TekLords, page 7
“Even being shut away for only four years can be damn unsettling.”
“Only four years? That can be a very long time, too.” She reached across the table to take hold of his hand.
“It was for me, yeah. Things changed a lot—and the worst part of it is that I wasn’t around when Dan needed me.” Jake turned his hand in hers, squeezed. “I just can’t get him to realize that I didn’t have any choice. You’d think a cop’s son would understand. When they arrest you, try you and sentence you, you don’t have any say. You just go serve your sentence.”
Beth, slowly, let go of his hand. Standing, she came around to his side of the table. “There’s something else I want to talk about.”
He took hold of her around the waist. “Seems like all we do when we’re together is talk.”
“When I was angry at you, I said some things about you and the android—”
“Could be you’re right.” He, very gently, pulled her down onto his lap.
“What I never got around to saying was the most important thing,” she told him. “We came to know each other in a pretty odd and unusual way, a special way. You knew the Beth simulacrum before you knew me. You liked her and so when you met me, you liked me, too.”
“Like isn’t anywhere near a strong enough word, Beth.”
“Don’t interrupt, just listen, Jake. You still don’t seem to have accepted the fact that it was me—the, far as I know, authentic and original Beth Kittridge—who made the choice to fall in love with you.”
“I know.” He kissed her.
Putting her arms tight around him, she kissed him back.
The vidphone sounded.
It sounded again.
Reluctantly, Beth rose and crossed to the kitchen phone alcove. “Yes?”
“Is my father there?” It was Dan on the phonescreen, looking unhappy and concerned.
Jake hurried over to take the call. “Is something wrong, Dan?”
“I’ve been trying to find you all over,” his son said. “Then I thought you might be there.”
“You look very upset. What is it?”
His son said, “You don’t have to do anything about this if you don’t want to, but I thought I’d better call you. Mom’s sick.”
“What do you mean—is she with you now?”
“No, she’s very ill...she’s in the hospital. It’s serious, real serious...and they...I don’t know, Dad. She’s maybe going to die.”
“What is it—what’s wrong with her?”
“Nobody’s sure yet. The doctors think maybe a virus...it came on very sudden. Started this afternoon and within a couple of hours...I figured I should phone you even though you aren’t actually married any longer, but...
“I’ll be up there soon as I can tonight. Where is she?”
“The Marina Hospital here in Frisco, Dad. I’m calling from there now. They’ve got her in the Isolation Wing, but I’m out in the Reception Area because they won’t let you inside. That’s where I’ll be. You can’t see her up close, but—”
“That’s all right, I can be with you and that’s important, too,” Jake said. “I’ll be there within two or three hours.”
“If you’re too busy—”
“Two or three hours, Dan. You try to take it easy.” He hung up.
Beth said, “A virus.”
“Just a coincidence,” he said. “Okay, I’ll call Bascom and tell him I’m going to take a day off from the Winterguild case.”
“I’ll come along with you to San Francisco.”
“Good, I’d like to have you with me.”
She asked, “You’re not doing this just for Kate, are you?”
“My relationship with her was actually over and done before I even went up to the Freezer,” said Jake, standing. “Thing is, I didn’t know it then. Didn’t know it until I got out.”
“You’re mostly doing this so you can be with your son.”
“Maybe I can help him get through this, maybe I can still salvage something.”
13
GOMEZ DECIDED TO IGNORE the stripper.
She was a foot-high blonde holographic projection doing her act in the exact center of his table in the shuttle cocktail lounge.
There was a control panel at the edge of the small square black table. Gomez had touched the NO ENTERTAINMENT key twice, but the blonde wouldn’t go away. He’d also tried the STRING QUARTET and the DIRTY WRESTLING keys, but the stripper remained and continued to shed her clothes.
“On the fritz,” he concluded, picking up his glass of beer and glancing casually around.
There were about forty tables in this particular lounge, which was one of three onboard the Casino-bound ship. There were about seventy patrons crowded into the room and at least half of the tables had the stripper stripping.
Behind the silverplated bar roamed two large gold-plated robot bartenders and circulating through the dimlit lounge were three beautiful blonde barmaids. They were androids, identical in looks and sparse costumes.
Gomez recognized a few professional gamblers in the crowd and one wellknown pimp. But he didn’t spot anyone he’d ever encountered in the line of duty or whose picture he’d come across.
That might mean that nobody had spotted him either. His cover story was a mite risky to bring off, since he had to pose, not as somebody else, but as himself working on a spurious case.
He sipped his beer.
The shuttle had departed from the GLA Spaceport a little over an hour ago and Gomez had, casually and unobtrusively, already checked out the other two cocktail bars. He’d come across nobody suspicious there either.
Setting his glass down, he gave the control panel another try. The stripper didn’t go away, but two greased wrestlers joined her.
“Perhaps our technological society isn’t as perfect as I’ve been led to believe,” he said to himself.
Three tables over a plump tourist with a full red beard suddenly fell clean off his chair. Hitting the plastiglass floor with a rubbery thump, he started laughing.
Close to Gomez’s right ear someone said, “Well, why’s a top Cosmos operative heading up to The Casino—are you planning to crash the Teklords’ meeting?”
Dan came running across the Reception Area to Jake. Jake held out both arms to his son.
The young man pulled up a few feet short of him, out of reach of an embrace. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“Waiting downstairs. Any news?”
The fifteen-year-old’s shoulders slumped, he shook his head forlornly. “Nothing, Dad. They just keep giving me the same old bullshit,” he answered. “Maybe you can get them to tell you...I’m afraid...she’s going to die or something.”
“I’ll find out what’s going on, Dan.”
The Reception Area for the Isolation Wing was large, grey and white in color. One wall was a oneway seethrough plastiglass, looking out on the dark night San Francisco Bay and a scatter of brightlit floating restaurants. Two walls contained rows of cubicles and in each was a patient monitor screen.
Dan gestured at the monitors. “We can go look at her, if you’d like. On one of those screens over there.”
“Yeah, let’s.” He followed the young man to an empty cubicle.
Dan touched the keyboard beneath the three-foot-square viewscreen. “Mom’s in Room #134,” he said. “She doesn’t look...she looks really bad.”
Jake’s exwife appeared on the screen. She was lying on her back in a narrow floating airbed, covered to the waist with a thin white plassheet. Her face was deeply flushed, perspiring. Her eyes were closed, underscored with dark shadows. A white enameled medibot was in the process of administering a shot with a needlegun that was attached to its wrist.
Dangling down from above was an intricate tangle of colored wires and tubes, all attached to Kate’s body, sticking into her arms, her side, her throat. Breathing gear was attached to her chest, a plasmask covered her nose and mouth.
Jake watched the sad image on the screen.
Dan said, “All those things sticking into her, they must hurt.”
“It’s standard procedure.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezed. The boy didn’t move away. “Can I talk to her doctor?”
“All you can do is hit a number and talk with a hospital andy. Her real doctor is named Habib, but I only saw him once, just after she was brought in. That was really rough, Dad. It took a hell of a long time for the skyambulance to get to the apartment...waiting for it and then trying to explain what was wrong...She was unconscious by the time they finally got there. I don’t know, maybe if I’d acted faster—”
“Sounds like you did fine, Dan. Don’t blame yourself for the way the hospital handles things.”
“It’s just that I...you know, I don’t want Mom to die.” He moved clear of Jake’s hand, lowered his head and turned his back to the screen. He pressed his lips tight together, hesitating on the edge of crying.
“How do we go about talking to somebody?”
Dan sniffled once, wiped at his nose. “Here, I’ll do it,” he offered, turning to the keyboard again. “You just have to hit MD and then 134.”
Kate’s image popped off the screen, replaced by a picture of an empty white desk.
After about ten seconds a very handsome blond man in a white medical jacket hurried into the scene, seated himself at the desk and smiled. “I’m Dr. Redfield. How can I help you? Oh, and I’m required by NorCal State law to inform you that I’m an android practitioner, not a human.” He tapped the tag on his jacket pocket with his forefinger. It read AND-MD.
“Jake Cardigan. I’d like a report on the condition of my former wife, Kate Cardigan.”
“That would be Kathleen McRobb Cardigan you’re inquiring after, sir?”
“Christ,” muttered Dan, “I already told this asshole all this.”
“That’s her, yes,” said Jake. “Can you tell me exactly what it is she’s—”
“Mrs. Cardigan was admitted at 4:45 P.M. this afternoon.”
“What’s she suffering from?”
“Her condition is serious. We’re doing the best we can. Because of the nature of Mrs. Cardigan’s illness, she is allowed absolutely no visitors.”
“It’s the nature of the illness that I’m curious about.”
“We can make no statement about that at this time, sir.”
“Dr. Habib already told me it was a virus,” said Dan.
“Is it a viral illness?” Jake asked the android.
“We can make no statement about that at this time, sir.”
“Okay, then can you switch me to someone who’s authorized to make a statement?”
“Not at the present moment, sir.”
“What about Dr. Habib—where can I find him?”
“Because of his caseload, Dr. Habib is unable to leave the Isolation Wing. Is there anything else I can do to be of assistance, sir?”
“Nope.”
The smiling doctor faded, replaced by Kate. She was alone in her room now.
“I thought you could maybe find out something, Dad.”
“I will, but I’m going to have to make a few calls first. Put a little pressure on the hospital crew.”
“Phones are just over there.” Dan pointed across the room. “She’s not...you saw her...you don’t think she’s going to die?”
“No, don’t worry. I don’t think she’s going to die,” he told his son. But he lied.
14
THE DIRECTOR OF THE Isolation Wing was not happy. A tall, thin man of fifty, he sat, impatiently, behind his white desk, frowning across at Jake and Beth. “I don’t mind saying,” he said, “that I dislike being manipulated.”
“We realize that,” said Beth, smiling faintly at him. “But since you refused to see Mr. Cardigan, even after several of his influential contacts suggested it, I decided I had to step in.”
“Simply because you happen to have gone to school with the daughter of our chief of staff doesn’t really—”
“Suppose I just ask my questions, Dr. Goedewaagen,” put in Jake. “You can answer them and then we can break up this meeting.”
Goedewaagen aimed a scowl at Jake. “Very well, but keep in mind that I am only doing this because I was ordered to by—”
“I want to know about my former wife.”
“She’s extremely ill.”
“That I saw. Can you tell me what it is she’s suffering from?”
The doctor paused to glare at Beth. Finally he said to Jake, “It had been decided, after discussing the entire situation with the local and state governments, to keep this whole situation quiet as long as possible. But since I’m being pressured...Your wife, Mr. Cardigan, has fallen victim to a very dangerous and highly contagious virus.”
“What is it?”
Dr. Goedewaagen rubbed at the side of his nose. “We don’t know. It appears to be something no one has encountered previously, not even the Disease Monitoring Stations around the world.”
Jake leaned forward in his chair. “Is it a synthetic virus, something cooked up in a lab?”
After a few seconds the doctor nodded. “It appears to be, yes. Though thus far we haven’t been able to identify it.”
“But Kate isn’t the only one who has this, is she?”
Turning away from them, the doctor replied, “During the past week there have been over a hundred cases brought into this hospital alone. Every other medical facility in San Francisco has admitted similar numbers with these identical symptoms.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“The victim is stricken with a sudden and extremely high fever. Dizziness and then disorientation follow, along with, in most cases, severe vomiting. Within a few hours the majority of them fall into a semicomatose state and remain that way. The respiratory system is also affected and normal unaided breathing becomes impossible.”
Beth asked, “Have there been cases elsewhere—in other states or in other parts of the world?”
“Except for a few spillover cases across the bay in Marin County and down on the Peninsula, no.”
Jake said, “That means that the virus, whatever it is, has only been turned loose in Frisco.”
“That’s our present suspicion.”
“Any idea who’s behind it—or why?”
“We assume it’s the work of a terrorist group.” Dr. Goedewaagen shook his head. “As yet, however, no one has claimed responsibility or made any demands.”
Beth nodded at Jake. “Dr. Chesterton,” she said quietly.
“What’s that?” asked the doctor.
“Nothing.”
Jake asked him, “What about a cure?”
“So far nothing we’ve tried works,” answered Dr. Goedewaagen. “As of yesterday there have been forty-seven deaths throughout the city and no patient has shown any sign of improvement. If we can identify the virus—we suspect it may be something that was originally developed in a government lab somewhere—then we may be able to determine the antidote. We, naturally, have queries out to various government agencies, asking for help. Otherwise...
“Can’t you develop a cure on your own?”
“The whole idea of a synthetic virus, Miss Kittridge—the reason they were developed to use as weapons—is that the enemy you use them against won’t be able to come up with a quick cure. These are planned diseases, designed to outwit researchers. Given enough time, weeks at least, we can, almost certainly, come up with something.”
“But how long do the victims live?” asked Jake.
“It varies with the patient,” answered the doctor. “We’ve had some who managed to survive for only two or three days. In the case of your wife, Mr. Cardigan—where the patient is relatively young and healthy—we anticipate she will live for as long as ten days or two weeks. Keep in mind, though, that we haven’t had much experience with this and our calculations may be off.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
“You mentioned that this was highly contagious,” said Jake. “What about my son’s catching it?”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Dr. Goedewaagen said. “We’ve just decided—in fact I was called away from that staff meeting to come here—we’ve decided that anyone who’s had prolonged contact with a plague victim ought to be kept here in our Observation Wing. That way we can monitor them.”
“You used the word plague,” said Beth. “Is that what this is?”
“An epidemic, a plague, I’d say so. The number of victims has kept increasing. In a few more days, perhaps sooner, we won’t be able to keep this a secret and panic will be added to the other problems. The media are already starting to ask questions.”
“You’d like my son to stay here then?”
“We can’t legally require that, not at this stage of the situation. But I think it would be best.”
“Yeah, so do I. I’ll talk to Dan.” Jake stood up. “And maybe I can find the antidote to this plague.”
“What we need, Mr. Cardigan, is qualified medical experts, not impetuous private detectives.”
Beth said, “I’d bet on Jake if I were you, doctor.”
The redhead reached across the narrow table, touching the control pad. The stripper vanished just as she was removing her final bit of clothing. “I can tell you how it ends,” said the redhaired young woman as she sat, uninvited, across from Gomez.
Gomez said nothing.
The redhaired intruder continued, “If you know me, which you most certainly do, Gomez, you’re aware I’m no stickler for ceremony. Still and all, however, I don’t believe I’m straying out of line to any great degree, which every single person I deal with in the course of an average busy day might not agree with, when I suggest to you that a cordial greeting wouldn’t be out of order under the present circumstances. Here we are, afterall, thrown together by fate, as it were, far from our native planet, hurtling through the vast void of—”
“Hi, Natalie, old chum,” said Gomez, frowning at her. “Go away.”
Smiling, Natalie Dent placed both sharp elbows on the tabletop and stared intently at him. “I’ve always harbored the suspicion, ever since I first encountered you back when you were a hardbitten SoCal state cop and I was a sweet and innocent, well, anyway sweet, young rube reporter working the police beat on the Greater Los Angeles Fax-Times, that you didn’t exactly approve of me, which was okay by me, since my innate shyness does often get mistaken for aloofness and cause certain sorts of men, especially those who fancy themselves womanizers, don’t approve—”
