. . . a purely aural nightmare. An intriguing thought: perhaps it wasn't a nightmare at all.
She opened her eyes, blinked at the darkness. The beeping continued.
Too tired to curse, she rolled over and acknowledged the com call. The voice at the other end was deep, persistent, vaguely familiar. She tried to make some sense out of it, mumbling groggily, "Hello?"
"Lazarus, this is O'Niel," the voice announced tersely. "I'll see you in the hospital right away."
She struggled to a sitting position. Fumbling fingers found the reading light suspended over the bed. The hospital lit up and she pushed aside the sheets covering the examination table she'd been sleeping on.
A glance at the luminescent wall chronometer did nothing to improve her temper. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes."
"You better be dying." She hung up.
It was better than a real nightmare, but not much. Waking had its own terror. She set the com receiver back in its slot and slid her legs over the side of the table. By the light of the reading lamp she staggered over to the nearest basin, threw cold water on her face and roughly toweled it dry. Makeup she didn't bother with, having given up on that long ago in favor of more subtle maskery.
True to his words, the Marshal arrived moments later. In one hand he held a syringe which Lazarus' practised eye immediately noted was full of something organic. He held it out to her, breathing hard.
"Very pretty," she commented drily, studying the proferred cylinder.
"So are you. I need this analyzed."
"You woke me at this hour for a goddanm analysis?" She was too upset to be really angry.
"It's important." Something in his voice told her that he was probably understating.
Even so, she growled at him. "It'd better be."
She led him over to a console, studied it a moment and then touched several controls. Small video screens came to life, a rack with four tubes held in tiny metal fingers popped out of the wall.
Measuring quickly but precisely she split the contents of the syringe between the four tubes, then touched another control. The rack slid back into the wall. The laboratory area remained dark, the only light coming from the powered-up screens and keyboard and the distant reading light burning above the examination table.
O'Niel searched cold twilight, found a chair, and pulled it close to the console.
"How long will this take?"
"You're kidding me. This is a hospital, not a security depot. When we ask questions, that means we need answers fast." She pointed to the screens, where rows of information were already beginning to materialize.
O'Niel indicated the first column. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing much." She squinted in the dim light, studying the readout. "Blood type, cholesterol count, white cell count, oxygenation . . . this blood is from a dead person. Or else somebody beyond my help."
"Right the first time."
She smiled thinly. "The symptoms are pretty plain. Unfortunately, the condition's not curable." More information appeared, forming glowing lines on the screens.
"No alcohol," she muttered. There was another run of data as the analyzer continued its methodical breakdown of the liquid O'Niel had fed it.
"He ate dinner," she soon announced. "Proteins, carbohydrates . . . more carbohydrates. He didn't eat his vegetables. Low sugar count . . . no dessert tonight. That's unusual."
"Why?" O'Niel wondered.
"Because that's usually the only thing they serve in the worker's mess that's fit to eat." Another pause before she muttered, "No nicotine." A longer one before she said, "Some tranquilizers."
O'Niel leaned forward, trying to make sense of the squiggles filling the screens. "Tranquilizers? Are you sure?"
"Yeah." She chewed her lower lip as she fingered additional keys. "They're Company tranquilizers. Standard issue. Why the query?"
"Because the former owner of this blood was acting anything but tranquil not so very long ago."
"Yeah? He's plenty tranquil now." Her attention returned to
She opened her eyes, blinked at the darkness. The beeping continued.
Too tired to curse, she rolled over and acknowledged the com call. The voice at the other end was deep, persistent, vaguely familiar. She tried to make some sense out of it, mumbling groggily, "Hello?"
"Lazarus, this is O'Niel," the voice announced tersely. "I'll see you in the hospital right away."
She struggled to a sitting position. Fumbling fingers found the reading light suspended over the bed. The hospital lit up and she pushed aside the sheets covering the examination table she'd been sleeping on.
A glance at the luminescent wall chronometer did nothing to improve her temper. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes."
"You better be dying." She hung up.
It was better than a real nightmare, but not much. Waking had its own terror. She set the com receiver back in its slot and slid her legs over the side of the table. By the light of the reading lamp she staggered over to the nearest basin, threw cold water on her face and roughly toweled it dry. Makeup she didn't bother with, having given up on that long ago in favor of more subtle maskery.
True to his words, the Marshal arrived moments later. In one hand he held a syringe which Lazarus' practised eye immediately noted was full of something organic. He held it out to her, breathing hard.
"Very pretty," she commented drily, studying the proferred cylinder.
"So are you. I need this analyzed."
"You woke me at this hour for a goddanm analysis?" She was too upset to be really angry.
"It's important." Something in his voice told her that he was probably understating.
Even so, she growled at him. "It'd better be."
She led him over to a console, studied it a moment and then touched several controls. Small video screens came to life, a rack with four tubes held in tiny metal fingers popped out of the wall.
Measuring quickly but precisely she split the contents of the syringe between the four tubes, then touched another control. The rack slid back into the wall. The laboratory area remained dark, the only light coming from the powered-up screens and keyboard and the distant reading light burning above the examination table.
O'Niel searched cold twilight, found a chair, and pulled it close to the console.
"How long will this take?"
"You're kidding me. This is a hospital, not a security depot. When we ask questions, that means we need answers fast." She pointed to the screens, where rows of information were already beginning to materialize.
O'Niel indicated the first column. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing much." She squinted in the dim light, studying the readout. "Blood type, cholesterol count, white cell count, oxygenation . . . this blood is from a dead person. Or else somebody beyond my help."
"Right the first time."
She smiled thinly. "The symptoms are pretty plain. Unfortunately, the condition's not curable." More information appeared, forming glowing lines on the screens.
"No alcohol," she muttered. There was another run of data as the analyzer continued its methodical breakdown of the liquid O'Niel had fed it.
"He ate dinner," she soon announced. "Proteins, carbohydrates . . . more carbohydrates. He didn't eat his vegetables. Low sugar count . . . no dessert tonight. That's unusual."
"Why?" O'Niel wondered.
"Because that's usually the only thing they serve in the worker's mess that's fit to eat." Another pause before she muttered, "No nicotine." A longer one before she said, "Some tranquilizers."
O'Niel leaned forward, trying to make sense of the squiggles filling the screens. "Tranquilizers? Are you sure?"
"Yeah." She chewed her lower lip as she fingered additional keys. "They're Company tranquilizers. Standard issue. Why the query?"
"Because the former owner of this blood was acting anything but tranquil not so very long ago."
"Yeah? He's plenty tranquil now." Her attention returned to
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