Part 81 (1/2)
”Nothing,” Wojkowski had said, unflappable. ”You can read the order, if you like. And see the prescriptions . . . whatever you like. Neantol. It's a new combination drug: Novachem is the manufacturer, I'll give you all the literature on it. Hottest thing going, just out on the market. Avoids a lot of the side-effects.”
”Fine, I'm a test subject.”
”It's safe. It's safer, in fact. Avoids the thin-skin problem, the excessive bleeding and bruising; the calcium depletion and the graying effect. You'll keep your hair color, you won't lose any major amount of muscle ma.s.s, or have brittle bones or premature fatigue. Sterility-unfortunately-is still a problem.”
”I can live with that.” He felt calmer. d.a.m.n, he wanted to believe what Wojkowski was saying. ”What are its its side-effects?” side-effects?”
”Dry mouth and a solitary complaint of hyperactivity. Possibly some deleterious effect on the kidneys. Mostly remember to drink plenty of water. Especially if you've been drinking. You'll tend to dehydrate and you'll get a h.e.l.l of a hangover. We don't don't know what the effects would be of switching off the regular drug and onto this. Or vice versa. We suspect there could be some serious problems about that. It's also expensive, over ten thou a dose and it's not going to get cheaper anytime soon. But especially in the case of a younger patient-definitely worth it.” know what the effects would be of switching off the regular drug and onto this. Or vice versa. We suspect there could be some serious problems about that. It's also expensive, over ten thou a dose and it's not going to get cheaper anytime soon. But especially in the case of a younger patient-definitely worth it.”
”Does Grant-get the same?”
”Yes. Absolutely.”
He felt better, overall, with that rea.s.surance. He trusted Wojkowski's ethics most of the way. But it did not help get his pulse rate down.
Ten thousand a dose. Reseune was spending a lot on them, on a drug Reseune could afford-and he could not.
Not something you could find on the black market.
Subst.i.tutions contraindicated.
A dependency Reseune provided, that Reseune could withhold-with devastating effect; that nothing like-say, the Paxers or the Abolitionists-could possibly provide.
An invisible chain. d.a.m.n their insecurities. As if they needed it. But it took something away, all the same: left him with a claustrophobic sense that hereafter-options were fewer; and a nagging dread that the drug might turn up with side-effects, no matter that lab rats thrived on it.
d.a.m.n, in one day, from a young man's self-concept and a trim, fit body he had taken pains to keep that way-to the surety of sterility, of some bodily changes; not as many as he had feared, if they were right; but still-a diminis.h.i.+ng of functions. Preservation for-as long as the drug held. A list of cautions to live with.
A favor, in some regards, if it did what they claimed.
But a psychological jolt all the same-to take it at someone else's decision, because a d.a.m.ned committee decided- What? To keep a string on him and Grant? In the case they tried to escape and join the Paxers and bomb subways and kill children?
G.o.d. They were all lunatics.
The door opened. The tech came in and asked him to undress again.
Tissue sample. Sperm sample. ”What in h.e.l.l for?” he snapped at the tech. ”I'm a PR, PR, for G.o.d's sake!” for G.o.d's sake!”
The tech looked at his list. ”It's here,” the tech said. Azi. And doggedly following his instructions.
So the tech got both. And left him with a sore spot on his leg and one inside his mouth, where the tech had taken his tissue samples.
Likely his pulse rate was through the ceiling again. He tried to calm it down, figuring they would take it again before they let him out, and if they disliked the result they got, they could put him into hospital where he was subject to any d.a.m.n thing anyone anyone wanted to run, without Grant to witness it, where neither of them could look out for the other or lodge protests. wanted to run, without Grant to witness it, where neither of them could look out for the other or lodge protests.
d.a.m.n it, get the pulse rate down. it, get the pulse rate down.
Get out of here tonight. Get home. That's the important thing now.
The door opened. Wojkowski again.
”How are we doing?” she asked.
”We're madder than h.e.l.l,” he said with exaggerated pleasantness, and sat up on the table, smiled at Wojkowski, trying not to let the pulse run wild, doggedly thinking of flowers. Of river water. ”I'm missing patches of skin and my dignity is, I'm sure, not a prime concern here. But that's all right.”
”Mmmn,” Wojkowski said, and set a hypogun down on the counter, looking at the record. ”I'm going to give you a prescription I want you to take, and we'll check you over again when you come in for your second treatment. See if we can do something about that blood pressure.”
”You want to know what you can do about the blood pressure?”
”Do yourself a favor. Take the prescription. Don't take kat more than twice a week-are you taking aspirin?”
”Occasionally.”
”How regularly?”
”It's in the-”
”Please.”
”Two, maybe four a week.”
”That's all right. No more than that. If you get headaches, see me. If you have any light-headedness, see me immediately. If you get a racing pulse, same.”
”Of course. -Do you know what goes on in the House, doctor? -Or on this planet, for that matter?”
”I'm aware of your situation. All the same, avoid stress.”
”Thanks. Thanks so much, doctor.”
Wojkowski walked over with the hypo. He shed the robe off one shoulder and she wiped the area down. The shot popped against his arm and hurt like h.e.l.l.
He looked and saw a b.l.o.o.d.y mark.
”d.a.m.n, that's-”
”It's a gel implant. Lasts four weeks. Go home. Go straight to bed. Drink plenty of liquids. The first few implants may give you a little nausea, a little dizziness. If you break out in a rash or feel any tightening in the chest, call the hospital immediately. You can take aspirin for the arm. See you in August.”
There was a message in the House system, wailing for him when he got to the pharmacy. My office. Ari Emory. My office. Ari Emory.
She did not use her Wing One office. She had said so. She had a minimal clerical staff there to handle her House system clerical work, and that was all.
But she was waiting there now. Her office. Ari senior's office. He walked through the doors with Grant, faced a black desk he remembered, where Florian sat-with a young face, a grave concern as he got up and said: ”Grant should wait here, ser. Sera wants to see you alone.”
The coffee helped his nerves. He was grateful that Ari had made it for him, grateful for the chance to collect himself, in these surroundings, with Ari behind Ari senior's desk-not a particularly grandiose office, not even so much as Yanni's. The walls were all bookcases and most of the books in them were manuals. Neat. That was the jarring, surreal difference. Ari's office had always had a little clutter about it and the desk was far too clean.
The face behind it-disturbing in its similarities and disturbing in its touch of worry.
Past and future.
”I got your message,” Ari said. ”I went to Denys. That didn't do any good. We had a fight. The next thing I did was call Ivanov. He didn't do any good. The next thing I could do, I could call Family council. And past that I can file an appeal with the Science Bureau and the Council in Novgorod. Which is real dangerous-with all the stuff going on.”