Earth Has Been Found (12 page)

XIX.

Mark did not completely allay Jaimie’s fears, but he succeeded in quieting them. To jump to hasty conclusions was unprofessional and no way to help Shane. Wasn’t it possible, for instance, that the aunt was too shy to say that Shane had the curse, felt lousy, and had hit the sack?

That slowed Jamie up. He confessed he had no idea of Shane’s menstrual cycle, but recalled she’d been out of sorts maybe a month back.

They finished the report around midnight and, carefully nursing his fragile hope, Jaimie went home to his two-room apartment. Mark said he’d lock up and go home, too. He lied. Alone, he lit his pipe, read notes, and brooded about Xeno.

At 2:00 A.M. he drove to his modest house, left his car in the driveway, and let himself in quietly. His wife, long since accustomed to his irregular hours, had not waited up.

For a time he pattered around his den, pretending to prepare for bed. But his mind was far too active for sleep. He poured a small whiskey, drowned it with soda, lit another pipe, and lay down on the sofa with a book. All along he’d known he’d wind up with this particular volume. The subject was insects. It was better to grapple with the immediate problem, anyway; the more frightening implications must wait.

It has been said that if all the world’s animals, man included, were put into one pan of a cosmic set of scales, and all the world’s insects into the other, the insects would outweigh the animals. Perhaps an unconscious realization of the staggering scope and variety of the insect horde lay at the root of humanity’s dislike and fear of insects.

Freedman found their world absorbing. A lot of his spare time went into study of all forms of wild life, but animals and birds were practically human compared to insects, his deepest interest.

This fascination for biology had been a major factor in his decision to settle in Abdera Hollow. Globetrotting had ended in marriage, and there he had faced a choice: carve out a reputation and earn big money in the city, or forget all that and do the things he liked. His wife was amenable either way, so Abdera Hollow won.

Now his hobby assumed new importance. Xeno had to be an insect, regardless of its origin. It was also a parasite, using a totally different species as a womb and a food supply for its young. From that leaped a new and frightening line of speculation that he firmly thrust aside, for it had no bearing on the immediate problem.

In principal, Xeno was nothing new. A number of insects parasitized cattle, horses, man, other insects — the list of hosts was endless. The method of attack varied with the victim’s size. A predator whose host was of comparable size usually paralyzed its victim with a sting and implanted its eggs, leaving the host to be eaten alive by its young when they emerged. Larger creatures like man or cattle were implanted secretly and painlessly, but in every case that Mark could recall, the basic method was the same: they implanted their hosts by means of an egg-layer, or ovipositor. It might be long and thin or short and stout, but it always had incredible penetrating power.

And if the ichneumon fly could bore into trees, seek and find its hidden, helpless prey, might not Xeno have penetrated the plane? If that were true, the Xeno’s ovipositor would be measured in meters, and Xeno itself could be a great deal bigger than man.

Freedman rejected that theory. There was always some correlation between the fully grown specimen and the egg at the point of hatching. Again he thought how vital it was to recover a newborn Xeno.

In any case, an insect’s size was limited by the relative inefficiency of its respiratory system. All insects had breathing tubes — spiracles — of one sort or another; and these simply could not extract enough oxygen to support a creature the size of a cat, let alone a man. None of them had lungs, thank god.

But did Xeno bridge that gap? If so, then in theory it could be bigger than a man. It could be any size, until some other limiting factor stepped in. Imagine a wasp the size of a man. The sheer mass of the abdomen — the lungs would certainly develop there — would be so great that the damned thing would break at its slender thorax the first time it tried to pull a high-g turn.

He’d tell Malin he didn’t believe implantation had been done from outside the plane. He’d tell him …

The book slipped unnoticed from his hand and Freedman slept. With his open mouth, his beak-like nose, and the light reflected in his glasses, he looked very much like one of his imagined insects.

*

The insistent trilling of the phone woke him. Rubbing a stiff neck, he got up and crossed the room to answer.

“Freedman.” Yawning, he glanced at the clock; not yet seven in the morning. “Sure … I’ll be tied up at the county hospital until after lunch. Be back here at four … Right.”

Further sleep was out of the question. He picked up the book, stared speculatively at the photograph of the ichneumon fly, resisted the impulse to continue reading, and shuffled off to placate his wife with a cup of coffee.

*

Across town, less than half a mile away, Jaimie Scott was also up and about. Mark had calmed him down somewhat; but he had spent a restless night, his professional mind filled with a mixture of foreboding and deep concern for Shane. Freedman was well satisfied with Jaimie’s development as a doctor; but aside from that, Jaimie was young, naive — and hopelessly in love for the first time in his life.

While shaving, showering, and dressing, he tried repeatedly to think of a good excuse to call Shane without exciting her fears or her aunt’s suspicions. Invention failed him. For a while he stood by the window, drinking the cup of coffee that passed for breakfast, gazing out at what promised to be a beautiful June morning. Already the climbing sun was burning away the mist that lay in the hollow.

Abdera Hollow would never win a prize for outstanding beauty, but the view from Scott’s second-floor window was by no means bad. He lived in a house perched on the rim of the hollow. Abdera had a certain charm, especially now, when the trees were in full foliage, half submerging the red roofs and white walls in a green sea, hiding the imperfections — the vacant lots, the occasional derelict building. The natives might find the town low on excitement, but for a city-dweller’s vacation — his short vacation — Abdera could be highly restful.

But Jaimie had no eyes for the scenery. He stared at the ridge of a roof on the far side of Main Street — Shane’s roof, which sheltered all his hopes for joy and fears of the unknown.

With Mark away on his biweekly visit to the county hospital, Jaimie had plenty to occupy him during the morning. If Shane was okay, he knew she’d be off for an interview for a hotel job; no point in phoning before noon.

Twenty kilometers away at the hospital, Freedman was equally busy. Like his junior partner, he too had his fears, but his older, more disciplined mind held them under better control. Each patient he visited got his full attention, but as he moved from room to room he speculated briefly on the purpose of Malin’s coming visit. Malin had said nothing, but the urgency in his voice had been unmistakable.

Unlike Jaimie, he noted with pleasure the brilliance of the day. The small, modern hospital was flooded with sunlight, giving a lift to all inside. Even that battle-ax of a head nurse smiled and said hello.

Freedman would remember that morning. Even he, cautious and alert, had no inkling of the change that was coming, of the terror that would soon descend upon his community.

XX.

It began as he drove slowly back to Abdera. Well ahead of schedule, he pulled off the road at a favorite lakeside spot; he would allow himself a ten-minute break, watching the waterfowl. He found a mallard particularly handsome. The drake’s brilliant bottle-green head pleased him; soon that vivid color would be lost in the summer molt.

Mark was scarcely three paces from the car when the phone buzzed. “Goddam!” Still watching the duck, he answered.

The pleasure of the day, his preoccupation with the duck, abruptly vanished. Scott was calling from Shane’s house. He’d phoned, not liked the answer he got, and gone over to see her. As casually as he could, aware the aunt could be listening, he said, “I’d be glad if you dropped by on your way back.” Freedman agreed and drove off quickly, suddenly pressed for time. Two men wanted him urgently, Malin and Scott. Neither had explained why.

So, in a bedroom incongruously bright with sunlight, Freedman saw his first Xeno victim. She lay sleeping, outwardly a normal, healthy young woman. But, as Scott explained, with the exception of a short half hour of dreamy consciousness, she had slept solidly for twenty hours, and on her arm a slight swelling had appeared. She stirred as Mark examined her, but showed no signs of coming to. He straightened up, glancing at his watch. In thirty minutes Malin would arrive.

“What’s wrong with Shane, doctor?” asked the aunt anxiously. Freedman shook his head. “It’s too early to say. A thorough examination and tests will have to be made. I’ll arrange an ambulance.”

“You mean she’s got to go into the hospital?” said the woman in growing alarm. “It’s not serious, is it? I mean, she’s going to be okay?” She cast around for a comforting answer. “Maybe it’s this weather; this heat takes it outa you.” She laughed unconvincingly. “I’ve only been up myself for a couple of hours, but it feels like the day’s been going on forever — and Shane’s a growing girl.” She yawned, emphasizing her point.

Mark’s face remained impassive. “We’ll know more later,” he said. “I’ll tell the hospital to call you when the ambulance is coming.” He shut his case. “Don’t worry — just let her sleep.”

The aunt looked at her niece doubtfully. “Well, I guess a good sleep never done anybody no harm.” Her practical female mind asserted itself. “Maybe the hospital’s the best place. I can’t go runnin’ up and down stairs, not at my age.” They left her packing an overnight bag for Shane.

Once clear of the house, Scott turned to Freedman. “Mark, this is it! What can we
do
?”

Freedman turned on him fiercely. “We don’t panic!”

“But the time scale! Tatyana figured we had months — ”

Again Mark cut him short. “Never mind what she said. Tatyana was wrong!” He got in his car. “Get back to the office — and don’t drive fast.”

Freedman called the hospital and arranged for the ambulance, then spoke to the head of surgery, an old friend. “Slim? This is Mark. Look, I can’t say much right now, but I suspect you’re going to get a lot of business from me in the very near future … No, I can’t explain — just take my word. Stop all non-urgent admissions, and if you can discharge any patients, do it … No … No … I can’t tell, there could be twenty admissions from me in the next two or three days … No, not full emergency procedure, not yet. I’ll call you later. I’ve just arranged the admission of the first one — ”

By the time he had finished, two patients had already left the office, annoyed by the brusque attention Scott had given them. He was desperate to talk with Freedman. He almost ran down the corridor to his senior’s office, arriving at the same time as Malin.

Freedman surveyed his two visitors: both looked haggard and eager to talk. With a sharp glance at Jaimie, he gave priority to Malin.

Malin plunged into the presidential directive to set up an ICARUS hospital. When he got to the target date, Freedman stopped him.

“Won’t do, Malin — not now.” Quickly he told him of Shane de Byl.

“But Marinskiya said — ”

“Yes,” Scott interrupted. “Why this time difference? And why Shane?”

Mark’s hand, half raised from the desk, silenced them. “The Soviets had only two cases — insufficient evidence.” He spoke quickly, urgency forcing him into verbal shorthand. “The difference in climate and sunlight may be significant. Vorkuta is above the Arctic Circle; intense cold, six months of semidarkness.” He concentrated on Jaimie. “Shane is the youngest and therefore perhaps the best host.” He shrugged. “All that is beside the point. Xeno is here now, never mind why.” He turned to Malin. “Forget your Army hospital; the action is going to be here, in Nash County Hospital.” Again his raised hand stopped Malin. “Security’s your problem. Other doctors — and surgeons —
must
be involved.”

“No!” Scott said decisively. “Not Shane — not surgery!”

“No, not Shane,” agreed Mark quietly. “She’s our first case, the first chance to discover what we’re up against. That’s vital.”

Scott hated him at that moment and his expression showed it.

“And you know it.” Freedman was unmoved as he returned Scott’s stare. “Get over to the hospital, Jaimie. Full intensive care facilities at immediate standby. Keep as complete a record as you can of her condition, but no medication or X rays. Set up a camera; shots every half hour — more if you think it’s necessary. I’ll be over as soon as I can. I don’t think it’s likely, but if the cyst ruptures before I arrive —
get
that
specimen
!”

Scott left without a word.

Malin had been doing some fast thinking. “You think this girl’s first because she’s the youngest?”

Freedman nodded. “Very possibly.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-one — why?”

“Well,” said Malin slowly, “I’m thinking of the other folks on the plane. Certainly there were two or three kids and a couple of stewardesses of about your girl’s age.”

Freedman tossed his glasses on the desk in a gesture of hopelessness. “It’s no good — you’ll never keep this quiet! Everyone that was in that plane is in danger, especially the young. The situation here is bad enough, but the others must be held under observation and the doctors told what little we know.”

“That does it,” said Malin. “Nash County becomes the ICARUS hospital center. It’s not a perfect answer — there isn’t one — but it’s the best we can do for the patients and security. It’s a tricky proposition, setting up a federal operation that fast, but that’s a headache for the President. I’m putting you in charge of this thing, Mark.”

“Me?” Freedman looked up sharply. “I’m in this by accident. I’ll do all I can, but I’m only a GP!”

“True,” agreed Malin, not prepared to argue, “but you know a hell of a lot more than anybody else, and there’s no time.” He looked directly at Freedman. “Mark, I’m not asking. I’m
telling
you you have the job.”

Mark felt neither pleased nor sorry. His mind was struggling with the problems of his patients. Shane’s aunt, for example, could well be on the threshold of the acute phase. She was alone now, and if she passed out, how would he or anyone else know?

“Can I use your phone?” Malin asked.

“Go ahead,” said Mark absently.

Within two minutes Malin had the New York FBI office buzzing like an overturned beehive. He wanted a mobile field HQ unit in Abdera that night; New York had better not be late.

Then he called Washington. “Frank? Alvin. This is an open line. That scheme is a dead duck. Forget the three-month deadline — it’s
now
. I’m lining up a local non-Army facility and I want you to clear it with the big man. Tell him … Malin was dimly aware of another phone ringing, of Freedman talking. But he went on rapidly, suggesting the selective releases of ICARUS letters. “ … And all those other folk we met back in Denver, especially those under twenty-five — the committee had better think of some way to get them here … yes, all of them … I’m staying here. By midnight I’ll have a proper communication link. You’ll get all the dope then.” He hung up.

Freedman was staring at him. “If it’s any comfort,” he said, getting up, “you haven’t jumped the gun. There are two more cases — and one’s the second youngest on my list!”

*

Having driven like a lunatic to the hospital, Jaimie had plenty of time to prepare for Shane’s arrival. His nervous state raised a good deal of curiosity, and caused a hostile confrontation between him and administration. The battle-ax at the desk retreated before his determination to get what he wanted, but she told him that she would report his disgraceful conduct to Freedman, the control committee, and anyone else who’d listen. Jaimie could not have cared less.

Once Shane was safely in the first-floor room assigned to her, he slowed down. She lay still, her breathing barely noticeable, yet she looked so healthy, so beautiful. Jaimie pulled himself together and, assisted by a nurse, took an EKG reading. He also checked Shane’s temperature, pulse rate, and respiration. All were subnormal, but not enough to worry him. He concentrated on the cyst, his hands trembling. This lump, already more than two centimeters in diameter, brought on by something hideous, something completely alien to her world, was nonetheless a part of Shane.

He sent the nurse for the photographer, glad to have a few moments alone. In an attempt to blot out the fear and anguish he was feeling, he dictated his findings into his recorder.

Freedman arrived and found no fault with Jaimie’s preparations. Shane lay on her side, her strapped right arm clearly visible, the bed flanked by all the daunting paraphernalia of modern medicine. To one side stood a camera, mounted on a tripod clamped in position. The overhead light had been dimmed, the curtains drawn; a single spotlight illuminated the target area on the girl’s arm and the shallow dish beneath it.

Satisfied, Freedman hurried off to the emergency meeting of the hospital control board, picking up Malin in the reception area en route.

During the ten-minute drive to the hospital, Malin had made up his mind. A decision had to be made without referring back to Washington, and he was the one to make it.

After an introduction by Freedman, he informed the board that the passengers and crew of the
Papa
Kilo
flight had contracted an unidentified sickness during the course of their flight. How many would be affected could not be known, but the bulk of the passengers hailed from Abdera, and — subject to presidential approval- — he was putting the hospital under federal control. Dr. Freedman, who had the twin advantages of knowing most of the patients professionally and knowing more about this sickness that anyone else, would assume operational control of the hospital on behalf of the United States Government.

The doctors and senior nurses absorbed this in shocked silence. One or two looked at Malin as if he’d suddenly grown an extra head. Freedman’s speech was terse. This was an emergency. The drastic action was justified. The patients would be his personal responsibility. Any questions?

Staggered by the speed of the takeover, no one spoke.

“Okay,” Freedman continued, “we have one hundred and ten beds. Sheila,” he addressed the head nurse, “how many vacancies do we have right now?”

“As of half an hour ago, thirty-nine.”

“Make it thirty-seven — there are two more on the way. There may be a dozen or more before morning.” Freedman looked at Dr. Lewis, the head of surgery and the hospital’s senior physician. “Slim?”

Slim understood the unspoken question. “There’s no time to stand around. I fully support this action, and Mark’s in control” — he went on, half joking — “so long as he doesn’t see himself with a knife in my operating rooms! I’ve already stopped all nonurgent admissions and ten patients will be discharged tomorrow. That gives us forty-seven beds. What is the potential figure, Mark?”

Freedman looked at Malin.

“As a rough guess, I’d say
Papa
Kilo
had between eighty and ninety on board.”

Malin got up. “By midnight there’ll be an FBI guard on this place — not to get in your hair but to keep intruders off your backs. Thank you.”

As Malin left, Freedman was launching into a description of the Xeno cycle.

*

By 11:00 P.M. five calls for help had reached Freedman via his answering service. Four times an ambulance made the run to Abdera, lights flashing, but sirens silent on his orders. Within the hospital everyone worked feverishly, all differences and rivalries forgotten. Patients were moved to clear wards and groups of rooms. Slim and Mark examined the first two cases after Shane. One of them was her aunt. The cyst, located on her neck, presented no problems for the surgeon. Freedman made the decision: Operate.

*

The frenetic activity in Nash County Hospital was reflected clear across the States. Washington hastily approved Malin’s action and the President phoned the governor. Four Army doctors, two of them parasitologists, were dispatched to the hospital at once, and the FBI got down to locating and bringing in the eighteen non-Abderan passengers and the crew of
Papa
Kilo
.

Ten of the passengers and one crew member were found within an hour. Ten were induced by a mixture of threats and hints of even larger federal compensation to make the trip to Abdera — by service transportation. The stewardess could not be moved. She already lay in an Atlanta hospital, a sore puzzle to the doctors.