Talking Man

CHAPTER NINE - AURORA

From the personal medical journal of Dr. Edith Fraunen, Global Department of Health.

Unpublished.

• My own independent research into the Eams infection nearing completion. Will shortly compile a fully detailed presentation for the board. Uncertain how my hypothesis will be received due to unaffiliated nature of work and unusual conclusion.

• Nearly twenty varied patients have been studied at diverse stages of infection. I have isolated the bacteria in controlled environment and observed exhaustively.

• Claim that bacteria originated from rotting Egyptian fruit trees: RULED OUT.

• Claim that bacteria originated as alien microbe from meteorite: RULED OUT.

• Claim that bacteria first grew in poorly maintained food factories: RULED OUT.

• Am ready to stake my professional career on the following hypothesis:

• Eams is originally microbe produced naturally by the human immune system.

• Eams microbes are all imprinted with DNA of individual patients. Calcium destruction and consumption was written in by DNA upon release into patient's system. Microbes are self-replicating, hence the contagion.

• Abnormal imbalance of calcium seemed to be the root cause, though source of calcium cannot be traced or found in infected subjects. Original patients would need to be studied to find initial condition that caused the immune system to develop Eams, but all original patients are long deceased. Original medical team under Shurovsky should have been more thorough.

• Will continue work, though research has already been exhaustive. Report with complete notes will be finished within weeks.

• Hope to challenge popular assumptions about Eams.

Contents of journal made available to the medical board of Aurora Corporation with the cooperation of the DOH.

Dr. Fraunen date of death: 3/16/2176

* * * * * * * *

A nondescript suited man arrived through the front doors of the SASH building and strode to the giant marble desk that was home to four female receptionists (perfect-bodied mascots who were politically clueless, but who were at least trained with all the right answers to the usual questions). Weston could see the desk through the glass walls of his own producer's office on the third floor, and while he had no specific reason to give this innocuous and unmemorable newcomer his attention, his intuition told him to be unsettled.

He had no idea what the man in the suit was asking the women at the desk, but it seemed both important and time-sensitive as the stranger kept his face aimed directly at the prettiest of these greeters, moving slowly closer to her as his mouth moved rapidly and his body betrayed a certain amount of impatience. Then, as if possessing a preternatural magnetic awareness, the man stopped talking and, removing his hands from the polished stone desk top, stood straight. He looked upward and pivoted his head around steadily. His gaze passed right by the many other offices visible from the lobby, settling finally on Weston. The sweating producer looked away, lowering his head to his own desk, and proceeded to look busy. When he looked back up not ten seconds later, the man had vanished.

But that was only the beginning.

Weston had been ill at ease for some time, ever since the Grand Slam of broadcasts had landed on his desk. That day, nearly two months prior, had begun like any other; Weston Hillquist, the personified transmitter betwixt the heaven-bound broadcaster and his billions of eager worshippers, licked salty grease off his chubby fingers as he walked into his office, pausing only to wipe a smudge and a crumb off the chrome door handle.