by Andy Graham
She tapped her wrist and Lind’s grip tightened on the screen. Both the VP and the president had arrived late for this midnight meeting. As always, Lind had been up early doing his ward rounds. Years of morning training sessions when he’d been an athlete, then kids and hospital shifts, had forced his sleep patterns earlier. He was going to wake up at the same time tomorrow, no matter what. Lind suspected the VP had chosen to meet now just to unsettle him. Yesterday’s daylight blazing through the screens on the walls just made it worse.
“I’m still waiting for an answer, Professor.” Laudanum’s voice was bordering on impatient. Visible behind her head were the spires topping the roof of her tower. They gave her a crown that pierced high into a sky that matched her eyes.
“The results suggest we have cures for the diseases we’ve been studying, barring any outliers,” he said. “This should cover most of the population. We have also isolated the base code for three more diseases, including White Plague. It seems to be making a reappearance in the Buckets.”
“The Buckets?”
Lind lowered the screen she was ignoring. “I meant in the Settlements. The newer vaccines don’t cover all the strains.”
“We are covered, though?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, a shade too fast. “We estimate a coverage of 99 percent.”
“That still leaves a lot of people at risk, Professor.”
“Maybe that’s no bad thing,” said the VP. “A little bit of uncertainty can be useful. It’ll also help keep people out of the Buckets and in the Gates. They’re easier to track here.”
Lind wasn’t sure if he had heard an emphasis on the word ‘bucket’ or not.
The VP flashed the president a grin and offered her the one chair in the room. “Would you like to sit?”
Bethina Laudanum stared at him until his grin faded.
“It’ll help keep people out of the Settlements,” he said, letting go of the chair. “Not Buckets.”
“Better.” She gave the VP a smile that from anyone else Lind would have called a smirk, and walked to the window-screen behind the desk. “I’ll stand, thank you.”
Lind gazed past her, at the city he’d grown up in. No matter how many times he saw the city of Effrea, and from how many different angles, it never seemed the same. It always offered up something new: the way the light skittered across the buildings, the reflections distorting in the river, the banks of clouds that framed the skyline in hues and shapes as varied as they were infinite. The spires of the presidential tower hid the pale moons, faint in the crisp autumnal daylight, which gave the towers their names: Lesau and Melesau. The light also gave the president an ethereal nimbus. It didn’t suit a woman who could both persuade the mountain to come to her and then crush it into sand.
“The resolution on this image is wonderful.” She spread her arms, taking in the cityscape. “We are looking at an age-old lesson that each generation has to learn anew, Professor Lind. Humankind could have been so much further ahead of where we are now if it weren’t for our repetitive stupidity, our self-destructive tic that forces us to keep pressing reset. The brash upstart usurping the old order. Don’t you think it odd that Effrea survived The Silk Revolution whereas its older sister didn’t?” She pointed to the ruined city of Tye north of the river. “We lost millennia of history and culture in a matter of months: museums, theatres, the Bridged Quarter and its Hanging Urn Gardens, parks, houses, lives—”
“The Lord’s University, the Palaces of Democracy.”
“Yes, Professor. Ironic, isn’t it, that the historic seat of government should fall foul of the infighting within the country that created it? Especially after surviving all the attacks from abroad. Even more ironic, given the aims of that society now skulking in the shadows of the Clock Tower.”
Lind had been to that ridiculous society, the Ward. Just once. He still wasn’t sure if their mumbo-jumbo was juvenile, ignorant, offensive, or a mix of all three. “The children of democracy murdered their parents,” he said, gesturing to the image of the capital.
“Eloquently put, Professor.” She cast him a sidelong look. “We practically ruled the world before the Silk Revolution. Effrea-Tye was a beacon that drew all and sundry to its gates, leading the nations in all manner of things, some less desirable than others, to be fair. Who knew it could be so cruelly extinguished?”
“I’m not sure I follow, ma’am.”
“Much as I am in favour of a good clear-out from time to time, a good reboot up society’s behind, we almost went too far back then. I sometimes think we were lucky just to lose Tye.” She rubbed the mole on the end of her nose and continued quietly. “I still don’t know why it was targeted the way it was, and have yet to find any plans that explain it. Either way, it has been a long road back.”
“The sun has set on the influence of Effrea-Tye.”
“Very impressive, Professor.” She leant in close and whispered, “You have a poet’s soul, I fear. Not a good calling in a man of your profession when you have all those eager young scientists snapping at your heels. Watch you don’t go the way of Tye, if your pipe dream of your own university is to come to fruition.”
Lind flushed as the president wandered over to another window-screen. “This is remarkable; the speakers add a nice touch of realism. I’d swear that wind noise was real.” She tapped the glass and a menu popped up. “Interactive, too, your technicians have been busy. You could run your own empire from down here, couldn’t you?” She looked over at the VP, who had just sat down. “I think I will sit now, thank you.” The VP jumped up. “What about Dr Shaw, still no news?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” replied the VP. “We believe he tried to contact one of the 10th Legion just before he and his family disappeared, but we have nothing concrete.”
“Professor?” she asked. “Would you care to elaborate? I understand you two had some differences.”
“Shaw was an impressive man. His genius was as much due to artistic flair as scientific rigour. That wasn’t enough, unfortunately. The cut-throat world of academia and the rigid systems of the military aren’t a good mix for a scientist who sees formulae like a painter sees the sea.”
“It sounds like you have your own streak of artistic flair, Professor.”
The VP shook his head, a smirk wrapping his face.
“Any news, I want to hear about it. If Shaw’s discovery is a fraction of what we think it may be, we need it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. If that is all, Professor?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the VP, her face darkening. “Any progress on those killings?”
“No. At least we’ve not found any more women’s bodies.”
“Good. When we catch the bastard doing this, I’ll gut him myself.”
“We’re also making progress on distributing fake Ailan IDs amongst the Mennai population. Our special forces have recently carried out several successful operations and the bomb I mentioned is—”
“There will be no bombing under my watch,” Laudanum said.
“Ma’am, I urge you to reconsider.”
As the president and VP’s conversation edged towards another argument, Lind surreptitiously armed the sweat off his brow. He had faced and bested all kinds of people over the years. People had wanted to beat him physically and intellectually. The twisting feeling in his stomach on cup final day and the brain sweats he’d had before the conference that had made his name were nothing compared to her. Maybe his memory was distorting things, but those experiences now seemed as harrowing as when he’d turned out for his son’s school’s bodyball team.
The VP sat on his desk, listening in a manner that was almost obsequious, occasionally touching Laudanum’s calf with his shoe. The scarred dog started washing itself with loud slurping noises that turned Lind’s stomach. He watched with fascinated revulsion as the other dog joined in. Neither of the other two people appeared fazed by the grooming, so he made his excuses and backed away to t
he screens.
These people needed him. Granted, he needed their patronage, but it was scientists like him that had made this world. What he was doing wasn’t the fluff that still made the news — yet another story about vegetables being good for you. This was real research. It was expensive. What could he say to make the president and VP understand? He needed more funds, desperately. His team were constantly playing catch up. The Old Lady, Mother Nature, danced two steps to every peg-legged one of theirs. Didn’t Laudanum and the VP realise it wasn’t easy? Especially now that he was having to deal with monthly blackouts and the problems at work and home.
Lind traced the course of the river separating Effrea and Tye with his finger, careful not to touch the glass. The water was a murky, off-blue line which separated civilisation from desolation. Tye was a sorry sight, now inhabited by the Ferals, off limits to most except the military and research teams. Effrea and the country of Ailan was home. Except as he got older, he was feeling more and more out of touch. This Forum General Chester had started was as much a waste of time as that superstitious society over the river. Surely, Chester and the overpaid and overtitled of Ailan could put their efforts into something more constructive? Loafing around, discussing the issues of the day and paying lip service to solutions no one really wanted was achieving nothing.
His watch beeped, distracting him from his thoughts. Contradictory messages from Avery and Miescher, two of his underlings, flashed up. He grimaced. He had enough problems at home without having to deal with the new rivalry between those two. He wasn’t a manager. He was a medic, a scientist, a father. He had his reasons for accepting his current post but it wasn’t making his life any easier.
The recent arrival of Avery had not gone down well with all the other scientists also aiming at their first big scalp — the study or revelation they hoped would set them on the path to success. But for all the boy’s quirks and rebelliousness, Avery had a fine mind. Had he, James Lind, been that single-minded when he was younger, too?
One of the dogs yawned and collapsed on the floor. The other lay on top of it, head over the neck of the first. Lind smiled despite his dislike of the creatures. A simple demonstration of basic human behaviour in one furry movement. “We aren’t as different as we pretend,” he murmured.
As the VP and president spoke softly, Lind’s thoughts drifted back to the issues at work. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned back to his study of the sprawling city.
Soon after, the president shook the men’s hands and left. The dogs padded after her, one giving Lind a final growl as it went.
“A pet can’t be bought or bribed. Remember that, James,” said the VP. “And I hear Laudanum does like them a little wild. Dogs, that is. As for men?” He pulled a bottle out of a battered old drinks’ globe. “Rumour is she goes for the doomed but noble hero.” Settling back into his chair, the VP turned up the white noise which had been hissing in the background since before Lind had arrived. “Now, how are you getting on with the other thing?”
Lind’s lips tightened. “No one goes into medicine with the intent to harm, sir.”
“I know, I know. You haven’t been a practising clinician for years but the oath you swore is still binding.” The VP tapped something into his desk-screen. “It’s all about incentive, James.”
The five walls flickered. The pictures rotated through ninety degrees, shrinking to a thin white line. When they expanded out again, Lind saw his office, a young woman at his desk.
Miescher was sitting in his chair. Her white coat was buttoned up higher than usual, hair hanging in her customary loose ponytail. As the wall darkened behind her, she spun back to face his desk-screen, drumming her fingers on the table.
Lind rubbed at the scar inside his mouth with his tongue. The camera wasn’t a problem as such; he’d have been more surprised to discover there was no camera feed. “Miescher’s a good secretary,” he said cautiously, “a great administrator, and shows a lot of potential as a scientist if she can avoid being dragged into a research war with Avery.” He shrugged. “No one is irreplaceable.”
“Care to make another bet, James?” The VP’s odd-coloured eyes were unreadable.
The screen disappeared into the garrotte-thin white line. When the picture twisted back, it showed a close up view of another young woman’s face, one whose nose had more than a passing resemblance to Lind’s. (At least before it had been flattened in the same tackle that had cut his lip open.) She was pulling a brush through her hair, wincing as the knots grabbed at it. Giving up, she put the brush down and bared her teeth to pick out minute specks of food. Lind went pale.
“No one is irreplaceable, James?”
5
Left
Joanna Miescher pulled the tube out of the child’s nose and patted his face. Why won’t he quit staring at me? The slight upward slant to his eyes and the spots within them made her dizzy if she watched for too long. She hurried out of the room, pretending not to see the boy sticking out his tongue at her. She was going to bring crocodile clips with her next time and attach them to the slimy thing if the kid did that again.
Room 3.21 sealed with a hiss as the lock flashed from green to red. She strode past the strangely numbered doors: 3.18, 3.13, 3.9, 3.8. Designating the rooms after the number of chromosomes of the patients within them was an attention to detail that made her want to beat the numbers off the doors with her clipboard. It was typical of this place. Worse, it was considered hilarious by most of the scientists who slithered around these corridors.
The rapid clip of her low heels on the floor bounced back at her as she left the wing. It wouldn’t do to be seen rushing through the building but she hadn’t expected Lind back so soon. He’d blocked his diary out for a few days after the bizarrely timed midnight meeting he’d had yesterday.
‘If it’s in my diary, it must be true; if it’s not, it’s not happening,’ he was fond of saying. So being in now, especially turning up mid-morning, was unlike him. She reached the end of the corridor. Left or right? Stairs or lift? The lift would be quicker but . . .
“Stairs,” she said, “keeps your legs and lungs trim. Less chance of getting stuck with a sweaty, mullet-headed scientist attempting conversation, too.” Once had been bad enough and there’d been too many blackouts recently.
The cooler air in the stairwell sent gooseflesh pimpling up her arms. Leaves spun in red-brown circles outside, sparring with the wind. A leaf slipped through the bars protecting the window and slapped on to the reinforced glass. It left a damp trail as it slid down to the gutter. In an odd way it reminded Miescher of the people she spent her days with now. What was it with the men in this place and their hair? She took the stairs two at a time. Did the scientists and researchers have some kind of hierarchy to mullet, balding or greasy she wasn’t aware of? “Now Lind,” she murmured as she reached the subterranean corridors, “is different.”
His tidy haircut had grey feathering creeping into the dark wings, a crown to top off his athletic figure. It added to his aura of ruthless determination that in less guarded moments appeared to be holding back a haunted air of helplessness. It offset the scar on his lip that she wanted to run her tongue along. A flush of heat spread up from her shirt collar, down from the belt cinched low around her waist. Her shoes quickened on the hard floor as she tracked through the building to the king she had chosen to make her a queen.
The smile dancing on her face slipped when she reached Lind’s office. A red-haired man wearing latex gloves stood in the spot Miescher had imagined striding up to.
‘Take the centre of the floor. Command it. Make people notice you.’ That’s what her sister’s father said. It was one of the few good things to have come out of his mouth.
She sidled up to Avery, close enough so their sleeves were touching. Maybe his fragile sense of personal space would force him to move. Avery had been a distraction since the moment he had arrived, a distraction that had already taken up too much of her time. Unfortunately, Avery
was too caught up in what Lind was saying to notice her. That made her fume.
“The other thing,” said Lind, punctuating the air with vigorous stabs of his finger, “is euthanising some of the more ridiculous pseudoscientific ideas that have dogged society for too long, particularly the medical ones. Inanimate fluids don’t have a memory. Retrofitting any kind of neuro-babble to physical therapy techniques does not give them validity. Making a scan look like it ‘should in the text book’ is not always the answer. Really, we all look different on the outside; why should we all look the same on the inside?”
He pressed a button on his desk. The wall-screen flared into life, showing a picture of a grinning Lind standing with his arm around a young man in uniform. He tapped another button. The photo disappeared and a recent study Lind had co-authored appeared.
He pointed to a section highlighted in bright red. “Surgeons are not the solution they think they are. ‘Outcome measures for sham surgery are sometimes as good as or better than real surgery’. And as for the idea that ancient treatments are automatically better? Ridiculous. The wisdom of our ancestors doesn’t stand up to any kind of scrutiny.
“People forget about the dangerous past of these treatments. They wrap it up in generations of esoteric sentimentality. When will these folks realise that repackaging an idea or technique in a new suit and flashy graphics does not make it effective? No matter how many heartfelt testimonials and vague statistics they massage it with.”
Avery said something Miescher didn’t quite catch.
“Left?” she asked. “Did you say—”
