[i]'Is it me, or does there [/i]really[i] seem to be a timing issue going on here? Or maybe the universe is just getting its jollies at our expense... ?'[/i]

Abby still managed a smile though, even as she watched Gavin's back retreat down the hallway they'd just come up, hurriedly enroute to some emergency or other. That it truly was an emergency, she never doubted for a minute, any more than she doubted Gavin's quiet promise to pay his 'debt in full.' Even so, there was more than a little incredulity in that little twist of a smile on her lips before her attentions returned to the rumpled, sleep-fuzzied Antoine Eadore.

The poor man stood there in the doorway, the very genial soul of patient long-suffering and, if she weren't mistaken, certainly attempting something very like a military bearing. Her brow furrowed curiously for a moment over that smile, wondering where exactly Antoine Eadore had served, but bit the question back. Maybe another time perhaps, when they hadn't just tossed the poor guy out of bed.

"At ease, Mr. Eadore," she said easily, waving the man back toward a more comfortable stance. He was, after all, right outside his own room! "And please, just call me Abby. As Gavin... Dr. Brock was already saying, so [i]very[/i] sorry for waking you, but that might just be the consequences of forgetting the military truism, wherever it was you served: keep your head low, stay out of sight, and volunteer nothing!" Abby laughed softly. "Because then you wind up with people on your doorstep, messing with your naps... "

She folded her arms over her chest easily, moving toward the door. "And yes, we do - or I guess you're just stuck with 'just me?' So [i]I[/i] have some questions about the cryobeds, but do you think we might speak in your room? I won't keep you long, and I'd really like to make sure this stays just between us, if at all possible. It's about the mechanisms of the cryobeds, and the possibility of countermanding "

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Devika peered up at Dr. Brock as he strode into the surgical suite, letting out a slow breath of relief the moment she saw him. She stood straight up, which didn't exactly make that much of a real difference in her height. Pen light in hand, she waved the geneticist to her, beside a seemingly still unconscious Sung Pak where he lay on the gurney. 

"Dr. Brock - great! So good to see you, thank you for coming so quickly." And she truly was glad to see him. So much so in fact, she didn't even bother scolding him for coming into the surgical suite without booties over his vintage Converse sneakers - she'd just have the place re-sterilized later.

She lay her small, warm hand over the elderly Asian man's forearm where she stood, nodding her approval to the med tech beside her, monitoring the modified EEG hookups attached to a cap covering most of his head, strapped up neatly beneath his chin. The holographic screen above Sung's body pulsated with a faint white glow, black lines translating the electrical waves of Sung's brain to display an encouragingly vibrant surf of wavering ebony lines.

"This is Sung Pak," she began, falling easily back into the rhythm of giving years of nursing reports to physicians and oncoming nurses. "He's 58-years old, one of our precious few NI techs. During the last shift change, Sung didn't come out of the neural interface as he should have - he actually... Well, there isn't really a word for what happened to him. To my knowledge, it's never happened before, but in essence, Sung 'glitched.'"

Devi good-naturedly offered up her penlight to Gavin, so he could check Sung's pupils for himself if he wished - the man really didn't seem prepared for the doctoring role at the moment. "His consciousness was trapped, in essence, in a loop like... Well, like when a computer seizes up, I suppose. We literally shut down his NI chamber completely, and in essence, 'rebooted' him." Devi winced apologetically, feeling terrible about having to use such insensitive language to talk about a human being, but she honestly did not have any other words to use. And then winced all over again, when she realized what pronoun she'd used in that last sentence.

"No... No, not 'we.' I'm the one responsible for how we got Sung out of there, for better or worse. It was my call." The woman nodded her dark head briskly, firmly, and then continued on with her briefing. "He seems to be in a coma, though we have gotten him to obey commands intermittently, squeezing a hand occasionally - it's promising. And you got here just in time - we're taking him next door for a CT scan. His brain... I don't trust myself to read this, to see if there is any lobular damage. All the NI techs [i]literally[/i] have wiring surgically implanted into their brains. Even adjusting for metal artifacts, this is... Well, all of this is unprecedented, I suppose."