Holding Wonder Part 7

"Uh-uh! First I had to get Mother a hankie because she was crying. Then I took it to Daddy."

Miss Peterson ma.s.saged the goose b.u.mps over each elbow.

"And then your daddy drank it." Miss Peterson's voice was flat. "What Comes Next?" Linnet swung herself to and fro without letting her feet move.

"I don't know," she said, her face averted.

You said you dropped the cup-" half-questioned Miss Peterson, sensing the withdrawal.

"Yes-yes, I dropped the cup when Daddy got mad and pushed me."

"Yes," said Miss Peterson, knowing Linnet was deliberately forgetting. The two sat in silence a while, then Miss Peterson took up the thread again.

"When it got dark, you got ready for bed and your mother and daddy said good night."

"Not Daddy," said Linnet. "He went to bed before I did last night. He yawned and yawned and went to bed. And then I went to bed and Mother woke me up and hugged me and told me she wouldn't ever cry again and that Daddy wouldn't ever leave her again. And then-and then-" Linnet's forehead creased and her three grubby little fingers came up to cover her soft, dismayed mouth. "Oh, teacher!

You know what? She gave me a note to give to you and I wasn't even absent yesterday!"

"Where is it?" Miss Peterson felt her innards sinking into some endless nothingness. "Did you lose it?"

"No," cried Linnet triumphantly. "She put it in my shoe so I wouldn't." She pulled off the scuffled little oxford and fished inside it. Finally she came up with two grimy pieces of paper.

"Oh!" she was shocked. "It came in two. Is it spoiled?"

"No," said Miss Peterson, taking the two pieces and fitting the folds together. "No, I think I'll be able to read it." She sat in the swaying swing, watching vagrant papers rise and circle in a sudden whirlwind and then drift lazily to the ground again. And she wished with all her heart that she didn't have to read the note.

Then conscious of Linnet's eyes upon her, she unfolded the halves of paper.

Please don't let Linnet ride the bus home.

Call AR 2-9276 when school is over. Ask them to keep her for a day or two until her grandmother comes. Thank you, Linnell Luhrs Miss Peterson tasted the phone number again with silently moving lips. It tasted of her little Mexicano-Chino-the Juvenile Home.

"What does it say, teacher?" asked Linnet.

"It says for you not to go home on the bus," said Miss Peterson, her thumbnail straightening out a curl of the paper. "You're to wait."

She looked down at the cramped, close-written line that slanted sharply below the signature.

G.o.d forgive me, I couldn't let him go away again.

"Well," Miss Peterson stood up, feeling old and tired. "I have to go to the office and make a phone call. You stay here and play. Remember, don't go away.

Don't move away from here."

"I won't," Linnet promised. "You know what, teacher?" Miss Peterson looked down into Linnet's dark eyes. "No, what?"

"It's kinds lonesome here, all alone," said Linnet.

"Yes, it is, dear," said Miss Peterson, blinking against the sting in her eyes. "It is kinda lonesome, all alone."

THE EFFECTIVES.

SUCH THINGS HAPPEN, inevitably, perhaps, since both seek isolation, but the sign post at the junction of the Transcontinental and the narrow secondary road seems a contradiction in terms: AWAY-8 miles EDRU 14-12 miles The a.s.sociation of these two groups is so unlikely that the picture of the sign post is always turning up in magazines, newspapers and TViews under Laugh-a-bit or Smile-While or Whoda Thunkit?

Away-in the remote possibility that someone does not remember-is the name chosen by one of the fairly large groups of people who choose to remove themselves, if not from the present age, at least from the spirit of it. They locate in isolated areas, return to the agricultural period wherein horses were the motive power, live exclusively off the land, foreswear most modern improvements and, in effect, withdraw from the world. There are degrees of fervency, ranging from wild-eyed, frantic-bearded, unwashed fanaticism, to an enviable, leisurely mode of living that many express longing for but could never stand for long. These settlements, and their people, are usually called Detaches.

EDRU 14, is of course, Exotic Diseases Research Unit # 14. Each unit of EDRU concerns itself with one of the flood of new diseases that either freeload back to Earth from s.p.a.ce exploration or spring up in mutated profusion after each new drug moves in on a known disease. Each unit embodies the very ultimate in scientific advancement in power, sources, equipment and know-how.

In this particular instance, the Power Beam from the Area Central crossed the small acres and wooded hills of Away to sting to light and life the carefully-fitted-into-its-environment Research Unit while the inhabitants of Away poured candles, cleaned lamp chimneys, or, on some few special occasions, started the small Delco engine in the shed behind the Center Hall and had the flickering glow of electricity for an evening.Despite the fact that EDRU 14 was only across a stone fence from Away, there was practically no overlapping or infringing on one another. Occasionally a resident of Away would rest on his hoe handle and idly watch an EDRU 14 vehicle pa.s.s on the narrow road. Or one of the EDRU 14 personnel would glimpse a long-skirted woman and a few scampering children harvesting heaven knows what vegetation from the small wooded ravines or the meadows on EDRU 14's side of the rock fence, but there was no casual, free communication between the so-unlike groups.

Except, of course, Ainsworthy. He was the only one at EDRU 14 who fraternized with the residents of Away. His relaxant was, oddly enough, walking, and he ranged the area between the two locales in his off-duty hours, becoming acquainted with many of the people who lived at Away. He played chess-soundly beaten most of the time-with Kemble, their Director-for so they call their head who is chosen in biennial elections. He learned to "square dance," a romping folk-type dancing kept alive by groups such as the one at Away, and sometimes brought back odd foods to the Unit that Kitchen refused to mess with. But; after a few abortive attempts to interest others at EDRU 14 in the group at Away, he gave up and continued his a.s.sociation with them without comment.

The disease, KVIN, on which EDRU 14 as well as EDRU 9, 11, and 12 was working was a most stubborn one. Even now very little is known of it. It is believed to be an old Earth disease reactivated by some usually harmless s.p.a.ce factor that triggers it and, at the same time, mutates it. Even those who have experienced it and, the few miracles, recovered from it, are no help in a.n.a.lyzing it or reducing it to A = the disease, B = the cure. A + B = no further threat to mankind.

The only known way to circ.u.mvent the disease and prevent death is the complete replacement of all the blood in the patient's body by whole blood, not more than two hours from the donors. This, of course, in the unlikely event that the patient doesn't die at the first impact of the disease which most of them do. Even replacement would often fail. However, it succeeded often enough that each Regional hospital kept a list of available donors to be called upon.

This, of course, was after the discovery of CF (Compatible Factor), the blood additive that makes typing of blood before a transfusion unnecessary.

In spite of all possible precautions practiced by the Unit, at unhappy intervals the mournful clack of the Healiocopter lifted eyes from the fields of Away to watch another limp, barely breathing, victim of the disease being lifted out to the Central Regional Hospital.

Such was the situation when Northen, the Compiler, arrived at EDRU 14-loudly.

A Compiler would have been called a troubleshooter in the old days. He compiles statistics, asks impertinent questions, has no reverence for established methods, facts, habits or thoughts. He is never an expert in the field in which he compiles-and never compiles twice in succession in the same field. And very often, a Compiler can come up with a suggestion or observation or neat table of facts that will throw new light on a problem and lead to a solution.

"I don't like questions!" he announced to Ainsworthy at the lunch table his first day at the Unit. "That's why I like this job of playing detective. I operate on the premise that if a valid question is asked there is an answer.

If no answer is possible, the question has no validity!"

Ainsworthy blinked and managed a smile, "And who's to decide if an answer is possible or not?" he asked, wondering at such immaturity in a man of Northen'sprofessional stature.

"I decide!" Northen's laughter boomed. "Simplifies things. No answer-forget it! But if I think there is an answer-tenacity's my middle name!"

"Then you obviously think there is a clear-cut answer to the question that brought you here," said Ainsworthy.

"Obviously-" Northen pushed back from the table. "This is an inquiry into a real problem, not one of those airy nothings-And to forestall another obvious question I'm always being pestered with-I consider that I am only one biological incident in a long line of biological incidents and when I die, the incident of me is finished. I have no brief for all this research into nonsense about soul and spirit and other lives! One life is enough! I'm not greedy!" And his large laughter swung all faces toward him as he lumbered up to the coffee dispenser with his empty cup.

Ainsworthy reflectively tapped his own cup on the table top, repressing a sudden gush of dislike for Northen. It was thinking like his that was hampering the Beyond Research Units. How slow! How slow the progress towards answers to the unanswerables! Was it because Believers and Unbelievers alike were afraid of what the answers might be? Northen was back.

"You were at the briefing this morning?" he half-questioned as he sat down ma.s.sively, his bulk shaking the table.

"Yes." Ainsworthy inspected his empty cup. "Something about the odd distribution of cures of KVIN, or, conversely, the deaths from KVIN:"

"That's right," Northen inhaled noisily of his coffee. "As you know, a complete blood replacement is the only known cure. Only it doesn't work all the time. Which means," he waggled a huge forefinger triumphantly, "that replacement is not the answer! At least not the whole answer. But that's not the question I'm currently pursuing. I want to know why there is a geographical distribution of the cures. KVIN is a fairly scarce disease. We've had less than fifty cases a year in the fifteen years we have studied it-that is, the cases reported to and cared for at a Regional. There have been, undoubtedly, more unreported and untreated, because if a patient is out of reach of a Regional Hospital and immediate treatment, he's dead in four hours or less. But we've had enough cases that a pattern is emerging." He hunched closer to the table and Ainsworthy rescued his cup and the sugar dispenser from tumbling to the floor.

"Look. A gets a dose of KVIN on the West Coast. Quick, quick! San Fran Regional. Replacement. Too bad. Dead as a mackerel. Now look. B and C gets doses at Albuquerque. Quick, quick! Denver Regional! Replacement. B lives dies. Personal idiosyncrasies? Perhaps, except without exception all A's die.

Half of B's and C's live! "

And D gets a dose at Creston. Quick, quick! Central Regional! D always recovers! Same technique. Same handling of blood. Same every thing except patients. So. Different strains of KVIN? After all, different s.p.a.ce ports-different s.p.a.ce sectors-different factors. So, E picks up a dose on the Coast. Quick, quick! Central Regional. Replacement. Recovery!"

Northen hunched forward again, crowding the table tight against Ainsworthy.

"So transport all the A's and B's and C's to Central? Not enough blood supply.

Bring in more from other Regionals. It won't work at Central any better than where it came from! So--See? An answer to find and definitely in this area.Now all I need is a case to follow through to get me started."

It had fallen to Ainsworthy to escort Northen about the Unit, to acquaint him with the area and answer any questions he might have concerning procedures and facilities. The two were in the small public lounge one afternoon, pausing between activities while Northen groaned over his aching feet and legs.

"I'm used to skidders," he boomed. "Faster, more efficient, less wearing on the legs! Just step on, toe the switch-swish!" He gestured with a ma.s.sive arm.

"This Unit is really too small for skidders," said Ainsworthy. "Occasionally we use flitters out in the grounds, but only a few bother. Most of us enjoy walking. I do especially, since it's my relaxant."

"Really?" Northen peered in astonishment at Ainsworthy. "Imagine! Walking by choice!"

"What's your relaxant?" Ainsworthy asked, remembering his manners.

"Blowing up balloons," said Northen proudly, "until they break! Bang! Wham!"

His arms flailed again. "There's satisfaction for you! They're finished! Gone!

Destroyed! Only a rag of rubber and a puff of carbon dioxide left! And I did it!"

"Pleasant," murmured Ainsworthy, automatically falling into polite phraseology, wishing Northen's eyes would not follow so intently every face that pa.s.sed, knowing he was waiting for someone to collapse from KVIN.

He wasn't long disappointed. As they toured Lab IIIC a few days later, one of the lab a.s.sistants, Kief, carefully replacing the beaker he had been displaying, took tight hold of the edge of the table, drew a quavering breath, whispered, "Away!" and collapsed as though every bone in his body had been dissolved, his still-open eyes conscious and frightened.

In the patterned flurry that followed, Northen was omnipresent, asking sharp questions, making brief notes, his rumpled hair fairly bristling with his intense interest and concentration.

The Healiocopter arrived and, receiving the patient, clacked away. Ainsworthy and Northen, in one of the Unit vehicles-a mutation of the jeep-swung out of the Unit parking lot and roared down the road to Central Regional, Northen struggling with the seat belt that cut a canyon across his bulk.

Northen peered at his notes as they bounced along. "How'd this Kief person know he had KVIN?" he asked.

"Don't know exactly," said Ainsworthy. "It varies from person to person.

Clagget-the one before Kief, said a big brightness seemed to cut him in two right across the chest and then his legs fell off. Others feel all wadded up into a sticky black ball. Others feel as though each cell in their bodies is being picked away as if from a bunch of grapes. I guess it depends a lot on the person's imagination and his facility with words."

"And when he said, 'Away' just before he collapsed. That was part of this picking away idea?"

"No," Ainsworthy felt a surge of reluctance. "Away is the settlement next to our Unit -a Detach."

"A Detach!" Ainsworthy smiled slightly, his ears battening down hatches against Northen's expected roar. "Don't tell me you have any of those-!" Hebit off the last part of his sentence and almost the tip of his tongue as the jeep regrettably bucketed up over a hump in the road.

"The people from Away are our main source of donors for replacements," said Ainsworthy over Northen's muttered curses. "In fact, they've adopted it as a community project. Regional knows it never has to look farther than Away for an adequate number of donors-as long as the cases don't come too close together, which, so far, they never have." They had arrived at the turn-off to Away and jolted off the fairly good Unit road to the well-maintained dirt road to the settlement.

"Surprises me that they'll give anything to the world. Thought they gave it up along with the Flesh and the Devil!" grunted Northen, lisping a little.

"Maybe the World, but not the people in it," said Ainsworthy. "The most generous people I know. Unselfish" He fell silent against Northen's barely contained disgust.

"Why'd we turn off here?" asked Northen. "Thought we were headed for Regional."

"No telephones," said Ainsworthy, swinging between the stone gateposts of the drive to the Center. "Have to alert them." He was gratified that Northen fell immediately into the almost silent role of observer and kept his thoughts to himself.

Kemble met them at the door. "KVIN?" he asked, reading Ainsworthy's sober face.

"Yes," said Ainsworthy. "It's Kief. You probably heard the Healiocopter. Who's available?"

"Providentially, the workers are all in from the fields." Kemble stepped back inside the Center, and, tugging the bell rope that hung just inside the door, swung the bell into voice. Ten minutes later he spoke from the Center porch to the crowd that had gathered from the stone and log houses that, with the Center, formed a hollow square of buildings backed by the neat home vegetable gardens, backed in their turn by wood lands and the scattered areas where each family grew its field and cash crops.

"KVIN," said Kemble. "Who's available?"

Quickly a sub-group formed, more than twice as many as were needed if all were accepted. The others scattered back to their individual pursuits. Kemble gathered the donors together, briefly, speaking so quietly that Northen rumbled to Ainsworthy, "What's he saying? What's going on?"

"They always pray before any important project," said Ainsworthy neutrally.

"Pray!" Northen crumpled his notebook impatiently. "Wasting time. How they going to get to Regional? One hoss shay?"

"Relax!" snapped Ainsworthy, defensive for his friends. "These people have been personally involved in KVIN lots longer than you have. And they're going nowhere." Kemble turned back to Ainsworthy and accepted calmly the introduction to Northen, reading his att.i.tude in a glance and smiling faintly over it at Ainsworthy. He excused himself and called, "Justin, you're co-ordinator today."

Most of the interior of the Center was one huge room, since it served asmeeting and activity center for the settlement. Under Justin's direction, closet doors were opened, cots were unfolded and arranged in neat rows down the hall. Equipment was set up, lines of donors were formed, and everything was in readiness by the time the Bloodmobile clacked out of the sky and pummeled the gra.s.s in the hollow square with the tumult of its rotors.

One by one the donors were given essential checks by means of a small meter applied to an ear lobe, and were accepted or rejected with quick efficiency.

Northen stood glowering at the scene of quiet activity. "Why can't they go to Regional like any other humans?"

"Any particular reason why they should?" asked Ainsworthy shortly. "They're a willing, never-failing source, and have been since our Unit was established.

Why shouldn't we cater to them? It doesn't jeopardize any of our operations."

For a moment longer they watched the quiet rows of cots and their intent occupants, then Northen, with a grimace of annoyance, turned away. "Let's get to Regional," he said. "I want to follow this through, inch by inch."

"But there's got to be a difference!" Red-faced and roaring, Northen thumped on the desk in Isolation at Regional. "There's got to be! Why else do KVIN's recover here?"

"You tell us." Dr. Manson moved back in distaste from Northen's thrust-out face. "That's your job. Find out why. We've researched this problem for ten years now. You tell us what we have overlooked or neglected. We will receive with utmost enthusiasm any suggestions you might have. According to exhaustive tests from every possible point of reference, there is no difference in the blood of these donors and any donors anywhere!" He did a slight thumping of his own, his thin face flushed with anger. "And KVIN is KVIN, no matter where!"

"I don't like it," Northen growled to Ainsworthy a few days later, "Kief's convalescent now, but why? I've been drawing up another set of statistics and I don't like it."

"Must you like it?" asked Ainsworthy. "Is that requisite to valid results?"

"Of course not," growled Northen morosely.

"What statistics?" Ainsworthy asked, interest quickening. "A new lead?"

"It's true, isn't it, that the only blood donors used for KVIN replacements are those from Away?"

"Yes," nodded Ainsworthy.

"That's a factor that hasn't been considered before," said Northen. "I've queried the other Regionals-and I don't like it. There are no Detach donors involved at San Fran Regional. At Denver Regional, half their donors are Detaches." His thick hands crumpled the papers he held. "And curse'n'blast.i.t!