Dorian Kross checked his watch again.
The room was getting restless.
They were already twenty minutes late starting and the guest of honour still hadn't shown. Victor Sinclair had a reputation for keeping his own time but for Christ's sake this was a fucking hospital. Jamming up the ER's entrance and coffee shop with reporters, bloggers and influencers for an, "Impromptu," press call was no easy sell and Dorian figured he had ten minutes max until management came over and shut the whole thing down. This was meant to be a big moment for him, it had to go smoothly!
He could already see groups of paramedics and nurses gathering at the back bitching about why they couldn't buy a latte. He looked over at Tracy, Sinclair's assistant, who was doing something on her phone. She looked over at him and shook her head apologetically. An old lady in a nightgown and slippers, wheeled an IV drip into view. With a swift nod of his head and a pained expression on his face, Kross signalled to one of the security guards to move her along. He swiftly obliged.
Tracy bounded over, "OK, he's two minutes out." Kross closed his eyes in quiet thanks. Tracy couldn't have been more than twenty-five and had clearly been run ragged by her job. Kross estimated she was operating on at least three espressos an hour and an array of other stimulants that had given her big black pupils and a manic disposition. She continued, "Now we need to move him through as quickly as possible, but slow enough to answer the questions we've prepped. Is your security ready? This needs to look natural and spontaneous."
She didn't wait for an answer.
"OK, remember the official line is that he is here to view the new facility, not to answer questions or score points. OK? It's just about the patients and making Cyberdome and V.R. as safe and fulfilling for everyone.
"OK? Good. Got it? You'll do great.
"Oh, and don't make too much eye contact, OK?
"He hates that. Thanks." She slapped Kross on the top of his arm and then strained on her toes to look over the top of the crowd.
Three white SUVs pulled into the ambulance bays outside the ER.
Before anyone had noticed, Kross had worked his way through the crowd and waved at his hospital guards to move into position. Meanwhile, a casually dressed security detail poured out of the passenger side doors of the front and back cars. The whole display was like a presidential motorcade.
Kross had positioned himself just outside the entrance doors.
He watched as the passenger door of the middle SUV eased ajar slowly.
A sneaker-clad foot slowly pushed it open from inside. One of the security detail moved in to help it the last few inches.
Victor Sinclair rolled out and landed with both feet flat on the sidewalk.
His phone to his ear.
He was early to mid-fifties but dressed like he was still in his twenties. Skater shoes, regular fit jeans, wallet chain, black and gold pattern Hawaiian style shirt, some kind of hunting vest, and wrap-around sports shades. He had a strange triangular goatee beard under his bottom lip, dark hair cut into an impressive mullet, with a big bouffant on top.
He stood outside the car door for a few moments finishing his call.
Kross could see ambulances starting to back up trying to drop off.
Then suddenly Tracy whipped around, her arm pacing towards Sinclair. She stood next to him quietly clutching her laptop to her chest, her head bowed, not wishing to intrude too obviously while he finished his call.
He ignored her.
Once he'd hung up, he continued scrolling on his phone while she talked quickly in his ear. She was looking over and pointing at Kross.
Sinclair still looked like he was ignoring her when he walked off towards the entrance. "Mr. Sinclair, welcome to County Nine General. My name is Dorian Kross and I am the ER Director here. It's a real honour to have you here, Sir."
Sinclair said nothing and shook Kross' outstretched hand weakly.
Kross, seeing no alternative, continued, "Very well, shall we begin with our tour?" He ushered his guest in with a sweep of his arm through the ER's automatic sliding doors and into the foyer. As he did, a small contingent of the assembled crowd rushed forward, held at bay by a rope barrier and a chain of hospital security. The rest got out their phones and started recording. A few had come prepared with selfie sticks.
"Mr. Sinclair, Jessica Albright, newshuff.com." A young, determined woman had pushed her way to the front in the brief melee that had ensued. "Is donating to this Hospital your attempt at appeasing Congress and heading off any further scrutiny of Cyberdome and the effect long-term exposure to your V.R. products has on users' health and mental well-being?"
She was holding her phone in Sinclair's face over the shoulder of one of the guards. Sinclair slowly stepped towards her and calmly removed his sunglasses, revealing green, overly open eyes that gave him a constant dazzled look. He spoke in his now trademark slow, quiet, meek voice.
"The work we've done here, and what we have built in a short period of time, is the fruition of many years of dedicated research and development by our internal safety and security team. As Virtual Reality becomes an ever-greater part of our lives and as people find new and exciting ways to use it, the consequences and dangers that we are not yet aware of will become more and more evident, and we will move to deal with them as swiftly and effectively as we can."
He paused.
"I founded my company to expand the human experience and open people's minds in a safe way. I am more committed to that today than I have ever been. Thank you." He put his sunglasses back on and nodded to Kross that he was ready to move on.
"Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Sinclair, do you have any comment to make about the recent fall in share price of the Mesmerium Group? Does it have anything to do with the increase of drug deaths associated with Cyberdome? Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Sin…" Tracy moved in to cover his retreat.
"Mr. Sinclair currently has no comment on any ongoing or pending investigations into the Mesmerium Group or Cyberdome. You can rest assured that our full cooperation is being given to the FCC and public health bodies to understand the scope and nature of any issues." Kross led Sinclair and two of his security detail round the corner and through the big double doors into the ER. Tracy quickly caught up. As the automated doors swung shut, the questions and requests for selfies faded out.
One type of noise and bustle was replaced by another.
Kross, Sinclair and his entourage were in the entrance corridor to the ER. Nurses, orderlies and doctors moved by them with purpose and intent. Very few even noticed them. It was a Wednesday lunchtime, so it wasn't as busy as it could get, but it was far from quiet. The party looked to Kross for guidance for what to do next. Tracy nudged things along by looking at Kross, tapping her watch and mouthing quietly, "We've got twenty minutes."
"Certainly, shall we go see the new facility?" replied Kross, taking the hint. "It's just down the corridor here to the left."
Sinclair nodded as he moved out of the way of an orderly pushing a trolley with fresh bed linen.
"Very well then." Kross pulled down on the waistcoat of his three-piece, grey King Charles check suit, pivoted on his wing tips and strode down the hall. "Follow me please," he instructed in an upbeat tone.
As they walked, he leaned into Sinclair. "Mr. Sinclair, please let me say how grateful the hospital is for your support of the Trauma unit. It has made a real difference in the level of care we can deliver to patients." Sinclair nodded cordially.
"It's an important field to explore," he returned casually.
"It is indeed," returned Kross. "And we hope by proving the concept here at H9 we'd be able to roll it out to more hospitals and more ERs very soon." Sinclair murmured, "Through here please." They were in a part of the corridor that forked off into four other areas. They followed the route marked for the NeuroSync Recovery Bay.
"So this is NeuroSync Recovery," informed Kross proudly. "We may only have been open a couple of months, but already the unit is pretty much at capacity on most days." He led the group down a long ward with curtained cubicles on both sides. "We treat around thirty to fifty new admissions a day here, and demand is growing."
"So, you deliver the urgent care here, and then where do you move the patients onto?" asked Sinclair as they slowly walked.
"That is probably the biggest issue we are facing right now, Sir. If we can successfully remove the patient's headset and get them to regain consciousness and brain function, then we are able to move them upstairs into intensive care or one of the other wards." Kross stopped by one of the cubicles where a team of doctors and nurses were working. "But if we don't and we need to keep them in session, then we have to treat them here for the duration. We currently have a handful of patients who have been with us for some time, that we are not able to transfer as we are the only unit with HyperSim machines." Sinclair nodded along.
"And the HyperSim machines, are you still using the mark ones, or have we upgraded you to the mark twos yet?" he asked.
"I believe it's still the mark ones, but perhaps I could introduce you to our Chief of NeuroSync Medicine, Doctor Brandon Walker. He'll be able to provide you the most accurate information." Kross led Sinclair into the cubicle behind him and presented him to Brandon. "Doctor Walker, may I introduce you to Mr. Victor Sinclair, our distinguished benefactor." Brandon stopped what he was doing and reached out his hand. "Brandon has headed up the unit since its inception and has pioneered much of the groundbreaking treatments that we now undertake. Brandon, Mr. Sinclair was asking about the HyperSim machines."
"Of course," continued Brandon. "They are a fundamental part of what we do here. We wouldn't be able to do our job without them, as you can see here with this patient."
They were standing over a man lying in a hospital trolley still wearing a VR headset and with a ventilator tube hanging out of his mouth. It was difficult to gauge his age, but judging by his big grey beard, he must have been on the elderly side.
He was wearing a hospital gown and he seemed thin. Small blurry tattoos made sporadic marks under his leathery tanned skin. He looked like he'd spent a lifetime outdoors. His VR headset looked battered and worn, like it had been in an accident.
From it, wires linked to a mobile cabinet. Within was an electronic console featuring ports and plugs, which led cables to the man's headset. On top of the cabinet sat a laptop with a Mesmerium Medical screensaver spinning around. Brandon tapped the cabinet. "Whenever we get an in-session patient, the first thing we do is connect them to the HyperSim and it quickly stabilises their brain activity and stops any seizures that they may be experiencing.
"We then monitor the brain patterns and try to slowly reduce the amount of stimulus being sent to the brain. Once we get it low enough, we can then try to remove the set." Sinclair nodded quietly. Brandon found it difficult to gauge his reaction from behind his sunglasses.
"And this patient," Sinclair said, pointing at the man in the bed, "how long has he been connected?"
"So this is John Doe, one of the very first patients into the unit. He's been with us nearly nine months now. He came in convulsing and going into neuropaleptic shock. We found evidence that he'd been using Seraphine during his session. We're getting more and more patients coming in who are using some kind of hallucinogen or psychedelic during their VR sessions."
"What kind of stimulants?" interrupted Sinclair.
"A variety. They're either synthetics like Seraphine that enhance the experience of the VR session itself, or more traditional drugs like cocaine, LSD, MDMA, and Acid that allow users to be in session for longer. They override the built-in time limit with some kind of plugin and then they go for hours and even days in session. Either way, if they come in with something in their system, then it is much harder for us to get them off. If we try to detach the headset without lowering brain activity enough, then the sudden drop in impulses traveling to the brain causes a sudden shock that ultimately jolts the nervous system and leads to either severe brain damage or even death."
"How well does the HyperSim lower brain activity?" asked Sinclair.
"It works well when a user has been in session for no more than two to four hours. Longer than that, the chances of pulling them out tails off exponentially," Brandon replied.
"And you're seeing more and more cases like that?"
"We are, yes," Sinclair nodded as Brendon spoke, taking everything in.
Then Tracy interrupted, holding a phone to her ear. She whispered something to Sinclair and he took the phone from her and walked away into the corridor. Tracy scrunched up her face and raised a finger to indicate he'll just be a minute and then swiftly turned and followed him. His security team milled around, not really knowing what to do. Brendan and Kross took a couple of steps away from the cubicle.
"How's it going?" asked Brendon.
"OK, I think. Most of the people on their list showed up. I think the right people got to ask the right questions. I think he's pleased." Kross folded his arms.
"I wonder if he'd be doing this if Congress weren't making him?" offered Brendon cynically.
"I think he's a good guy," said Kross, looking down the corridor towards Sinclair. Brandon looked at him sideways. Kross didn't notice; he was looking at his feet.
"You pitch expanding the program to him yet?"
"Loosely," said Kross. "I'll see if I can be more direct later. I can't see why he wouldn't want to; I've got inquiries from here to Denver asking for assistance. This thing's only going to get bigger and bigger."
"And so will your job, huh," said Brendon with a wry smile. "You've never stopped being ambitious, Dorian. I'll give you that, not since med school." Kross huffed. He leaned in close to Brandon.
"Fuck ambition. Siobhan's lawyers are bleeding me dry. After this divorce is through, I'll be lucky if I can afford a bedsit in Rosedale. I do need a bump up and I need it quick." He emphasised the word "quick" with his expression.
"You'll be fine, Dorian. You always are," reassured Brandon weakly. The conversation lulled until Kross punctured the silence.
"Anyway, how are you doing?" Brandon scrunched his face and bobbed his head.
"I'm OK, I guess."
"Yeah?" asked Kross quizzically.
"I spoke to Riley yesterday."
"Oh OK, what did he have to say for himself?"
"Nothing new," replied Brandon, looking over Kross's shoulder blankly. "He suggested I think about maybe dialing things back. Start thinking about maybe moving on."
"What did you say?"
"Told him no way." Brandon paused, monitoring his emotions. "I'm not ready to stop looking yet."
"How long has it been now? Eighteen months?"
"Little over a year. Riley says the chance of us finding her are low. Either she doesn't want to be found or," Brandon trailed off. Kross chose his words carefully.
"Look, perhaps a pause might be good for you. Might help you come back stronger, you know. This whole thing has eaten you up. You need to start thinking about you at some point.
"When was the last time you took a holiday, to do something other than look for Grace? Take some time for you." Brandon shifted awkwardly, taking in what was being said. Kross, sensing the conversation was over, "Look, I gotta get back to our VIP. How about a drink Friday or something? I think we could both do with blowing off some steam. What do you think? I'll give you a text, OK. And you'll have to wear something other than OR scrubs, OK?" he said, trying to leave it on a light note.
"OK, maybe."
Kross slapped Brandon on the shoulder and walked away. Brandon went back to work.