The Nirvana Plague (13 page)

As he concluded this speech, he turned toward Marley at the far end of the table, and Delacourt beside him, expecting support. But they maintained a noncommittal silence.

Benford seized on the comparison: “Where would Dr. Marley’s patients or Dr. Marley himself have caught this new medical chapter fad?”

“But I just explained that it
isn’t
malingering! At least, not necessarily so. It can be real
and
be non-organic
and
be unconscious. As we’ve already said, there’s no reason to think Dr. Marley’s cases are even the same syndrome.”

Delacourt scribbled a private note and fired it over to Marley’s screen:

Benford and Peters are competing for your alliance.

Marley smiled, but didn’t reply.

DiGrandi rejoined the fray: “Actually, we’ve considered the possibility you’re suggesting, Dr. Peters. There’s nothing wrong with it in theory. The trouble is that the reported incidences have been too widespread over too short a time span. Even the most optimistic computer models can’t account for that.”

“How do you know your models are any good?”

“These models were developed based on data for the kind of meme-spread you’ve been talking about. We’ve been able to model how political opinions spread through a population. We have a pretty good handle on propagation velocities for different vectors, and we can tie those vectors to idea-types. We can also measure the stability of idea-types — how much they evolve as they spread. For instance, based on propagation speeds, we can categorize White House sex scandals as Level Four infectious memes, very fast, very efficient spreaders, and fairly stable. On the other hand, say, a local wild dog attack in some rural community — that has a very different signature. It spreads fast over a limited range and mutates quite a bit as it goes. By the time it reaches the other end of town traveling by word of mouth, it’s likely to have morphed into a gaggle of crazed geese raping a beagle puppy.”

That stopped the discussion for a moment. Everyone laughed. The coffeepot started round again.

DiGrandi, who didn’t share the laugh, continued abruptly: “We’ve developed quite elaborate multi-dimensional matrices taking into account mutability, vectorization, velocity, et cetera, from which we can accurately predict and plot the infiltration of a given idea into a target population.”

“Can we see that?” Peters said.

“No.”

Sikora, in a stage aside to Peters: “Spook stuff.”

“Now, when we plug into this model the datapoints we collected on the appearance and spread of IDD, the picture we get is quite unlike an informational infiltration.”

“In the real world,” Sikora said, “is that what we call ‘propaganda’?”

DiGrandi hardly missed a beat: “Propaganda, in its technical sense, is one sub-class of informational propagation. However, as I was saying, the picture we get for IDD looks very much more like a biological weapon attack than any other type of infiltration.”

Marley kept doodling notes as he listened.
DG — bio weapon theory. But what’s the agent?

Sikora leaned in. “Now you’re getting into my area, Mr. DiGrandi. There’s no biological organism that turns warriors into pacifists.”

“Battlefield experience is usually enough to do that,” Marley said.

“IDD isn’t pacifism,” Benford said. “It’s depersonalization.”

“Yes, but pacifism is the outcome of interest to us,” Sikora said. “That’s the ‘problem’ we’re here to ‘solve’.”

Benford seemed to come to a resolution. “Dr. Peters makes some good points about the problematic nature of our data. Without a reliable diagnostic instrument, we don’t know what we have. I have seen some of these young men and women, and I think what’s happening to them is more than just a statistical anomaly. In any case, our first order of business must be to determine whether or not that is the case. Now, none of us have seen any of Dr. Marley’s patients, and I’m not sure it would do us much good anyway. Without several years of history with them, would their personality changes appear as striking to us? I doubt it. And none of you have seen any of our battlefield cases, though at least you have seen some of the recorded interviews. I think that if you had a chance to examine some of the subjects, you’d feel as I do that there’s something very odd about these people. We need to get a handle on what we’re dealing with here. Dr. Marley is the only candidate we have in a position to evaluate both sets of subjects. We all need to be working from the same data. I’m going to see about making that happen.”

The meeting broke for lunch. Saying she’d return within the hour, Benford departed with Tyminski for parts unknown. Service staff started wheeling in cafeteria food on stainless steel carts.

Sikora surveyed the offerings. “Cold cuts, baked beans. What’s this? Macaroni? Potato salad. Christ. Always the same shit. Can’t the richest government on the planet afford to feed its loyal servants—”

“I’m sure the richest government on the planet
can
,” Peters said. “Too bad we don’t work for them.”

Sikora shrugged. “Can’t speak Arabic.”

“I think they have nationality requirements as well,” Delacourt said.

“Well, I
can
get papers, of course! Birth record, passport, driver’s license, anything you want.”

“Legally?” Peters said.

“More or less.”

Marley said, “What do you suppose would happen if we decided to excuse ourselves for some real food? Surely there’s a pub or something nearby?”

Delacourt flashed him a pretty smile. “You might be disappointed,” she said.

One of the military aides said, “Sir, the NIH campus is on perimeter lockdown.”

Marley looked at him quizzically, then around the group. “Is it just me,” he said, “or do you folks also feel like this thing is getting more drama than it warrants?”

“Yes!” Peters said. “Makes me wonder if somebody knows something we don’t.”

“Are you now or have you ever been,” Sikora demanded, “the witless pawn of a government conspiracy?”

DiGrandi, frowning, slapped a clump of yellow potato salad on his plate. “I think we should take this job as seriously as our employers do. I think we should assume they have reason to be serious. Let’s not presume their reasons are irrational.”

Irked, Sikora flashed back, “Can we presume their reasons are secretive? Is that allowed?”

“Actually,” Marley said, “all I meant was that all of this top-secret national-emergency stuff is a bit surreal. This time yesterday I was still planning to see patients all afternoon.”

Delacourt’s lips curled around an ironic smile. “I suspect
you
, Dr. Marley, are the primary reason this — what shall we call it? —
phenomenon
is receiving such a serious level of attention. I strongly suspect your paper destroyed the hope that this thing was not a potential threat to the civilian population.”

Sikora said, “You mean their hope that it could be contained?”

Marley was becoming distracted by Delacourt. He realized he was sneaking little glances at her. “What do you mean by ‘contained’?” he said. “Epidemiologically speaking or public-awareness speaking?”

“Yes.”

Peters shook his head. “I still say there’s nothing to contain.”

“Why contain it anyway?” Sikora said. “What’s the actual threat?”

“Peace might break out,” Marley said. He returned to his seat with a sandwich and a bottle of water, and put the news on his tablet as he ate.

The others retook their seats.

“Is anything happening?” Peters said.

“Nothing special,” Marley said. “Something about financial terrorism.”

“The terrorism flavor of the week! How about putting it up on the wall?”

“How?”

Tennover materialized at his shoulder and showed him how to drop the channel onto the LEAF’s wall display source. Newsline instantly appeared in two-meter-wide frames on both sides of the room.

Benford returned after forty-five minutes and dropped a bomb on the meal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a C-17 troop transport departing Andrews in three hours. Dr. Marley, did you bring your passport with you this morning?”

Marley’s jaw seized up in mid-chew.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “We’ll be under military rules.”

Then to everyone, as matter-of-fact as you please: “Your escorts will help you get your gear packed.”

Finally to the aides: “We’ll assemble at the Clinical Center heliport in one hour.”

The aides answered “Yes, sir!” from around the room.

Most of the civilians were still trying to process what had just happened.

Somebody finally said, “
Where
are we going?”

“Classified. Sorry.”

“But it
is
another country, right?” Sikora said.

“Yes. That’s why we’re traveling by plane.”

“What,
now?”
Marley said. “What’s the rush?” He said it with more impatience than he liked, so he was glad when Peters protested still more strongly:

“Some of us have families and responsibilities, colonel. Suppose we can’t just fly off within the hour?”

“Then you’re off the team.” Then to Marley, but for everyone’s benefit, she said: “We have units in the field that are being put at risk by this thing, whatever it is. The consequences of it getting out of control could be severe. We can’t diagnose it from here. A picture is worth a thousand words, and a direct examination is worth a thousand case reports. The risk is too great to play it safe. Perhaps I’m overreacting, but—”

Here she brought out the cool smile that Marley was coming to think of as her trademark expression: “I’d rather be labeled an alarmist a month from now than be held responsible for the needless loss of American lives on the battlefield.”

Marley once again found himself admiring her frank patriotism. It was almost disconcerting to think the country could still produce idealists who weren’t running for office.

“Wait a second,” Wenslau said. “We’re going into combat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Benford said.

“But we’re going into a war zone?”

“You’re already in a war zone. The war is everywhere. Don’t you watch the news? — Now let’s get moving.”

Tennover escorted Marley back to his room to “pack his gear,” as Benford had put it — which turned out to be a euphemism for leaving everything behind. Tennover told him he wouldn’t need civilian clothes or toiletries where they were going.

“And where exactly would that be?”

“Can’t say, sir.”

“But it isn’t Kansas.”

“No, sir.”

“And it’s not a five-star Paris hotel?”