother.

Slowly Doug woke from a long, deep dream. He had been swimming with dolphins the way he’d done when he was a kid visiting Hawaii except that the water was cold, numbingly cold and so dark that he could only sense the dolphins swimming alongside him, big powerful sleek bodies gliding effortlessly through the cold black waters. Don’t leave me behind, he called to them, but somehow he was on the Moon and it was Brennart standing beside him whispering something, the secrets of the universe maybe, but Doug could not hear the man’s words.

And then his eyes opened.

He saw that he was in some kind of hospital room. Moonbase. The infirmary. Low rock ceiling painted a cheerful butter yellow. A wide mirror took up almost the whole wall on one side of his bed. He could hear the humming and beeping of electronic monitors over his head.

The door opened and Bianca Rhee stepped through.

“You’re awake!” she said looking happy and surprised and awed and curious, all at once.

Doug grinned at her. “I guess I am.”

“How do you feel?”

“Hungry!”

Bianca’s smile threatened to split her face in two. Before she could say another word, a medic in crisp white coveralls pushed through the door angrily.

“What’re you doing in here?” he demanded of Rhee. “No one’s allowed in here without—”

“Shut up!” Doug snapped. “She’s my friend.”

The man glared at Doug. “No one is allowed inside this cubicle without specific permission from the resident M.D., friend or not.”

Over the next ten minutes, Doug learned how wrong the young medic was. Rhee dutifully left his cubicle, but his mother, Greg, and several strangers poured in, including a funny-looking fat older man with an unlit cigar clamped ludicrously in his teeth.

His mother fell on his neck, crying for the first time he could remember. Greg smiled stiffly. The others stared at the monitors while they checked his pulse, thumped his chest, and performed other ancient medical rituals.