BEI
I
IBC
NPN
BUN
BILIRU, DIFF
CEPH/FLOC
THYMOL/TURB
BSP
PULMONARY:
TVC
TV
IC
IRV
ERV
MBC
STERIOD:
ALDO
L7-OH
17-KS
ACTH
VITS
A
ALL
B
C
E
K
URINE:
SP
GR
PH
PROT
GLUC
KETONE
ALL ELECTROLYTES
ALL STERIODS
ALL INORGANICS
CATECHOLS
PORPHYRINS
UROBIL
5-HIAA
Hall stared at the list. He touched the tests he wanted with the penlight; they disappeared from the screen. He ordered fifteen or twenty, then stepped back.
The screen went blank for a moment, and then the following appeared:
TESTS ORDERED WILL REQUIRE FOR EACH SUBJECT
20 CC WHOLE BLOOD
LO CC OXALATED BLOOD
L2 CC CITRATED BLOOD
15 CC URINE
The technician said, "I'll draw the bloods if you want to do physicals. Have you been in one of these rooms before?"
Hall shook his head.
"It's quite simple, really. We crawl through the tunnels into the suits. The tunnel is then sealed off behind us."
"Oh? Why?"
"In case something happens to one of us. In case the covering of the suit is broken-- the integrity of the surface is ruptured, as the protocol says. In that case, bacteria could spread back through the tunnel to the outside."
"So we're sealed off."
"Yes. We get air from a separate system-- you can see the thin lines coming in over there. But essentially you're isolated from everything, when you're in that suit. I don't think you need worry, though. The only way you might possibly break your suit is to cut it with a scalpel, and the gloves are triple-thickness to prevent just such an occurrence."
She showed him how to crawl through, and then, imitating her, he stood up inside the plastic suit. He felt like some kind of giant reptile, moving cumbersomely about, dragging his tunnel like a thick tail behind him.
After a moment, there was a hiss: his suit was being sealed off. Then another hiss, and the air turned cold as the special line began to feed air in to him.
The technician gave him his examining instruments. While she drew blood from the child, taking it from a scalp vein, Hall turned his attention to Peter Jackson.
***
An old man, and pale: anemia. Also thin: first thought, cancer. Second thought, tuberculosis, alcoholism, some other chronic process. And unconscious: he ran through the differential in his mind, from epilepsy to hypoglycernic shock to stroke.
Hall later stated that he felt foolish when the computer provided him with a differential, complete with probabilities of diagnosis. He was not at that time aware of the skill of the computer, the quality of its program.
He checked Jackson's blood pressure. It was low, 85/50. Pulse fast at 110. Temperature 97.8. Respiration's 30 and deep.
He went over the body systematically, beginning with the head and working down. When he produced pain-- by pressing on the nerve through the supra-orbital notch, just below the eyebrow-- the man grimaced and moved his arms to push Hall away.
Perhaps he was not unconscious after all. Perhaps just stuporous. Hall shook him.
"Mr. Jackson. Mr. Jackson."
The man made no response. And then, slowly, he seemed to revive. Hall shouted his name in his ear and shook him hard.
Peter Jackson opened his eyes, just for a moment, and said, "Go...away..."
Hall continued to shake him, but Jackson relaxed, going limp, his body slipping back to its unresponsive state. Hall gave up, returning to his physical examination. The lungs were clear and the heart seemed normal. There was sm., tenseness of the abdomen, and Jackson retched once, bringing up some bloody drooling material. Quickly, Hall did a basolyte test for blood: it was positive. He did a rectal exam and tested the stool. It was also positive for blood.
He turned to the technician, who had drawn all the bloods and was feeding the tubes into the computer analysis apparatus in one corner.
"We've got a GI bleeder here," he said. "How soon will the results be back?"
She pointed to a TV screen mounted near the ceiling. "The lab reports are flashed back as soon as they come in. They are displayed there, and on the console in the other room. The easy ones come back first. We should have hematocrit in two minutes."
Hall waited. The screen glowed, the letters printing out:
JACKSON, PETER LABORATORY ANALYSES
TEST: NORMAL: VALUE
HEMATOCRIT: 38-54: 21
"Half normal," Hall said. He slapped an oxygen mask on Jackson's face, fixed the straps, and said, "We'll need at least four units. Plus two of plasma."
"I'll order them."
"To start as soon as possible."
She went to phone the blood bank on Level II and asked them to hurry on the requisition. Meantime, Hall turned his attention to the child.
It had been a long time since he had examined an infant, and he had forgotten how difficult it could be. Every time he tried to look at the eyes, the child shut them tightly. Every time he looked down the throat, the child closed his mouth. Every time he tried to listen to the heart, the child shrieked, obscuring all heart sounds.
Yet he persisted, remembering what Stone had said. These two people, dissimilar though they were, nonetheless represented the only survivors of Piedmont. Somehow they had managed to beat the disease. That was a link between the two, between the shriveled old man vomiting blood and the pink young child, howling and screaming.
At first glance, they were as different as possible; they were at opposite ends of the spectrum, sharing nothing in common.
And yet there must be something in common.