Stern was watching him. “What kind of dog did she have?”
“Uh, one of those Dutch dogs. They were bred to live on barges, I remember her saying. A keeshond, I think they’re called.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for it. Though you’d think it would stick around.” Stern looked casually puzzled, in a way that instantly reminded Alex of that television detective who always looked confused and slow-witted. Columbus? No, Columbo. Life imitating art, and not very well. Okay, then. Alex could play dumb, too.
“We can walk around a little and call it.”
“What’s its name?”
“I… don’t remember.”
“Um. Do you suppose many people knew she came here every day?”
“I don’t know that myself. I said she came here pretty often, that’s all. She’s a physician, totally wrapped up in her work since her husband died. I don’t think she has many friends.”
“And how do you know her?”
Alex started to shrug, then thought maybe that was too casual a gesture, too obvious a mockery of Stern’s manner. “She consults for our company. We struck up a friendship.”
“So how’d you get here so fast?”
“My friend, Gary Flint. He called me.”
“He was the guy in the other ambulance?”
“Right.”
“Now why would he do that?”
“We’re part of an emergency team.”
“At UCI?”
“No, Immortality Incorporated.”
Stern did not even blink. “Ah, I’ve heard about you. The chiller people.”
Alex knew better than to explain. Stern had this easygoing, just-routine manner down pat. He was fishing for something, but Alex didn’t know what. Stern looked at Kathryn and asked, “You’re part of the team, too?”
“I work for the company, yes. I came along because they might need help.”
Stern seemed completely relaxed. He tugged his black tie up to cover his unbuttoned collar, getting chilled in the fog. Alex, too, felt the damp cold settling into his legs and hands, silent, steady, cloaking the night with thick mystery.
“Well, let us hope your Dr. Hagerty does not need your services,” he said amiably. Then he looked squarely at Alex, his face still betraying nothing. “Or mine.”
2
KATHRYN
The University of California at Irvine General Hospital had an imposing, metallic sheen. In contrast with the settling, damp night outside, frosty brilliance flooded the emergency room. Kathryn escaped the enameled warrens as quickly as she could after finding out from a stiff-necked clerk that Susan Hagerty had been moved down to CAT scan. UCI was organized into clinical research units rather than the usual hospital plan, and it was confusing. Half an hour later, she discovered that Susan was in the intensive care unit, and that was where she and Alex found the I2 emergency team cooling their heels.
The waiting room was designed to soften tensions, Kathryn noticed. Modern paintings, highlighted by concealed spots, made big bright explosions on the walls. A complex metal sculpture sat on a low pedestal, so that a lamp shaped like a ballistic missile threw its looming shadow on a wall. Two I2 members sat in the waiting room, biding their time out of long experience. They were kept in reserve, resting for what might be a wearing wait. Cryonicists had learned to pace themselves, letting only a fraction of the team deal with business at a time. Dying could be a lengthy affair. They nodded to Kathryn and went back to paging through magazines.
Gary Flint was a complete contrast. Fidgeting, he paced outside the big doors of the ICU, absently scratching the back of his neck. In the bright corridor his oil-splotched checkered shirt and torn, faded jeans stood out against the scrupulous orderliness. She was quite sure that Gary had not taken up the torn-jeans look as a fashion statement. She did remember that he liked tinkering with pre-1960s Thunderbirds. Alex had told her that despite appearances, Gary was an experienced surgical technician. He looked relieved to see them.
“Susan is stable, but pretty bad off,” he said. “I tried to see her, but of course they’ll only let in close relatives.”
“Susan hasn’t got any close relatives nearer than the East Coast,” Kathryn said. “I remember that from her file.”
“How are her vitals?” Alex asked.
Gary’s mouth twisted. “Not well. In a coma, looks like.”
“Damn,” Alex said.
“All from a fall, they said.”
“Yeah.” Alex bit his lip.
All three studied each other’s faces as if looking for answers. They made frustrated comments and for several minutes let the news chew at them. This time, she sensed, was different. They would be standing by for a close friend.
Training asserted itself. Alex asked, “What’re her numbers?”
“Pulse rate and the rest are steady, the head nurse says.”
“What is the head nurse’s attitude? You told her why we’re here?” Kathryn had never seen a suspension, but she had read all the I2 protocols. They were clogged with details, and Alex had asked her to rewrite them so that the main ideas stood out plainly. She could remember him saying, These aren’t going to be read by a graduate student interested in exact drug dosages—they’re crisis guidelines. Make them read that way. Now she was going to get to see how they played out.
Gary held the loose-leaf binder labeled EMERGENCY INSTRUCTIONS FOR STABILIZATION OF CRYONIC SUSPENSION PATIENTS in his hand. He nodded, his light hair slipping down to shade his eyes. “She’s guarded, maybe a little horrified—but she seems fair, so far.”
“We haven’t been through any paperwork with UCI,” Alex said. “I don’t think anybody’s even been over here to talk to them.”
Gary shrugged. “We can’t cover every hospital in California. I’m pretty sure they got the usual letter asking them to consider how they would react to us in case something like this came up.”
Kathryn had seen that form letter, too. It had a blissful naïveté about it, as though a hospital would get involved in correspondence about hypothetical situations. A waste of time, she had thought.
Gary went back into the ICU office, and when he came out he held up a sheet covered in dot-matrix type. “She gave me a printout. No skull fractures. Proteins are normal, too, so maybe there’s no cerebral hemorrhage. The CT scan didn’t pick up anything in the head, but it looks like she has a broken neck at C4-5.”
“Why is she in a coma?” Kathryn asked.
“Concussion. She’s starting to come out of it, they think.”
Alex asked, “How you figure we’re doing with the hospital administration?”
Gary sighed. “We should have come by on a goodwill visit when they opened. Cryonics is a whole new ballgame to them. The head nurse, Dowell, gave me a blank stare.”
“We should go to the medical director,” Kathryn said, remembering the I2 protocols.
“I asked for him, and to see Susan’s physician of record,” Gary said. “Nothing so far.”
“As I understand it, even though we aren’t relatives, we have some standing,” Kathryn said.
“You’re right, the patient’s directives document,” Gary said. “But it’s at I2.”
Kathryn looked around. “Where’s a phone? I’ll get her file faxed over.”
“And I’ll pound on a few doors,” Alex said.
There was a pay phone around the corridor corner. Kathryn got through on the I2 emergency number and set up the fax transfer, using the ICU number. Then she asked one of the volunteer standby staff, who had moved into place once the alarm went out, to bring the originals of Susan’s file over by car. By the time she got back to the ICU entrance, Gary was talking to a tall man in a white coat.
“This is Dr. Anderson,” Gary said, “Susan’s physician.”
Anderson nodded and went on in a warm, reassuring tone, “I knew her only slightly, of course, and I’m happy to say she seems stable at the moment. We’ll know more in the morning.”
Kathryn recog
nized the smooth, meaningless phrases. “Something could happen tonight, though.”
“Well, yes, that is a possibility. I assure you, however, we do not anticipate that. Many such cases that begin to show progress this soon after head trauma do well. Before—”
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s why we’re here,” Gary said mildly. “Some cases die, too, and nobody can predict when.”
“True, but uncommon. I think you’re reacting too strongly, to request this.”
“If she dies, your job’s over. We’ll have to act immediately.”
Kathryn could see that Gary was never going to go into the diplomatic service. Dr. Anderson stiffened visibly. “I assure you, if Dr. Hagerty does in fact pass away, none of your efforts will revive her. What’s more, they are quite outside the bounds of procedure allowed at this or any other hospital I know.”
“We aren’t here to interfere with medical practice, doctor,” Kathryn said quickly, before Gary could respond. “We certainly won’t get in your way. But we aren’t going to try to revive her at all. We simply limit the damage done to her after death and freeze her for the future.”
“Oh.” Anderson blinked, his mouth twisting into a distantly sardonic curve. “An even more absurd idea. I’m afraid you’ll get no cooperation from me.”
Kathryn readied herself to respond with the soothing sentences that women were supposed to be better at than men, when Alex’s voice said over her shoulder, “With all due respect, doctor, isn’t that a matter for the Ethics Committee?”
“Well, yes, I suppose. You are?”
“Alex Cowell, part of this team. I’m told the medical director has reached the hospital and will see us all in his office.”
Anderson nodded vigorously, as though relieved. Kathryn imagined how they must look to him—crazies in street clothes who showed up in the middle of an acute case, claiming a legal relationship with one of his own colleagues. Damn right he should be suspicious, she thought.
They left Gary and the rest of the suspension team at the ICU, just in case Susan suddenly worsened. Kathryn had the faxed documents with her when they reached the medical director’s carpeted, neatly appointed office. The director introduced himself with easygoing informality, shaking hands all around, even Dr. Anderson’s—maybe to defuse the obvious tensions in the group, she guessed. “I’m Irwin Wright,” he said to Kathryn, “and I suppose you’re another believer in this, ah, cryo—”
“Uh, not exactly,” Kathryn replied uncomfortably. “I work for Immortality Incorporated, that’s all.”
“Well, they have good taste in employees, at least,” Wright said, settling into a big leather armchair that dominated a cozy arrangement of two couches. Indirect lighting, heavy polished walnut, lots of earth-colored fabrics—very reassuring. Kathryn judged that he did most of his real work here, negotiating. A teaching hospital like UCI was a grand opera with a surplus of prima donnas and few who wanted to be spear-carriers.
Alex gave a quick, incisive summary of their position and the cooperation I2 would like from UCI. Wright asked Anderson how he felt about this, as attending physician, and Anderson bounced the ball right back to him, saying it was clearly an issue for the Ethics Committee.
“Um,” Wright said, stroking his lined face. He wore corduroy trousers and a brown cotton work shirt, exactly the sort of thing executives slipped on to relax for the evening. It was 8:27 P.M., and she was sure he was thinking fondly of another armchair at home. Alex sat forward on a couch, hands gripped in a ball, elbows on his knees almost as though he were prepared to jump to his feet. Anderson sat back, legs crossed, his mood betrayed by his upper leg, which bobbed with nervous energy. Both of them gave off the kind of prickly stubbornness that born compromisers like Wright avoided.
So she was not completely surprised when after a long moment of thought, he turned to her and said, “You understand that I cannot, as a practical matter, call an emergency meeting of the Ethics Committee to consider this matter.”
“Of course,” she answered. “We simply want to be allowed some access to Dr. Hagerty.”
“I’m afraid I do not have time to consider the deeper issues here.” He fanned the I2 documents Kathryn had given them. “I do not quite understand the exact legal position we are in, and whether these agreements between your company and Dr. Hagerty do in fact act to constrain this hospital in any way.”
“Well, professor, you will note that we specifically exempt you from any—here, I can quote it from memory—‘from any and all liability in the post-mortem handling and transfer of the patient’s remains.’ That lets you off the hook.”
Wright’s eyebrows lifted pleasurably at this, but then descended into a frown. “I appreciate that, but I still feel I am too unacquainted with this entire idea to pass judgment on such grounds alone. I am troubled, indeed, that Dr. Hagerty is in fact so deeply connected with your—uh, enterprise. You may know that she is under review by the Academic Senate for her professional actions that were, I believe, related to you. This deeper connection will not help her case.”
Alex said sardonically, “If she passes beyond your justice, we’ll be the only ones who can help her.”
Wright did not look as though he understood this clipped sarcasm, and Kathryn decided to not give him enough time to puzzle it through. She said rapidly, “We only want a few simple things, believe me. She may need them at any moment.”
“Um. What things?”
Anderson opened his mouth, but Alex jumped in with, “We want to bring up from our ambulance a heart-lung resuscitator, a gurney that carries a blood pump, a membrane oxygenator, and a heat exchanger.”
“Why?” Anderson asked, annoyed. “That’s the sort of equipment one would use to revive her.”
Alex said patiently, “We want to minimize the loss of oxygen to the brain.”
“Well, I’m afraid all this is beyond easy resolution. I realize I don’t know enough about it, so I’ve asked a member of our faculty who has looked into this to come over after he finishes dinner.” Wright nodded significantly at a flashing light on the telephone at his elbow. “I suppose that’s my secretary, announcing him.”
Kathryn had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, the Dr. Blevin Susan had described turned out to be a stiff-faced man in a baggy red sweater with a hooded, closed look to his eyes. He was flushed, as though he had hurried.
“I was shocked to hear the news. How did it happen?”
“She fell from a cliff at the beach,” Kathryn said, going on to introduce herself. Blevin listened carefully to Alex’s quick discussion of the accident and her symptoms, then interrupted, “I really believe I should hear from the physician. Dr. Anderson?”
Anderson had been notably quiet ever since they got to the director’s office, and Susan saw why. Susan’s case before the Academic Senate made her treatment in the ICU a potential bombshell. Anderson betrayed this in his hesitant delivery, confining himself to strict descriptions of tests, vital signs, and the patient’s history. It was almost as if Anderson were reciting for a grade, and Kathryn suddenly saw that indeed, the man had reverted to the hedged-in, minimize-possible-damage style that medical students use. She had seen this sort of thing on TV hospital dramas. Anderson fit perfectly: And the first of all the commandments shall be, Cover Thy Ass.
After Anderson finished his just-the-facts report, Wright said conversationally, “Do you think she may die within the next few hours?”
“Well…” Anderson glanced at Blevin. Kathryn did not have to see a staff chart to know who was the senior figure here. “I don’t think so. The spinal trauma is serious, but she is intubated and controlled.”
“Can you be sure?” Kathryn asked.
“No. In cases like this, with multiple injuries, widespread hematoma, and of course the severe spinal trauma, one doesn’t know.”
Wright said casually, “I’d like to ask you, then, Dr. Blevin, to comment.”
Blevin gathered himself, measuring his words. “I have from the
beginning suspected that Susan Hagerty’s involvement with these people was more extensive, and more insidious, if I may put it that way, than was obvious.”
Kathryn said, “I don’t see why her arrangements for the disposal of her remains after death should enter into your medical school catfights.”
Wright glanced sharply at her and then got the message. “I want to assure you, Ms. Sheffield, that I shall allow no such linkage.”
It was a pleasant, vague denial that she did not believe for a minute. But she kept her bland half-smile in place and listened as Blevin went through a catalog of his griefs and grumbles about “these corpse-freezers” and the way they defrauded the ill and dying. They were a blot upon the respectable medical community, raising utterly false hopes, draining dollars.
“I had wondered about that, too,” Wright came in, stroking his chin. “I mean, as a strictly moral issue. Do people have the right to spend money to keep themselves, ah, as you people would say, ‘suspended’? Rather than pass assets on to their family?”
Alex said flatly, “It’s their money, isn’t it?”
The director said mildly, “Yes, but not after they die.”
Kathryn said, “Not at all. Susan Hagerty could have left a will directing her estate to build a giant pyramid and bury her in it. After all, the pharaohs did.”
“And they believed their mummies would live again, too,” Blevin said acidly.
“But they—and Susan—had the right,” Kathryn said. She noticed Blevin’s face congesting, lips drawn white.
The director made a cathedral of his fingers before his face, gazing into it. Kathryn saw he was treating this as a rarified issue, as though this were a seminar on medical ethics. But three floors below them Susan lay damaged and weak, her body struggling with ripped nerves and smashed tissues, far beyond cool, neat abstractions. She felt a sudden rush of pure anger at these smug, comfortable authority figures in their warm offices—and at once felt close to Alex, who let his impatience show too baldly, but at least was close to the deep truth of all this.
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