Darwin's Children Part 47

"What about Jackson?" Kaye asked.

"He's limited, but he's still useful, and there's still important work for him to do. I'll have Lars watch over him."

"Jackson doesn't understand," Kaye said.

"If you mean he's narrowly focused, that's just what I need right now. He'll cross all the t t's and dot all the i i's, trying to prove he's right. Good for him."

"But he'll get it wrong."

"Then he'll do it thoroughly." Cross was adamant. "Robert's problem was familiar to Aquinas. He called it ignorantia affectata ignorantia affectata, cultivated ignorance."

"G.o.d should touch him," Kaye said bitterly, and then flushed in embarra.s.sment, as if that were any kind of punishment.

Cross considered this seriously for a moment. "I'm surprised G.o.d touched me me," she said. "I'd be shocked if He wanted to have anything to do with Robert."

35.

NEW MEXICO.

Inside the silver tent were eight single wide mobile home trailers, sitting up on blocks on a wrinkled and patched gray plastic floor and surrounded, at a distance of thirty feet, by a circle of transparent plastic panels topped with razor wire. The trailers did not look in the least comfortable or friendly.

d.i.c.ken tried to orient himself in the general gloomy light that seeped through the silver tent. They had entered on the western side. North, then, was where a small Emergency Action van was parked, the same van that had presumably brought Helen Fremont from Arizona. South of the mobile homes and the wall of plastic and razor wire, a small maze of tables and lab benches had been set up and stocked with standard medical and lab diagnostic equipment.

A few klieg lights mounted on long steel poles supplemented the dim sunlight.

d.i.c.ken saw no one else under the tent.

"We don't have a team in place yet," Flynn said. "She just came down sick this morning."

"Is there a phone connection in the trailer, an intercom, a bullhorn, anything?"

Flynn shook her head. "We're still putting it together."

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, she's alone in there?"

Turner nodded.

"For how long?"

"Since this morning," Flynn said. "I went in and tried to do an exam. She refused, but I took some pictures, and of course, there's the video. We're running tests on the waste line fluid and the air, but the equipment here isn't familiar to me. I didn't trust it, so I took the samples over to the primate lab. They're still being run."

"Does Jurie know she's ill?" d.i.c.ken asked.

"We called him," Turner said.

"Did he give any instructions?"

"He said to leave her alone. Let n.o.body in until we were sure."

"But Maggie went in."

"I had to," Flynn said. "She looked so scared."

"You were in a suit?"

"Of course."

d.i.c.ken swung about on his stiff leg and leaned his head to one side, biting his cheek to keep his opinions to himself. He was furious.

Flynn would not meet his eyes. "It's procedure. All tests done under Level 3 conditions."

"Well, we sure as h.e.l.l follow the G.o.dd.a.m.ned rules, don't we?" d.i.c.ken said. "Haven't you at least asked her to come out and have a doctor inspect her?"

"She won't come out," Turner said. "We have video cameras tracking her. She's in the bedroom. She's just lying there."

"Dandy," d.i.c.ken said. "What in h.e.l.l do you want me to do?"

"We have the pictures," Flynn said, and took her data phone from her pocket.

"Show me," d.i.c.ken said.

She brought up a succession of five pictures on the phone's screen. d.i.c.ken saw a young SHEVA girl with dark brown hair, pale blue eyes with yellow specks, thin features but prominent cheekbones, pale skin. The girl looked like a frightened cat, her eyes searching the unseen corners, refusing even in her misery to be intimidated.

d.i.c.ken could tell the girl was exhibiting no obvious signs of s.h.i.+ver-no lesions on her skinny arms, no scarlet cingulated markings on her neck. A live update chart b.u.t.ted in at the conclusion of the slide show and displayed a temperature of 102.

"Remote temperature sensing?"

Flynn nodded.

"You said her viral t.i.ters were high."

"She cut herself getting into the van. They had been instructed not to draw blood, but they sequestered the stain and we took a sample under controlled conditions. That's why the van is still here. She's producing HERV."

"Of course she is. She's pregnant. She doesn't present any of the necessary symptoms," he said. "What makes you think it's s.h.i.+ver?"

"Dr. Jurie said it might be."

"Jurie isn't here, and you are."

"But she's pregnant pregnant," Turner said, scowling, as if that explained their concern.

"Have you tested for pseudotype viruses?"

"We're still running the samples," Turner said.

"Anything?"

"Not yet."

"You've had s.h.i.+ver," Flynn said sullenly. "You should be even more cautious." She looked more angry than distressed now. They were wondering whose side he was on, and he was half inclined to tell them.

"I won't even need a suit," he said contemptuously, and tossed the phone back to Flynn. He walked toward the trailer.

"Hold it," Turner said, his face red. "Go in there without a suit, and you'll stay. We won't-we can't can't let you out." let you out."

d.i.c.ken turned and bowed, holding out his arms in exasperated placation. There was work to do, a problem to resolve, and anger wasn't helping. "Then get me a G.o.dd.a.m.ned suit! And a phone or an intercom. She needs to communicate with the outside. She needs to talk with someone. Where are her parents-her mother, I mean?"

"We don't know," Flynn said.

The narrow rooms inside the mobile home were neat and cheerless. Rental-style furniture, upholstered in beige and yellow plaid vinyl, lent them an air of cheap and soulless utility. The girl had brought no personal effects, and had touched none of the stuffed animal toys that lined the shelves in the tiny living room, still in their plastic wrappings.

d.i.c.ken wondered how long ago the stuffed animals had been purchased. How long had Jurie been planning to bring SHEVA children into Pathogenics?

A year?

Two dining chairs had been upset beside the dinette. d.i.c.ken bent to set them right. The plastic in his suit squeaked. He was already starting to sweat, despite the air conditioner pack. He had long since come to sincerely hate isolation suits.

He looked for other obstructions that might snag the plastic, then moved slowly toward the bedroom at the back of the trailer. He knocked on the frame and peered through the half-open door. The girl lay on her back on the bed, still wearing pedal pushers, blouse, and a denim jacket. The bed's green plastic covers had been tossed aside, and she was staring at the ceiling.

"h.e.l.lo?"

The girl did not look at him. He could see her skinny chest moving, and her cheeks were ruddy with fever or fear or perhaps despair.

"Helen?" He walked along the narrow s.p.a.ce beside the bed and bent over so she could see his face. "My name is Christopher d.i.c.ken."

She swung her head to one side. "Go away. I'll make you sick," she said.

"I doubt it, Helen. How do you feel?"

"I hate your suit."

"I don't like it much, either."

"Leave me alone."

d.i.c.ken straightened and folded his arms with some difficulty. The suit rustled and squeaked and he felt like one of the plastic-wrapped stuffed animals. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"I want to throw up."

"Have you thrown up?"

"No," she said.

"That's good."

"I keep trying." The girl sat up on the bed. "You should be afraid of me. That's what my mother told me to say to anyone who tries to touch me or kidnap me. She said, 'Use what you have.' "

"You don't make people sick, Helen," d.i.c.ken said.

"I wish I could. I want him him to be sick." to be sick."

d.i.c.ken could not imagine her pain and frustration, and did not feel comfortable probing it out. "I won't say I understand. I don't."

"Stop talking and go away."

"We won't talk about that, okay. But we need to talk about how you're feeling, and I'd like to examine you. I'm a doctor."

"So was he he," she snapped. She rolled to one side, still not looking at d.i.c.ken. Her eyes narrowed. "My muscles hurt. Am I going to die?"

"I don't think so."

"I should die."

"Please don't talk that way. If things are going to get any better, I have to examine you. I promise I won't hurt you or do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable."

"I'm used to them taking blood," the girl said. "They tie us down if we fight." She stared fixedly at his face through the hood. "You sound like you've helped a lot of sick people."

"Quite a few. Some were very, very sick, and they got better."

"And some died."

"Yes," d.i.c.ken said. "Some died."

"I don't feel that sick, other than wanting to throw up."

"That might be your baby."

The girl opened her mouth wide and her cheeks went pale. "I'm pregnant pregnant?" she asked.

d.i.c.ken suddenly felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. "They didn't tell you?"

"Oh, my G.o.d," the girl said and curled up, facing away from him. "I knew it. I knew it. I could smell something. It was his baby inside of me. Oh, my G.o.d." The girl sat up abruptly. "I need to go to the bathroom."

d.i.c.ken must have showed his concern even through the hood.

"I'm not going to hurt myself. I have to throw up. Don't look. Don't watch me."

He said, "I'll wait for you in the living room."