The Facilitator Read Free Page A

about what she had to do this morning, but she was rested enough to accomplish it and to do whatever it took to send this client on his way with a smile on his face.
    She’d selected comfortable clothes for some reason, a soft uni-suit tucked into her favorite style of slouched ankle boots. No high-style, sex-flaunting crap today. She was all business.
    Something told her she was going to need comfort when she was done here, not decadence in latex.
    Going up in the elevator, she’d toyed with requesting a few days off. The bonus she’d found in her bank account had made her jaw drop. She could certainly afford the luxury of a first-class hotel stay near Old Vegas, somewhere she’d fancied for a while. Visitors couldn’t gamble there anymore, of course, since the massive earthquake of a century ago, but she’d love to see those old palaces and just wander through what was left of them. There were holo repros of shows, stars and music. There were even actual artifacts, slot machines and so on.
    It was fascinating stuff and Martine knew she’d enjoy the trip. Maybe she should look into it…
    “Hey, Martine.” The day nurse nodded her usual greeting. “Here’s the status report. Looks like this one’s gonna be a doozy. You want coffee or anything?”
    Martine scrolled through the chart, finding nothing she didn’t already know or expect. The patient was heavily sedated. That would make her task easier in some ways and harder in others. The neural connections would be sluggish and more complex. She sighed. “Pass on the coffee, but thanks.”
    She tapped a fingertip on the pad, the resulting print confirming that she’d read and understood the contents. This case was all about formalities, apparently. A few extra layers of security and busy work which would translate into a nice folder full of cover my ass if anything went awry.
    “He ready?” She glanced over the desk to meet a worried gaze.
    “Yes.” The nurse hesitated. “You watch yourself, Martine. This one’s very strong. He’s one big guy—and sick as he is, he’s still got more strength than you and I put together. And he’s a UAM.”
    Martine nodded. “Says he’s got level four Antin’s Syndrome. No surprises about what that’ll do.”
    “Yeah. Rapid progression, brain affected first, very little physical deterioration and terminal onset within six weeks or less. Organ failure total and catastrophic.” She wrinkled her nose. “Real hard way to go. Not that there’s an easy one, but I reckon you’re just the person to handle this.”
    “Let’s hope.” Martine raised a hand in a mock salute and walked to the door, unsealing it and entering the patient’s room. The click and hiss as it closed behind her was reassuring, as was the routine hum and hushed chatter of the monitoring equipment surrounding the bed. The lights were low, as usual, the smell of the room unchanged.
    But something was sending skitters of apprehension over Martine’s skin. If she’d had hair, it might well be standing on end right about now. As she approached the bed, she realized where the problem lay.
    It was right in front of her, beneath the institutional blue blanket and sterile white sheet. Plugged in to a dozen different pieces of equipment and receiving doses of sedative on a strictly monitored schedule. She blinked when she caught sight of the amounts he was absorbing.
    He had to be absolutely out of it, buzzed beyond his eyebrows. And yet his brain activity wasn’t flat or even mildly wavy. It was sharp—frantic even. His body twitched every now and again, a tremor shaking the well-cut biceps and forcing veins sharply to the surface as his fists clenched and released.
    If he was like this with a gut full of sedatives, Martine had no freakin’ clue what he was like when fully conscious, and she was extremely glad she didn’t have to find out. But a job was a job and hers was to connect with him on a neural level and let his fantasy take shape. Once