Read Online Alan E. Nourse - The Bladerunner by Alan E. Nourse, Karl Swanson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alan E. Nourse, Karl Swanson
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direction it would be all but impossible for the police to search the whole apartment complex just for a Health Code violation—but any attempt on Doc's part to interfere with Billy's capture could easily lead to just such a search. Overall, he decided, there was nothing to do but let Billy face the police alone, at least for the moment.
He could, however, warn Molly. As the heli-cab headed north Doc lifted the mobile phone receiver, dialed the Merrimans' number, identified himself when John Merriman answered, and asked for Molly. A moment later the girl's face appeared on the screen.
"Doc! Where are you? What's wrong?"
"How are you doing, Molly?"
"Oh, the kids are coming alone fine. The parents were just going to bed."
"Well, the police hit us on the roof just now," Doc said. "They must somehow have followed us. I got away in the heli-cab, but they caught Billy."
"Oh, no! He couldn't get away?"
"No, they were right on him."
"Well, at least Billy would never tell them where we were working ... I mean which apartment."
"No, he wouldn't. But the police might keep the building staked out for a while. You'd better stay where you are until rush hour in the morning—they couldn't possibly screen people then—and get the monorail to the Hospital."
"Well, all right, if that's best," Molly said. "But what about Billy?"
"They probably take him in and book him. They •caught him with that bag full of junk."
"And we can't help at all?"
"Not right now. For the moment, just don't leave the building. You can reach me on my belt radio if you need me."
"Where are you going now?"
"I don't know. Home, I guess. No, I've got that other call that Billy picked up from Parrot, a very sick youngster. I suppose I'd better stop. You take care, now, and don't forget to check that data at the Hospital first thing."
He rang off and settled back in his seat as Molly's face faded from the tiny communication screen. Slowly, now, he felt himself coming back to reality. The little cab's radar screen picked up an occasional helicopter moving off at odd angles or across his flank, but there was no pattern suggestive of pursuit. If the police had broadcast the cab's license number for pickup, there was certainly no sign of it in the air; the best move, Doc decided, would be to go directly to the address Parrot had provided and send the cab back to its home station empty on the auto-pilot. There was a certain risk that if the police had known enough to spring a trap at the Merri-mans' building they might also know of this additional call, but that seemed improbable to Doc. More likely they had merely followed Billy without knowing where he was bound, and correctly assumed that the stop at Apartment Complex 861 Trenton Sector involved illegal medical work.
At any rate, the chance had to be taken. Doc found the address card in his pocket, coded it into the computer and then settled back as the small airship obediently changed course, veering to the northeast and slowly losing altitude. As he stared down at the city lights passing below, Doc turned this emergency call over in his mind. It was not the first such call he had made in recent weeks; in fact, it seemed to him that there had been a sharp influx of calls involving high fevers, blinding headaches, stiff necks and delirium—all characteristic of some kind of infectious meningitis. Of course, he had seen only severe cases on his underground rounds. Minor infections seldom brought calls for clandestine medical help these days; the risk of detection was too high, to say nothing of the cost of such care. But in the cases he had seen, or had heard other doctors discussing, there had been an ominous pattern: first a bout of the Shanghai flu that had been sweeping the nation in recent months, usually untreated because the illness seemed so mild and transitory; and then, when recovery seemed almost complete, the sudden onset of high, spiking fever, headache, stiff neck and prostration. If this was
He could, however, warn Molly. As the heli-cab headed north Doc lifted the mobile phone receiver, dialed the Merrimans' number, identified himself when John Merriman answered, and asked for Molly. A moment later the girl's face appeared on the screen.
"Doc! Where are you? What's wrong?"
"How are you doing, Molly?"
"Oh, the kids are coming alone fine. The parents were just going to bed."
"Well, the police hit us on the roof just now," Doc said. "They must somehow have followed us. I got away in the heli-cab, but they caught Billy."
"Oh, no! He couldn't get away?"
"No, they were right on him."
"Well, at least Billy would never tell them where we were working ... I mean which apartment."
"No, he wouldn't. But the police might keep the building staked out for a while. You'd better stay where you are until rush hour in the morning—they couldn't possibly screen people then—and get the monorail to the Hospital."
"Well, all right, if that's best," Molly said. "But what about Billy?"
"They probably take him in and book him. They •caught him with that bag full of junk."
"And we can't help at all?"
"Not right now. For the moment, just don't leave the building. You can reach me on my belt radio if you need me."
"Where are you going now?"
"I don't know. Home, I guess. No, I've got that other call that Billy picked up from Parrot, a very sick youngster. I suppose I'd better stop. You take care, now, and don't forget to check that data at the Hospital first thing."
He rang off and settled back in his seat as Molly's face faded from the tiny communication screen. Slowly, now, he felt himself coming back to reality. The little cab's radar screen picked up an occasional helicopter moving off at odd angles or across his flank, but there was no pattern suggestive of pursuit. If the police had broadcast the cab's license number for pickup, there was certainly no sign of it in the air; the best move, Doc decided, would be to go directly to the address Parrot had provided and send the cab back to its home station empty on the auto-pilot. There was a certain risk that if the police had known enough to spring a trap at the Merri-mans' building they might also know of this additional call, but that seemed improbable to Doc. More likely they had merely followed Billy without knowing where he was bound, and correctly assumed that the stop at Apartment Complex 861 Trenton Sector involved illegal medical work.
At any rate, the chance had to be taken. Doc found the address card in his pocket, coded it into the computer and then settled back as the small airship obediently changed course, veering to the northeast and slowly losing altitude. As he stared down at the city lights passing below, Doc turned this emergency call over in his mind. It was not the first such call he had made in recent weeks; in fact, it seemed to him that there had been a sharp influx of calls involving high fevers, blinding headaches, stiff necks and delirium—all characteristic of some kind of infectious meningitis. Of course, he had seen only severe cases on his underground rounds. Minor infections seldom brought calls for clandestine medical help these days; the risk of detection was too high, to say nothing of the cost of such care. But in the cases he had seen, or had heard other doctors discussing, there had been an ominous pattern: first a bout of the Shanghai flu that had been sweeping the nation in recent months, usually untreated because the illness seemed so mild and transitory; and then, when recovery seemed almost complete, the sudden onset of high, spiking fever, headache, stiff neck and prostration. If this was
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