Host, p.32
Host, page 32
Karen kissed him back and slid a hand lightly between his legs. ‘We have a quarter of an hour before Jack comes in,’ she said.
He pressed his lips on hers, long and hard and breathless, and she slipped her hands inside the waistband of his pyjamas.
Afterwards, he dozed for a few minutes, then woke when his son came in and jumped on him. Karen took Jack out, swiftly, closing the door behind her.
The bedroom was lightening steadily and from downstairs came the rumble of the dishwasher; the drone of the hoover; Jack playing noisily. Then finally the silence of sleep swallowed Joe like the silicone swallowing Juliet’s packaged body.
A piercing drilling woke him. He sat up in a cold sweat, disoriented, his nostrils filled with the stench of burnt bone, his ears ringing. The drill. The hole in Juliet’s head. Her glistening brain inside it –
Telephone.
It stopped. Karen must have answered it. He sank back against the pillow, relieved. He could hear Karen chatting, her voice muted through the floor; it sounded like someone had rung to thank her for the party.
Joe tried to go back to sleep but eventually, just after eleven, he got up, and in spite of his tiredness, went for a short jog around the streets.
Karen cooked a roast-lamb lunch, and later they took Jack for a nature-trail walk in a wildfowl park. It was a fine wintry afternoon, dry and cold, and reminded both Joe and Karen of childhood afternoons in Canada. When they came back, Joe was feeling a little better and made mushroom omelettes for their supper. His repertoire of dishes was limited, but it relaxed him to cook. That night he slept more easily and soundly.
It was not until three o’clock the next afternoon that the nightmare began.
37
There was a subdued atmosphere at the university on Monday. Apart from Joe, none of his colleagues or students had known that Juliet Spring was unwell, and her death had come as a complete shock. Harriet Tait was in tears. Even the tetchy Edwin Pilgrim, who had been so furious about Juliet invading his personal space, was visibly moved.
Joe had delivered a lousy lecture in the morning and had been unable to concentrate on the questions afterwards. He was now looking at some code, written by Pilgrim, that was intended to enable ARCHIVE to start learning to distinguish between good or bad music and a random sequence of notes. It was the first, primitive step towards teaching ARCHIVE appreciation of the arts.
He yawned and glanced at his watch: 3.40. He had promised Karen he would be home by 5.30. Sworn blind; and he wanted to be, really wanted to get back to a normal life again.
His distress at Juliet’s death was balanced by a mixture of intense guilt and uneasy relief. Her early death was tragic and yet because of it he had been released from his own crass stupidity. And it had made him realize how much he valued Karen; in his heart he had loved her more in the past twenty-four hours than he could ever remember.
He had done his duty for Juliet, had honoured his word. She would be close to –78° Celsius right now. Tomorrow morning at Cryonite they would be processing her to liquid-nitrogen temperature, –196° Celsius. And on Wednesday morning they would transfer her from the cool-down unit into one of the four-person dewars in the vaults of Cryonite, where she would be sealed and entombed.
He would be there on Wednesday to assist. To say his farewell and to complete his promise. She would be OK, she would be fine. One day in the future they would meet up, talk about all this, have a good laugh. And perhaps, the thought crept back through his guard, be lovers.
His door opened sharply and Blake came in. His face was flushed and he was looking agitated. ‘Joe, we have to talk,’ he said, closing the door behind him.
Joe was surprised by his state. He had never seen Blake ruffled by anything, but now he looked very worried.
‘We have a problem,’ he said. ‘A big problem.’ He sat down in a chair beside Joe’s desk. ‘Andy White’s just rung – he’s over at Cryonite supervising the temperature reductions. The coroner’s office have just been on to him. There might be trouble over Juliet’s death certificate.’
Joe’s throat constricted a little. ‘What kind of trouble?’ It came out as a croak.
‘They’ve said they may need to do an autopsy. They’ve told us to stop any further work on her suspension for the moment.’
Joe felt a leaden lump crash down through his body. He gripped the edge of his desk. ‘You’re not serious? They can’t do that!’ Anger rose inside him. ‘Jesus, Blake, it’s too damned late for that!’
Blake waved his hands. ‘They have the power to order an autopsy whenever they want, Joe. If they can exhume bodies out of graveyards …’ he shrugged.
‘But it’s all going so well; we can’t stop now! What the hell’s it all about?’
‘Something to do with her father and the hospital. Andy couldn’t get much information.’
Joe banged his fist angrily on his desk. ‘She warned me about her father.’
Blake scrutinized his thumbnail, then looked testingly at Joe. ‘How much do you know about her situation?’
Joe felt too sick to notice the innuendo in Blake’s expression. ‘She was very worried, she was kind of expecting something like this.’ He pulled his wallet out of his jacket. ‘I have her lawyer’s number – I rang him on Saturday night and left a message on his machine, but never heard back from him. She’s made him her executor.’ Searching for inspiration, he said, ‘Hey, what about Cryonite’s own lawyer?’
‘Her executor would be the best person, Joe – he has legal ownership of her body.’
‘Not the parents?’
‘No.’
‘So if she’s made the lawyer her executor, her father has no status now?’
‘No legal status.’
A little relieved, Joe pulled out the scrap of paper on which Juliet had handwritten the lawyer’s phone numbers and dialled his office. The receptionist put him through to a secretary who told him that Marvin Zeillerman was in a meeting. Joe explained the urgency and she said she would see if he could be disturbed. There was a click and he found himself listening to the William Tell Overture. After what felt like several minutes there was another click, and a tired, faintly arrogant voice replaced the music.
‘Zeillerman.’
Joe explained who he was and the reason for his call.
‘Ahhh, yes,’ the solicitor said, drawing the words out ponderously like a brake applied against a ratchet. ‘Professor Messenger. You left some messages for me over the weekend. A problem with Miss Spring, but you got it resolved, you said?’ He sounded about a hundred years old.
‘Er, not quite,’ Joe said, and filled in the picture. He was surprised at the lethargic sound of the man; he had imagined Juliet would have used someone considerably more dynamic.
‘Ahh, yes.’ There was a long silence, during which Joe wondered whether Zeillerman had gone to sleep. ‘Terrible,’ he said finally. ‘Quite terrible. Such a delightful young lady.’ There was another pause. ‘I was away for the weekend, only got your messages late last night, I’m afraid.’ There was an expectant silence.
‘The consequences of halting now, in the middle of what we are doing, would be very dangerous for Juliet. Not to mention contrary to her wishes,’ Joe said.
‘Of course, professor,’ the lawyer spoke in the tone of a chiding schoolmaster. ‘I’m aware of that. I think I’d better have a word with the coroner’s office, and see what all this nonsense is about. Is there a number where I can contact you this afternoon?’
After he had hung up, Joe sat looking at Blake with a heavy heart. ‘Screw the coroner,’ he said. ‘We should keep going.’
‘I already told Andy to keep going,’ Blake replied.
Marvin Zeillerman rang Joe back just before five; there was still the same weariness and lack of urgency in his manner. He told Joe that he hadn’t yet got all the information he needed, and he would call him again in the morning. In the meantime he agreed that the cryonic suspension should continue regardless.
‘I really think it’s all a bit of a storm in a teacup,’ the solicitor said. The crustiness of his voice carried a learned authority, and a hint of influence. Joe felt a little easier after he had hung up this time.
Zeillerman rang Joe at a quarter to ten the next morning, catching him as he was on his way to give a lecture. His voice had lost some of its assurance of yesterday and gained a little urgency.
‘Professor Messenger, I think I’ve identified where the problem stems from. The death certificate was issued by a junior anaesthetist largely on information on my client’s medical history from the hospital’s records. I gather those are held in the computer.’ He became silent, and Joe was unsure whether he was waiting for him to reply.
‘Yes, that’s what he said to me at the time.’
‘Well, it seems, professor, that someone has been having a bit of a tamper with those records.’
Joe felt his stomach knot.
‘It would appear that the information in the hospital’s computer was incorrect. Miss Spring had never been treated there, and there had been no agreement by the director to allow the hospital’s facilities to be used for her cryonic suspension.’
Joe frowned. ‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘It appears someone must have tampered with the computer records, either from within the premises, or from outside.’ His voice adopted a dry hint of humour. ‘Hacking would be the correct terminology, I believe?’
Joe was deadpan. ‘Do they know who was responsible?’
‘I don’t think they have any idea.’ Marvin Zeillerman’s tone conveyed to Joe that he knew exactly who was responsible, and did not want to dwell on it. He moved on. ‘But of course this has given Juliet’s father the ammunition he needs to demand a postmortem.’
Gloom enveloped Joe. He racked his brains, trying to think clearly. ‘Surely, Mr Zeillerman, regardless of the hospital records, Juliet was terminally ill with a cerebral aneurism? Her own doctor would be able to verify that.’
‘Yes, I’ve spoken to him and he’s confirmed that to me.’
‘So isn’t it academic what’s in the hospital records? It’s obvious that’s what she died from – all her symptoms were consistent with aneurism, and the hospital’s ECG showed a reading consistent with ruptured aneurism minutes before she died.’
‘Ahhh.’ The brake was applied to the ratchet again. ‘Unfortunately not, Professor Messenger. The tampering with the hospital records is clear evidence of some mischief. Juliet’s father has pointed out that the only person with her before she was brought into the hospital was yourself.’ He hesitated, and his tone changed. ‘I wish to put this delicately to you, professor. I’m not in any way implying any impropriety –’
‘Sure. I understand it doesn’t look good: I’m alone with her in the university, she’s in a state of collapse, and I have a vested interest in cryonics, right?’
‘Well – ahhh – that wasn’t quite the way I was going to put it.’
‘I have no vested commercial interest in cryonics, Mr Zeillerman. Only three people in the whole of the Cryonite operation are paid any salary or expenses: a secretary, a night security man and a part-time maintenance man. We’re all volunteers – hell, we even clean the place ourselves, in rota.’
The solicitor did not reply for some moments. ‘The coroner’s office are sympathetic and trying to be helpful – you must appreciate they haven’t had very many cryonics situations previously and there aren’t any precedents.’ He paused again as if plucking up courage for his next statement. ‘They’ve suggested that they would be prepared to perform the postmortem at your own premises – at Cryonite – if you have the facilities.’
Joe glanced at his watch. He was going to be late for his lecture, but he didn’t care. He struggled to keep his voice calm, to fight the panic seizing him. ‘I don’t think you quite understand how cryonics works, Mr Zeillerman. We’re trying – and we have so far been very successful – to preserve Juliet intact. A postmortem would destroy all we have done.’
‘Could you not – er – still freeze the remains after the postmortem?’
Joe was angered by the solicitor’s naivety. ‘Have you ever attended a postmortem?’
‘Well – no – as a matter of fact.’
‘But you’ve looked in the window of a butcher’s shop, Mr Zeillerman? And you’ve seen those trays with the kidneys, the liver, the chops, and, let me see …’ Joe was unstoppable, ‘… the topside, the belly, the mince? Well, do you think you’d be able to reassemble the original animals from all those pieces? Because that’s what it would be like, trying to put Juliet back together after a postmortem.’
There was a long pause. ‘I – I understand,’ the solicitor said finally. ‘I was just trying to see if perhaps there was a compromise.’
There is, Joe thought suddenly, and then wished he hadn’t. He said nothing. He did not want to suggest the one possible compromise.
The solicitor said he would talk to the coroner’s office again and come back to him.
Joe sped through his lecture, cut the questions short and hurried back to his office. Eileen Peacock looked up.
‘Professor Messenger, a Mr Zeillerman phoned, wanting to speak to you most urgently. I have his number – shall I get him for you?’
‘Please.’
Edwin Pilgrim called out to him, then followed him into his office as Joe ignored him, and stood in front of his desk, looking agitated. ‘Joe, I must have a word with you!’
Joe raised his hands pacifyingly. ‘OK, OK! What’s the prob?’
Pilgrim glanced round warily and gave ARCHIVE’S camera on the ceiling a glare. He was shaking, blinking furiously. ‘We are be-being inva-invaded!’ His good eye glared triumphantly.
Joe wondered if the brilliant young scientist had finally flipped. ‘By whom, Edwin? Martians?’
Pilgrim’s expression turned to a look of suppressed fury. ‘H-h-h-hackers. They’ve filled up a terabyte of ARCHIVE’S mem-memory.’ His stammer came on strong as usual when he was angry.
‘They’ve cracked into ARCHIVE?’ Joe looked at him, worried. ARCHIVE had elaborate defences, although he knew that ultimately no computer could ever be completely hacker-proof. ‘A terabyte of storage? What the heck have they filled it with?’
‘G-gar-garbage.’
Joe’s phone rang. His secretary had Zeillerman on the line. Joe dismissed Edwin Pilgrim, promising to investigate with him later, then sat down, his mind having barely registered the problem.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have very good news for you, professor. Mr Spring – er – Juliet’s father – has done a thorough job of stirring up the hornet’s nest. He’s even challenging the Cryonite documentation. I recall that originally Juliet was going to have just her head frozen – neurosuspension, I believe it’s called?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then a couple of months ago she – er – decided to switch to full-body suspension.’
‘Is there a problem with the documentation?’ Joe asked.
‘Oh no, no, not at all. But it doesn’t look good, you see. It’s a more expensive process – seventy thousand pounds against thirty, and of course it all lends weight to this – er – conspiracy theory Mr Spring is trying to dress up.’ He coughed. ‘I’m afraid the coroner has ordered Juliet’s body to be handed to the borough mortuary for postmortem.’
Joe felt wet sand churning in his stomach. “There must be something we can do, Mr –’ He forgot the lawyer’s name for a moment. ‘Can’t we fight this some way? Juliet was so – so desperate that this shouldn’t happen.’
Zeillerman suddenly sounded a lot more determined. ‘Oh yes, indeed, professor. Juliet’s instructions to me were very clear. We’re applying for an injunction against the coroner’s decision.’
‘How quickly can you do that?’
‘Very quickly indeed. We’re going before a High Court judge in London at ten a.m. tomorrow. The coroner has agreed not to press for the body until after the judgement. You’re available tomorrow morning, I hope?’
‘Yes,’ Joe replied, his spirits lifting. There seemed a lot more fight in the lawyer than he had at first realized.
‘We have a problem because there are no legal precedents here. You have colleagues in cryonics in the United States, professor?’
‘Yes – I know several people.’
‘Good. I need to find out any legal cases that have occurred over there. As much information as you can get me. Any precedents would be helpful for guidance.’
Joe set to work the moment he had hung up.
38
Marvin Zeillerman was a surprise. Joe had been expecting to meet a relic from another age, but he placed the dapper character who strode determinedly towards him across the courthouse lobby at no more than thirty-five.
His entire dress and demeanour was that of someone much older. Of middling stature, with a wiry frame, he had a serious, rather hostile face, short, grizzled black hair and a mature air of efficiency. His grey pin-striped suit was immaculately pressed, his black Oxford shoes were buffed to a military gloss, and the knot of his tie looked sculpted to perfection. His ancient briefcase was the only blemish, bulging with so many documents he appeared to have been unable to close it.
‘Professor Messenger?’ His hand was small, but gripped like a vice. ‘It’s very good to meet you.’ His expression of hostility melted as he released Joe’s hand. ‘I recognize you from the photograph on your books. I – er, I – I have to confess to being a bit of a fan of yours.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Joe said, genuinely thrown.
‘I’ve – er – actually read two of your books – Beyond Hubris and Engineering the Future.’
‘Oh – right – those. A bit dated now, I guess.’ Joe never felt entirely comfortable with his earlier work. His ideas were constantly advancing, changing, and he felt he had moved on.
‘I very much agree with your points in those books,’ the solicitor said. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unfortunately I don’t have enough time for reading these days.’ His expression saddened. ‘I’m awfully sorry about Miss Spring; she was a very – er – special young woman.’
