Emergence

She's pretty good at this. The exec is tall, well-groomed, and attractive for a woman well into her fifties. With an admirable presence she faces the crowd, flashes a warm smile, and begins to explain how inspired she is by our presence here today, and the exceptional care that we must be receiving.

That's when I pull the fire alarm.

Thanks to how easily Markus is manipulated, I'm stuffed along the back wall, near an emergency exit. This is one of the more appealing aspects of the plan; Markus will surely be blamed for allowing me to escape, and hopefully for not noticing the damaged medication cuff, too.

"Fire!" I shriek, gesturing vaguely toward the second floor mezzanine. When those near me look up I dart to the side, pull the alarm, and head toward the exit. The effect is immediate, and more disorienting than I had expected. The klaxon blast of the alarm is deafening after my sedate life in my carepod, and the flashing emergency lights are half blinding. I reach the emergency exit, which is equipped with a bar that needs to be pushed for five seconds before it believes there's really an emergency. It seems more like five minutes, but the door finally yields and I stumble toward freedom.

Except I'm not outside yet. The exit leads to a long service corridor which parallels the atrium. It's just as loud here. I try to recall Stephanie's guidance. "If you exit on the right side of the atrium go left down the hall. It's the opposite on the left." But left and right seem subjective depending on which way I was expected to be facing, and now I'm not sure. On the other hand, several other people have already entered the service corridor and they're all running the same way. I follow.

"Hey, hey Simms!" From somewhere behind me Markus's voice booms through the corridor. I don't think he saw me pull the alarm, but he definitely saw me pointing toward imaginary fire, so it won't take even an idiot like him long to figure out I'm running. I charge ahead.

My weeks of training in the garden pay at least a small dividend. Soon I'm brushing past the slower people in the corridor, trying not to attract too much notice. But I'm taller than almost all of them, and after a moment Markus spots me.

"Simms! Goddammit, stop!"

The man is a sloth, but as more and more frightened people enter the service corridor my progress slows. I'm wondering how many hapless laundry and catering staff he is flinging out of the way to catch up with me, and I briefly consider doing the same before I spot daylight. We're all flowing out of some loading dock and into the early afternoon sun.

Again I'm disoriented. I was expecting a road, but the loading dock is a large one with multiple bays. I stumble forward before I see it, the access road which serves the parking garage. My senses are on overload. The alarm, the unfiltered sun, horns, and the excited chattering are all more than I'm used to dealing with. The poor excuse for shoes they fitted me with for the excursion are rubbing at the corners of my feet. It's all I can do to move forward, hoping to stay ahead of Markus.

"Jasper!" a different voice rings out, then, "Simms!"

It takes me a second to filter out the background noise but then I see a hand waving from a diminutive hopper - a short-term rental vehicle. I gawk at it.

"Simms! Hurry!"

Part of me is trying to distinguish between Markus, who hasn't stopped yelling my name, and this new and unfamiliar voice. But the voice is a woman's so I commit, jogging forward until a door is thrown open.

I don't hesitate.

*

If I expected some immediate revelation I would have been disappointed. My new companion, the sole occupant of the vehicle besides me, is focused on driving. They're rare these days, non-autonomous cars. I wonder what sort of disreputable rental outfit she went through to find it. On the other hand, it's smart. The non-autonomous models can have tracking disabled, which I'm sure she's done. As long as the driver stays within the polite tolerances standard in the autonomous vehicles, narrow speed range, infrequent lane changes, yielding to other vehicles, then we won't be flagged.

Regardless I'm too distracted by the city to be bothered by a lack of discourse. It's Boston, alright. I somehow knew that, had even configured my carepod's virtual environment to show the city. There are the claustrophobic streets, grand parks, and elegant back bay homes. It's odd what I remember and what I don't. I'm sure I'm in Boston, I remember how rare non-autonomous cars are, and knew what a loading dock was. But I can't remember any personal encounters farther back than a few months.

"Ava," she says, yanking me from my reverie.

"What?"

"I'm Ava."

I recognize her now. She isn't as carefully groomed and attired as she was when the politician visited the hospital but it's her, the journalist who so deftly questioned him. The one who spotted me in the crowd.

"I'm Simms," I reply. "Ahhh, Jasper Simms." Even a week after Stephanie reintroduced me to my name it's still awkward on my tongue.

Ava snorts, a reaction I wouldn't have expected. "I know who you are, Jasper. I came to rescue you, remember?"

"I saw you at the hospital before."

"You could thank me."

"For rescuing me?"

"Of course." She's carefully moving through traffic, one eye on the road and one on me.

"Thanks, although I'm pretty confused right now. How did you find Stephanie?"

She sweeps her red hair back. "I'm a journalist, Jasper. We have our methods."

I'm not sure what to say to this so for a time I watch the city pass by. We're briefly on a freeway before taking a local road. Whatever buried memories I have of this town don't seem to include this particular neighborhood.

There's a bag on the back seat next to me. "Put those on," Ava says, "we need to ditch this car."

'Ditching a car' is the most escapey thing I've heard today, although Markus yelling futilely at my back is a close second. I dump out the contents of the bag, which consists of a pair of jeans that look like they might fit, a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of running shoes. Ava is driving so calmly that changing isn't difficult.

"Put your hospital clothes into the bag and tie it."

I do this, after which Ava pulls over. "That autocycler there," she says, pointing to a squat cylinder. I drop the bag of clothes in. The autocycler will either disassemble or destroy the bundle. I have no idea if shitty-clothes-given-to-patients-for-show can be reused.

Next comes ditching the car, which turns out not to be as dramatic as I had pictured. Ava pulls into a hopper station and speaks to the automated attendant. "I'm having trouble with this one," she says, still as calmly as if she drives a getaway car every day. Maybe she does. "I'd like to switch to the standard model."

While we're waiting for the fully autonomous hopper I take the opportunity to check out Ava. Last time I saw her, when she was in full journalist mode, she had given off an impression of unflinching poise, armored in her conservative suit and restrained hair. The air of calm is still there, but now she's dressed in tight jeans and a long-sleeved but clingy sweater which doesn't even try to hide her curves. She catches me looking.

"I suppose you haven't seen too many women lately."

"Just Stephanie."

Ava grins, and I realize she must know everything. "Well, if you're only going to have one woman in your life she's a good choice."

The arrival of the replacement hopper saves me from fumbling through an unnecessary explanation. We both jump in back and Ava gives the vehicle an address back the way we came. I give her a puzzled look. She's looking intently out the window and for a moment I wonder if she notices my confusion. Then she leans next to me, close enough to kiss. "Next intersection," she says softly. "When the hopper stops, get out."

We do. When the hopper reaches the intersection it slows, then stops. Ava steps briskly from her side and I follow, leaving the vehicle to chirp in alarm. Ignoring it, Ava leads me out of the street, down an alley, and into the back of a nondescript apartment building. "Here," she says, guiding me inside before anyone spots us. That was the escape.

It's a service apartment, with coordinated but uninspiring furniture and artwork, worn floor coverings, and a bottle of wine which must have been a welcome gift from the management company. Ava shows me to the bedroom, which has been stocked with several changes of clothes. I suppose Stephanie has provided my sizes.

"Are you hungry?" Ava calls me back to the living room and shows me a stack of carryout menus. Suddenly I'm starving, and we settle on Chinese food. Even the idea of something other than the bland, gelatinous hospital food has me salivating.

I wait until Ava sits back on the couch before I ask, "Is this where you give me the big reveal?"

She doesn't respond right away, and for a moment I'm afraid she thinks I'm asking her to undress. But she gets my meaning. "No, Jasper. I'm a journalist, not a mystery novelist. I don't do big reveals."

"But you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on with me, and why you got involved, right?"

Again Ava doesn't immediately answer. She's attractive, but without the warmth that made Stephanie so approachable. My guess is that as a journalist, her looks have served her well, getting attention while giving little away. Her response seems to reinforce that idea.

"Jasper, I know you're eager for answers, and I promise to tell you everything I know. But I can't do it all at once."

"Why can't you?"

"For one thing, you're going to start having withdrawal symptoms soon. They had you on a bunch of meds, not all of which Stephanie recognized. She thought that some of them were in your food. I suspect you're going to be disoriented for a while, and I don't want to tell you too much until you're ready to deal with it."

"I feel fine now," I say, although that isn't entirely honest. I've felt increasingly on edge since I stopped getting two of the medications. "What can you tell me right now?"

"You were kidnapped," Ava says. "I have a theory why, but until I'm more confident in it I'm going to keep it to myself."

"To protect me?"

"To protect my story. This is my livelihood."

That seems fair. "How long ago?"

Ava nods as if to confirm that she approves of the question. "Eighteen months, give or take. No one asked for ransom so I don't know the exact date, but just over seventeen months ago there were a few stories about your disappearance."

"Stephanie said I was famous."

"Yyyyes." We're clearly approaching a forbidden topic. "You were. A kind of fame. That's part of why your story is of interest."

"And I was kept in a hospital because I'm ill?"

This draws a stare. "No Jasper, you're not ill. There's no sign that you were ill before you disappeared, and no sign that anything they were doing to you was for your health."

I suppose I knew that, must have understood at some level that with so little care and so many drugs, that my health wasn't the priority. "So what about Dr. Kapp then? Who's he?"

"Jasper, I promise we'll get to that. I've only had a few weeks to work on your story, didn't even know you were in that hospital." She leans back, curling a strand of red hair between her fingers. "Let's give this a day or two. Once we see how difficult your withdrawal symptoms are we can continue this conversation. Plus I should know more by then."

I try pressing her, but Ava changes the subject. She shows me the pantry, which is stocked for at least a week, shows me where the linens and toiletries are, and when the food arrives she shows me around the kitchen.

The food is almost overwhelmingly rich. When Ava opens the compostfoam containers the smell of it slams me. For a moment I think I might get sick, but once I begin to sort out the individual scents my stomach catches on. I tear into the food, eating all of my pepper beef, and a generous taste of Ava's steamed whole fish. I'm buzzed with the intensity of the flavor and the variety of textures.

After dinner we both crash. A stab of guilt hits me when I realize that Ava must have had just as stressful a day as I have. She takes the couch, saying she'll stay the night just in case my withdrawals are bad. It's a sweet gesture, and I'm so tired that I don't even insist on taking the couch myself. I wonder, though, what she'll do if I take a bad turn. What if Kapp really was treating me for some illness? Ava wants her story, but she isn't a doctor. Would she call for help? Drop me at the door of yet another hospital and run? Fortunately, sleep takes me before I get too wrapped up in the possibilities.

*

In fact, I don't feel quite myself the next morning. My energy levels wake me early, and my appetite is rebounding with an undeniable urgency. When Ava wakes I'm in the kitchen toasting frozen bagels and smearing them with cream cheese.

"You need to get to the gym," Ava explains.

She's right. The apartment complex has a modest but well-equipped gym with weights, treadmills, and bikes. There are even sweat towels. Ava doesn't have any workout clothing, but she's bought some for me. Soon, with her watching with a slightly amused expression, I'm warming up on the bike then cautiously working my way through a weight circuit. There's an AI assistant which monitors my pulse, how much I'm lifting, and how quickly I move between sets. I must have done this routinely at some point in my past because the efforts come with a natural ease. This is a long way from running with rocks in my hands, though, and after less than forty-five minutes I'm already tiring.

It's a Friday, which Ava reminds me is a work day for her. In addition to pursuing my story, she has her routine responsibilities for the digital news outlet that pays her bills. It's an unfamiliar concept for me, the work day. Of course I know that many people work Monday through Friday, but not only have I been hospitalized for farther back than my faulty memory reaches, the idea of a regular schedule doesn't tickle even a buried memory. Whatever I did before, whatever I was famous for, must not have involved a regular schedule.

Ava leaves, after assuring me she'll be back this evening. There's no datapad or smartscreen, but there's a conventional screen with endless programming. I watch for a while, read one of the paper books left behind by a previous renter, then take a nap. Upon awakening, I'm once again filled first with hunger, then a burst of energy. By the time Ava returns I've completed a second set in the gym.

"I can't eat carryout food like yesterday and keep my figure," she explains, setting down a basket.

I like her figure so I help dish out a dinner of cold pasta salad, fruit, and grilled shrimp.

"I learned something about Kapp," Ava says, pre-empting my question. "Check this out." She shares her holoscreen, which is pre-loaded with three news stories. Ava clicks on the first.

Doctor William Kapp Recognized for Pioneering Work in Male Sexual Function. I read the first several paragraphs, and check the attached photo. It's him, although I'm surprised that he was able to look at the photographer long enough to be photographed. The story is fairly shallow, little more than a summary of a paper he published on the role of hormones in male sexual function, coupled with a theory about how they might be manipulated to resolve certain dysfunctions.

"The next story is more revealing," Ava says, selecting it.

Bio-Therapy Startup KapGen garners $20 Million in First-Round Venture Capital Funding. This time I read the entire story, which describes how the startup founded by Kapp and a Dr. Salan hopes to use a combination of hormonal and genetic therapies to address both male and female sexual dysfunction. Salan, apparently, is a specialist in genetic therapies. The firm, buoyed by its success with raising capital, opened a research center not too far from downtown Boston.

"I've never heard of KapGen," I say.

"Scant wonder. That was four years ago. Look at the next article."

This time I check the dateline, which is just under two years ago. FDA Launches Probe Into KapGen - Focuses on Male Performance Claims. I read through it, and although some of the regulatory and scientific language is beyond me, it's clear that the firm was suspected of making exaggerated claims about the efficacy of its supposedly pioneering treatments.

Ava is watching me intently, but I'm unable to reach what I'm sure she thinks is an obvious conclusion. I try anyway. "So, Kapp washed out in business and had to go back to treating patients?"

Ava snorts. "Hardly. He is listed as hospital faculty, but that's probably just to get him admitting and pharmacy privileges. There's no record that he is treating any patients. Plus, while KapGen is in trouble, they haven't been shut down quite yet."

I turn this around in my head, this time ignoring Ava's expectant looks. "He was experimenting on me."

Her smile is immediate. "Yes! Yes, I believe he was. Salan, too."

"I don't remember him."

"Her," Ava says, referring to her notes. "Kapp may have been the face of your medical incarceration, but I have no doubt that Salan is somewhere analyzing samples."

"Why were they studying me?"

"Stephanie said they were collecting blood, DNA, urine, and semen?"

Her frank mention of semen collection startles me. "Yes, that's right."

"It's related to male sexual function for sure. Look at the timeline. KapGen was being investigated for false claims starting around two years ago. You disappeared six months later."

"Why me?"

Ava puts her notes down and settles back in her chair at the tiny dining table. Her expression is taut, and I realize she's deciding how much of the story to share. "Stephanie told me a little bit about your session."

Perhaps at some point I'll stop being surprised by how much personal information Ava has on me. "She did? About us having sex?"

"That was part of our deal. When I recognized you at the hospital I was eventually able to figure out who was on your care team. I approached Stephanie by asking her 'If you found out that a patient in your care was being illegally held would you help him escape?'"

"She said yes."

"Right away. But when I told her who you were she said she wanted to fuck you first."

I'm having difficulty picturing sweet Stephanie making that request. "Okay..."

"So we planned your escape together, and she got to fuck you. She said it was nice."

Incredible was more like it, I thought.

As if reading my mind, Ava continues. "In fact, she said it was really good, and that you had excellent staying power."

My cock twitches at the memory. "I don't know," I say. "I know I wasn't a virgin, but that's the only time I remember having sex."

Ava just nods, and I realize that once again she's waiting for me to connect the dots on my story. Half a minute later I do.

"I have good staying power. Kapp wants to know why, and if he can reproduce it for his company."

"Staying power is one thing, yes."

"Well goddammit! They kidnapped me for that?"

"It looks that way." She can surely see the anger rising in me. "That's why I want to get them, Jasper. Why I want to shut down KapGen, too."

I have a hundred questions but Ava redirects me. She's good at that. "I need time to work on my investigation. You need time to recover. In addition to keeping up with your gym routine, I think you'd benefit from some down time. Let's watch a movie."

I can't object to that. Ava finds one on the screen, a buddy comedy starring two actors whose names aren't familiar but spark memories when I see them in action. I must have seen it before because I find myself anticipating what will happen next, and even some of the dialogue.