The War of Immensities (4 page)

Jami, a mere
PhD student, remained in charge mostly because she didn’t tell
anyone her lowly status, because she was there when it happened,
and because she was American despite her Indian heritage, from MIT,
and could speak the name Harley Thyssen with authority.

“So how are you
coping?” Glen asked.

Jami knew it
was really Harley asking. “Get your ass down there and see she
don’t fuck up completely,” Harley would have thundered down the
telephone line. Little else would have got Glen Palenski into
motion.

“Fully under
control. I’ve got a team of six out there and they’ve replaced the
sensors all the way up to the edge of the hot zone. We have
everything on the Net. I’ve duped all the CDs and mailed them to
Auckland. I’ve faxed all the hardcopy to Harley. And now I’m
working on my report.”

“Of the big
sighting.”

“Twenty twenty
eyeball.”

“Let’s have a
look.”

“You’ll see it
when Harley sends you a copy. For his eyes only.”

“Hallelujah
Harley.”

“You get some
rest, Glen. There’s plenty for you to do later.”

“Is that an
order, ma’am?”

“Does it need
to be? What did Harley say?”

“You know what
he said. And he wants you to ring him straight away. He’s been
calling hourly and got zip.”

“I haven’t been
inside any more than I needed to. You know the north side building
is leaning fifteen degrees off perpendicular. You can start the
repairs over there.”

“How much
equipment fizzled?”

“Fifty
percent.”

“And you got a
full breakdown already from the rest?”

“Yep. Along
with some interesting anomalies.”

“Harley will
love you.”

“Harley will
hate me just a little less than he hates everyone else. And I will
call him, when I’ve finished my report.”

“My, my, how
tough and authoritarian you’ve become, Jami. A full-on experience
seems to do you the world of good.”

“Watching a
volcano blow a hundred people away does that to you, Glen.
Especially when you were six millimetres of plasterboard and a pane
of glass from being the hundred and first.”

“Hit hard,
huh?”

“I have been,
of necessity, born again.”

There was a
time when she idolised Glen Palenski. Watching him now as he
ferreted in his pack, giving her a perfect view of his splendid
backside, she could understand why.

They went
through college together, he the all American boy, she a skinny
little Indian girl who followed him around everywhere like a
faithful retriever. He had her and dumped her a dozen times and she
kept coming back for more. Finally they graduated and bummed their
way here—to her moment of destiny but not his, which was a rather
refreshing change.

She tried to
diminish him in her mind as she did in her intellect, but there was
always his perfect, tanned body, which he exposed proudly to the
world at every opportunity. It was ten degrees outside and here he
was in shorts and sleeveless shirt, showing off. But this wasn’t
the moment and she averted her eyes. Jami realised that she was
still as alone now as she was before he arrived.

The young man
with his thick spectacles and cherubic cheeks tried his hardest to
look serious but was in every way unconvincing. Felicity Campbell
poured herself an instant coffee and ran her mind through the case
history. Christine Rice, Asian in appearance, French according to
her passport, resident of Auckland on an extended tourist visa,
aged 22, one of the two young women to survive the crashed
helicopter, severe contusion to legs and abdomen, minor facial
lacerations, three broken fingers, comatose. No head injury
evident. It was just a matter of healing time.

But Barbara
Crane, the Chief Administrator, brought this young man who insisted
on talking to the doctor-in-charge. John Burton. Wrong name.

“You are
related to Miss Rice?” Felicity asked him.

He looked
guilty and nervous.

“I’m her
fiancée. We are to be married on the 25th of next month.”

“I see,”
Felicity said wearily.

“The thing is,
they won’t tell me what’s happening.”

“Who won’t?”
Barbara had to ask, because Felicity didn’t bother.

“The other
doctors. I keep asking them about Chrissie’s condition and they
keep saying it’s too early to tell.”

“That’s because
it’s too early to tell,” Felicity offered. As she sipped her coffee
again, she saw Barbara’s frown and so, with a mighty effort,
continued. “You’ll just have to be patient with us, Mr.
Burton.”

Barbara’s
eyebrows said that was another wrong answer. John Burton shivered
all over with exasperation. “You must have some idea of her
condition at this stage. Is she going to die?”

“No, Mr.
Burton. She will not die. Her injuries in fact are relatively minor
and after a few weeks convalescence, I would expect her to make a
full recovery.”

That was the
sort of thing Barbara Crane liked to hear—stuff she could use later
in evidence to the Medical Board if it all went wrong.

“But why is she
still in intensive care?”

Persistent
little bugger... But, forced to think about it, the answer only
occurred to Felicity herself when she said it. “It’s the coma, you
see, Mr. Burton. Shock, or something. We aren’t sure. Really,
nothing about her injuries suggests a comatose state, but that
happens sometimes. We are monitoring her condition. As soon as she
regains consciousness, if she remains stable, you can take her
home.”

“But what is
this coma?”

“We don’t know.
But she’s responding normally in all other ways...”

“That isn’t
good enough, doctor.”

“Damn it, Mr.
Burton! She got blown up by a volcano and survived a bloody
helicopter crash! She’s damned lucky to be alive at all!”

The young man
reared back in shock and Barbara Crane had an arm around him,
leading him away while offering angry little glances back at
Felicity. “Just bear with us, Mr. Burton, and I’m sure everything
will be fine.”

Her thoughtful
hand propelled him out the door but Barbara did not follow. Instead
she turned and walked back toward Felicity, frowning deeply. “Nice
bit of client relations, Fee.”

“Oh, shut up,
Barbara.”

That wasn’t
really intended either. She was thinking about something else.
“That makes three of them.”

“Three of
what?” Barbara asked in a fine display of calm.

“That
girl—Christine Rice—and the other girl from the helicopter crash
and the black woman. All three are comatose when their injuries
don’t justify it.”

“Whereas
plainly your own condition almost does, Fee. I don’t know how you
keep going.”

“It doesn’t
make sense...”

“It will in
time. You’re wasting your energy trying to solve something like
this in your present condition.”

“It’s not my
condition that’s important.”

“Come on, Fee.
You know the score. You’re losing your temperament. Next your
efficiency.”

“Yes, all
right. I suppose I was a bit over the top.”

“Go home.
Sleep. Do not set the alarm. Have two full meals. Spend at least
three quality hours with your husband and each of your children.
This will all still be here when you get back.”

When the
telephone rang, Jami Shastri lifted the receiver with some
trepidation. It had been just six minutes since she emailed her
report to MIT.

“What in the
name of the four and twenty virgins is this nonsense, Miss
Shastri!”

“It’s only a
prelim...” Jami began. She held the receiver several inches from
her ear as the thundering voice boomed at her.

“It’s not a
preliminary anything, young lady. It is mature garbage.”

“Professor,
please listen.”

“Why? Don’t you
think you’ve made enough idiotic statements for one day?”

“That is what
the data...”

“Fuck the data.
This is garbage. You ought to be thankful that no one has seen it
except me, for which I am anything but thankful. Did every word of
my hard-wrought lectures pass straight through your aural passages
untouched by neuronal stimulation?”

“I do know how
strange it looks, Professor...”

“Thank God for
that!”

In these
circumstances, Jami found it hard to work out if the usual first
name basis applied. If she was Miss Shastri, he was Professor
Thyssen, she supposed.

“Will you
please calm down and listen to me, Prof...?”

“No. I will
not. Let me shout a few things first, if only to restore my sense
of proportion. Honestly, Jamila, how could you make these sorts of
errors?”

“There are no
errors, Harley. I checked and double checked. Glen checked and
double checked.”

“Glen let you
send this?”

“No. He
suggested I smash the machines and pretend there was no data
available.”

“Wise of
him.”

“It isn’t my
fault if the data doesn’t add up, Harley.”

“You do realise
that you managed to place three unrelated epicentres within five
kilometres of each other, occurring simultaneously.”

“That’s
right.”

“And you
suggest that these three independent earthquakes each measured
exactly 6.3 on the scale and caused all three volcanoes to erupt
simultaneously.”

“That’s how it
happened.”

“Which means
there has to be a god-damned mutual epicentre!”

“There wasn’t,
Harley. All systems agree. The thermals and seismos and shifters
all indicate the same locations on both systems that were operating
at the time.”

“Ridiculous!”

“Tell that to
the fucking geosystem.”

“It is the
Governing Board of the Earth Science Academy that I’m going to have
to tell it to, Jami, and they’ll laugh me out of the place. They’ll
strip my professorship and reassign me to Junior High if I try to
put this over them. And what about the prelims?”

“No preliminary
warning whatsoever.”

“Jami, might I
remind you that there has never been a volcanic incident in all
recorded history where there weren’t substantial pre-eruption
indicators.”

“There has now.
The monitoring equipment was all in fine condition and firmly
recorded that there was no indication of oncoming activity
whatsoever.”

“Then the
equipment must be faulty!”

“Glen is going
over it. Of course, it’s all knocked around a bit by the percussion
but half of it is undamaged...”

“Pity it all
didn’t get blown away and...”

“...and me with
it?”

“No, I need you
despite your obvious shortcomings as a researcher. You drag your
ass back here, now!”

“It’ll take me
days to fly to Boston.”

“Now, young
lady! We have to get this gibberish into a condition that will
allow our colleagues to read it without mirthful convulsions.”

“There’s too
much to do...”

“Glen can
handle it. You.. get.. here.. now!”

“If you say
so.”

There was,
finally, a pause. When Thyssen spoke again, his tone had softened
considerably. “You were actually in the building when this went
down, Jami?”

“I was right
here.”

“Rather an
epiphany, I should think.”

“It was that
all right. I should imagine that if the plane to Boston falls out
of the sky, I’ll know what to expect when it hits the ground.”

“An enviable
experience you know.”

“Not nearly as
bad as one of your tirades, Harley.”

This was as
close as Harley Thyssen ever got to expressing concern, for anyone,
ever. Jami felt honoured, and decided to push her luck.

“There was
something else.”

“There couldn’t
be.”

“Something that
even I, for all my apparent naivety, didn’t dare put in the
report.”

“Do you have
any idea how close I am to a coronary infarction at this
moment?”

“Not as close
as I was, if I read the physiology correctly.”

“Meaning?”

“Something else
happened. It’s hard to describe. But it was just an instant before
the eruption. There was a sensation, like a shock wave or
something. I almost passed out. My whole body seemed to... I don’t
know. It was as if I exploded internally. I recovered immediately.
There was nausea and a minor state of shock, but whatever it was
passed through me in an instant and was gone. And it was after that
the instrumentation became active.”

“After... after
what?”

“I don’t know.
What I described. Some sort of shock wave that the instruments
couldn’t record hit me first. Then it started.”

“More
gibberish, Jami.”

“But even I
knew I couldn’t put something like that in the report.”

“All right,
maybe you’re not as naive as I thought. Get on the plane.”

“It all really
happened, Harley.”

“Sure. What you
are saying, in reality, is that some sort of mysterious
physiological episode distorted your perceptions and impaired your
judgment, and thereby we have all these improbable results. How
does that sound?”

“Like bullshit,
Harley.”

“But it is a
reasonable explanation, provided, of course, that you are able to
offer proof that this mysterious force exists.”

“I’m not using
it as an excuse.”

“No, but I
will, to explain your insanity, if I have to. Time’s wasting. Go
catch a plane.”

“See you in a
day or two, Harley.”

The nurses had
allowed two middle-aged people into the ICU ward where they stood
looking down at the girl within the spider-web of tubes and wires,
while walled-eye George Hanley, her senior intern, stood by.
Felicity, totally refreshed by just two hours sleep and a quick
shower, paused at the door to listen.

“We aren’t sure
why the coma is persisting,” George was saying. “A shock condition
probably—but as soon as she revives, she ought to be able to go
home.”