"c151" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

11:30 A.M, Monday, January 31, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

"Mr. 'n' Mrs. Hyland!" Matty ran into the flat breathless. "The hospital! Your baby! They need a transfusion!" Morgan stopped in mid-turn of the can opener and set down the tin of cold beans they were going to eat for lunch. Desiree had been saying she had to get a second job to help the cause. Everyone still living in the building had taken on night jobs to help rebuild civilization, and she felt guilty they were slacking off. She'd encouraged Morgan to find work, a good job, but not with Axton. Maybe two programming jobs. She was always one to work off her guilt like rubbing a shirt on a washboard until it was tattered. "What? Matty, sit down, tell us everything," Desiree said. They were still in an uneasy state of formality, even though, or perhaps because, Matty had been living in their flat for a month now. It seemed somehow neither hers nor theirs. Desiree seemed to have adopted an attitude toward Matty as if she were a live-in nanny, though this made Morgan uncomfortable. Only Matty ever saw the baby and they had to rely on second-hand tales of Jeremy's progress. "I heard the nurses whisperin'. They were really scared to tell anyone. The Strong would kill the wee one as easy as that," she said, snapping her fingers. "I snuck in to see them at lunch break. Those damn Strong work everyone so close to the bone. Anyway, the nurses, they said Jeremy's got sepsis, and needs a certain kind of transfusion; an exchange transfusion they called it, and that needs a special kind of blood. It has to have been screened for," she paused and looked skyward, remembering, "hepatitis B antigens, HIV, and something else I never heard of. CMV maybe it was. They said this is hard to come by normally, but what with the Confusion, and Desiree's having had hepatitis, they say the only way they can get any is from you, Morgan." Matty had adapted easily to calling them Morgan and Desiree. New Zealand had an egalitarian and informal way about it that brought on first names more rapidly than Morgan was entirely comfortable with. "Don't they have any blood? I can't sneak in there. They'd shoot me!" "How much do they need, and how often?" Desiree asked. "I don't know... Some now, maybe a couple tenths of a liter. They didn't say anything about later." Desiree looked at Morgan, her eyes wavering. Morgan understood full well what she was thinking. They'd never closed out the discussion yet of whether he should honor his draft notice or not. Morgan had argued it they might jail him if he were caught. In truth he felt some obligation to his native country. Desiree claimed she felt none; there was enough work to do here. "Could a nurse come here to take Morgan's blood?" Desiree asked. "No, ma'am, the nurses and doctors aren't allowed to leave. They had one desert shortly after they moved you all out." "You could do it, Matty. Sneak out the equipment—" "Oooh, no Desiree. I faint dead away at the sight of blood. Besides, they frisk us up thoroughly when we come and go. The only thought the nurses had was they said they exchange supplies with Greenlane. If you go there, the nurses could trick up a requisition from them. But they can't send them notes or anything, since the Strong check over every scrap of paper." "Then it's settled," Morgan said. " I'll just—" "No, you don't understand. The HIV screening takes forever now. If you just walked into Greenlane, they wouldn't know you from Adam. They'd have to send it out for screening, and Jeremy wouldn't..." "So Morgan has to tell them the story. Convince Greenlane not to screen it," Desiree said. "But what if they don't believe me? It's better if I sneak into Middlemore." Morgan knew when he said it that this wasn't the kind of proactive thinking Desiree wanted from him. This was the "don't be a hero" kind. "I'm not losing you both," she said quietly. Morgan massaged his neck. There was much floor-staring. "I told you it was a pretty pickle," Matty said. "And then there's the generator. Mercury Power's talking about getting the grid up. 'Any time now,' they say. Of course they're slow as a wet week, but they're asking places with generators to feed them power so they can bootstrap their own generators. Well, those NS are a few stubbies short of a sixpack; they were afraid the police would take over the hospital to get at the generator. Sir Howard told them it was nonsense, but they decided to make"—Matty waved her finger in lazy circles—"a 'political statement.' They clobbered the junction to the outside grid. Now we can't get power from the grid even when it does come up. 'Proof of our independent nation status' they called it." Matty wound down with an embarrassed look. "Sorry I ran on. I s'pose I shouldn't trouble you with things you can't do anything about." "I've got it," Morgan announced. He reassuringly patted Matty's shoulder. Now this was the kind of proactive thinking Desiree would approve of. "I'll go see Axton. His brother's a doctor. He can arrange a blood transfer with Greenlane." Desiree pressed her lips tight. Nobody wanted to be indebted to Axton. It was probably better he, like the draft board, thought Morgan were dead. But she finally nodded. Half an hour later, Axton smiled as Morgan walked into his office. With the only light coming from the window, backlighting Axton in his highback chair, his fingers steepled, he looked like a minion of the devil. "'Jesus cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out." The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound.'" Axton rose, his arms wide as if in benediction. "Morgan. I'm glad to see you. A dead programmer would be most useful to me right now."

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Chapter 15.1

11:30 A.M, Monday, January 31, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

"Mr. 'n' Mrs. Hyland!" Matty ran into the flat breathless. "The hospital! Your baby! They need a transfusion!" Morgan stopped in mid-turn of the can opener and set down the tin of cold beans they were going to eat for lunch. Desiree had been saying she had to get a second job to help the cause. Everyone still living in the building had taken on night jobs to help rebuild civilization, and she felt guilty they were slacking off. She'd encouraged Morgan to find work, a good job, but not with Axton. Maybe two programming jobs. She was always one to work off her guilt like rubbing a shirt on a washboard until it was tattered. "What? Matty, sit down, tell us everything," Desiree said. They were still in an uneasy state of formality, even though, or perhaps because, Matty had been living in their flat for a month now. It seemed somehow neither hers nor theirs. Desiree seemed to have adopted an attitude toward Matty as if she were a live-in nanny, though this made Morgan uncomfortable. Only Matty ever saw the baby and they had to rely on second-hand tales of Jeremy's progress. "I heard the nurses whisperin'. They were really scared to tell anyone. The Strong would kill the wee one as easy as that," she said, snapping her fingers. "I snuck in to see them at lunch break. Those damn Strong work everyone so close to the bone. Anyway, the nurses, they said Jeremy's got sepsis, and needs a certain kind of transfusion; an exchange transfusion they called it, and that needs a special kind of blood. It has to have been screened for," she paused and looked skyward, remembering, "hepatitis B antigens, HIV, and something else I never heard of. CMV maybe it was. They said this is hard to come by normally, but what with the Confusion, and Desiree's having had hepatitis, they say the only way they can get any is from you, Morgan." Matty had adapted easily to calling them Morgan and Desiree. New Zealand had an egalitarian and informal way about it that brought on first names more rapidly than Morgan was entirely comfortable with. "Don't they have any blood? I can't sneak in there. They'd shoot me!" "How much do they need, and how often?" Desiree asked. "I don't know... Some now, maybe a couple tenths of a liter. They didn't say anything about later." Desiree looked at Morgan, her eyes wavering. Morgan understood full well what she was thinking. They'd never closed out the discussion yet of whether he should honor his draft notice or not. Morgan had argued it they might jail him if he were caught. In truth he felt some obligation to his native country. Desiree claimed she felt none; there was enough work to do here. "Could a nurse come here to take Morgan's blood?" Desiree asked. "No, ma'am, the nurses and doctors aren't allowed to leave. They had one desert shortly after they moved you all out." "You could do it, Matty. Sneak out the equipment—" "Oooh, no Desiree. I faint dead away at the sight of blood. Besides, they frisk us up thoroughly when we come and go. The only thought the nurses had was they said they exchange supplies with Greenlane. If you go there, the nurses could trick up a requisition from them. But they can't send them notes or anything, since the Strong check over every scrap of paper." "Then it's settled," Morgan said. " I'll just—" "No, you don't understand. The HIV screening takes forever now. If you just walked into Greenlane, they wouldn't know you from Adam. They'd have to send it out for screening, and Jeremy wouldn't..." "So Morgan has to tell them the story. Convince Greenlane not to screen it," Desiree said. "But what if they don't believe me? It's better if I sneak into Middlemore." Morgan knew when he said it that this wasn't the kind of proactive thinking Desiree wanted from him. This was the "don't be a hero" kind. "I'm not losing you both," she said quietly. Morgan massaged his neck. There was much floor-staring. "I told you it was a pretty pickle," Matty said. "And then there's the generator. Mercury Power's talking about getting the grid up. 'Any time now,' they say. Of course they're slow as a wet week, but they're asking places with generators to feed them power so they can bootstrap their own generators. Well, those NS are a few stubbies short of a sixpack; they were afraid the police would take over the hospital to get at the generator. Sir Howard told them it was nonsense, but they decided to make"—Matty waved her finger in lazy circles—"a 'political statement.' They clobbered the junction to the outside grid. Now we can't get power from the grid even when it does come up. 'Proof of our independent nation status' they called it." Matty wound down with an embarrassed look. "Sorry I ran on. I s'pose I shouldn't trouble you with things you can't do anything about." "I've got it," Morgan announced. He reassuringly patted Matty's shoulder. Now this was the kind of proactive thinking Desiree would approve of. "I'll go see Axton. His brother's a doctor. He can arrange a blood transfer with Greenlane." Desiree pressed her lips tight. Nobody wanted to be indebted to Axton. It was probably better he, like the draft board, thought Morgan were dead. But she finally nodded. Half an hour later, Axton smiled as Morgan walked into his office. With the only light coming from the window, backlighting Axton in his highback chair, his fingers steepled, he looked like a minion of the devil. "'Jesus cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out." The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound.'" Axton rose, his arms wide as if in benediction. "Morgan. I'm glad to see you. A dead programmer would be most useful to me right now."


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