F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 (23 page)

           
JO HAD
NEVER BEEN inside a hospital before and she did not find the experience a
pleasant one. It was as if the big building existed apart from the rest of
society, isolated in its own time and space. The subculture here consisted of
the physically ill and those who cared for them. Nothing else seemed to matter.

           
A nurse
guided her to Larry’s private room where she happened to catch his doctor on
afternoon rounds. Most of the medical care as well as most of the scut work in
the hospital could have been handled by machines at greater speed and at much
less expense. But the fully automated hospital had been tried long ago… and
found wanting. Patients simply didn’t do well in them. There appeared to be
significant psychophysiological benefit to be derived from personalized care by
another human being, rather than a machine. And so the. physical presence of
the attending physician at intervals, and the ever-present nursing staff,
remained an integral and indispensable part of the hospital routine.

           
“At first
we thought he was another case of the horrors,” the doctor said.

           
He was a
heavy-set, swarthy man who spoke in clipped tones and wasted neither time nor
words. “But we have ways of testing for the horrors, and this is definitely
something else.”

           
Jo was
surprised at Larry’s appearance – he looked so healthy. He lay quietly in the
bed, breathing easily, a calm, untroubled expression on his face. He looked for
all the world like a man taking an afternoon nap. But no one could wake him.

           
“The
horrors,” the doctor was saying, “is an unwillingness to respond to any
external stimuli. The conscious and subconscious portions of the brain receive
the stimuli but block response as part of the pathological process. Mr. Easly’s
problem is different: he seems to be suffering from complete deafferentation.”

           
“You’ll
have to explain that term, doctor.” Jo was listening attentively but her eyes
had not moved from Larry’s face.

           
“Well, it
means that all – and I mean all external stimuli are being blocked from his
conscious mind. For a crude analogy, think of a computer with all its inputs
disconnected.”

           
“And what
could cause something like that?”

           
“Can’t say.
Was he a stable personality? We could be dealing with a psychotic state.”

           
“He was
about as stable as they come,” Jo said, glancing at the doctor. “Could this…
deafferentation, as you call it, be some sort of defense mechanism?”

           
The
doctor’s smile was condescending. “Highly unlikely. And if it were, it isn’t a
very good one. It’s like sticking your head in the sand: it doesn’t do much for
the rest of the body.”

           
“It does if
someone’s aiming at your head,” Jo muttered. She caught a puzzled look from the
doctor and changed the subject. “How long before he comes out of it?”

           
“Impossible
to say at this point – tomorrow, a week, a year, I don’t know. But he will come
out of it.”

           
“You’re
sure?”

           
“As sure as
I can be with no past experience in this kind of thing. Our tests this morning
showed a slight decrease in the level of deafferentation; we repeated them just
before you came in, and if those show a further decrease, we’ll be able to
estimate the rate of improvement and give you a prognosis.” So saying, he
turned and left the room.

           
Jo returned
her attention to Larry and the sensation of an impending internal explosion
returned, more forcefully than ever this time. Larry should not be like this –
he was such a strong, capable man, it was obscene to see him lying in a
comatose state, utterly helpless. And there was nothing she could do to help
him.

           
She grasped
the top rung of the guardrail at the side of the bed and squeezed until her
knuckles turned white and emitted little popping sounds of protest. She wanted
to scream in frustration but held back. She would save it for the time when she
caught up with the man who did this.

           
Eventually,
she made herself relax with slow, deep breaths. She released the guardrail and
paced the room with her arms folded across her chest. She was almost herself
again by the time the doctor returned.

           
“He’s
making excellent progress,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Should be out of
it in six or eight hours if he continues his present rate of reafferentation.”

           
Jo’s heart
leaped. “How will he be when he wakes up?”

           
The doctor
shrugged. “How can I say? Anything I tell you will be pure guesswork. He could
be alert and well rested, like a man awakening from a good night’s sleep, or he
could be irreversibly psychotic. We’ll have to wait and see.”

           
The nurses
were changing shifts then and the new head nurse came in as the doctor was
leaving.

           
“Sorry,”
she said, “but visiting hours are over.”

           
“Not for
me,” Jo said.

           
Something
in her tone made the head nurse hesitate. She glanced at the doctor.

           
“Let her
stay,” he said. “It’s a private room and she won’t be disturbing anybody.”

           
The nurse
shrugged. “As long as you chart it as done by your authority, it makes little
difference to me.”

           
When they
were gone, Jo dropped into a chair, then flipped a switch and watched as part
of the outer wall became transparent. The sun was setting in gory splendor, she
closed her eyes and let its bloody dying light warm her face until it was out
of sight behind he neighboring buildings. A noise behind her made her turn.

           
The door
was opening and through it passed a procession of five cloaked and hooded
figures. The last to enter closed the door behind him and then all pulled back
their hoods at once to reveal blue-gray skin, high-domed foreheads, and long
black hair in a single braid.

           
Vanek!

           
Jo rose to
her feet as the first visitor approached her. He appeared to be identical in
features to the other four except for a spot of darker blue pigment to the left
of center on his forehead. Although there was nothing menacing in their
actions, Jo felt uneasy… these were the creatures who freely admitted murdering
her father.

           
“What do
you want?” she asked, and cursed her voice for the way it quavered on the last
word.

           
The one who
appeared to be the leader stopped before her and bowed at the waist. His four
companions did likewise. Holding this position, they began a sonorous chant in
the old Vanek tongue. There was a queer melodic quality to the sound that Jo
found oddly soothing. As they held the final note, they resumed an erect
posture.

           
The leader
then withdrew his hands from beneath his robe. The right held a cracked earthen
bowl, the left a delicate carving of a fruit tree in bloom.

           
“These
belong to you,” he said in a sibilant voice. Jo could not read his expression
clearly. There was deep respect there, but it was overlaid with a mixture of
awe and vindication.

           
She took
the gifts and tried to speak, but found she could not. She knew they originally
had been given to her father and holding them in her hands suddenly made her
feel close to him again.

           
“The evil
one is near,” the leader said. “But he will not harm you again. I will see to
that.”

           
“Evil one!”
she said, finding her voice at last. “Who is he? Where can I find him?”

           
“Wheels
within wheels, bendreth,” was the answer.

           
Then the
five Vanek pulled their hoods up and filed out the door without another word.
Dazed by the entire incident, Jo simply stood in the middle of the room and
watched them leave. With the click of the closing door, however, she shook
herself and hurried after them.

           
The hall
was deserted. A nurse rounded the corner and Jo stopped her.

           
“Where did
those Vanek go?” she asked.

           
The nurse
cocked her head. “Vanek?”

           
“Yes, five
of them were in Lawrence Easly’s room just now.”

           
“My dear,”
she said with a short laugh, “I’ve spent half my life working in this hospital
and I’ve never seen one Vanek in these hails, let alone five! They have their
own medicine.” Her brow, furrowed momentarily. “Come to think of it, though,
there have been an awful lot of them outside the hospital lately. I guess they
could sneak in, but I don’t know why they’d want to.”

           
“But what
about the room monitor?” Jo had noticed a vid receptor plate high on the wall
opposite the foot of Larry’s bed. “Didn’t anyone see them on the screen?”

           
“We only
monitor the patient’s bed with that,” was the terse reply. “Now if you don’t
mind, I’ve got work to do.”

           
Jo nodded
absently and returned to the room. She placed the bowl and statue on the night
table and pulled a chair up next to the bed. This was where she would spend the
night. She was tired, but somehow she doubted she would be able to sleep.

           
ELSON
DEBLOISE TAPPED in Proska’s vidphone code and waited. He was calling from a
public booth. In all the too-many dreadful years of his association with
Proska, this was only the second time he had ever called him, and he was not
going to entrust the ensuing conversation to his office phone. After the events
of the past few days, there was no telling who might be listening in on that.

           
He waited
for Proska’s face to appear. How he hated and feared that little monster. How
he wished he had never oozed into his office that day – was it really seventeen
years ago? – and offered to put Finch out of the picture without force or
violence. If only he hadn’t –

           
The screen
lit up with Proska’s grim, pinched features.

           
“Well,
well!” the little man said with genuine surprise. “What have we here? An
eminent sector representative calling me on my humble vidphone! Such an honor!”

           
“Never mind
the feeble attempts at humor – it doesn’t become you. And there’s nothing
humorous behind this call.”

           
“Well?”

           
“I’ve got
an errand for you,” deBloise said and watched carefully for Proska’s reaction.
He was going to cherish this – after seventeen years of catering to the
monster’s every whim, at last he had a demand for him.

           
But Proska
remained impassive, only the slightest flicker of his dark-eyed gaze revealing
anything untoward in the conversation. He waited in silence until deBloise was
forced to go on.

           
“You
failed. The booth was psi-shielded, and a source at the hospital informs me
that the investigator you were supposed to eliminate will regain consciousness
before morning.”

           
“Investigator?
I thought you told me he was some sort of a reporter.”

           
“That’s
what I thought. That’s what customs thought. His identification was completely
phony. I had a few of my contacts check with the Risden Service and they never
heard of him. The name he used, however, was legitimate: he is Lawrence Easly,
a private investigator who does a lot of work in the business sector.”

           
“Business?
Why would he be checking up on you?”

           
“I don’t
know. I didn’t say he was exclusively an industrial spy. Besides, I’ve been
aware that I’ve been under some sort of surveillance for a number of years now
and perhaps he’s been behind it.”

           
“But to
what end?”

           
“Very
possibly he works for someone with political ambitions who’s preparing for the
day when he meets me head-on and wants to store up a little dirt in advance.”

           
“A
potential blackmailer, then.”

           
“Yes.
Competition for you.”

           
Proska’s
smile was not a nice thing to see. “No one could know what I know, could they,
Elson? Or if they did know, they couldn’t prove it like I can.”

           
“That
doesn’t matter right now! If I’m exposed… if even a hint of what happened in
Danzer should leak out, I’ll be ruined. And that’ll mean the end of your meal
ticket. So I expect you to go over to the hospital and finish the job!”

           
“Dear
Elson, how you’ve changed! I remember the horror and revulsion you expressed
the first time I demonstrated my little specialty to you. And now you actually
want me to use it twice on the same man!”

           
Proska’s
mocking observation stunned deBloise and his mind suddenly leaped back
seventeen years to the day a lowly civil servant stood in his office – smaller
and more sedate than the one he occupied these days – and told him he could
“take care of the problem in Danzer.” DeBloise had summarily dismissed the man,
but the memory of his eyes and his expression when be spoke remained with him.

           
And when
Tayes returned from Danzer a few days later with the news that Jeffers had
capitulated and that the Vanek Equality Act would be as good as dead once word
got out, deBloise knew he had to act immediately if he was to save anything. He
contacted the little man and sent him to Danzer.

           
The next
morning, all of Jebinose was shaken by the news that the man who had been
pushing the Vanek cause in Danzer was dead. And that the Vanek had confessed –
as a group – to his murder. So it was a natural reaction for deBloise to laugh
in Proska’s face when he showed up that afternoon demanding “compensation” for
his services.

           
Proska did
something to him then… something horrible… a little taste of his “specialty,”
as he liked to call it. And then he took him to the oldest, most run-down part
of Copia, picked out a besotted derelict, and showed deBloise what happened
when Cando Proska loosed the full force of his power on a man. But that wasn’t
the end of the show. Next stop was Proska’s dim little flat where deBloise
watched in horror as a vid recording showed him telling Proska to put an end to
Junior Finch’s meddling in Danzer. He was watching a copy. The original would
be released to the public should any mishap, even slightly suspicious, befall
Proska.

           
Cando
Proska had been bleeding him ever since. And the thought of what Proska could
do to him, politically and personally, had haunted him ever since, waking him
in the night sweating, panting, and clawing at the air.

           
“I never
realized then what you intended to do,” he said hoarsely, snapping himself back
to the present, “or what you could do.”

           
“Would it
have made any difference?” Proska sneered. “Finch showed the VEA to be a
useless political charade. I saw that coming; that’s why I came to you. Because
once he succeeded, support for your Vanek Equality Act would have evaporated.
And if the VEA went down, so would you! You remember how you looked on that
recording – you were ready to do anything. Anything!” His tone suddenly became
businesslike. “Speaking of the recording, it now resides on Fed Central,
addressed to the Federation ethics committee.”

           
DeBloise’s
face blanched and his voice shook. “Proska, I’d like to–”

           
“I know
what you’d like to do, that’s why the recording is where it is.”

           
DeBloise
struggled for control and finally regained it. After a long pause, he said,
“Are you going to finish the job?”

           
“Certainly.
But I need a way to get into the hospital without attracting too much
attention. I require a certain proximity, you know.”

           
“That can
be arranged. I’ll have my source at the hospital contact you. I’m leaving for
Fed Central tonight. I hope everything is settled before my ship has made its
first jump.”

           
“Don’t
worry. I’ll take care of everything.”