He said to Cordelia, “Looking good, girl. He’s floating perhaps a bit too close to the surface, but I’ll up the sleepy-time doses.”
“You do,” said Cordelia, “and they’ll find you with one of those telemetry gadgets up your ass, and another one square in the center of the dent in your skull that killed you.”
The doctor grinned at her.
Wyungare stared. He didn’t remember Cordelia ever displaying this much open hostility.
The physician nodded to Finn. “Doctor.” He held out his hand to Wyungare. “You would be a friend of the patient, or perhaps of the patient’s niece? My name is Mengele, Dr. Bob Mengele. You can call me Dr. Bob.”
Wyungare shook his hand. It felt like grabbing a piece of dry, white bone.
“And no,” said Dr. Bob, as though answering an expected but unasked question, “no relation. Just a coincidence in names.”
"I’m not so sure,” said Cordelia nastily. “I’ll bet you sing German camp songs in your sleep.”
“Cordelia,” said Finn. “that kind of remark is out of line. It’s beneath you. Dr. Mengele is a first-rate physician. His work here at the clinic has been above reproach.”
Dr. Bob smirked.
“He’s a fucking butcher,” said Cordelia. “If I’d let him, he’d vivisect Uncle Jack. As it is, he’s done his best to exterminate Jack’s humanity.”
Dr. Bob said, “My girl”
Cordelia’s voice rose to something approaching an enraged shriek. “I’m not yours, and I am not a girl!”
She looked like she might physically attack Dr. Bob. Wyungare took her arm. He could feel the tension tautening the muscles. “I am not entirely sure I understand why you both act like mortal enemies.”
“I’m not an enemy,” said Dr. Bob. “I’m only here to help.”
“The check’s in the mail,” said Cordelia venomously. “I won’t come in your mouth.”
“Cordelia,” said Finn. He looked as close to embarrassed as Wyungare guessed a centaur could look. His hooves clicked on tile as he shifted his weight.
“All right, then,” said Wyungare. “Tell me the issue.”
“Are you related to the patient?” Dr. Bob inspected Wyungare with a merry grin. “I should guess not. Friend of the family?”
“Yes.”
“And how conversant are you with this case?” There was an unpleasantly smug arrogance in Dr. Bob’s words.
“I am aware that Jack Robicheaux is an AIDS sufferer. I know that he is under treatment here at this clinic.”
“You know,” said Dr. Bob, “that AIDS is invariably fatal.”
Wyungare nodded. “Would that it were not.”
“But it is,” Dr. Bob said briskly. “Mr. Robicheaux was dying.”
“Is dying,” said Cordelia, voice dropping and wavering a little.
"We all are dying,” said Dr. Bob, “in one way or another.” He reached out and patted Jack’s snout. “Mr. Robicheaux is now dying rather more slowly than he was previously.”
“You tricked me into granting consent,” said Cordelia.
“You were miserable with grief,” said Dr. Bob matter-of-factly, brutally. “You agreed because you know I hold the only possibility for his continued existence.”
“But he’s continuing as an alligator,” said Cordelia.
“Give me a translation, please,” said Wyungare.
“Heavy drugs,” said Cordelia. “Mengele used psychosurgical techniques. He screwed around with my uncle’s reptile brain.”
Dr. Bob said, “The patient was dying with AIDS. He was shuttling back and forth between the reptile state and the human. To oversimplify, when he was in human form, the AIDS virus was fatal, but that virus meant nothing to the reptile form.”
“I think I’m seeing your meaning,” said Wyungare.
Dr. Bob nodded violently and triumphantly. “It was a simple stroke of genius. I’m ensuring his life by giving him a permanent form that is safe from viral predators.”
Cordelia said. “You’re ensuring a life where he’ll be murdered as a human being. He’ll spend the rest of his born life as a reptile.”
“But he will live.”
“At such a cost,” murmured Finn.
“There has to be another way,” said Cordelia stubbornly.
“Acupuncture?” mocked Dr. Bob. “Peach pits? Positive imaging? No, girl, this is the only viable alternative. And in another few days, the process will be permanent. Irreversible.”
Cordelia stared back silently. Tears started to well. Finn trotted forward and extracted a Kleenex from his lab coat.
“The human being is still there,” said Wyungare. “But he is deep inside. He is a passenger in the alligator’s being.”
Cordelia honked into the tissue. “There has to be a way to get him back.”
“But he will die,” said Dr. Bob, as though belaboring the obvious to an audience of simpletons. "There’s got to be something,” said Cordelia. She added forlornly, “Maybe Uncle Jack wouldn’t want to go on living this way.”
“Easy enough for the young to say,” said Dr. Bob.
For a while they all stared at each other silently or at the floor. The great bulk of the alligator on the table shifted uneasily from time to time. The reptile breathed with an openmouthed snoring sound.
“You can go inside his head?” said Finn, inclining his chin at Jack.
Wyungare nodded.
“And deep?”
The Aborigine nodded again.
“Are you a shaman?” said Finn.
“That’s a label for others to assign,” said Wyungare.
“Then I suspect you are,” said Finn. He looked contemplative for a few moments. Then, apparently making up his mind, he said, “I think we all ought to adjourn to the cafeteria. I’ve got an idea.” He turned to Dr. Bob. “And you, I believe, have rounds to complete.”
“Oh, I can take a break,” said Dr. Bob, grinning.
“You have rounds,” said Finn firmly. He led Cordelia and Wyungare through the outside hail. The centaur followed up at the rear of the small procession. The black cat had stayed with his friend Jack. There could be no more faithful guardian, Wyungare thought.
“Do you know of Bloat?” Finn said over his shoulder to Wyungare.
“The fat boy?”
“Succinct.” Finn uttered a short laugh. “Yes, the fat boy. Think you could visit his head?”
Wyungare said, “I think I must.”
“Then yes,” said Finn, “we really do all need to talk.”
Zappa, the Turtle, and Hartmann were conferring on the first base line. Snotman stood with the other aces near the dugout and regarded Modular Man with wary intensity.
The Turtle and Hartmann would be paying a final visit to the Rox in a few hours to present an ultimatum and talk Governor Bloat and his people into surrendering. If they failed, the rest of the aces would be going in with the armed forces. Cyclone turned to Modular Man. “At least we’ve got a deadline now. They surrender by sundown or we take care of them.”
“Do you think they stand a chance?” the android asked.
“Against me they don’t stand a chance. Against all of this… ?” He grinned. “No jungle to hide in. No international borders to hide behind. No hostages. No chicken-shit politicians on their side — even Hartmann’s more worried about the political consequences of the Joker Republic than over the fate of these particular jokers themselves. And castles couldn’t stand up to artillery even in the Middle Ages, they’re not likely to start now, and in any case it’s not going to stand up to me. They may have a few surprises to throw our way, but it’s still going to be very one-sided.”
“I hope so.”
Cyclone looked over his shoulder at General Zappa. “That weirdo, though… I wonder why they picked him? He was with the Joker Brigade at Firebase Reynolds, and he said some things afterward … I got the impression he likes jokers too much.”