Sean walked out of the orthopedic trauma specialist's office, wincing when he tried to flex his left arm and wrist. The medical insurance card from the DOE had opened many doors. His mother had dropped him off at the Greenwich Hospital before leaving to work at the bank on Saturday morning. Sean's oppressive cast was finally off after six long weeks but his arm was still quite useless from stiffness and muscle loss. Not to mention how weird it looked and smelled under his sleeve. But that wasn't why he was grimacing as he took the elevator up to the private suites instead of heading out the lobby. Judith Fuller was also being treated here. A terse text from her mom last night informed him that Judith was being discharged today and this was his chance to say goodbye. His apprehension at facing Judith condensed into a knot of dread within the blanket of dull remorse that had settled over him after the fiasco in the South Caucasus. There had been an impromptu hearing in Julia's office conducted by the State Department. That and the subsequent shouting match with Julia had left his emotions raw and bleeding.

The wall sconces grew dimmer and wood panelling more elaborate as he proceeded into the hospital's private wing. Elliot was pacing slowly on the plush carpeting outside the suite. Sean suppressed an urge to flee at the sight of the butler's menacing form.

"Master Sean," the butler nodded, his right hand smoothly sliding a semiautomatic back into its jacket holster, "A moment, if you please."

Elliot lifted his left arm and spoke softly into his watch, waiting until his earphone crackled an answer. He rapidly punched into a keypad on the door of the suite, then Sean was ushered in. Susan Fuller was packing up a dozen pieces of luggage in a private dining area assisted by a uniformed woman - a patient concierge from her name tag.

"Don't upset her too much," Susan gave him a hard look, then gestured at another door. Sean hesitated swallowing a lump in his throat and then entered after knocking. Judith sat on the edge of a hospital bed staring out the window, her red hair gleaming bright. Her fragile figure turned at his approach, a pale shadow of the cheerful girl that had haunted Sean's waking dreams. Even heavy makeup couldn't hide the half of her face that looked like sandpaper had been applied to it. Sean flinched, forcing himself not to stare.

"I thought you were my friend," Judith broke the stretching silence.

"I was," Sean protested, "I mean... I still am, Judith,"

"I thought I had found someone to help me actually make a difference," Judith continued hoarsely, "Stupid me, I guess."

"Judith," Sean licked his lips, "I'm sorry I lied..."

"Why, Sean?" Judith spat, anger momentarily sparking her pain-deadened eyes, "For money? Reg and I would have hired you into our non-profit. Or you could have worked for my dad after graduation. Is it some stupid vendetta you have going on with my brother? Grow up, for heavens sake! This isn't some jock-versus-nerd sitcomm."

"Work for your dad?" Sean gritted his teeth, "So he could use and discard me, like he did to my dad? All I heard around the dinner table growing up was how much the Fuller dynasty had done for Portsmouth, yadda yadda. Until your dad sold off his helicopter divsion and threw away his workers like they were leftovers, the men who practically worshipped him. And for what? A couple of billion? That's chump change for your family."

"I didn't..." Judith stared at him..

"Your asshole brother contracted the Collection Agency to have me memory wiped and framed for vandalism," Sean's rage surged at the thought of his nemesis, "Jason has to answer for that."

"Jason wouldn't do such a thing," Judith retorted angrily, "I know my brother."

"Apparently you don't," Sean bit out, then sighed, "Judith, I didn't come here to fight with you. Not asking for forgiveness either. Just wanted to make amends for betraying your trust. I won't be bothering you again. Can we part on good terms?"

"Eveytime you spoke, I felt that a... a blanket draped over the world had been lifted for me to see beneath the surface," Judith tucked her legs under a thick pillow, chin resting on her palms, hair framing her face like a red bell, "And when you pulled your stunt I felt like I'd been... slapped. But I'm not pissed at you anymore. Whatever you told Elliot about viral evolutionary mechanisms, helped save my life. I still can't believe anyone from school would sabotage my lab. Elliot suspects Reg of all people, can you freaking believe it! Reginald Gibbs is like a... perfect gentleman. I threw a pillow at Elliot, I was so angry."

Sean laughed. Judith joined him after a moment, something of her old sparkle shining through.

"If you really meant what you said about making amends," Judith picked up a notepad on the nightstand and passed it to Sean, "I sketched a concept for eliminating the Anopheles gambiae mosquito strain in Africa. Help me implement it."

"Are you nuts?" Sean demanded, "You were nearly killed playing biotech mad scientist. No way your parents are letting you anywhere near a lab again."

"I can hire people to do the grunt work, silly," Judith waved dismissively, "But I need someone to make sure what I'm doing doesn't ruin the local ecology. Someone who intuitively understands system dynamics. You."

"Judith, no," Sean distractedly ran fingers through his hair, "Do you know how long it takes for Big Pharma to go from clinical trial to production? I'm not wasting years of my life just because you want to play Florence Nightingale. Are you trying to make amends because your dad is a weapons maker? The daughter of the Merchant of Death, is that it? You think the world will kiss your feet for trying to save it? Not fucking likely. Ask Dr. Semmelweis what they did to him."

"Have I heard that name before?" Judith frowned.

"Semmelweis was a physician at Vienna General Hospital in the mid-nineteenth century," Sean smiled sady, "He figured out why so many pregnant women where dying of childbed fever in the doctors' ward. Turns out the doctors where infecting the pregnant mothers by operating on them without washing their hands straight after performing autopsies. Semmelweis showed, fucking demonstrated, that the mothers could be saved if the doctors just washed their hands with chlorine before surgery. You think his peers were grateful? No, he made them look bad. Instead of taking two minutes to wash their hands before surgey and save the women's lives, they mocked Semmelweis and drove him to mental breakdown. Semmelweis was commited to an asylum where he was beaten by the guards and died soon after."

"Why are you telling me this?" Judith asked in a choked whisper.

"No good deed goes unpunished," Sean's voice was surprisingly gentle, "Isn't that why you are here?"

"But, Sean, why focus on the bad stuff?" Judith protested, "Look how far we have come..."

"Knock yourself out, Mother Theresa," Sean got up to leave, "If you think the world has grown oh-so-civilized since the nineteeth century, you'll have your heart broken. Take care. Tell your grandma, I said hi."

"Were you born a jerk?" Judith yelled after him, "Or did you turn into one later, Edge Lord?"

"It was fifth grade, I think," Sean paused at the door.

"Huh?" Judith clearly hadn't expected an answer.

"That's when I turned into a jerk," Sean frowned, considering, "We were doing this social studies assignment on our family trees. Each kid was supposed to pick two ancestors with the most interesting histories for an essay."

"What's that got to do with it?" Judith frowned.

"I researched my family tree until I got to 1864," Sean hesitated, then continued, "My mom traces her ancestry back to a Cheyenne-Arapaho settlement in east Colorado called Sandy Creek. These people were forced to live on land much smaller than they were promised by earlier treaties. Still, they made peace with white officials and flew the American flag to display their friendly status. Didn't matter. The settlement which was mostly women and children was attacked by the Coloroda US Volunteer Cavalry. The women were hacked to pieces along with their infant and unborn children, their body parts taken as trophies. Children old enough to run had their brains blown out. And the interesting part? I traced my dad's lineage to one of the killers at Sandy Creek under US Army Colonel Chivington. My two most interesting ancestors tied to the same massacre: a soldier who committed it and a woman who survived it. One of life's nasty little jokes. After I turned in my assignment, I finally understood."

"Understood what?" Judith's eyes had widened in horror, glistening surprisingly bright under the light.

"That the universe is a mindless machine devoid of mercy," was Sean's parting comment as he closed the door behind him.

Judith's mom had finished packing. A couple of burly security types were loading the pieces of luggage onto dollies and wheeling them out the door of the suite under Elliot's watchful eyes.

"Ah, Sean," Susan looked up from her phone, "Do you have a ride scheduled?"

"I do," Sean nodded, "My mom will pick me after lunch."

"After lunch?" Susan raised an eyebrow, "A waste of time to be lounging around the hospital. You can ride with us on our way home."

"Oh?" Sean was taken aback, "That's... really not necessary Mrs. Fuller. Pelican's Nest is closer to Greenwich than my house. It would be too much of a detour."

"It's just a couple of minutes longer," Susan waved away his objection, "Elliot tells me you live within walking distance of Portsmouth City Airport. I'll drop you off there. If you'll wait outside, we'll get going shortly."

Sean nodded and stepped out, still confused. The city airfield was more than just a 'couple of minutes' farther away. He was uncomfortable with Susan's apparent helpfulness. In the solitude of the corridor, Sean's mind replayed his recent drone combat experience over and over like a news reel that would never fade. Refugees dropping on the snow like rag dolls and little Mariam's scream just before she flashed into radioactive vapor.

"Sean, what are you still doing here?" Judith had stepped out, wrapped in a wool trench coat.

"Uh...your mom offered me a ride home," Sean rubbed his eyes. He had fallen asleep against the wall.

"She did?" Judith turned to Susan, sounding as surprised as Sean. Susan simply nodded.

"Ready when you are, Miss Judith," Elliot nodded and led the way. They crowded into a narrow elevator which wasn't the one Sean had used. Sean's discomfort grew as he found himself squeezed between Susan and Elliot. Susan was as stunning as Sean remembered, even with dark circles under the eyes acquired no doubt during her daughter's ordeal. He was acutely aware of her heady perfume and covered his unease by looking down at his shoes. It would be mortifying to be caught ogling Judith's mom. Elliot produced a key to unlock the keypad. The elevator began to ascend.

"Aren't we headed the wrong way?" Sean frowned.

"Nope," Susan smiled. They emerged on the hospital roof in sunlight. There was a Bell 429 on the helipad that Sean first took to be a medvac helicopter. Then he noticed the Fuller Dynamics logo. It was their ride. There was an ungainly gizmo - like a cross between a rail gun and a generator - bolted to the underbody that Sean was certain hadn't been there during Judith's birthday party.

"Infra-red counter-measures active?" Susan glanced at Elliot.

"Of course, ma'am," nodded the butler, "along with the new AI defenses trained to spot unmmaned craft. Not even a hobby drone can approach us without being fried."

"Make sure it's turned off during landing, Elliot," Susan noted wryly, "We don't want to knock out the city grid."

"There's little chance of that, ma'am," the butler sounded reproachful, "the AI is online only above one thousand feet."

Sean was seated in the passenger cabin facing Susan and Judith. Elliot secured the cabin door behind them and then climbed into the co-pilot seat. The active-comfort cushions molded themselves around Sean's body in a whir of servos. The in-flight entertainment consoles between the pairs of seats flickered to life. This is Jason's life, the old resentment flared in Sean's heart. The rotor spooled up in a whine of turbines. They chopper lifted and headed east towards Portsmouth. Long Island Sound was a dark expanse on their right, choppy under cloudy sky.

"It's quieter than I expected in here," Sean noted.

"The cabin is a seperate capsule connected to the airframe only at two points," Susan nodded, "Sort of like a thermos flask. Keeps out engine noise."

Sean stared out at the panorama, his mind elsewhere. Judith rested her head on her mother's shoulder, her eyes occasionally flickering with a troubled expression to Sean.

"So, Sean," Susan cleared her throat, "I didn't get a chance to thank you for clueing us in with Judith's diagnosis."

"Just a lucky guess," Sean turned away, not in the mood for conversation.

"Still," Susan continued quickly, "I'm in your debt. This does not absolve you of your earlier actions, but if there's anything I can do..."

"You could let me sue your husband and son for endangering my life, not to mention assault and battery," Sean suggested hopefully, "without pressing retaliatory charges on me."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Susan shook her head, “Wouldn’t do you much good. Our lawyers are extremely competent. We have a reputation to protect after all.”

”Didn’t think so,” Sean muttered, then paused wondering if he was laying it on a bit thick, "But I'm really glad Judith is OK. The world is better for her presence."

Judith who looked uncomfortable at the turn of conversation, flushed at Sean's praise.

”Whoever did this to my baby,” Susan's lips drew back in a snarl, voice thick with emotion, “I will find them. However long it takes.”

”You are convinced it was foul play?” Sean asked curiously.

”Someone careful enough not to reveal their hand,” Susan looked at him appraisingly, “I agree with Elliot's assessment that it's not GORGON's style. Which brings me to my question: How would you go about killing us, Sean? If you wanted to make it look like an accident?"

"Mom!" Judith looked scandalized.

"I'm not insinuating anything," Susan held up her hand, "You are alive because Sean has a knack of thinking like your assassin in the shadows. Perhaps he can give me some idea what to watch out for. I have to assume whoever is after us is willing to bid their time and keep trying."

"I'm touched," Sean frowned in concentration, his gaze far away, "if I had to guess I'd say our mysterious assassin is attempting to exploit natural asymmetry to work for them."

"Asymmetry?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

"There is a deadly... non-linearity to the world," Sean organized nebulous thoughts into words, "An asymmetry so universal we don't consciously think of it. Most things in life have limited upside and unlimited downside. Everyone knows you can't get to the airport in zero time, but you can end up taking hours longer if there's gridlock. Life-saving surgery won't extend your life forever, but can kill you through complications. Uncertainty is bad for such systems. On the other extreme, there are systems with unlimited upside that actually work better under uncertainty."

"Like buying underpriced put options far out-of-the-money," Susan nodded thoughtfully, "and making out like bandits when the market tanks."

"Says the rich lady who can afford to hemorrhage cash," Sean grinned sourly, "but yes. Another system that works better under uncertainty is evolution, by killing off parts of the system that aren't robust. That was the mechanism Judith was trying to use in her oncolytic viral therapy, the very same mechanism hijacked to infect her. But these are exceptions. Most of the time the universe is trying its hardest to kill you. Your assassin just needs to tip the balance ever so slightly."

"The assassin won't get another chance at Judith," Susan said firmly, "And I'm taking steps to protect Jason at Cardiff."

Steps to protect Jason, wasn't that a pain in the neck, Sean scowled as his dreams of sweet revenge got a little bit harder. But it was for the best, he told himself. After all, he couldn't kick Jason's ass if Jason was dead.

"...how would you get past Elliot to get at me?" Susan was looking at him expectantly.

"How do you commute to Wall Street?" Sean brought his mind back to the present.

"Three days a week by helicopter," Susan nodded, "but not to Wall Street. I have a main office in Bridgeport. It is very secure. Only my quants and vetted clients are permitted."

"Your office may be secure," Sean mused, "But this helicopter is a weak link, a statistical barrier that can kill you in the presence of repeated exposure."

Susan looked surprised, "Air-to-air defenses on this helicopter are more advanced than... "

"No, I meant simple mechanical failure," Sean shook his head, "if the engines stop you are dead. Granted the risk is minimal for any single flight. But it all adds up over the years. Even that's not significant, I know. But what if the assassin can dial up the risk of failure. Something that carries only minor risk for each flight, but is certain to kill you after a year or two of flying. Like Russian roulette. A single game of Russian roulette may not kill you, but if you play it every day you'll end up dead. And unlike Russian roulette the gun barrel of reality has thousands of chambers, most of them empty. After a while we forget that the barrel exists."

"How the heck would you dial up risk of engine failure?" Susan and Judith were staring at him. "No one can get near the chopper."

"I don't know, it was just an example" Sean muttered, "Have you seen or heard anything odd during your commute?"

"Odd?" Susan blinked, "Like what?"

"You know, unusual noises, that sort of thing," Sean looked embarassed. He looked out the window to see how much longer he was obliged to talk to Susan without staring at her like a creep. The chopper was past Pelican's Nest and descending towards Portsmouth.

"No, I can't say I have," Susan knitted her brows, "except for odd weather."

"Odd weather?" Sean turned back to admire Susan's taste in fall fashion.

"We've been encountering occasional hail toward Bridgeport this past couple of months," Susan nodded, "even with no thunderstorms in the vicinity. Hail can be dangerous to helicopters, as you can guess. But usually a chopper would encounter storm winds that force it to turn back long before it sees any hail."

"That is odd," Sean looked mystified.

"You are creeping me out, Sean," Susan laughed nervously, "Surely you don't think whoever is after my family can control the weather?

"No," Sean admitted, "but you might want Elliot to note down the coordinates of these hail patterns and investigate these areas more thoroughly. And thanks for the ride, Mrs. Fuller. I think my stop is coming up. I can see City Airport and my house."

END OF CHAPTER