The Curve of The Earth sp-4
Page 32
He remembered being shot. At least twice. One bullet had passed clean through his thigh, missing his femoral artery. Another had hit his lower leg, and the only thing holding his foot on had been the friction between his socks and his trousers.
“Is it off?”
[From the lower thigh. The surgeon wanted to try and save the knee, but I persuaded him it would be better for you not to have to undergo long-term and potentially unsuccessful reconstructive surgery.]
They looked at each other, man and machine. “I’m running out of body parts,” said Petrovitch.
[If you want, I can show you a graph that predicts your complete replacement with cybernetics within thirty years.]
“Maybe later.” At last the burning pain started to recede. “Why are my ears cold?”
[You are wearing a cap which circulates cold water. It is usually used so that chemotherapy patients keep their hair. I suggested it might be useful here.] The avatar shrugged in a very familiar way. [I became an expert in your condition; it was necessary in order to ensure your survival. I would, however, like to discuss my earlier offer of reconstituting your personality as a virtual construct at some point.]
“Earlier offer? That was a decade ago.”
[You declined then. Perhaps recent events will cause you to reconsider.]
The doctor came back to Petrovitch’s face. He got out his torch again.
“Can you tell him to stop that? I’ll shove it up his nose and illuminate the inside of his skull in a minute.”
[That would require voluntary movement on your part. Something you lack to a great extent.]
Petrovitch didn’t need to move, though. The doctor’s phone beeped. He ignored it and carried on with his examination. It chimed again, more insistently, and eventually he pulled back to answer it.
He looked at the screen, and the message on it. He looked at the bed, then back to the phone. He frowned and approached.
“Dr Petrovitch?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Petrovitch typed. “Can we lose the ventilator? It feels wrong. And don’t shine your little light in my eyes again. It hurts. And while you’re on, I’m fucking freezing and I can feel everything.”
“I was warned about this,” said the doctor. He told the rest of the intensive care team to stop for a moment, then put his mouth next to Petrovitch’s ear. “You’re my patient. You’ll do as I say.”
The phone buzzed with an incoming message. “You’ll be saying next you preferred me dead.”
“Or I could just let your wife in to see you, and you can sort out who’s in charge here with her.” He glanced at the door, and Madeleine’s gaze flicked from Petrovitch to the phone, and back to Petrovitch. Her expression didn’t change. The doctor’s did, though. “As next of kin, she gave me written consent. And frankly, I don’t want to be the one to piss her off, because she looks ready to take someone’s — anyone’s — head off with her bare hands. I’d rather that wasn’t me.”
“I surrender.”
“Good. Because we’re not set up for repairing decapitations. Now shut up and stop harassing me. You seem to be in control of your faculties, but not your body. That part is my job, and I’ll do it the best I can.” He muttered something about governments and guns, then put the phone back in his scrubs.
As he retreated, the rest of the staff moved back in to continue what they’d started.
“Michael, I thought she’d be happy.”
[She was happy, Sasha. She was happy that for ten years no one was shooting at you or trying to blow you up. Now, as a result of what Lucy has done, everybody will be trying to shoot you and blow you up. And not just you, but her and Lucy, together with the rest of the Freezone. While you were dead, the President of the United States of America called us “the single most dangerous organisation in the history of civilisation”. Even accounting for hyperbole, that puts us in a difficult position.]
“Yeah, that’s good coming from him. Mudak.” Petrovitch programmed his heart to spin a little faster. “I wasn’t the one who shot down our First Contact.”
[All Madeleine can see is a war without end and an immediate future without you. Sooner, rather than later, she believes you will die, and there will be nothing she can do about it. She is already in mourning for you.]
The doctor had gone to the door, and Madeleine had stepped away to let him out. Petrovitch could see them through the glass, her with her head down, listening, and him with his head up, explaining what was going on.
When they were done, she resumed her vigil.
Petrovitch checked to see what was happening outside. The hospital was surrounded by camera crews and reporters, and he dipped into their broadcasts to catch a flavour of what they were saying.
“Yobany stos.”
[Did you expect people to react differently?]
“To be honest, I didn’t think about how they’d react at all. Who leaked it?”
[There was no leak. Marcus went to the UN, talked to the Secretary General, and addressed the Security Council even before you arrived at hospital.]
“And?”
[There is a very real risk of the United Nations expelling the United States. That pressure is likely to increase over the coming days as governments formulate their official response, rather than just preliminary reactions from their representatives in New York.] Michael’s avatar raised his eyebrows. [There is no other news. Some people believe us. Others do not, either because they prefer the lies or they hold, like Joseph Newcomen, that we must be alone in the universe. I change my mind when the facts change. Why won’t they?]
“No one said we were a wholly rational species.” Petrovitch could move his index finger. Just a little. The sooner he was out of this bed — which was where? Whitehorse? — the sooner he could get to work. It was a good job he didn’t need much sleep.
Valentina looked though into the intensive care ward, her thin face even more pinched and pale than usual. As she turned, he could see her kalash over her shoulder. This was what it had come to. All because of him.
No: all because of Lucy.
“Good girl,” he said.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-be5e2e-3d80-0a48-b29a-9222-975c-dfa449
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 08.04.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.25, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Morden, Simon
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