[Thursday June 18th, 2076, ~02:25, Al’s Machine Shop, Docklands, London]
Al had walked back into the guest room, leaned against the wall and allowed his booted feet to slide out from under him until his butt met the floor. By the time he was seated there was a fresh cigarette lit in his mouth, though his hands had apparently never stopped fiddling with his comm.
He glanced across the room at the huddled family. The boy couldn't decide whether to sit up straight or slouch nonchalantly, and ended up just looking awkward. The girl, barely covered, assumed a more modest pose on his entry, but made a bit too much a of a show of doing so. The wife tried to stop crying in front of him, but then would just start up again. The husband looked at Al, waiting for the questions to start.
Well, he could wait for a few minutes.
Every time Al thought of a question, it made him want to look at just one more thing in the doc's career app, and he took the time to do so. During that process, Spike nosed the door open and found his way onto the floor next to his master, and an encrypted text came in from Torrent certifying the new guy.
Finally satisfied he'd seen what he could on his screen, Al let out a low whistle and looked up at the four citizens. Giving his commlink a meaningful shake, he said, "Corps, spooks, an' Spocks, Doc. What yer into, ain't jist the megas, you got the gummint an' the dandelion munchers after it to. Circlin' ya like toms 'round a tabby in heat. An' I don't mind sayin', stuff you been lookin' at, it's a field o' great interest ta ol' Al as well. Not ta mention the whole damned rest o' the world."
He watched the daughter shift position. Whatever she tried to cover up, it just exposed something else. He tried to decide how old she was, but decided if he had to wonder, then she was too young.
He congratulated himself on his sterling morals and ironclad ethics.
"Way I see it, we's lookin' at nothin' short of an' a good spell worse'n a full-on zombie apocalypse with this thing. 'Cept instead of a few seconds Danny Boyle-style, or a few days George Romero-style, this one takes a few weeks or months. That's the plus side. Onna minus side, the zombies is smart an' shit. An' ya can't tell 'em from folk. On balance, hell, I'd prefer the flesheaters. So aside from wantin' ta git you an' your kin safe, I reckon I'd like ta see your work inna right hands."
An ugly noise escaped from Spike, and Al cursed and shooed the huge dog out of the room.
"Now the other side, they's gittin' more an' more powerful, gittin' in places, so I reckon that explains why besides some parties wantin' ya intact, others seem ta want ya dead."
The last part sent the boy's eyes wide and the wife into a fresh bout of tears, but he ignored it.
"But here's what I need ta know. Yer work, you come across somethin' important quite recently? Never mind if ya published it or told anyone - way I figure, all these here clients an' more may've been watchin' your work without you knowin' it. So any breakthroughs real recent, like? Ya see, here you been workin' away, an' not even a proper security detail on you an' yours. Then all of a sudden, tonight, we got at least three high-speed teams pullin' out the stops in a race ta git to ya. Tell me why, Doc."
