Special Organ Delivery
On most days, Doctor Fourie preferred the calm sterile environment of the Madison BioFab Lab. Tonight, however, it was underscored by the frantic crackle of the video call on the main monitor. A stern-faced medic, sweat glistening on her brow even in the hospital's climate-controlled environment, filled the space with urgency.
"Dr. Fourie, we've got a code red. Mrs. Diana Britz, fifty-three years old, has sudden catastrophic liver failure. Her system's crashing. We've got less than an hour, maybe two, before..."
Fourie nodded, his gaze unwavering, as he pulled up the encrypted email he just received.
"I've got her genetic profile now, Doctor. Confirmed receipt. What's the latest on her vitals?"
"BP's dropping. Lactate metrics are spiking. We're maintaining organ perfusion for now, but it's a tightrope walk. We need that liver, Fourie. Fast."
"I understand."
Fourie pulled out the USB drive and inserted it into the bioprinter. Without looking, he scrolled through the options and selected the organoid scaffolding option, initiating the rapid assembly protocols.
Tiny nozzles attached to the machine zipped back and forth in the bioprinter's translucent chamber, weaving a complex lattice. Then came the cellular programming phase, where stem cells were reprogrammed by the precise genetic instructions Throne had just uploaded. They started to differentiate, replicate, and colonize this scaffold.
A synthetic liver was growing in real-time. Every capillary, every cellular junction, was carefully constructed. The low thrum of the bioreactor intensified.
Within twenty-five minutes, the process finished. A perfect, glistening human liver rested within the translucent chamber. Fourie carefully transferred it into a specialized, insulated transport unit. This was a compact, glowing box designed to maintain optimal temperature and cellular viability for critical medical transfers.
He returned to the video call and presented his final diagnostic report.
"The viability is currently at ninety-nine point nine percent. It's ready for transport."
Now he just needed to get it to the hospital.
Miles away, Axel got a new alert on his phone. He stopped his delivery bike at the corner of the street to look at it. There was a new delivery request with a Top Priority designation. A stylized organ icon flashed red. It was a critical transport. Biological package.
Axel was surprised by the request. Top priority jobs were very rare, usually reserved for emergencies. They paid exceptionally well, but also came with a responsibility that regular deliveries didn't. He scanned through the brief details:
Madison BioFab to NYU Langone First Ave. Immediate.
There wasn't any time to waste. He tapped the Accept button and kicked off the sidewalk. As he began biking westward, he felt a surge of adrenaline. He expertly wove his bike through a buzzing arterial lanes.
He stopped at the delivery bay at the lab, waiting in front for the automated gates to withdraw and allow him to enter. He dismounted, secured his bike to a rapid-charge station, and knocked on the door.
The doctor came to the door, looking exactly as Axel imagined: precise, unsmiling, with a faint air of detached brilliance. He held a compact, glowing cube in his hands. It was about the size of a small cooler which emanated a blue pulsing light.
"You're Axel?" Fourie’s voice was low.
"Yes," Axel nodded. He extended his hands out.
Fourie placed the unit carefully in Axel’s gloves.
"This is a rapidly biofabbed hepatic organ. It is stable but time is critical. You have less than fifty minutes to get this to First Ave and up to the surgical suites. Every second counts. The internal stabilizers will mitigate most of the kinetic shocks, but extreme impacts should be avoided. And do not allow the internal temperature to fluctuate beyond its narrow parameters."
He gestured to a small digital readout on the unit's side, displaying a precise temperature to a single decimal place.
Axel nodded and swallowed. He didn't know what "hepatic" meant or what an "internal stabilizer" was, but he did understand "every second counts". He placed the glowing cube in a special container on his bike's frame which was usually reserved for fragile art installations.
"Got it doc. Fifty minutes. Consider it done."
He unplugged his bike and pushed off onto the street, focused on his destination downtown. The sun was beginning to set. A sudden gust of wind whipped past, making his bike shudder.
That gust foreshadowed a storm. He passed into a torrential downpour, driven horizontally by the gale. It hit with the force of a thousand fists. Water streamed down his visor, blurring his vision.
"Comms are unstable," chimed his bike's AI. "Localized atmospheric interference occurring. I advise caution."
But he didn't have time to get dry. He hunched over the handlebars and squinted as he pushed forward. The rain was so heavy it seemed to mute the city's usual noise. He navigated cautiously around an automated cab, whose sensors seemed to be overwhelmed by the weather. Further down, a whole lane had become backed up with autonomous vehicles waiting for an unseen blockage to clear.
He veered sharply off the main lane and cut down a narrow pedestrian street that led to the lower levels of the city. These streets had been opened up for pedestrian use and bike usage was usually frowned upon. But given the weather, he didn't expect that he'd see anyone else outside right now.
Axel’s tires hissed on the rain-slicked asphalt as he navigated the web of open streets. He took a sharp turn into what he thought would be a quiet residential street, only to hear a deafening siren. A massive fire truck was barreling down the narrow lane, its automated navigation systems overridden by human emergency responders. It was heading for a transformer explosion reported a few blocks away and it filled the entire street.
"Move!" he shouted at the truck, despite knowing it would do no good.
He had two choices: either get crushed or head back onto the main thoroughfare and hope he could get around the taxis. The bike lurched as he took another sharp turn. The fire truck rumbled past just a few feet ahead. By this point, the biggest traffic problem was no longer the automated pile-ups and more about the raw, human chaos.
With the streets emptied out by the rain, a loose pack of Gearheads took over. Rival deliveristas and teenage urban cyclists were aggressively racing up and down the lanes, weaving in and out of the automated cabs.
"Watch it, amigo!" one of them yelled, his orange racing jacket blurring past.
Axel gritted his teeth. These guys were fast and reckless, but he wasn't in the mood to play games. He focused on the road ahead. He dodged a thrown water bottle, then expertly slipped through a gap between two automated cargo drones to avoid the rest of the Gearheads trying to trip him up for a quick laugh.
"Your heart rate is spiking," the bike noted, measuring from his grip on the handlebars. "I advise taking a break."
But he was agonizingly close to Langone now. Its iconic towers now pierced the stormy sky. There were just two more blocks, a straight shot down a pedestrian-heavy avenue. He took a deep breath at the light, then pushed through the final intersection. To his surprise, he was met by a wall of bodies.
A spontaneous flash mob had emerged out of nowhere. Hundreds of people, holding vibrant, colorful umbrellas, were engaged in an elaborate, synchronized dance routine. The music pulsed from hidden speakers and they moved back and forth, creating a sense of unreality. Meanwhile, they completely blocked the street.
Axel slammed on his breaks.
"Are you serious?" he muttered.
He scanned for an opening, but there was no way he could bike through this.
"I've got no choice," he decided.
With a grunt, he dismounted and slung his bike lock through the frame and left it propped against a lightpost. He unclipped the glowing transport unit and clutched it to his chest as if it was a fragile treasure. He plunged into the heart of the mob, weaving through the swirling bodies.
He apologized as he bumped past people as he got ever-closer to the hospital entrance. The dancers barely noticed him, as fixated as they were on their collective trance. He ducked under an extended arm and sidestepped a twirling performer.
Finally, he was free. He gasped for breath as he reached the clean, expansive plaza in front of the hospital. There were just a few yards left. He sprinted and felt his legs burning. The automatic doors slid open silently as he barreled through, startling the few people in the pristine lobby.
He didn't stop until he reached the surgical reception desk. A nurse looked up.
"Axel?" she asked, recognizing the urgent transfer alert on her screen.
He thrust the glowing unit forward.
"Britz. Diana Britz. The liver..." he stopped to catch his breath.
The nurse's face changed to one of relief.
"Thank the stars! We've been tracking your progress here."
She snatched the unit.
"Surgical team, STAT! The organ is here!"
The nurse disappeared through a secure door, followed by a flurry of medical personnel. Axel leaned against the reception desk, his body trembling with exertion and adrenaline. He wasn't a doctor. He wasn't a scientist. But he could at least save somebody's life.
He opened up the delivery app on his phone and reported the job as complete. As he did, another gig offer appeared underneath. A cross-town delivery of a burrito? Yeah, he could that.