Dooms Day Book

Mary let go of the bleeper button and shook Badri’s shoulders gently. There was no response. She tilted his head far back and bent over his face, her ear practically in his open mouth and her head turned so she could see his chest. He hadn’t stopped breathing. Dunworthy could see his chest rising and falling, and Mary obviously could, too. She raised her head immediately, already pressing on the bleeper, and pressed two fingers against the side of his neck, held them there for what seemed an endless time, and then raised the bleeper to her mouth.

“We’re at Brasenose. In the history laboratory,” she said into the bleeper. “Five-two. Collapse. Syncope. No evidence of seizure.” She took her hand off the call button and pulled Badri’s eyelids up.

“Syncope?” Gilchrist said. “What’s that? What’s happened?”

She glanced irritably at him. “He’s fainted,” she said. “Get me my kit,” she said to Dunworthy. “In the shopping bag.”

She had knocked the bag over getting the bleeper out. It lay on its side. Dunworthy fumbled through the boxes and parcels, found a hard plastic box that looked the right size, and snapped it open. It was full of red and green foil Christmas crackers. He jammed it back in the bag.

“Come along,” Mary said, unbuttoning Badri’s lab shirt. “I haven’t got all day.”

“I can’t find—” Dunworthy began.

She snatched the bag away and upended it. The crackers rolled everywhere. The box with the muffler came open, and the muffler fell out. Mary grabbed up her handbag, zipped it open, and pulled out a large flat wallet. She opened it and took out a tach bracelet. She fastened the bracelet around his wrist and turned to look at the blood pressure reads on the kit’s monitor.

The wave form didn’t tell Dunworthy anything and he couldn’t tell from Mary’s reaction what she thought it meant. Badri hadn’t stopped breathing, his heart hadn’t stopped beating, and he wasn’t bleeding anywhere that Dunworthy could see. Perhaps he had only fainted. But people didn’t simply fall over, except in books or the vids. He must be injured or ill. He had seemed to be almost in shock when he came into the pub. Could he have been struck by a bicycle like the one that had just missed hitting Dunworthy, and not realized at first that he was injured? That would account for his disconnected manner, his peculiar agitation.

But not for the fact that he had come away without his coat, that he had said, “I need you to come,” that he had said, “There’s something wrong.”

Dunworthy turned and looked at the console screen. It still showed the matrices it had when the tech collapsed. He couldn’t read them, but it looked like a normal fix, and Badri had said Kivrin had gone through all right. There’s something wrong.

With her hands flat, Mary was patting Badri’s arms, the sides of his chest, down his legs. Badri’s eyelids fluttered, and then his eyes closed again.

“Do you know if Badri had any health problems?”

“He’s Mr. Dunworthy’s tech,” Gilchrist said accusingly. “From Balliol. He was on loan to us,” he added, making it sound like Dunworthy was somehow responsible for this, had arranged the tech’s collapse to sabotage the project.

“I don’t know of any health problems,” Dunworthy said. “He’d have had a full screen and seasonals at the start of term.”

Mary looked dissatisfied. She put on her stethoscope and listened to his heart for a long minute, rechecked the blood pressure reads, took his pulse again. “And you don’t know anything of a history of epilepsy? Diabetes?”

“No,” Dunworthy said.

“Has he ever used drugs or illegal endorphins?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She pressed the button on her bleeper again. “Ahrens here. Pulse one ten. BP one hundred over sixty. I’m doing a blood screen.” She tore open a gauze wipe, swabbed at the arm without the bracelet, tore open another packet.

Drugs or illegal endorphins. That would account for his agitated manner, his disconnected speech. But if he used, it would have shown up on the beginning-of-term screen, and he couldn’t possibly have worked the elaborate calculations of the net if he was using. There’s something wrong.

Mary swabbed at the arm again and slid a cannula under the skin. Badri’s eyelids fluttered open.

“Badri,” Mary said. “Can you hear me?” She reached in her coat pocket and produced a bright red capsule. “I need to give you your temp,” she said and held it to his lips, but he didn’t give any indication he’d heard.

She put the capsule back in her pocket and began rummaging in the kit. “Tell me when the reads come up on that cannula,” she said to Dunworthy, taking everything out of the wallet and then putting it back in. She laid the kit down and started through her handbag. “I thought I had a skin-temp thermometer with me,” she said.

“The reads are up,” Dunworthy said.

Mary picked her bleeper up and began reading the numbers into it.

Badri opened his eyes. “You have to…” he said, and closed them again. “So cold,” he murmured.