Thrice upon a Time

by James P. Hogan

  "Yes, I'd like to," Anne said. "In fact, if your grandfather and Ted are away, maybe we could go out somewhere tonight. You've had a hard day, and I've had a hard day. Why don't we both relax and have a break?"

  "Great idea. I could use one. Where? Any suggestions?"

  "How about that place in Tomatin we tried the other week? It's about halfway in between. And why not bring Lee as well? It would be better than leaving him stuck on his own down there."

  "Okay. I'll have to wake him up later. He's been burning it at both ends lately and has gone to sleep it off. We'll see you at about what… eight, say?"

  "Just what I was going to say." Anne smiled suddenly and looked pleased. "I'll have to go home and change first. See you at eight." She blew him a kiss, and the screen went blank.

  Chapter 22

  "It seems to be some kind of sudden deterioration of the myelin insulating sheaths around the nerve fibers of the brain and spinal cord," Anne said, keeping her voice low. "The same kind of thing happens with multiple sclerosis, but that usually takes years to develop. Whatever this is takes hold in a week or two." Murdoch listened from across the booth while he finished his soup. Beside him Lee, who had declined a starter, was staring morosely at the wall and saying very little.

  "And nobody's got any clues what's causing it?" Murdoch asked.

  Anne hesitated for an instant longer than was natural before shaking her head. "Not as far as I'm aware anyway," she said.

  Murdoch caught the curious inflexion of her voice. "How do you mean?" he asked.

  "There's something very strange about the whole business," Anne replied, speaking in a low, confidential tone. She paused. Murdoch said nothing. She went on, "I don't know… I just get the feeling that there's more to it behind the scenes than is being talked about."

  "How come?"

  "Strange things happening lately… such as lots of scrambled calls coming in for Dr. Waring from various government departments that shouldn't be interested in anything like this."

  "Like who?"

  "Oh… " Anne thought for a second. "Eurospace Medicine at Farnborough, NASA at Washington… the Soviet Aerospace Ministry. Why would people like that be interested in a small-scale outbreak of an unidentified sickness in Scotland?"

  "Search me." Murdoch shook his head and spread his hands helplessly.

  "See the kind of thing I mean," Anne said. "And then we've got a mysterious visitor who keeps turning up to talk to Dr. Waring. And he spends a lot of time at the Infirmary in Glasgow, which is where the cases were sent."

  "What kind of visitor?" Murdoch asked, becoming more baffled by the whole thing.

  "His name is Sir Giles Fennimore. He's quite famous—a specialist in viral DNA manipulation and an advisor to the Government on genetic engineering legislation. Why would somebody like that be involved with this?"

  Again Murdoch could only shake his head. "And that's all you know? No other clues at all, huh?"

  "There was one thing I was going to ask you," Anne replied. "What's the Centurion satellite? Have you heard of it?"

  "Centurion?"

  "That was what it sounded like."

  "I've no idea," Murdoch confessed. "Why? Where does that come into it?"

  "It was something I accidentally heard them talking about yesterday," Anne said. "They mentioned something that sounded like Centurion Satellite. I was curious about what it was."

  "What did they say about it? Anything more?"

  "I didn't hear any more. It was just a split-second before they closed the door."

  "It's a pity Ted isn't here," Murdoch remarked. "He'd know for sure."

  They lapsed into silence for a while. Anne looked quizzically at Lee, but he seemed lost in a world of his own and made no response. She looked back at Murdoch.

  "Anyhow. I'm tired of being cross-examined," she said. "Now it's your turn. You haven't told me what's going on in Belgium yet. What's this sudden panic all about?"

  Murdoch frowned to himself and bought time by breaking a roll and buttering one of the pieces. He didn't want to say anything about the black holes yet, at least not until he had some firm answers from the analysis running in the datagrid. "It was something to do with the erosion in the reactors," he said at last. At least, that wasn't really a lie. "The fusion products at the high energy-densities attained in the tests weren't exactly what they were supposed to be." That certainly wasn't a lie either. "They've gone to the EFC HQ in Brussels to tell the Consortium scientists about the latest findings."

  Anne looked at him suspiciously. "Is that all? I wouldn't have thought that your grandfather would have anything to do with something like that." She went quiet for a few seconds. Murdoch chewed a piece of roll and said nothing. "The only work that your grandfather is involved with these days is the machine," Anne went on, talking half to herself. "How could that have any connection with the reactors at Burghead?… " Her voice trailed away for a few seconds. She fingered a button on the front of her dress, and her eyes narrowed slowly. "Unless, maybe, the machine somehow picked up something that the reactors radiated… But how could that be? The machine picks up time waves."

  Murdoch looked away in despair; she was ninety percent of the way there already. His eye fell upon a group of four men talking around the table in one of the corner booths. Two of the faces were familiar; the other two were not.

  "Don't look around," he murmured.

  "What is it?"

  "There are some mutual friends in the corner… pal Trevor and one of his buddies. They're with a couple of other guys I don't know."

  "There's no reason why they should bother us," Anne said.

  "I know," Murdoch replied. "But why risk making it look like an invitation?"

  "I can see them in the mirror on the end wall," Anne remarked after a few seconds. "The other one is Nick. I don't know who the other two are. I'm sure they're not Burghead people though."

  "Trust them to pick this place."

  "They know we're here," Anne said, still watching the mirror. "Trevor just pointed in this direction while he was talking." Murdoch moved his head so that he could watch from the corner of his eye without staring directly. One of the strangers turned his head to look back over his shoulder for a moment, then faced back toward Trevor and nodded. Murdoch kept his eyes averted.

  "Raincoats," Anne mused absently.

  "Huh?"

  "There are raincoats on the seat next to them."

  "So?"

  "On a day in May like this? I'd say they're traveling quite a long way from home… probably for the whole day, wouldn't you?"

  "Who cares?" Murdoch said with a shrug.

  "And we're right on the main road going south," Anne went on, taking no notice. "I bet those two have been at the plant today. They could be on their way back to Edinburgh, maybe to the airport. Trevor and Nick both live near here. They probably arranged to meet them here for some reason. One of them has been using a pocket recorder too. I can see it under his elbow."

  "Aw, lay off," Murdoch told her. "Who cares what the hell somebody in—"

  "Ah hah!" Anne said suddenly. "I bet I know what it is. Do you remember Sam, that other friend of Trevor's, who was in the Bull that night Lee was getting mad? He was one of the eight who were hospitalized in Glasgow. I bet those two are reporters from somewhere, looking for the inside story."

  "Save it," Murdoch said. "They're coming over."

  The first of the pair was overweight, and strode toward the booth with a ponderous, self-assertive gait. He sat down and squeezed in next to Anne without waiting to be asked, smiling broadly and flashing a press card. His partner was smaller, thin-faced, and had a curt, no-nonsense air about him; he moved a nearby chair across and sat down at the end of the table.

  "You don't mind if we join you for a minute, do you," the first opened. His voice was firm and presumptuous. "Joe Gowling, United News Services, London. This is Harry Squires. We're covering the story of what's gone wrong at Burghead… the real story from
the inside," he added with a knowing wink. "I understand from your friends back there that this lady is a doctor at Burghead." He turned to Anne, still smiling. "Is that right? Miss Patterson, isn't it? Or can we all be friends and make it Anne?" Gowling saw Anne catch her breath and raised a hand to stifle her protest. "Don't worry. It'll only take a minute or two. That's not much to ask out of anyone's life, is it?"

  Anne shook her head and looked imploringly at Murdoch. "Oh, not now," she said. "I've had more than enough of this whole thing all week."

  "Sorry," Murdoch said shortly. "This is a private party. We're done with work now."

  Gowling's smile only broadened further. "I understand, lads. We don't want to take up your whole evening. Just five minutes, okay?" He turned to face Anne again. "Now, Anne, you must have been one of the first to see every new case. What kind of symptoms did these people have when they were first brought in? Were they dizzy, sick, anything like that… or what? Were there any external signs of the kind you'd expect from radiation—rashes, burns, or anything similar?" At the end of the table, Squires switched on the recorder he was holding and set it down on the corner between himself and Murdoch.

  "The official spokesman on medical matters at the facility is Dr. Waring," Anne said wearily. "You should speak to him on Monday. I'm not in any position to give you any official quotes."

  "But you must know," Gowling insisted. "All we want—"

  "Look, I've already said this is private," Murdoch cut in. "We haven't got anything for you. Why not just do as she says and let us enjoy our meal."

  "You can't get near Waring," Gowling replied. "We tried today. He won't even take calls about it."

  "That's tough," Murdoch said. "Maybe when he's got something to say, he'll say it. You can quote us on that. Now would you leave us alone, please." He sounded impatient.

  Gowling's smile faded. "Aw, come on, pal," he said. "Be reasonable. We've got a job to do too. The public has a right to know the facts. If it's all been a bit exaggerated, this is a chance for you to help straighten things out. If it hasn't been exaggerated, the people should know. If you don't say anything, that makes it all sound as if there is something to cover up. Know what I mean?"

  "BURGHEAD DOCTOR FAILS TO DENY FUSION RADIATION HAZARD," Squires shot at them, looking up suddenly. "See, it doesn't sound good. You're better off telling us about what you do know, even if your account does have some gaps in. We'll worry about filling those in. That's our job."

  Gowling had stretched out an arm and was about to take a cracker from the dish in the center of the table. Murdoch moved the dish away pointedly and set it down out of reach. "I don't seem to be getting through to you two," he said. "I've already told you twice that this is private, and we're not answering questions. I'll say it plainer: Beat it. You're annoying us."

  Gowling's expression darkened. He didn't reply, but turned his head away to talk directly to Anne, making it plain that he considered the conversation to be none of Murdoch's business.

  "You're a doctor," Gowling said. "You understand all about obligations, right? Well, you've got an obligation to the public who pay your salary. You owe it to them to— What the… ?" He swung his head around sharply as Murdoch picked up the recorder from the corner of the table, ejected its magnetic cartridge into his hand, and held it over the candle flame, destroying whatever was stored on it.

  Squires snatched frantically to retrieve the tape but was too slow. "You had no right to do that!" Squires snapped angrily.

  "That information was public property," Gowling seethed. "Can't you see how bad this will read now? Use your head. You've still got a chance to put it straight."

  Behind them the restaurant manager appeared, attracted by the rising voices and the flare of the plastic coating on the outside of the cartridge. Heads began turning to look in their direction from the surrounding booths and tables. The manager hovered uncertainly, as if hoping that his presence might be sufficient to calm things down.

  Murdoch turned his head to look up over the back of the booth. "Could you get these two bums away from our table? We don't know who they are, they're bothering us, and all we want to do is have a meal. Otherwise call the police."

  The manager moved nearer reluctantly and looked from Gowling to Squires. "I'm sorry, but if you two gentlemen wouldn't mind returning to—" he began, but a sudden gasp from Anne interrupted him.

  "Murdoch! Look… "

  Murdoch jerked his head around to find Anne staring with horrified eyes at where Lee was sitting. He turned fully to follow her gaze. At the same instant the vague thought flitted through his mind that Lee, in a way that was completely out of character, had not been reacting to the hostile exchange at all.

  Lee seemed to be unaware of anything around him. He was clutching a glass of water with his arm half raised above the table. His arm was convulsing in short, irregular spasms from the elbow, causing water to spill onto the tablecloth; Lee was staring at it with a stupefied expression, as if it had suddenly acquired a will of its own and was defying his attempts to bring it under control. His jaw tightened visibly as he made a concentrated effort. The glass shattered on the table, and his fingers went limp among the pieces. A trickle of blood ran out from under his hand and began soaking into the white cloth.

  "Lee, what is it?" Murdoch said, alarmed. Lee remained staring blankly in front of him. Anne waved her hand to and fro in front of his eyes. They didn't blink.

  "I don't think he can see anything," she whispered, and then more loudly, "Lee… Lee, can you hear me?" No response. Murdoch stared aghast, not knowing quite what to do.

  "He's sick," Anne said in a worried voice. "Very sick. We have to get him to hospital." She looked up at the manager, who was about to say something. "I'm a doctor. Can we get him out of the restaurant and have an ambulance here as quickly as possible, please? Also I need to use a phone."

  "There's an armchair in my office," the manager replied. He turned to one of the waitresses who had appeared behind him. "Peggy, ask Mrs. Graham to call for an ambulance right away, would you. When she gets through, she's to put the call through to my office. Ask her to tell them that we have a doctor on the premises who will be able to give them whatever information they need. Hurry along now."

  Anne got up to leave the booth. Gowling, now suddenly subdued, heaved himself out and stood back to make room while Squires got up to get out of Murdoch's way.

  Anne lifted Lee's hand gently from the broken glass and swathed it in a napkin. As she did so, his arm began twitching uncontrollably again, and he mumbled fragments of words that made no sense. "You'll have to give me a hand," she said, glancing at Murdoch and the manager. "He'll probably need supporting. I think his balance will be affected too."

  Between them they half led and half carried Lee from the restaurant while the shocked silence that had descended slowly gave way to a normal level of noise as people resumed eating and talking. In the office they sat Lee back in the armchair, and Anne loosened his shirt collar and belt. Then she produced a small, black leather wallet from somewhere inside her pocketbook.

  She took a plastic packet from the wallet and unsealed it to expose a thin adhesive disk with a blob of what looked like yellow gelatin at its center, protected by a translucent film. She peeled the film away and placed the disk firmly over an artery on the side of Lee's neck. As the drug penetrated his skin and entered the bloodstream, the convulsions in his limbs died away, and his body fell limp. Anne felt inside his jacket and passed his wallet to Murdoch.

  "See if you can find his social security number," she said. "They'll need it to access his records in the U.S. Health Department databank."

  "Is there anything I can do?" the manager asked.

  "If you could get somebody to bring in some clean water for that hand, it would help," Anne said, moving an upright chair underneath Lee's feet. "Also we'll need an area cleared in the car park for the ambulance to land."

  "I'll see to it right away," the manager said, and left th
e office.

  Anne produced a penlamp from her pocketbook and lifted each of Lee's eyelids in turn to examine the pupils. She tested his pulse at the temple, and then lifted one of his arms to feel for stiffness in the elbow, hand, and fingers. Just as she was finishing this, the call-tone sounded from the vi-set on the desk behind her. It was a gray-haired woman, presumably the one the manager had referred to as Mrs. Graham.

  "I have the Emergency Unit at Inverness Hospital on the line," the woman said.

  "Thank you," Anne acknowledged. "And would you try another call for me? I'd like you to call the Royal Infirmary at Glasgow, if you would. Ask to be put through to a Dr. Fisher in Intensive Care Special Isolation. If he's not available tonight, then I'll talk to whoever is on duty there."

  "I'll put the call through as soon as I get them," Mrs. Graham said, and vanished. A second later she had been replaced by a young woman wearing a white coat, who announced that she was speaking from the Emergency Unit.

  "Hello," Anne said to her. "My name is Patterson, Dr. Patterson. I'm at the Clansman Restaurant at Tomatin on the Kingussie road south from Inverness. We need an ambulance here right away."

  "Very good," the woman replied. "Can you give me some information?"

  "A man has collapsed here and needs hospital treatment immediately. I've administered a diffusive tranquilizer. This is important: He must be taken to the Special Isolation section of the Intensive Care Unit at Glasgow Royal. They are familiar with this kind of case there." Murdoch stared at Anne in horror as he listened. She went on, "The patient is a United States citizen by the name of… " She took the papers that Murdoch was proffering numbly and scanned them. "Lee Francis Walker; last residing at 236 Bayview Towers, San Francisco; social security number 101-58-1453."

  "His records to be beamed through to Glasgow?" the woman inquired.

  "Yes, please. And could you arrange for the ambulance to bring a supply of Sotisone 5 and Formactinin. We're clearing a landing area here, and we'll have a car transmitting on Emergency Band for the ambulance to home on."