respiration rates, her temperature, oxygen saturation, electrolyte levels, hepatic function, everything. Her immunity indices, after the first test, leveled. She had recovered from her initial injury, the burn from a shock gun, with remarkable speed. All other indications were within normal ranges.
Isabel compared the first ten reports, and then the first fifteen, searching for a reason that Adetti would have subjected the girl to multiple analyses. She already understood that Oa’s fear of the medicator would not have forestalled the ESC physician . . . but the testing took time, and analyzing the results took time. What was he looking for?
She glanced up at Oa, who was bent over the computer, using the touchpad to page through A Child’s Garden of Verse. Oa’s lips moved as she followed the narrator’s voice, a little behind, but managing most of the words. It was a marvel, truly. The girl had taught herself to read with one little reader and three books. She was bright, without doubt. And so what was the matter with her?
Isabel’s doctorate was in anthropology. She knew a good bit of medicine, but it was the sort of hands-on knowledge needed in the field. There had to be a secret buried in the numbers and symbols in the medicator reports; but by the time she reached the thirtieth, she knew she would not be able to uncover it on her own. Whatever it was, she felt certain that even Adetti had not yet found the answer.
She needed help to solve the puzzle. She needed Simon.
6
SIMON EDWARDS SAW the pictures of Isabel with Cole Markham, taken outside the office of the General Administrator of Earth Multiplex. They flashed across the networks with a brief statement about ExtraSolar sparing no effort or expense in meeting the requirements of its charters. The info-bite said nothing about what the Magdalene was to be researching, but it went on for a full three sentences about the role of the Magdalenes as Enquirers, the variety of their studies, their reputation for honesty. Simon smiled at that. He knew how Marian Alexander chafed under the disdain of the older orders, the male orders. Especially the Jesuits. Marian must have leaped at the chance for Isabel to pursue a high-profile commission. He wondered what it entailed. A brief search on the networks turned up nothing more, which meant no one was talking. Perhaps no one had yet asked. But then why was the photo being offered?
Simon thumbed off his reader and left his desk to stand by the wide picture window, looking out over the gardens of the World Health and Welfare offices. The networks reported rain in Seattle. Here in Geneva, a fragile sunshine glistened on the icy lake and set last night’s fresh snowfall sparkling on the roofs and gardens of the city. The long sunbaked days he and Isabel had spent together in the Victoria Desert seemed to belong to another life.
Simon felt Isabel’s absence as a physical loss, even now. It was as if, he thought with dark humor, someone had taken a rib and left a great gap in his chest. His work couldn’t fill it. His wife Anna, though she was willing to try, couldn’t fill it.
He didn’t know how to reach Isabel. She refused to have her own wavephone number, and rarely carried one even in the field. It didn’t matter in any case. She had made it clear she didn’t want to see him. She had vanished without a farewell, leaving no doubt that she meant their separation to be final. He had tried, and failed, to understand the compulsion that ruled her life. Now he struggled simply with acceptance.
Poor suffering Anna, mystified in her own way as he was in his, hovered on the edge of his awareness, there whenever he opened his eyes to see her, eager to repair their marriage. Distantly, he understood he was being cruel to her. He didn’t mean to be, and he didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t help it.
He turned away from the window. He was due at a meeting of the directors that couldn’t start without him. He left his
Isabel compared the first ten reports, and then the first fifteen, searching for a reason that Adetti would have subjected the girl to multiple analyses. She already understood that Oa’s fear of the medicator would not have forestalled the ESC physician . . . but the testing took time, and analyzing the results took time. What was he looking for?
She glanced up at Oa, who was bent over the computer, using the touchpad to page through A Child’s Garden of Verse. Oa’s lips moved as she followed the narrator’s voice, a little behind, but managing most of the words. It was a marvel, truly. The girl had taught herself to read with one little reader and three books. She was bright, without doubt. And so what was the matter with her?
Isabel’s doctorate was in anthropology. She knew a good bit of medicine, but it was the sort of hands-on knowledge needed in the field. There had to be a secret buried in the numbers and symbols in the medicator reports; but by the time she reached the thirtieth, she knew she would not be able to uncover it on her own. Whatever it was, she felt certain that even Adetti had not yet found the answer.
She needed help to solve the puzzle. She needed Simon.
6
SIMON EDWARDS SAW the pictures of Isabel with Cole Markham, taken outside the office of the General Administrator of Earth Multiplex. They flashed across the networks with a brief statement about ExtraSolar sparing no effort or expense in meeting the requirements of its charters. The info-bite said nothing about what the Magdalene was to be researching, but it went on for a full three sentences about the role of the Magdalenes as Enquirers, the variety of their studies, their reputation for honesty. Simon smiled at that. He knew how Marian Alexander chafed under the disdain of the older orders, the male orders. Especially the Jesuits. Marian must have leaped at the chance for Isabel to pursue a high-profile commission. He wondered what it entailed. A brief search on the networks turned up nothing more, which meant no one was talking. Perhaps no one had yet asked. But then why was the photo being offered?
Simon thumbed off his reader and left his desk to stand by the wide picture window, looking out over the gardens of the World Health and Welfare offices. The networks reported rain in Seattle. Here in Geneva, a fragile sunshine glistened on the icy lake and set last night’s fresh snowfall sparkling on the roofs and gardens of the city. The long sunbaked days he and Isabel had spent together in the Victoria Desert seemed to belong to another life.
Simon felt Isabel’s absence as a physical loss, even now. It was as if, he thought with dark humor, someone had taken a rib and left a great gap in his chest. His work couldn’t fill it. His wife Anna, though she was willing to try, couldn’t fill it.
He didn’t know how to reach Isabel. She refused to have her own wavephone number, and rarely carried one even in the field. It didn’t matter in any case. She had made it clear she didn’t want to see him. She had vanished without a farewell, leaving no doubt that she meant their separation to be final. He had tried, and failed, to understand the compulsion that ruled her life. Now he struggled simply with acceptance.
Poor suffering Anna, mystified in her own way as he was in his, hovered on the edge of his awareness, there whenever he opened his eyes to see her, eager to repair their marriage. Distantly, he understood he was being cruel to her. He didn’t mean to be, and he didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t help it.
He turned away from the window. He was due at a meeting of the directors that couldn’t start without him. He left his
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