Alan E. Nourse - The Bladerunner (4 page)

"Better have some privacy first," Billy cautioned.

"You're
really
nervous, huh?" Doc fished out a coin and dropped it into a slot to activate the booth's electronic muffler. Immediately the blaring juke-box noise died to a whisper and the rattling of dishes and other sounds around them vanished. "Now, then," Doc said.

Billy told him about his discovery of the bug, his call to Molly and his talk with Parrot. Doc listened to the story intently, nodding once or twice but saying nothing. "Anyway, I was in a bind about contacting you," Billy finished. "Until I knew for sure what was going on I didn't dare try to make a direct contact, so I called Molly instead."

Doc nodded. "That was fine, under the circumstances. She got word to me right away. But that's not going to help us tomorrow or the next day if that bug stays there."

"Well, why do you think it's there?" Billy demanded.

Doc chewed his lip. "I wish I knew. Of course, it
could
be a random screening sweep, but that seems pretty doubtful to me. I've seen how these Health Control snoopers work, and they don't do much of anything without a solid reason behind it. If they're watching you all of a sudden, that means they've got a toe in the door of our operation, somehow, whatever may have tipped them off. If there's a new policy of increased screening sweeps, there must be some reason for that, too, and if they're doing it without making arrests, then it isn't by accident, it's by intent, whatever the purpose may be. But I wonder if maybe we're looking too far afield."

Billy looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I could be the one that's tipped them off to something funny. I've been monitored on every one of my Hospital cases this week and most of last week too. All of a sudden they're watching what I'm doing there very, very closely—and I'm not sure why."

"Have you been having trouble with your cases?" Billy asked.

Doc looked at him. "Trouble? No . . . not exactly. I've been doing more or less routine transplants, and I have a better record on them than anybody else at Number Seven Hospital. But lately I've also had to take some risks. It's the only way I can figure to outfox the pantograph and computers, and a couple of times lately I've had some narrow squeaks as a result." Doc chuckled. "It's hard enough to do heart surgery at all, without deliberately trying to do things the wrong way. And I'm afraid the monitors are getting suspicious at the number of things I seem to be doing wrong."

Billy whistled. "Doc, you're going to start having bodies in the laboratory if you don't watch out. Can't you just settle for doing midnight cases and let the Clinic work slide off your back?

"Not as long as the Hospital has a neuropantograph picking my brain during surgery, I can't," Doc said fiercely. "Doing the work is one thing; being forced to teach a robot to do it is something else. Look, don't get confused, I'm not letting anything bad happen to my patients. I couldn't do that, pantograph or no pantograph. It's just that the computer has to count on consistencies in order to program a robot, and I'm throwing in as many inconsistencies as I can, without doing the patient any harm. Sometimes I just take longer with a procedure than necessary, or I reverse the order of certain steps, or leave certain steps out, or do things slightly differently from one case to the next—anything so that the computer can't pin down a coherent, consistent pattern of action. I make random mistakes—never
bad
mistakes, just little ones—and then I use randomly chosen remedies, never the same remedy for the same mistake twice in a row. All so that the computer can't program a robot to do a safe transplant procedure by learning from me how it's done. Aha, here's Molly."

A tall, dark-haired girl had come into the coffee shop and was making her way back to their booth. Although she wore no cap, the dark blue cape with the red satin lining and the traditional white uniform marked her as a registered nurse. Her blue eyes were wide with concern as she slipped into the booth facing Doc and Billy. "Oh, I'm glad you got away when you did," she said breathlessly. "I had to leave by the parking garage, and even

then It took forever to get through the police cordon—"

"Police cordon!" Billy said. "What happened after we left?"

"Those Naturists outside the Hospital—somebody pulled a knife and it turned into a full-blown riot. Night sticks, tear gas, half a dozen police copters herding bystanders away. The demonstrators broke through into the lobby and were trying to occupy the business office before the police finally got them out; they must have arrested a dozen of them. Three patients and one doctor injured, according to one report. If anything like this happens again, I'm afraid there's really going to be trouble."

"It'll happen again," Doc said somberly. "Basically the Naturists are a violent group, and when certain ones of them say 'Destroy the Hospital* they mean literally take it down, brick by brick." The older man shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that's Health Control's problem. We've got problems of our own. Billy has the packs, right?"

"Two T&A packs."

"Then let's get moving."

Once outside the coffee shop, they caught a ground-cab to the heli-cab station a few blocks north. The place was crowded with early-evening travelers, and the small interurban helicopters were landing and taking off in rapid sequence like bees around a hive. Doc dialed for an auto-pilot model, and they joined the line waiting at the designated landing pad. Doc stood first on one foot and then the other, impatient and irritable, while Billy clutched the flight bag with the surgical packs tightly under his arm. Only Molly Barret appeared calm and unruffled as they waited. Doc kept peering critically at Billy over his glasses. Finally he said, "When did you scrub your hands last?"

"This afternoon when I woke up," Billy said.

"Nails and all? Looks to me like
you've been shovel
ing coal," Doc said.

Billy looked at his hands, which were anything but clean. "Well, I can't help it if they get dirty. I scrubbed them."

"How long?"

"Maybe five, ten minutes."

"I thought I told you twice a day for fifteen minutes at a time," Doc said. "What would you do if you had to step in and help me in an emergency?" Billy spread his hands helplessly. "Well, you might have to any time," Doc said testily. "When I tell you I want you surgically scrubbed, I mean surgically scrubbed. How about cap and mask? Did you bring them for yourself?"

"You didn't tell me to bring them," Billy said.

"Didn't tell you! Do I have to tell you every single time?"

"Well, I just forgot."

"Oh, great. I wonder what else you forgot."

Molly interrupted. "It's about our turn," she said.

"Why didn't you remind him about a cap and mask?" Doc asked her.

"I didn't think of it."

"You shouldn't have to, but if this idiot can't remember fundamentals like scrubbing his hands and bringing cap and mask,
somebody
has to remind him."

"He's not an idiot," Molly said defensively. "You'd forget things too if you woke up and found a bug in your room. He's just had a bad day, is all. And it's too late to worry about it now. That's our cab coming in."

Moments later the little heli-cab landed on the pad and discharged passengers. Doc, Billy, and the nurse climbed aboard. The rotor continued idling until Doc had address-coded their destination into the miniature computer console; there was a series of clicks as the computer searched all the legal heli-cab channels between the pad and the designated destination and locked in on a flight plan. Then the little cab lifted slowly into the air, circled twice awaiting electronic clearance for entering the traffic channels, and then began moving south and west, steadily gaining altitude.

They were airborne for ten minutes before anyone spoke. Doc kept peering at the 360-degree radar scan pattern on the cab's console, double-checking that no one was following them. Billy sat hunched and tense, nervous as always when he was farther than jumping distance from solid ground. "Is the anesthetist going to meet us there?" he asked finally.

"Nope, not tonight."

"You mean Trautman refused to come?"

"He wasn't asked," Doc said. "He's been drunk the last three times, and I decided that was enough. I can't afford to take that kind of risk."

"Well, what are you going to do for anesthesia? I got the ether, like you asked."

"Fine," Doc aid. "I think we'll let you give it, too."

Billy stared at the surgeon.
"Me
give it! I don't know how to give anesthesia."

"Then it's time you learned," Doc said. "You've certainly watched Trautman often enough. You know the reflexes to check, and I can coach you, just as long as I don't have to fool with the ether mask while I'm working."

"Why not have Molly do it?"

"She's got to be scrubbed in and helping me, right Molly?"

The girl nodded. "But Billy, this is a great chance for you," she said. "If you could learn to replace Trautman, you could be a real part of the operating team—couldn't he, Doc? There aren't many bladerunners who even get to observe, much less help. And you're certainly smart enough to learn."

Billy stirred uneasily and scratched his nose. "I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe for an extra hundred—"

"No dice," Doc said. "No extra pay while you're learning. You need the experience."

Billy looked at him. "Don't give me that, Doc. You need somebody to give anesthesia, that's the truth of it."

"Oh, honestly!" Molly broke in. "It's more for your own good than anything, Billy. You get a chance like this and you sit and bicker about money! What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"Well, I've got to make a living, too," Billy said unhappily.

"You're making a handsome living just running packs, and you know it," Molly said. "Good lord! I don't get paid at all, and Doc barely breaks even on these cases as it is. You have to hang around until the instruments are ready to go back anyway. Why shouldn't you make yourself useful?"

"But he pays Trautman three hundred—"

"What's that got to do with it?" Doc said. "Trautman is an M.D. anesthetist, and you're just a bladerunner. Now you can take it or leave it: help out in return for learning, or don't help out and we'll pack up and go home. On my patients you learn on your own time."

Billy was silent for a long moment, staring out at the city lights passing below. Then, slowly, he said, "Okay, I'll do it—tonight. But when
are
you going to pay me extra?"

"About the time I pick you over Trautman by choice," Doc said sourly.

"You're a real prince," Billy said. He settled into a sullen silence, staring out as the helicopter moved on through the night. Minutes passed, and Doc leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. Then Billy said, "Doc?"

"Yes?"

"When are you going to fix my foot, Doc?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Doc said. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm no bone surgeon?"

"You're not a throat surgeon, either, but you're doing T&As."

"Well, fixing a crippled foot is a different matter."

"But Doc, you
promised.
Way back when I first started with you, you said you'd arrange it. Molly remembers, don't you, Moll? You said you'd get somebody to fix it for me."

"Okay, fine, so I promised. And I will, too, when I can find the right man and the circumstances are right. Right now I'm so loaded with work I can't think straight, with all these underground patients, and fixing your foot would throw you out of it for weeks."

"But, Doc, it's
my foot
, not just some underground patient's. And the longer I wait the tougher the surgery will be, that's what all the books say."

"Well, maybe so and maybe not" Doc sighed. "I just don't know enough about it, you need an expert bone surgeon to tell you." He was silent for a moment. "Look, I'll try to get it arranged, okay? The first chance I get"

"That's what you said last time," Billy persisted.

"Well, we'll talk about it later. Maybe we can get something rolling. Right now we're about to land, it looks like."

The heli-cab had begun to lose altitude as they passed over the less built-up interurban areas of the city between Newark Sector and Trenton Sector. The city lights spread out below them in all directions like a vast iridescent blanket. From time to time the auto-pilot let out clicks and chatters as electronic relays closed and opened and the cab homed in on the designated address code, all the while maintaining a 360-degree surveillance of the surrounding sky. Occasionally another cab moved past, rising or settling down, but none approached or followed. Heli-cabs ordinarily were used only for long-distance inter-Sector passage, distances that would be impractical to travel by ground-cab or rapid-transit ground services. But where they were used, the little copters were swift, efficient, and exceedingly safe. Now, less than thirty minutes from their departure, the heli-cab dropped down, entering a low-level approach pattern and finally settling down on the lighted rooftop pad of one of the large modular apartment buildings so characteristic of the Trenton Sector. Moments later the three had disembarked, and a figure moved out of the shadow of a ventilator system to greet them as the heli-cab lifted away on its auto-pilot and vanished into the sky to the north again.