woman, who to this point had simply said “hai” in response to each of the surgeon’s barked commands. And then Kuroda spoke: “Miss Caitlin, are you all right?”
“I guess.”
“Your pulse is way up.”
Yours would be, too, if people were poking things into your head! she thought.
“I’m okay.”
She could smell that the surgeon was working up a sweat. Caitlin felt the heat from the lights shining on her. It was taking longer than it was supposed to, and she heard the surgeon snap angrily a couple of times at someone.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s happening?”
Kuroda’s voice was soft. “He’s almost done.”
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“No, no. It’s just a tight fit, that’s all, and—”
The surgeon said something.
“And he’s done!” said Kuroda. “The transceiver is in place.”
There was much shuffling around, and she heard the surgeon’s voice moving toward the door.
“Where’s he going?” Caitlin asked, worried.
“Be calm, Miss Caitlin. His job is finished—he’s the eye specialist. Another doctor is going to do the final cleanup.”
“How—how do I look?”
“Honestly? Like you’ve been in a boxing match.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve got quite a black eye.” He gave a wheezy little chuckle. “You’ll see.”
* * * *
Dr. Quan Li cradled the beige telephone handset against his shoulder and looked idly at the diplomas hanging on his office’s pale green walls: the fellowships, the degrees, the certifications. He’d been on hold now for fifty minutes, but one expected to wait when calling the man who was simultaneously Paramount Leader of the People’s Republic of China and President of the People’s Republic and General Secretary of the Communist Party and Chairman of the Central Military Commission.
Li’s office, a corner room on the fifth floor of the Ministry of Health building, had windows that looked out over crowded streets. Cars inched along, rickshaws darting between them. Even through the thick glass, the din from outside was irritating.
“I’m here,” said the famous voice at last. Li didn’t have to conjure up a mental image of the man; rather, he just swung his chair to look at the gold-framed portrait hanging next to the one of Mao Zedong: ethnically Zhuang; a long, thoughtful-looking face; dyed jet-black hair belying his seventy years; wire-frame glasses with thick arched eyebrows above.
Li found his voice breaking a bit as he spoke: “Your Excellency, I need to recommend severe and swift action.”
The president had been briefed on the outbreak in Shanxi. “What sort of action?”
“A ... culling, Your Excellency.”
“Of birds?” That had been done several times now, and the president sounded irritated. “The Health Minister can authorize that.” His tone conveyed the unspoken words, There was no need to bother me.
Li shifted in his chair, leaning forward over his desktop. “No, no, not of birds. Or, rather, not just of birds.” He fell silent. Wasting the president’s time just wasn’t done, but he couldn’t go on—couldn’t give voice to this. For pity’s sake, he was a doctor! But, as his old surgery teacher used to say, sometimes you have to cut in order to cure...
“What, then?” demanded the president.
Li felt his heart pounding. At last he said, very softly, “People.”
There was more silence for a time. When the president’s voice came on again, it was quiet, reflective. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t think there’s any other way.”
Another long pause, then: “How would you do it?”
“An airborne chemical agent,” said Li, taking care with his words. The army had such things, designed for warfare, intended for use in foreign lands, but they would work just as well here. He would select a toxin that would break down in a matter of days; the contagion would be halted. “It will affect only those in the target area—two villages,
“I guess.”
“Your pulse is way up.”
Yours would be, too, if people were poking things into your head! she thought.
“I’m okay.”
She could smell that the surgeon was working up a sweat. Caitlin felt the heat from the lights shining on her. It was taking longer than it was supposed to, and she heard the surgeon snap angrily a couple of times at someone.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s happening?”
Kuroda’s voice was soft. “He’s almost done.”
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“No, no. It’s just a tight fit, that’s all, and—”
The surgeon said something.
“And he’s done!” said Kuroda. “The transceiver is in place.”
There was much shuffling around, and she heard the surgeon’s voice moving toward the door.
“Where’s he going?” Caitlin asked, worried.
“Be calm, Miss Caitlin. His job is finished—he’s the eye specialist. Another doctor is going to do the final cleanup.”
“How—how do I look?”
“Honestly? Like you’ve been in a boxing match.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve got quite a black eye.” He gave a wheezy little chuckle. “You’ll see.”
* * * *
Dr. Quan Li cradled the beige telephone handset against his shoulder and looked idly at the diplomas hanging on his office’s pale green walls: the fellowships, the degrees, the certifications. He’d been on hold now for fifty minutes, but one expected to wait when calling the man who was simultaneously Paramount Leader of the People’s Republic of China and President of the People’s Republic and General Secretary of the Communist Party and Chairman of the Central Military Commission.
Li’s office, a corner room on the fifth floor of the Ministry of Health building, had windows that looked out over crowded streets. Cars inched along, rickshaws darting between them. Even through the thick glass, the din from outside was irritating.
“I’m here,” said the famous voice at last. Li didn’t have to conjure up a mental image of the man; rather, he just swung his chair to look at the gold-framed portrait hanging next to the one of Mao Zedong: ethnically Zhuang; a long, thoughtful-looking face; dyed jet-black hair belying his seventy years; wire-frame glasses with thick arched eyebrows above.
Li found his voice breaking a bit as he spoke: “Your Excellency, I need to recommend severe and swift action.”
The president had been briefed on the outbreak in Shanxi. “What sort of action?”
“A ... culling, Your Excellency.”
“Of birds?” That had been done several times now, and the president sounded irritated. “The Health Minister can authorize that.” His tone conveyed the unspoken words, There was no need to bother me.
Li shifted in his chair, leaning forward over his desktop. “No, no, not of birds. Or, rather, not just of birds.” He fell silent. Wasting the president’s time just wasn’t done, but he couldn’t go on—couldn’t give voice to this. For pity’s sake, he was a doctor! But, as his old surgery teacher used to say, sometimes you have to cut in order to cure...
“What, then?” demanded the president.
Li felt his heart pounding. At last he said, very softly, “People.”
There was more silence for a time. When the president’s voice came on again, it was quiet, reflective. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t think there’s any other way.”
Another long pause, then: “How would you do it?”
“An airborne chemical agent,” said Li, taking care with his words. The army had such things, designed for warfare, intended for use in foreign lands, but they would work just as well here. He would select a toxin that would break down in a matter of days; the contagion would be halted. “It will affect only those in the target area—two villages,
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