Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

“All right. Your instructions are to eat your breakfast at seven and to remain in bed after that.”

“Some instructions!”

“Patience is a virtue. See you in the morning.”

It was a slow day for Brian, and when he forced himself to retire he had trouble going to sleep. He was worried now. He had always assumed that his backups were in the files in Mexico. But what if they weren’t? How could he rediscover his work on AI without them? Would it mean more sessions with Snaresbrook and her machine in an attempt to get back memories of the future, his past, that he did not really want? The clock said midnight when he called the nurse for something to make him sleep. He would need all the rest he could get for the day to come.

At eight the next morning he was sitting up in bed staring at the morning news and not seeing it. Precisely on the hour there was a quick knocking and two navy corpsmen came in wheeling a gurney. Behind them was the floor nurse and what could have been two doctors, except for the fact that they stood with their backs to the closed door, fingers brushing the fronts of their white jackets. They were both big men and, for some reason, strangely familiar. And were those bulges in the armpits? Brian thought. Or do they do it different these days.

“Good morning, Brian,” the nurse said, laying a roll of bandages on the bedside table. “If you will sit up this won’t take a moment.”

She opened the roll and swiftly and expertly swathed his head completely, leaving just an opening for him to breathe through and a slit for his eyes. Then cut off the end of the bandage and secured it in place with plastic clips.

“Do you want help getting onto the stretcher?” she asked.

“No way.”

He climbed onto the gurney and the blankets were tucked in around him, right up to the neck. They pushed him out into the corridor, an unidentifiable patient in a busy hospital. There were other passengers in the big elevator who carefully looked away. Whoever had dreamed this one up had produced a really good idea.

The ambulance was waiting and Brian was carried inside. He couldn’t see out but knew that traffic was heavy by the frequent stops and slow progress. When the back doors were finally opened and he was gently lifted out, he found himself looking up at the aircraft carrier Nimitz. A moment later he was being carried aboard. Even before they reached the wardroom he heard muffled commands and a distant whistle as the vessel started away from the wharf. Still without a word, the navy personnel left and Benicoff came in, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Let me take that thing off your head,” he said.

“Did you lay on this aircraft carrier just for me?” Brian asked, his voice muffled by the cloth.

“Not really.” Benicoff threw the bandage into a waste-basket. “It was leaving harbor this morning in any case. But you have to admit that it’s a beautiful cover.”

“It certainly is. Now can you tell me what comes next?”

“Yup. But get off that cart first and put these clothes on. We are heading west into the Pacific and carrying on until the ship is out of sight of land. Then we turn south. We will pass west of the Islas Madres, small uninhabited islands that are just below the Mexican border. A boat went out after dark last night and will be waiting for us there.”

Brian pulled on the trousers and sport shirt. They were unfamiliar but fit perfectly. The moccasins were scuffed and worn and very comfortable. “Mine?”

Benicoff nodded. “We picked them up last time we searched your place. How are you feeling?”

“Excited, but otherwise in great shape.”

“Doc Snaresbrook ordered me to make you lie down, or barring that at least sit down during any lulls in this voyage — like this one. But first I want you to put on this rug and matching mustache.”

The wig fitted his head perfectly, just as the clothes had. Well, after all the operations they should know the size and shape of his head by this time. The curling handlebar mustache had some kind of adhesive on its backing; he looked into the mirror and pressed it into place.

“Howdy, pardner,” he said to his image. “I look like some kind of western gunslinger.”

“You don’t look like yourself — which is what counts. Sit, doctor’s orders.”

“I’ll sit. How long will our cruise take?”

“Once we’re out of the harbor and at sea, less than an hour.” He looked up when he heard the light knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“Dermod here. Ray is with me.”

Benicoff unlocked the door and admitted the two doctors from the hospital, now looking very touristy in plaid slacks and sport jackets.

“Brian, let me introduce you. The big guy here is Dermod, the even bigger one is Ray.”

“I didn’t think you were doctors,” Brian said. When they shook hands he realized that the bulk was solid muscle on both of them.

“Our pleasure to be here,” Dermod said. “Before we left Washington our boss said to wish you the best of luck and a speedy recovery.”

“Boss?” Brian had a sudden insight. “Your boss isn’t by any chance Ben’s employer as well?”

Dermod smiled. “None other.”

No wonder they looked familiar. Brian had seen them on the news, in a parade. Big solid men walking next to the President and looking everywhere but at him. Big because they were there to stay between him and any bullets or bomb fragments. Their presence was more revealing than any amount of words about the importance attached to his safety.

“Well — thank him for me,” Brian said weakly. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.”

“Doctor’s orders!” Ben snapped. Brian dropped into the deep lounge chair.

“Do you have any idea how long we will be in Mexico?” Ray asked. “We were given no details at all. What we were told about was just the instructions about the hospital and the transferral to the carrier and the boat. And that we were being met onshore. I’m only asking because we have a plane ready to take us back to Foggy Bottom tonight. We leave early tomorrow morning for Vienna.”

“I would say that the operation will take two hours at most. We’re going back a different way of course. Vienna? That must be the conference on AIDS treatment and control?”

“It is — and about time as well. Treatment is improving — but even with the new vaccine there are still over a hundred million cases in the world. The sums involved in just containing the disease are so large that the richer countries have to contribute — for selfish reasons alone.”

Brian found his eyes closing; even with the pills he had not slept well the night before. He woke when Ben shook him lightly by the shoulder.

“Time to get moving,” he said.

Dermod led the way and Ray fell in behind them when they went on deck. The water was smooth, the day sunny. The aircraft carrier was barely slipping through the water when Brian made his way carefully down the steps behind Dermod. The boat waiting for them turned out to be a thirty-foot deep sea cruiser with its fishing poles secured vertically. As soon as he was helped aboard, and the others jumped down behind him, the motors burbled and roared and they swung away around the island, leaving the Nimitz behind. The Mexican coast came into view and they cut around two other fishing boats as they headed toward the marina. Brian found that the palms of his hands were suddenly moist.

“What happens next?”

“Two unmarked police cruisers will be waiting for us, driven by the Mexican plainclothesmen I told you about. We drive directly to Telebasico — who are expecting us.” Ben dug into his pocket and handed over two black plastic boxes, about the size and weight of dominoes. Brian turned them over, noticed the socket each had in its base.