So the public debate was loud and long, and the pressure for extreme measures was intense... and, I should add, not unjustified. The argument was simple. Everyone who got it was dead. I believe that if those patients had been sent to Atlanta, everyone on Earth would have died. Therefore... what was the point of taking a chance by keeping it alive and studying it?"
Doctor Blume cleared his throat, and Wilhelm looked at him.
"As I recall, doctor," he said, "there were two reasons raised. One was the abstract one of scientific knowledge. Though there might be no point in studying Neuro-X since no one was afflicted with it, we might learn something by the study itself."
"Point taken," Wilhelm said, "and no argument."
"And the second was, we never found out where Neuro-X came from... there were rumors it was a biological warfare agent." He looked at Rossnikova, as if asking her what comment GMA might want to make about that. Rossnikova said nothing. "But most people felt it was a spontaneous mutation. There have been several instances of that in the high-radiation environment of a space station. And if it happened once, what's to prevent it from happening again?"
"Again, you'll get no argument from me. In fact, I supported both those positions when the question was being debated." Wilhelm grimaced, then looked right at Blume. "But the fact is, I didn't support them very hard, and when the Lunar station was sterilized, I felt a lot better."
Blume was nodding.
"I'll admit it. I felt better, too."
"And if Neuro-X were to show up again," she went on, quietly, "my advice would be to sterilize immediately. Even if it meant losing a city."
Blume said nothing. Bach watched them both for a while in the resulting silence, finally, understanding just how much Wilhelm feared this thing.
There was a lot more. The meeting went on for three hours, and everyone got a chance to speak.
Eventually, the problem was outlined to everyone's satisfaction.
Tango Charlie could not be boarded. It could be destroyed. (Some time was spent debating the wisdom of the original interdiction order—beating a dead horse, as far as Bach was concerned—and questioning whether it might be possible to countermand it.)
But things could leave Tango Charlie. It would only be necessary to withdraw the robot probes that had watched so long and faithfully, and the survivors could be evacuated.
That left the main question. Should they be evacuated?
(The fact that only one survivor had been sighted so far was not mentioned. Everyone assumed others would show up sooner or later. After all, it was simply not possible that just one eight-yearold girl could be the only occupant of a station no one had entered or left for thirty years.)
Wilhelm, obviously upset but clinging strongly to her position, advocated blowing up the station at once. There was some support for this, but only about ten percent of the group.
The eventual decision, which Bach had predicted before the meeting even started, was to do nothing at the moment.
After all, there were almost five whole days to keep thinking about it.
"There's a call waiting for you," Steiner said, when she got back to the monitoring room. "The switchboard says it's important."
Bach went into her office—wishing yet again for one with walls—flipped a switch.
"Bach," she said. Nothing came on the vision screen.
"I'm curious," said a woman's voice. "Is this the Anna-Louise Bach who worked in The Bubble ten years ago?"
For a moment, Bach was too surprised to speak, but she felt a wave of heat as blood rushed to her face. She knew the voice.
"Hello? Are you there?"
"Why no vision?" she asked.
"First, are you alone? And is your instrument secure?"
"The instrument is secure, if yours is." Bach flipped another switch, and a privacy hood descended around her screen. The sounds of the room faded as a sonic scrambler began operating. "And I'm alone."
Megan Galloway's face appeared on the screen. One part of Bach's mind noted that she hadn't changed much, except that her hair was curly and red.
"I thought you might not wish to be seen with me," Galloway said. Then she smiled. "Hello, Anna Louise. How are you?"
"I don't think it really matters if I'm seen with you," Bach said.
"No? Then would you care to comment on why the New Dresden Police Department, among other government agencies, is allowing an eight-year-old child to go without the rescue she so obviously needs?"
Bach said nothing.
"Would you comment on the rumor that the NDPD does not intend to effect the child's rescue? That, if it can get away with it, the NDPD will let the child be smashed to pieces?"
Still Bach waited.
Galloway sighed, and ran a hand through her hair.
"You're the most exasperating woman I've ever known, Bach," she said. "Listen, don't you even want to try to talk me out of going with the story?"
Bach almost said something, but decided to wait once more.
"If you want to, you can meet me at the end of your shift. The Mozartplatz. I'm on the Great Northern, suite 1, but I'll see you in the bar on the top deck."
"I'll be there," Bach said, and broke the connection.
Charlie sang the Hangover Song most of the morning. It was not one of her favorites.
There was penance to do, of course. Tik-Tok made her drink a foul glop that—she had to admit—did do wonders for her headache. When she was done she was drenched in sweat, but her hangover was gone.
"You're lucky," Tik-Tok said. "Your hangovers are never severe."
"They're severe enough for me," Charlie said.
He made her wash her hair, too.
After that, she spent some time with her mother. She always valued that time. Tik-Tok was a good friend, mostly, but he was so bossy. Charlie's mother never shouted at her, never scolded or lectured.
She simply listened. True, she wasn't very active. But it was nice to have somebody just to talk to.
One day, Charlie hoped, her mother would walk again. Tik-Tok said that was unlikely.
Then she had to round up the dogs and take them for their morning run.
And everywhere she went, the red camera eyes followed her. Finally she had enough. She stopped, put her fists on her hips, and shouted at a camera.
"You stop that!" she said.
The camera started to make noises. At first she couldn't understand anything, then some words started to come through.
"...lie, Tango... Foxtrot...in, please. Tango Charlie..."
"Hey, that's my name."
The camera continued to buzz and spit noise at her.
"Tik-Tok, is that you?"
"I'm afraid not, Charlie."
"What's going on, then?"
"It's those nosy people. They've been watching you, and now they're trying to talk to you. But I'm holding them off. I don't think they'll bother you, if you just ignore the cameras."
"But why are you fighting them?"
"I didn't think you'd want to be bothered."
Maybe there was some of that hangover still around. Anyway, Charlie got real angry at Tik-Tok, and called him some names he didn't approve of. She knew she'd pay for it later, but for now Tik-Tok was pissed, and in no mood to reason with her. So he let her have what she wanted, on the principle that getting what you want is usually the worst thing that can happen to anybody.
"Tango Charlie, this is Foxtrot Romeo. Come in, please. Tango—"
"Come in where?" Charlie asked, reasonably. "And my name isn't Tango."
Bach was so surprised to have the little girl actually reply that for a moment she couldn't think of anything to say.
"Uh... it's just an expression," Bach said. "Come in... that's radio talk for 'please answer.' "
"Then you should say please answer," the little girl pointed out.
"Maybe you're right. My name is Bach. You can call me Anna-Louise, if you'd like. We've been trying to—"
"Why should I?"
"Excuse me?"
"Excuse you for what?"
Bach looked at the screen and drummed her fingers silently for a short time. Around her in the monitoring room, there was not a sound to be heard. At last, she managed a smile.