A Creed for the Third Millennium (51 page)

Over. Over. Over. 'A promotion. A car.
Independence.
Power!'
she said.

'I could offer you none of
those.'

'Oh, I don't know. They're all thanks to
you, really.'

Through the trees and bushes. Out of the
palisade to the waiting helicopter, blades whipping idly. One man leaped in
first and held out his hands to Dr Christian, who took them and made the upward step
easily with his long legs; the man leaned over him and buckled him securely into
half the back seat, shoulders and hips, a good restraint harness, actually.
Billy had been waiting with his engine turning over ever since she had alighted,
thinking she would only be gone a very few minutes, and aware that to start the
engine afresh would make more noise than idling and then taking off.

Dr Carriol waited until the man in the
back seat jumped out, then prepared to climb in herself. In midstep she detained
the soldier, gestured him back into the helicopter. 'I might need you, Private.
Buckle in beside Dr Christian, would you? I'll go up front with
Billy.'

A captain came running across the grass,
pushed between the soldiers and ducked up to the helicopter. 'Dr
Carriol!'

She leaned out, impatient to be gone.
'What's up?'

'Message from the White House, ma'am.
Been waiting for you for some time. The President wants to see you in the White
House at eight on the dot.'

Damn! What next? Her watch said
six-thirty, it was now quite light, and the crowds some distance off (kept off
deliberately) were stirring, their rest terminated by the noise of the
helicopter. She swung round to face the pilot. 'Billy, how long will it take us
to get where we're going?'

He had brought the appropriate charts
with him from his base, so his course was plotted. 'Gotta gas up first, ma'am.
Sorry, I would have gone and done it already, but I kept thinkin' you must be
comin' any second. So — oh, about an hour, I guess. Half an hour comin' back,
plus whatever time you wanna spend on the ground.'

Ten minutes on the ground at Pocahontas
Island at least, more very likely. What to do, what to do?

Ambition won. Sighing, she unlatched her
harness and swung her legs out of the bubble.
'Billy, you'll have to take Dr Christian down on your own and then come back for
me.' Frowning, she turned her head to study Dr Christian, who sagged limply,
eyes closed, held upright by his harness. The soldier with him in the back seat.
Could he be trusted? Would Joshua stay quiet, or would he have another fit of
wanting to walk? Would he become violent? Maybe she ought to send Major Withers
instead. She looked down at the small group of men and studied the major's face
as intently as she had Dr Christian's, saw something she didn't really like in
it. The captain, then… No. No. Back to the private already strapped in. A strong
lad, in training. Good enough at his age to have been picked for this VIP guard
assignment. Quiet and steady face. What lay behind it? Was he discreet? Oh, for
God's sake, woman, decide! Decide! The medical team would undoubtedly already be
there, of course, that was a help. Yes, of course, of course… It was only a
matter of the journey down. He'd be all right.

'Billy,' she said to the pilot, 'you'll
have to go without me, I daren't risk being late to see the President. Get Dr
Christian down to the rendezvous as soon as you possibly can, okay? Find the
house I told you about and put your bird down as close as you can get to it' She
turned to the soldier. 'Can I trust you, Private?'

He stared at her out of wide grey eyes.
'Yes, ma'am.'

'All right, then. Dr Christian is sick
We're taking him to a special place for treatment. He's physically ill, not
mentally ill, but he's in such terrible pain he's a bit deranged — only
temporary, you understand. I want you to look after him on the way down. And
when Billy lands I want you to escort Dr Christian to the house there. Don't
wait to scout around; the less you see, the better for yourself. There will be
doctors and nurses waiting for Dr Christian. So just take him to the house and
then get the hell out. Got it?'

He looked as if he was prepared to die to
bring off this most important mission of his life
successfully; and probably for the chance to ride in a helicopter.

'Got it, ma'am,' said the soldier. 'I am
to look after Dr Christian on the flight, then escort him to the house. I am not
to wait. I am not to look around. I am to go straight back to the
bird.'

'Good man!' She smiled at him. 'Not a
word to a soul, even your commanding officers. Orders of the
President.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

She gave Billy an affectionate pat on the
arm and climbed out. Then, leaning into the back of the craft, she touched Dr
Christian on the knee.

'Joshua?'

He opened his eyes and gazed down at her;
a vestige of sad sweet reason flickered, went out.

'You'll be fine now, my dear. Believe me,
you are going to be fine! Sleep if you can. And when you wake up, it will all be
over. You can start to live again. Nasty old Judas Carriol will be out of your
life forever.'

He made no answer, seemed not to know she
was there.

She swung round and ducked out of range
of the rotors, then stood with the soldiers as the helicopter lifted itself off
the ground in its languid, death-defying fashion. It ascended very slowly to
about two hundred feet, clear of every obstacle in the vicinity, then the
turbine engines began to shriek, and it shot forward, jet-propelled.

Dr Carriol suddenly realized that the
ring of silent men around her was gazing at her with that curiously wooden
expression well-trained troops adopt at the inexplicable gyrations of High
Command. She set her lips.

'Nothing happened here this morning,' she
said. 'I mean
nothing.
You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. And
that order will change only if your new orders come from the President.
Understood?'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Major
Withers.

Billy the pilot looked at his fuel gauge,
did a swift calculation, and nodded. He loved Dr Christian. All those months of
ferrying him around the country had cemented his awe and admiration for this
incredible and incredibly nice man. They never seemed to understand how hard it
was on the poor guy, plodding from one place to another without a break. So here
he was getting his break at last, but too late to be in shape to finish what he
started. However, Billy figured there was one final good turn he could do Dr
Christian before their paths diverged. There was fuel at Hatteras, it was a
defence-warning station. So he could go straight on down to this Pocahontas
Island, give Dr Christian over into medical care for his much needed and long
overdue rest, then he'd fly on to Hatteras and gas up there instead of farting
around forever filling out forms at one of the bases down along his
route.

'Cheer up, Doc!' he shouted over his
shoulder. 'We'll get you there quick as a shake of an ant's dick!'

Dr Carriol trudged across the grass
towards the Christian tent, her feet obeying her; wonderfully obedient feet she
had! They traipsed one after the other to the entrance flap, they led her
rocking through it, and into a tiny crowd of waiting Christians.

Mama pounced first, trembling. 'Judith,
Joshua is gone! He's started the March without us!'

Dr Carriol plodded to the first chair,
sank into it and looked up at them, eyes glazed with weariness, face haggard.
This morning she looked her age. 'Martha, honey, is there any hot coffee? I must
have something stimulating to drink, or I'll never last the
distance.'

Martha went to a table where a steaming
carafe stood, poured a mug full and gave it to Dr Carriol. She did the task it
seemed grudgingly, face sullen; ever since setting eyes on Joshua again in New
York City she had been different, looking at Dr
Carriol with loathing as this outsider took complete charge of Joshua, shutting
them
out.

'Mama, sit down,' said Dr Carriol gently,
sipping at the fluid in her mug and wincing. 'Ow! That's hot!' She leaned
forward limply. 'I'm afraid Joshua hasn't started without you, it's you who must
start without him. He's all right, but he's ill. I've known it ever since New
Brunswick, but he wouldn't listen to reason and I felt I couldn't betray him—'
She broke off, remembered pain pouring through her. Betray. He had called her
Judas. Insane he might be, but still it hurt. Betray. Was that what she had done
all those months and months ago in frozen Hartford? She tried the treacherous —
oh apt adjective! — word again, stumbled again. 'Betray him.' No, she was
not
going to cry. Never cry. 'He wanted to walk. And I let him. You know Joshua.
He wouldn't be talked out of it, and he wouldn't let me tell anyone else. But
this morning he — he — he just wasn't able to walk any more. So the President
has set up a special hospital for him alone, where he can be treated and rest in
absolute peace and quiet. I've just shipped him off by helicopter.'

Mama cried, of course; Mama had done a
lot of crying in the months since she arrived in Mobile to be with Joshua, share
his triumph. She would have done better by herself to have stayed in Holloman.
Mary wouldn't have done all that fruitless and impotent suffering. That fresh
beauty of hers had diminished little by little to the middle-aged relics of
perfect bones; nothing much was left now to suggest how dazzling and young she
had been a year ago.
Only a year ago?

'Why didn't you tell us?' asked Mama
through her tears.

'Mama, I wanted to, believe me! I've not
kept him from you for kicks, or to suit some design of my own. He has always
dictated our behaviour, including mine. He didn't even want me to find out he
was ill. What I do know is that more than anything he
wants you to finish the March for him. Will you?'

'Of course,' said James gently. Dear,
gentle James!

'It goes without saying,' said Andrew
stiffly.

But Martha turned into a tigress. 'I want
to go to him! I insist on going to him!'

'That is quite impossible,' said Dr
Carriol. 'Joshua is in a special hospital under Presidential security. I'm
sorry, but what goes for Mama must go for you too, Martha.'

'This is some plot!' cried the young
woman fiercely. 'I don't believe a word you've told us! Where is he? What have
you done with him?'

Andrew got up quickly. 'Martha, stop
being silly. Come with me at once.'

She began to weep, but her husband was
scant of sympathy; he grasped her hand by the arm and marched her into their own
cubicle, where everyone else, uncomfortable, could hear her weeping and
protesting more and more desperately.

Andrew came out. 'Sorry,' he said, and
looked towards his sister. 'You pipe down too. Enough! Not a word! Go and cry on
Martha's shoulder if you must, but don't stay here looking like a dying duck in
a rainstorm!'

Mary turned and left immediately; and
within moments Martha's stormy grief was quieter, the two voices, one teary and
hiccoughing, the other low and tender, merging indistinctly.

Dr Carriol sat blinking, intrigued
despite her exhaustion.

'It's all right, Judith,' said Andrew,
sitting down next to Mama and taking her hand. 'Martha has always had a bit of a
crush on Joshua, you know, and it makes her very silly occasionally. As for Mary
— well, Mary is Mary.'

'It's none of my concern,' said Dr
Carriol feebly, and tried her coffee again to find it cooled enough
to drink. 'I'm just terribly glad you've all
taken this so well, and that goes for Martha too. I can't blame her. It must
look as if I've usurped family authority in dealing with Joshua.'

'Nonsense!' said James, his arm about
Miriam, who didn't bounce or say much these days. 'We've just expected that when
all of this is over, you and Joshua will marry. Which does give you many
rights.'

It didn't seem worthwhile to disillusion
them, so she merely nodded and smiled her thanks.

'What about me?' wailed Mama. 'I
can't march! And I don't feel right, sneaking in on the last day in a
car!'

'Then how about if I set up a ride for
you in one of the television vans?' asked Dr Carriol. 'That way you'll be at the
speaker's platform first. So you can take your seat next to the King of
Australia and New Zealand and look him right in the eye.'

This suggestion appealed, but couldn't
console her. 'Oh, Judith, why can't I go to Joshua? I wouldn't be in the way, I
promise I wouldn't! Haven't I been good all these months, just as you told me?
Please! Oh,
please!'

'The moment he's well enough to be moved
to some place less security-mad than where he is now, you'll see him and you'll
be with him, I promise. Be patient, Mama. I know you're very worried, but,
honestly, he couldn't be in better hands.'

Major Withers saved them a lot more of
the same from Mama when he poked his head around the tent entrance flap. 'Dr
Carriol, your chopper is waiting.'

Dr Carriol dragged herself to her feet,
anxious to be anywhere except where she was. 'I have to go. The President wants
to see me urgently.'