Primaries sheet, and wrote his own name at the top of the column. Latimer, Gilchrist, the two medics. He didn't know their names, and the female medic was asleep again. She held her papers bunched in one hand, her arms folded across her chest. Dunworthy wondered if he needed to list the doctors and nurses who had worked on Badri when he came in. He wrote "casualties department staff" and then put a question mark after it. Montoya.
And Kivrin, who, according to Mary, was fully protected. "Something wrong," Badri had said. Had he meant this infection? Had he realized he was getting ill while he was trying to get the fix and come running to the pub to tell them he had exposed Kivrin?
The pub. There hadn't been anyone in the pub except the barman. And Finch, but he'd gone before Badri got there. Dunworthy lifted up the sheet and wrote Finch's name under "Secondaries," and then turned back to the first sheet and wrote "barman, Lamb and Cross." The pub had been empty, but the streets hadn't been. He could see Badri in his mind's eye, pushing his way through the Christmas crowd, barging into the woman with the flowered umbrella and elbowing his way past the old man and the little boy with the white terrier. "Anyone he's had any contact with," Mary had said.
He looked across at Mary, who was holding Gilchrist's wrist and making careful entries in a chart. Was she going to try to get bloods and temps from everyone on these lists? It was impossible. Badri had touched or brushed past or breathed on dozens of people in his headlong flight back to Brasenose, none of whom Dunworthy or Badri, would recognize again. Doubtless he had come in contact with as many or more on his way to the pub, and each of them had come in contact with how many others in the busy shops?
He wrote down "Large number of shoppers and pedestrians, High Street(?)" drew a line, and tried to remember the other occasions on which he'd seen Badri. He hadn't asked him to run the net until two days ago, when he'd found out from Kivrin that Gilchrist was intending to use a first-year apprentice.
Badri had just gotten back from London when Dunworthy telephoned. Kivrin had been in hospital that day for her final examination, which was good. She couldn't have had any contact with him then, and he'd been in London before that.
Tuesday Badri had come to see Dunworthy to tell him he'd checked the first-year student's coordinates and done a full systems check. Dunworthy hadn't been there, so he'd left a note. Kivrin had come to Balliol Tuesday, as well, to show him her costume, but that had been in the morning. Badri had said in his note that he'd spent all morning at the net. And Kivrin had said she was going to see Latimer at the Bodleian in the afternoon. But she might have gone back to the net after that, or have been there before she came to show him her costume.
The door opened and the nurse ushered Montoya in. Her terrorist jacket and jeans were wet. It must still be raining. "What's going on?" she said to Mary, who was labelling a vial of Gilchrist's blood.
"It seems ," Gilchrist said, pressing a wad of cotton wool to the inside of his arm and standing up, "that Mr. Dunworthy failed to have his tech properly checked for inoculations before he ran the net, and now he is in hospital with a temperature of 39.5. He apparently has some sort of exotic fever."
"Fever?" Montoya said, looking bewildered. "Isn't 39.5 low?"
"103 degrees in Fahrenheit," Mary said, sliding the vial into its carrier. "Badri's infection is possibly contagious. I need to run some tests and you'll need to write down all of your contacts and Badri's."
"Okay," Montoya said. She sat down in the chair Gilchrist had vacated and shrugged off her jacket. Mary swabbed the inside of her arm and clipped a new vial and disposable punch together. "Let's get it over with. I've got to get back to my dig."
"You can't go back," Gilchrist said. "Haven't you heard? We're under quarantine, thanks to Mr.
And Kivrin, who, according to Mary, was fully protected. "Something wrong," Badri had said. Had he meant this infection? Had he realized he was getting ill while he was trying to get the fix and come running to the pub to tell them he had exposed Kivrin?
The pub. There hadn't been anyone in the pub except the barman. And Finch, but he'd gone before Badri got there. Dunworthy lifted up the sheet and wrote Finch's name under "Secondaries," and then turned back to the first sheet and wrote "barman, Lamb and Cross." The pub had been empty, but the streets hadn't been. He could see Badri in his mind's eye, pushing his way through the Christmas crowd, barging into the woman with the flowered umbrella and elbowing his way past the old man and the little boy with the white terrier. "Anyone he's had any contact with," Mary had said.
He looked across at Mary, who was holding Gilchrist's wrist and making careful entries in a chart. Was she going to try to get bloods and temps from everyone on these lists? It was impossible. Badri had touched or brushed past or breathed on dozens of people in his headlong flight back to Brasenose, none of whom Dunworthy or Badri, would recognize again. Doubtless he had come in contact with as many or more on his way to the pub, and each of them had come in contact with how many others in the busy shops?
He wrote down "Large number of shoppers and pedestrians, High Street(?)" drew a line, and tried to remember the other occasions on which he'd seen Badri. He hadn't asked him to run the net until two days ago, when he'd found out from Kivrin that Gilchrist was intending to use a first-year apprentice.
Badri had just gotten back from London when Dunworthy telephoned. Kivrin had been in hospital that day for her final examination, which was good. She couldn't have had any contact with him then, and he'd been in London before that.
Tuesday Badri had come to see Dunworthy to tell him he'd checked the first-year student's coordinates and done a full systems check. Dunworthy hadn't been there, so he'd left a note. Kivrin had come to Balliol Tuesday, as well, to show him her costume, but that had been in the morning. Badri had said in his note that he'd spent all morning at the net. And Kivrin had said she was going to see Latimer at the Bodleian in the afternoon. But she might have gone back to the net after that, or have been there before she came to show him her costume.
The door opened and the nurse ushered Montoya in. Her terrorist jacket and jeans were wet. It must still be raining. "What's going on?" she said to Mary, who was labelling a vial of Gilchrist's blood.
"It seems ," Gilchrist said, pressing a wad of cotton wool to the inside of his arm and standing up, "that Mr. Dunworthy failed to have his tech properly checked for inoculations before he ran the net, and now he is in hospital with a temperature of 39.5. He apparently has some sort of exotic fever."
"Fever?" Montoya said, looking bewildered. "Isn't 39.5 low?"
"103 degrees in Fahrenheit," Mary said, sliding the vial into its carrier. "Badri's infection is possibly contagious. I need to run some tests and you'll need to write down all of your contacts and Badri's."
"Okay," Montoya said. She sat down in the chair Gilchrist had vacated and shrugged off her jacket. Mary swabbed the inside of her arm and clipped a new vial and disposable punch together. "Let's get it over with. I've got to get back to my dig."
"You can't go back," Gilchrist said. "Haven't you heard? We're under quarantine, thanks to Mr.
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