Connie Willis - Doomsday Book

"I'm not certain. Can I ring you back tomorrow and tell you when I'll be coming in on the tube?"

"Yes, but you can only take the tube as far as Barton. You'll need to take a taxi from there to the perimeter. I'll arrange for you to be let through. All right, Andrews?"

He didn't answer, though Dunworthy could still hear the music. "Andrews?" Dunworthy said. "Are you still there?" It was maddening not to be able to see.

"Yes, sir," Andrews said, but warily. "What was it you said you wanted me to do?"

"Read a fix. It's already been taken, but the tech — ."

"No, the other bit. About taking the train to Barton."

"Take the train to Barton," Dunworthy said loudly and carefully. "That's as far as it goes. From there, you'll have to get a taxi to the quarantine perimeter."

"Quarantine?"

"Yes," Dunworthy said, irritated. "I'll arrange for you to be allowed into the quarantine area."

"What sort of quarantine?"

"A virus," he said. "You haven't heard about it?"

"No, sir. I was running an on-site in Florence. I only arrived back this afternoon. Is it serious?" He did not sound frightened, only interested.

"Eighty-one cases so far," Dunworthy said.

"Eighty-two," Colin said from the windowseat.

"But they've identified it, and the vaccine's on the way. There haven't been any fatalities."

"But a lot of unhappy people who wanted to be home for Christmas, I'll wager," he said. "I'll call you in the morning then, as soon as I know what time I'll arrive."

"Yes," Dunworthy shouted to make sure Andrews could hear over the background noise. "I'll be here."

"Right," Andrews said. There was another burst of laughter and then silence as he rang off.

"Is he coming?" Colin asked.

"Yes. Tomorrow." He punched in Gilchrist's number.

Gilchrist appeared, sitting at his desk and looking belligerent. "Mr. Dunworthy, if this is about pulling Ms. Engle out — "

I would if I could, Dunworthy thought, and wondered if Gilchrist truly didn't realize Kivrin had already left the drop site and wouldn't be there if they did open the net.

"No," he said. "I've located a tech who can come read the fix."

"Mr. Dunworthy, may I remind you — "

"I am fully aware that you are in charge of this drop," Dunworthy said, trying to keep his temper. "I was merely trying to help. Knowing the difficulty of finding techs over vac, I telephoned one in Reading. He can be here tomorrow."

Gilchrist pursed his lips disapprovingly. "None of this would be necessary if your tech hadn't fallen ill, but, as he has, I suppose this will have to do. Have him report to me as soon as he arrives."

Dunworthy managed to say goodbye civilly, but as soon as the screen went blank he slammed the receiver down, yanked it up again, and began stabbing numbers. He would find Basingame if it took all afternoon.

But the computer came on and informed him all lines were engaged again. He laid the receiver down and stared at the blank screen.

"Are you waiting for another call?" Colin asked.

"No."

"Then can we walk over to the infirmary? I've a present for Great-Aunt Mary."

And I can see about getting Andrews into the quarantine area, he thought. "Excellent idea. You can wear your new muffler."

Colin stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "I'll put it on when we get there," he said, grinning. "I don't want anyone to see me on the way."

There was no one to see them. The streets were completely deserted, not even any bicycles or taxis. Dunworthy thought of the vicar's remark that when the epidemic took hold people would hole up in their houses. Either that, or they had been driven inside by the sound of the Carfax carillon, which was not only still banging away at "The Carol of the Bells" but seemed louder, echoing through the empty streets. Or they were napping after too much Christmas dinner. Or they knew enough to keep in out of the rain.

They saw no one at all until they got to Infirmary. A woman in a Burberry stood in front of the casualties ward holding a picket sign that said, "Ban Foreign Diseases." A man wearing a regulation face mask opened the door for them and handed Dunworthy a very damp flyer.

Dunworthy asked at the admissions desk for Mary and then read the flyer. In boldface type it said, "FIGHT INFLUENZA. VOTE TO SECEDE FROM THE EC." Underneath was a paragraph: "Why will you be separated from your loved ones this Christmas? Why are you forced to stay in Oxford? Why are you in danger of getting ill and DYING? Because the EC allows infected foreigners to enter England, and England doesn't have a thing to say about it. An Indian immigrant carrying a deadly virus — "

Dunworthy didn't read the rest. He turned it over. It read, "A Vote for Secession is a Vote for Health. Committee for an Independent Great Britain."

Mary came in, and Colin grabbed his muffler out of his pocket and wrapped it hastily around his neck. "Happy Christmas," he said. "Thank you for the muffler. Shall I open your cracker for you?"

"Yes, please," Mary said. She looked tired. She was wearing the same lab coat she had been two days ago. Someone had pinned a cluster of holly to the lapel.

Colin snapped the cracker.

"Put your hat on," he said, unfolding a blue paper crown.

"Have you managed to get any rest at all?" Dunworthy asked.

"A bit," she said, putting the crown on over her untidy gray hair. "We've had thirty new cases since noon, and I've spent most of the day trying to get the sequencing from the WIC, but the lines are jammed."

"I know," Dunworthy said. "Can I see Badri?"

"Only for a minute or two." She frowned. "He's not responding at all to the synthamycin, and neither are the two students from the dance in Headington. Ms. Breen is a bit improved." She frowned. "It worries me. Have you had your inoculation?"

"Not yet. Colin's had his."

"And it hurt like blood," Colin said, unfolding the slip of paper inside the cracker. "Shall I read your motto for you?"

She nodded.

"I need to bring a tech into the quarantine area tomorrow to read Kivrin's fix," Dunworthy said. "What must I do to arrange it?"

"Nothing, so far as I know. They're trying to keep people in, not out."

The registrar took Mary aside, and spoke softly and urgently to her.

"I must go," she said. "I don't want you to leave till you've had your enhancement. Come back down here when you've seen Badri. Colin, you wait here for Mr. Dunworthy."

Dunworthy went up to Isolation. There was no one at the desk, so he wrestled his way into a set of SPG's, remembering to put the gloves on last, and went inside.

The pretty nurse who had been so interested in William was taking Badri's pulse, her eyes on the screens. Dunworthy stopped at the foot of the bed.

Mary had said Badri wasn't responding, but Dunworthy was still shocked by the sight of him. His face was dark with fever again, and his eyes looked bruised, as if someone had hit him. His right arm was hooked to an elaborate shunt. It was bruised a purple-blue on the inside of the elbow. The other arm was worse, black all along the forearm.

"Badri?" he said, and the nurse shook her head.

"You can only stay a moment," she said.

Dunworthy nodded.

She laid Badri's unresisting hand down at his side, typed something on the console, and went out.

Dunworthy sat down beside the bed and looked up at the screens. They looked the same, still indecipherable, the graphs and jags and generating numbers telling him nothing. He looked at Badri, who lay there looking battered, beaten. He patted his hand gently and stood up to go.

"It was the rats," Badri murmured.

"Badri?" Dunworthy said gently. "It's Mr. Dunworthy."

"Mr. Dunworthy…" Badri said, but he didn't open his eyes. "I'm dying, aren't I?"

He felt a twinge of fear. "No, of course not," he said heartily. "Where did you get that idea?"