Timeline - Michael Crichton [126]
Almost immediately, more arrows whistled overhead, but this time they came from outside the castle walls. In the growing darkness, Chris could barely make out soldiers in green-and-black surcoats on the hill below.
“Those’re Arnaut’s men!” Chris said. “Why are they shooting at us?”
Marek didn’t answer; he was crawling away, his belly flat to the ground. Kate crawled after him. An arrow hissed past Chris, so close that the shaft tore his doublet at the shoulder, and he felt a brief streak of pain.
He threw himself flat on the ground and followed them.
28:12:39
“There’s good news and bad news,” Diane Kramer said, walking into Doniger’s office just before nine in the morning. Doniger was at his computer, pecking at the keyboard with one hand while he held a can of Coke in the other.
“Give me the bad news,” Doniger said.
“Our injured people were taken to University Hospital. When they got there last night, guess who was on duty? The same doctor who treated Traub in Gallup. A woman named Tsosie.”
“The same doctor works both hospitals?”
“Yes. She’s mostly at UH, but she does two days a week at Gallup.”
“Shit,” Doniger said. “Is that legal?”
“Sure. Anyway, Dr. Tsosie went over our techs with a fine-tooth comb. She even put three of them through an MRI. She reserved the scanner specially, as soon as she heard it was an accident involving ITC.”
“An MRI?” Doniger frowned. “That means she must have known that Traub was split.”
“Yes,” Kramer said. “Because apparently they put Traub through an MRI. So she was definitely looking for something. Physical defects. Body misalignments.”
“Shit,” Doniger said.
“She also made a big deal about her quest, getting everybody at the hospital huffy and paranoid, and she called that cop Wauneka in Gallup. It seems they’re friends.”
Doniger groaned. “I need this,” he said, “like I need another asshole.”
“Now you want the good news?”
“I’m ready.”
“Wauneka calls the Albuquerque Police. The chief goes down to the hospital himself. Couple of reporters. Everybody sitting around waiting for the big news. They’re expecting radioactive. They’re expecting glow in the dark. Instead—big embarrassment. All the injuries are pretty minor. Mostly, it’s flying glass. Even the shrapnel wounds are superficial; the metal’s just embedded in the skin layer.”
“Water shields must have slowed the fragments down,” Doniger said.
“I think so, yes. But people are pretty disappointed. And then the final event—the MRI—the coup de grâce—is a bust three times running. None of our people has any transcription errors. Because, of course, they’re just techs. Albuquerque chief is pissed. Hospital administrator is pissed. Reporters leave to cover a burning apartment building. Meanwhile some guy with kidney stones almost dies because they can’t do an MRI, because Dr. Tsosie’s tied up the machine. Suddenly, she’s worried about her job. Wauneka’s disgraced. They both run for cover.”
“Perfect,” Doniger said, pounding the table. He grinned. “Those dipshits deserve it.”
“And to top it all off,” Kramer said triumphantly, “the French reporter, Louise Delvert, has agreed to come tour our facility.”
“Finally! When?”
“Next week. We’ll give her the usual bullshit tour.”
“This is starting to be an ultragood day,” Doniger said. “You know, we might actually get this thing back in the bottle. Is that it?”
“The media people are coming at noon.”
“That belongs under bad news,” Doniger said.
“And Stern has found the old prototype machine. He wants to go back. Gordon said absolutely not, but Stern wants you to confirm that he can’t go.”
Doniger paused. “I say let him go.”
“Bob. . ..”
“Why shouldn’t he go?” Doniger said.
“Because it’s unsafe as hell. That machine has minimal shielding. It hasn’t been used in years, and it’s got a history of causing big transcription errors on the people who did use it.