Deadline (61 page)

My pupil contracted to almost nothing as the light hit it. The spots weren’t there. I could see clearly, without any gaps.

“Oh,” I said, lowering my hand. “I guess that makes sense.”

When I first woke up, the voice from the intercom told me that all I had to do was speak and someone would hear me. I looked up toward the speaker. “A little help here?” I said. “I need to pee really bad.”

There was no response. I hadn’t honestly been expecting one. Turning my back on the mirror, I walked to the bed and settled into a cross-legged position atop the mattress, closing my eyes. And then I started wait
ing. There was still no mechanism in the room for marking time, but if anyone was watching me—and someone
had
to be watching me—this might be a big enough change in my behavior to get their attention. I wanted their attention. I wanted their attention really, really badly. Almost as badly as I wanted an MP3 recorder, an Internet connection, and a bathroom.

After I’d been waiting for what felt like hours but, again, might have just been minutes, the need for a bathroom had crept substantially higher on that list, as had the need for a drink of water. The fact that the human body can demand both of these things at the same time is proof that evolution has no erase button.

I was beginning to consider the possibility that I might need to somehow cover the mirror with one of the blankets while I used a corner of the room as a lavatory when the intercom clicked on again. “Miss Mason? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I said, without opening my eyes. “Do I get a name to call you by?”

He ignored my question like it didn’t matter. Maybe it didn’t, to him. “I apologize for going silent before. We were a little surprised by your vehemence. We’d expected a slightly longer period of disorientation.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh, we weren’t disappointed,” the voice said, hurriedly. It was a male voice, with the faintest traces of a Midwestern accent. I couldn’t place the state, but I knew I’d never heard it before. “I promise you, we’re thrilled to see you up and coherent so quickly. It’s a wonderful indicator for your recovery.”

“A glass of water and a trip to the ladies’ room would do a lot more to help my recovery than a bunch of apologies and evasions.”

Now the voice sounded faintly abashed. “I’m so sorry, Miss Mason. We didn’t think… Just a moment.” The intercom clicked off again, leaving me in silence once again. I stayed where I was, and kept on waiting.

A new sound intruded on my silence: the hiss of a hydraulic lock unsealing itself. I opened my eyes, turning my head to see a small panel slide open above the door, revealing a single red light. The hissing continued, and the door, at long last, swung inward, revealing a skinny, nervous-looking man in a long white lab coat. He was holding his clipboard against his chest like he thought it afforded him some sort of protection, and his eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Miss Mason? If you’d like to come with me, I’d be happy to escort you to the restroom.”

“Thank you.” I unfolded my legs, ignoring the protest of pins and needles in my calves, and walked toward the man in the doorway. He didn’t quite cringe as I approached, but he definitely shied back, looking more profoundly uneasy with every step I took in his direction. Interesting.

“We do apologize for making you wait,” he said. His words had the distinct cadence of something recited by rote, like telephone tech support asking for your ID and computer serial number. “There were just a few things that had to be taken care of before we could proceed.”

“Let’s worry about that
after
I get to the bathroom, okay?” I sidestepped around him, out into the hall, and stopped as I found myself looking at three hospital orderlies in blue scrubs, each of them pointing a pistol in my direction. I put my hands up, palms outward. “Okay, okay, I get it. I can wait for my escort.”

“That’s probably for the best, Miss Mason,” said the
nervous man, whose voice I now recognized from the intercom. It just took me a moment, without the filtering speakers between us. “We’re all a bit jumpy right now. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah. Sure.” I lowered my hands as I fell into step behind the nervous man. The orderlies followed us down the hall, their aim never wavering. I did my best not to make any sudden moves. Having just returned to the land of the living, I was in no mood to exit it again before I had a few answers about what, exactly, was happening. “Am I ever going to get something I can call you?”

“Ah…” His mouth worked for a moment without a sound escaping before he said, “I’m Dr. Thomas. I’ve been one of your attending physicians since you first arrived at this facility. I’m not surprised that you don’t remember me. You’ve been sleeping for some time.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” The hall we were walking along was built along the model I’ve come to expect from CDC facilities, with nothing breaking the sterile white of the walls but the occasional door and the associated one-way mirrors that looked into patient-holding rooms. All of them were empty.

“You’re walking well.”

“It’s a skill.”

“How’s your head? Any disorientation, blurred vision, confusion?”

“Yes.” He tensed. I ignored it, continuing: “I’m confused about what the hell I’m doing here. I don’t know about you, but I get a little twitchy when I wake up in strange places with no idea of how I got there. Will I be getting some answers soon?”

“Soon enough, Miss Mason,” he said, looking relieved.
We had stopped in front of a door with no mirror next to it. That implied that it wasn’t a patient room. Better yet, there was a visible blood test unit to one side. I never thought I’d be so happy for the chance to be jabbed with a needle. “We’ll give you a few minutes. If you need anything—”

“Using the bathroom, also a skill,” I said, and slapped my palm down flat on the test panel. Needles promptly bit into the heel of my hand and the tips of my fingers, and the light above the door changed from amber to red and finally to green. The door swung open. I smiled at Dr. Thomas, which just seemed to make him even more nervous, and I stepped into the bathroom, only to stop and scowl at the one-way mirror taking up most of the opposite wall. The door swung shut behind me.

“Cute,” I muttered. There was no way to cover it, and the need to pee was getting bad enough that I didn’t have time to protest the situation. I glared at the mirror the entire time I was using the facilities, all but daring someone to watch me. See? I can pee whether you’re spying on me or not, you sick bastards.

Other than the mirror—or maybe because of the mirror—the bathroom was as much standard-issue CDC as the hallway outside, with white walls, a white tile floor, and white porcelain fixtures. Everything was automatic, including the soap dispenser, and there were no towels; instead, I dried my hands by sticking them into a jet of hot air that activated as soon as the water turned off. It was one big exercise in minimizing contact with any surface. When I turned back to the door, the only thing I’d touched was the toilet seat, and I was willing to bet that it was in the process of self-sterilization by the time I started washing my hands.

No blood test was required to leave the bathroom. I guess they assumed you wouldn’t go into amplification while alone in a little white room. The three orderlies had arrayed themselves in a loose semicircle, with an unhappy Dr. Thomas between them and me. If I did anything bad enough to make them pull those triggers, the odds were good that he’d be treated as collateral damage.

“Wow,” I said. “Who did you piss off to get this gig?”

He flinched, looking at me guiltily. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not. Thank you for bringing me to the bathroom. Now, could I get that water?” Better yet, a can of Coke. The thought of its acid sweetness and the snap of bubbles on my tongue was enough to make my mouth water. It’s always good to know that some things never change.
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“If you’d come this way?”

I gave the orderlies a pointed look. “I don’t think I have much of a choice, do you?”

“No,” he said, guilty expression growing. “I suppose you don’t. It’s just a precaution. You understand.”

“Not really, no. I’m unarmed. I’ve already passed one blood test. I don’t really understand why I need three men with guns covering my every move.”

“Security.”

“Why is it people always say that when they don’t feel like giving a straight answer?” I shook my head. “I’m not going to make trouble. Please, just take me to the water.”

“Right this way,” he said, and started walking back the way we’d come. Interesting.

More interesting was what awaited us in the room I first woke up in, distinguishable from the others only
by the messed-up bedclothes and the fingerprints on the inside of the one-way mirror. There was a tray on the bolted-down table. It held a plate with two pieces of buttered toast, a tall tumbler filled with water, and, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, a can of Coke with condensation beading on the sides in tiny, enticing droplets. I made for the tray without pausing to consider how the orderlies might react to my moving at something faster than a casual stroll. None of them shot me in the back. That was something.

The first bite of toast was the best thing I’d ever tasted, at least until I took the second bite, and then the third. Finally, I crammed most of the slice into my mouth, barely chewing. I managed to resist the siren song of the Coke long enough to drink half the water. It tasted just as good as the toast. I put down the glass, popped the tab on the can of soda, and took my first postdeath sip of Coke. I was smart enough not to gulp it; even that tiny amount was enough to make my knees weak. I slowly turned to face Dr. Thomas.

As I’d expected, he was standing in the doorway, watching me carefully and making notes on his clipboard. Wouldn’t want to miss a moment, after all. There were probably a few dozen video and audio recorders running, catching every move I made, but any good reporter will tell you that there’s nothing like real field experience. I guess the same thing applies to scientists.

“How do you feel?” he asked, lowering his pen. “Dizzy? Are you already full? Did you want something besides toast? It’s a bit early for anything overly complicated, but I might be able to arrange for some soup, if you’d prefer that…”

“Mostly, what’d I’d prefer is having some questions answered, if you don’t mind.” I shifted the familiar
weight of my Coke from one hand to the other. If I couldn’t have my sunglasses, I guess a can of soda would have to do. “I think I’ve been pretty cooperative up to now. I also think that could change, if you’re not willing to play fair with me.”

Dr. Thomas looked uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose that will depend on what sort of questions you want to ask.”

“Oh, this one should be pretty easy fo you. I mean, it’s definitely within your skill set.”

“All right. I can’t promise to know the answer, but I’m happy to try. We want you to be comfortable.”

“Good.” I looked at him levelly, missing my black-eyed gaze. It always made people so uncomfortable. I got more honest answers out of those eyes…“You said you were my attending physician.”

“That’s correct.”

“So tell me: How long have I been a clone?”

Dr. Thomas dropped his pen.

Still watching him, I raised my Coke, took a sip, and waited for his reply.

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Welcome

Dedication