It was 3 a.m. before Doctor Alice Roark stripped off her gloves, threw them in the disposer and sat down for the first time that shift. She flopped into the chair, her eyes closing as soon as her head hit the fake leather headrest. Now if only there were a god, or even a friendly spirit watching over her, she could catch a few minutes sleep. She wasn't greedy—half an hour or even twenty minutes would do—just enough to give her flagging energy a boost.

She got five minutes.

"Doctor Roark? You're needed in Admittance," an urgent voice in her left ear caused Alice to jerk upright. "Immediately."

"Wha-?" she asked, groggy from the too-short nap.

"Gunshot to the chest," the voice answered, as if she had asked a meaningful question. Alice shook the last cobwebs from her brain and stood up, automatically pulling on a clean pair of gloves and a fresh white coat. She'd walk through the decontamination chamber later, when it was time to begin surgery.

She pushed through the swing doors into Admittance and saw emergency personnel rushing a laden trolley toward her from the direction of the hospital entrance. A police officer kept pace alongside, his eyes drawn to the man on the trolley.

"I need a doctor, now!" shouted one of the paramedics.

"I'm the doctor," said Alice, coming up alongside the moving trolley. "Let's get him straight through to the operating room," she continued, seeing the blood-soaked uniform, ripped open across his chest to expose the damage. The paramedics had done what they could, packing the wound with hemostatic gauze and supplying oxygen through a tube inserted down the man's throat.

"Gunshot wound in the chest," explained one of the paramedics. "We had an emergency call at two fifty-one and reached him three minutes later. Officer Sanchez here was applying pressure, but the victim was still bleeding out. Got him here as fast as we could."

Alice spared a glance to the officer who was hurrying alongside. "You did a good job," she said, "but now it's up to us. You can watch from the observation window if you'd like."

The paramedics pushed the trolley into the nearest treatment room and transferred the patient to the operating table in one quick movement. Alice took the opportunity to walk through the adjoining decontamination chamber while her nursing team, already wearing sterilised gowns and gloves, cut away the remains of the man's uniform and prepared him for surgery. A quick scan showed the placement of the bullet, lodged dangerously close to the man's heart.

Alice bent over the patient and peeled away the bandage. The wound was gaping, bloody and ugly. "This doesn't look good. Has he signed the no-liability clause?" Alice spoke as her hands worked, trying to save the officer's life.

One of the paramedics nodded. "First thing we checked before we brought him here."

"We're losing him!"

Alice checked the monitor, registering the critical information. "Right," she announced in even tones. "I'm calling a termination event. I'm injecting N-23, one standard dose."

The senior nurse handed her a syringe, and Alice injected the contents into the large vein nearest the heart. Alice continued to work swiftly, probing gently to remove the bullet while nurses swabbed away the blood. She had to keep him alive until the nanobots could work their magic.

"What are his chances, doc?" asked the man's partner, anxiously, from the other side of the observation window.

"It's going to be close," admitted Alice. "He's sustained a lot of damage. But if the nanobots have time to repair the worst of it, he'll have a fighting chance." We just have to keep him alive until that happens, she added, silently.

Three hours later, she knew Officer Martino was going to make it.

Alice pulled off her gloves and gown and dropped them in the disposal unit. Another success for the Research centre's pioneering technology, she thought with satisfaction. Although N-23 was still in the clinical trial stage, she was averaging a 50 per cent success rate. Pretty good when compared to the fact that everyone selected for the new treatment was in the process of dying. Current regulations insisted a doctor had to declare the patient imminently terminal before N-23 could be applied. Alice gritted her teeth. Which was why she only had a 50 per cent success rate. If only she could apply the N-23 earlier, she was certain the odds would improve dramatically.

She rolled her shoulders, releasing tension. Now, perhaps she'd have time for a cup of coffee before the next case.

Alice was just opening the door to her apartment, ready to collapse into bed, when she saw her neighbour limping toward her down the corridor. Her knees were grazed and bleeding, her stockings torn, mud smeared the front of her new dress and a cut above her eye was causing it to swell shut.

"Oh my God, Summer, are you all right? What happened?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Doctor Roark. I'll be fine once I get cleaned up." Summer's soft tones were huskier than usual.

Alice was already pushing open the door to her apartment. "Let me help," she said. "Come inside and I'll see if I can do something about those knees."

"I'll be fine," Summer protested. "You were on your way in. You look exhausted."

"A few more minutes won't hurt," said Alice. "It won't take long."

She led a reluctant Summer into her apartment. "I want to take a look at that eye. You might need a stitch or two."

"Stitches?" asked Summer, sounding anxious for the first time. She made a beeline for the hall mirror.

"Oh no!" she gasped, shocked at the damage that had been done. Her right eye was almost shut, the swelling bruised and puffy. Dried blood smeared her cheek and her mascara had run, creating an unfortunate resemblance to a zombie.

"Come in here and let me have a proper look," said Alice, getting her first aid kit from the bathroom. "Have a seat," she insisted, pulling a chair forward. Nearly two metres tall in her high heels, Summer towered above her when she was standing.

Carefully, Alice washed the blood and grit away from the cut. "It's not as bad as I thought," she announced cheerfully. "I won't have to operate! I think we can get by with some sticking plaster. What happened?" she asked again, as she applied antiseptic to the wound and then the plaster.

"I tripped and fell over," said Summer, not meeting her eyes.

"Oh, Summer," sighed Alice.

"If you must know, some random stranger pushed me in the back," said Summer. "It's not like I haven't been bashed before," she added bitterly. "It might be 2035 but some people are still living in the dark ages. Why can't they just leave me alone?"

Her anguished eyes met Alice's. Alice shook her head in sympathy. "I don't know."

"Maybe after I've had the next lot of surgery, things will get better," Summer murmured to herself.

Alice kept her lips shut. It wasn't her place to say anything, but at six foot tall, with a square jaw and broad shoulders, she feared no amount of surgery or oestrogen was going to transform Summer into the feminine woman she wanted to be.

Doctor Evan Desmarais, the director of Last Chance Medical Research Centre and Alice's boss, was waiting for her when she entered the building the following evening. Alice barely had time to take her coat off before Desmarais was ushering her into his office.

"Mrs Weston's planning to sue. Her nose grew back," he announced dramatically.

"You're joking, right?"

"Unfortunately, not," Desmarais was bleak.

"After all we did for her? We saved her life, dammit!"

"I know that, you know that, even Mrs Weston probably knows that. But apparently Mrs Weston is more concerned about her nose than her life."

"And what do you mean, 'her nose grew back?'" Alice finally heard what Doctor Desmarais was saying.

"She had a dose of N-23, your newest nanobots. Apparently there are a few side effects."

"Side effects?" Alice's stomach sank. And her research had been going so well.

Ever since the Research Centre had made that initial break-through in 2025, when they developed a nanobot that could fight cancer, it had seemed only a matter of time before they could develop nanobots to fight other diseases. Now there were nanobots to fight HIV, polio and multiple sclerosis, with even more in the pipeline. N-23 however, was cutting edge technology. Nanobots which could repair damaged tissue caused by injury rather than disease.

"It seems that not only do the N-23 nanobots repair the injury-damaged cells but they also repair cells damaged by surgery. In Mrs Weston's case, cosmetic surgery to reshape her nose. It takes the body back to its original state."

"I guess that makes sense when you think about it," Alice mused. "After all, how would the nanobots be able to distinguish between planned and unplanned injury? But honestly, it doesn't seem like that big a deal to me," she added, dismissively. "What's a nose job compared to your life?"

"Well, apparently the nose not only grew back but Mrs Weston says it's bigger than before. More... prominent."

Alice gave an exasperated sigh.

"That's what I thought at first, but then I saw this." Desmarais held up his wristcom. "I finally persuaded her to send me a before and after image," he told Alice. He moved his wristcom so that Alice could see the picture. "Do you see what I mean?"

Alice peered at the small image. "Not really. Could you put it up on your console unit?"

Desmarais bustled around behind his desk and transferred the image to the larger screen.

"Now. See?"

Alice stared at the two profiles. "This is the same woman?"

"It is," said Desmarais, grimly.

Both doctors stared at the two images placed side by side. One showed Mrs Weston as she had appeared when Alice last saw her, on the operating table after the hover-car accident. Her face was drawn and white with pain, but it was still recognisable as a fairly ordinary Anglo-Saxon face, with pale skin, a small narrow nose—courtesy of an expensive surgeon—and thin lips. The second image, taken a few days ago, showed a much healthier looking woman with a pronounced Roman nose jutting above a generous mouth and skin with a distinct olive tinge.

"But... how?" Alice turned to her boss, bewildered.

"Well I haven't had time to do a full and proper study, but I have an idea," said Desmarais. "As you know, normally genes don't change after birth, with the exception of aging or viral attack, but it looks to me as if N-23 has modified her genetic code. In Mrs Weston's case, it's selected a different genetic pattern than the one she was born with."

"Wha-?" Alice was struggling to make sense of what Desmarais was saying.

"Her personal history shows a Turkish grandmother. Seems to me, N-23 has focussed on those genes instead. As if N-23 decided that is how she was meant to be."

They both stared at the two profiles.

"How is that even possible?" Alice murmured.

"I have no idea! But what I do know, is that we have to withdraw N-23 from all human testing until we find out."

"But we can't!" Alice protested. "What about all those people N-23 has saved? Doesn't the no-liability clause protect us?"

Desmarais was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but we don't have a choice. N-23 goes back to the research lab."

Alice fumed all night during her shift. There must be something she could do. Surely, if people had the possible consequences explained to them, it was up to the patient to decide whether they wanted to take the risk or not. That was the whole point of the no-liability clause; it gave patients the right to choose, and protected the Research Centre from lawsuits. Mrs Weston for example, didn't have a leg—or in her case, a nose, smirked Alice—to stand on. And after all, it wasn't as if N-23 was picking up random features out of the air. It was selecting genes from those already present in your body—just giving them a different priority. With your life at stake, who wouldn't be prepared to take that risk?

It was nearly dawn before she was able to sit down for more than a few minutes. As if to taunt her, there had been a steady stream of critical patients through the night and two had died on the table. There was no way of knowing if N-23 could have saved them, but Alice ached with the frustration of being unable to use it.

She had just laid her head against the fake leather headrest and closed her eyes, when another emergency call had her scrambling to her feet. She checked her wristcom—almost time for the next shift. Doctor Norton should be gowning up at this minute. Could she leave this one to him? It had been a really long night.

"Doctor Roark?" A voice spoke again in her left ear.

Alice sighed. "On my way. What do we have?"

"A knife in the back."

Alice pulled on fresh gloves and gown as she walked, hoping the injury wouldn't prove to be life threatening, then pushed through the swing doors to Admittance. Emergency personnel rushed a laden trolley toward her and even from that distance she could see the knife still sticking up, out of the patient's back. The patient was facedown, long blond hair covering her face, but the blue dress she was wearing looked worryingly familiar.

"We left the knife where it was," advised one of the paramedics. "We were worried it's gone into a lung."

Alice nodded—from the angle of the knife handle, she had to agree.

Alice stared at the blue dress and bit her lip. It couldn't be, could it?

"Let's get her into a treatment room," she advised automatically, coming up alongside the moving trolley. Fearfully, Alice looked down at the patient and gently drew her hair back from her face.

Alice bit back a gasp. Summer.

Summer opened an eye and groaned. "Doc?"

"Hullo, Summer."

"It really hurts."

"I know. I'll do my best for you." Alice fought to hide her concern behind a reassuring smile. The injury looked serious. She could only hope it wouldn't prove to be critical. It would be a terrible irony if Summer needed N-23 and she couldn't administer it.

Alice walked through the decontamination chamber while her nursing team readied the patient.

"The patient has signed the no-liability clause," advised the paramedic automatically, before leaving the room with the empty trolley.

"Thank you," murmured Alice absently, as she scanned Summer's back. As the paramedic had feared, the blade had penetrated Summer's left lung. Sliced right through to the other side. Blood was already seeping into the lung.

"Ready to anaesthetise, doctor," advised a nurse in quiet tones.

Alice bit her lip. It was going to be touch and go as to whether Summer survived the operation. Alice really wanted to be able to use N-23—if she had to. But then she thought, what effect would it have on the surgery Summer had already endured? Surgery to bring her closer, step by painful step, to becoming a woman on the outside?

"Summer? I need to tell you something—" Alice broke off abruptly. Summer was no longer capable of hearing.

"I'm calling a termination event," announced Alice before she could change her mind. "I'm injecting N-23, one standard dose." Her hand reached for the syringe. The nurse hesitated.

"Now!" Alice insisted. "I'll take full responsibility." Bowing to a higher authority, the nurse passed her the syringe. As she pressed the needle into Summer's vein, Alice could only hope Summer would be able to forgive her.

Once she knew Summer was going to live, Alice kept away. She admitted she was behaving like a coward but she simply couldn't bear to see the reproach in Summer's eyes when she realised all her surgeries had been in vain.

"Doctor Roark," Doctor Desmarais stopped her in the corridor. "Summer Janssen keeps asking for you. She's due to be discharged today." Desmarais had an odd look on his face. After her disregard of his instructions, he had quietly removed all samples of N-23 from the hospital section of the research centre. N-23 could now only be found in the laboratory and was subject to stringent regulation.

"I really think you should stop in and see her."

Alice's shoulders sagged. Desmarais was right. She had to face Summer sooner or later. Perhaps she could help make amends, by offering to pay for some of the repeat rounds of surgery she would surely need.

Alice knocked on the door of the cubicle. "Summer? It's Alice Roark."

"Come in, Doctor," came the reply, sounding surprisingly cheerful.

Alice opened the door. "Oh I'm sorry, I must have the wrong room—" Then she stopped, staring.

Before her was a tall, elegant woman with blonde hair, well-rounded breasts and a neat waist. Her features were strong but feminine, and her smooth throat showed no signs of an Adam's apple. She wore a pale blue dress and white high-heeled shoes.

"Oh my God, Summer! Is that really you?"

Summer burst into a beaming smile, tears in her eyes, and spun around in a circle. "It's a miracle! I'm a woman, a real woman, on the outside as well as the inside! Whatever you gave me... it's magic!"

She gave Alice a spontaneous hug, lifting her off her feet. "You know, Doc, you need to change the name of this place. It's not a 'last chance' at all. It's a new beginning!"