He lifted a flat, palm-sized metal rectangle from a cabinet.  "This is the most likely means of delivery.  It's an aerosol bomb.  The biological agents are loaded here, and it's triggered by snapping this back here.  It's got enough pressure in it to spew the agents fifty feet straight up.  Air currents do the rest."  He tossed it to Gunther who stared down at the thing in horror.  "Don't worry, it's not armed."

He slid out a slim drawer holding row upon gleaming row of slim chrome cylinders.  "These contain the engines themselves.  They're off-the-shelf nanoweaponry.  State of the art stuff, I guess."  He ran a fingertip over them.  "We've programmed each to produce a different mix of neurotransmitters.  Dopamine, phencylclidine, norepinephrine, acetylcholine, met-enkephalin, substance P, serotonin--there's a hefty slice of Heaven in here, and--" he tapped an empty space--"right here is our missing bit of Hell."  He frowned, and muttered, "That's curious.  Why are there two cylinders missing?"

"What's that?" Ekatarina said.  "I didn't catch what you just said."

"Oh, nothing important.  Um, listen, it might help if I yanked a few biological pathways charts and showed you the chemical underpinnings of these things."

"Never mind that.  Just keep it sweet and simple.  Tell us about these schizomimetic engines."

It took over an hour to explain.

The engines were molecule-sized chemical factories, much like the assemblers in a microfactory.  They had been provided by the military, in the hope Chang's group would come up with a misting weapon that could be sprayed in an army's path to cause them to change their loyalty.  Gunther  dozed off briefly while Krishna was explaining why that was impossible, and woke up sometime after the tiny engines had made their way into the brain.

"It's really a false schizophrenia," Krishna explained.  "True schizophrenia is a beautifully complicated mechanism.  What these engines create is more like a bargain-basement knockoff.  They seize control of the brain chemistry, and start pumping out dopamine and a few other neuromediators.  It's not an actual disorder, per se.  They just keep the brain hopping."  He coughed.  "You see."

"Okay," Ekatarina said.  "Okay.  You say you can reprogram these things.  How?"

"We use what are technically called messenger engines.  They're like neuromodulators--they tell the schizomimetic engines what to do."  He slid open another drawer, and in a flat voice said, "They're gone."

"Let's keep to the topic, if we may.  We'll worry about your inventory later.  Tell us about these messenger engines.  Can you brew up a lot of them, to tell the schizomimetics to turn themselves off?"

"No, for two reasons.  First, these molecules were hand-crafted in the Swiss Orbitals; we don't have the industrial plant to create them.  Secondly, you can't tell the schizomimetics to turn themselves off.  They don't have off switches.  They're more like catalysts than actual machines.  You can reconfigure them to produce different chemicals, but ..."  He stopped, and a distant look came into his eyes.  "Damn."  He grabbed up his peecee, and a chemical pathways chart appeared on one wall.  Then beside it, a listing of major neurofunctions.  Then another chart covered with scrawled behavioral symbols.  More and more data slammed up on the wall.

"Uh, Krishna ...?"

"Oh, go away," he snapped.  "This is important."

"You think you might be able to come up with a cure?"

"Cure?  No.  Something better.  Much better."

Ekatarina and Gunther looked at each other.  Then she said, "Do you need anything?  Can I assign anyone to help you?"

"I need the messenger engines.  Find them for me."

"How?  How do we find them?  Where do we look?"

"Sally Chang," Krishna said impatiently.  "She must have them.  Nobody else had access."  He snatched up a light pen, and began scrawling crabbed formulae on the wall.

"I'll get her for you.  Program!  Tell--"

"Chang's a flick," Gunther reminded her.  "She was caught by the aerosol bomb."  Which she must surely have set herself.  A neat way of disposing of evidence that might've led to whatever government was running her.  She'd have been the first to go mad.

Ekatarina pinched her nose, wincing.  "I've been awake too long," she said.  "All right, I understand.  Krishna, from now on you're assigned permanently to research.  The CMP will notify your cadre leader.  Let me know if you need any support.  Find me a way to turn this damned weapon off."  Ignoring the way he shrugged her off, she said to Gunther, "I'm yanking you from Cadre Four.  From now on, you report directly to me.  I want you to find Chang.  Find her, and find those messenger engines."

Gunther was bone-weary.  He couldn't remember when he'd last had a good eight hours' sleep.  But he managed what he hoped was a confident grin.  "Received."

A madwoman should not have been able to hide herself.  Sally Chang could.  Nobody should have been able to evade the CMP's notice, now that it was hooked into a growing number of afflicted individuals.  Sally Chang did.  The CMP informed Gunther that none of the flicks were aware of Chang's whereabouts.  It accepted a directive to have them all glance about for her once every hour until she was found.

In the west tunnels, walls had been torn out to create a space as large as any factory interior.  The remotes had been returned, and were now manned by almost two hundred flicks spaced so that they did not impinge upon each other's fields of instruction.  Gunther walked by them, through the CMP's whispering voices:  "Are all bulldozers accounted for?  If so ... Clear away any malfunctioning machines; they can be placed ... for vacuum-welded dust on the upper surfaces of the rails ... reduction temperature, then look to see that the oxygen feed is compatible ..."  At the far end a single suit sat in a chair, overseer unit in its lap.

"How's it going?" Gunther asked.

"Absolutely top-notch."  He recognized Takayuni's voice. "Most of the factories are up and running, and we're well on our way to having the railguns operative too.  You wouldn't believe the kind of efficiencies we're getting here."

"Good, huh?"

Takayuni grinned; Gunther could hear it in his voice.  "Industrious little buggers!"

Takayuni hadn't seen Chang.  Gunther moved on.

Some hours later he found himself sitting wearily in Noguchi park, looking at the torn-up dirt where the kneehigh forest had been.  Not a  seedling had been spared; the silver birch was extinct as a lunar species.  Dead carp floated belly-up in the oil-slicked central lake; a chain-link fence circled it now, to keep out the flicks.  There hadn't been the time yet to begin cleaning up the litter, and when he looked about, he saw trash everywhere.  It was sad.  It reminded him of Earth.

He knew it was time to get going, but he couldn't.  His head sagged, touched his chest, and jerked up.  Time had passed.

A flicker of motion made him turn.  Somebody in a pastel lavender boutique suit hurried by.  The woman who had directed him to the city controller's office the other day.  "Hello!" he called.  "I found everybody just where you said.  Thanks.  I was starting to get a little spooked."

The lavender suit turned to look at him.  Sunlight glinted on black glass.  A still, long minute later, she said, "Don't mention it," and started away.

"I'm looking for Sally Chang.  Do you know her?  Have you seen her?  She's a flick, kind of a little woman, flamboyant, used to favor bright clothes, electric makeup, that sort of thing."

"I'm afraid I can't help you."  Lavender was carrying three oxytanks in her arms.  "You might try the straw market, though.  Lots of bright clothes there."  She ducked into a tunnel opening and disappeared within.

Gunther stared after her distractedly, then shook his head.  He felt so very, very tired.