“I heard you say curare, doctor — is that not a poison?”
Markley nodded. “Yes, it’s the same stuff they use on arrows in South America. But it has a very important medical use — it can paralyze a person so that he cannot make the slightest movement. That is what I have just done to her. By keeping her totally still, it stops the spasms and prevents the disease from literally tearing her apart. If we are very lucky, the disease may burn itself out. If that happens, she can recover.”
“For how long must she lie so still?”
“Possibly two weeks — or three.”
“Can she endure that?”
Markley hesitated to answer the question despite the fact that it was a reasonable one. But it was sure to arise again. “I think so. Essentially the same technique has saved patients with tetanus, and the spasms produced by that disease are unendurable. Most of the time she should be unconscious, which will help immensely. The only alternative, according to present knowledge, is to let her die.”
Thorlund nodded slowly. “Then I say that you have done the right thing. I go now to pray for her.”
“We all will,” Markley said. He went back to his desk, knowing beyond any question that he had taken the only step that he possibly could, but he would nevertheless worry every minute until his little patient had been put on the Bennett and it had taken over the essential job of respirating her body. The small portable machine that was already at work would be able to do the job for a little while, but it had been designed for short use only and its capability was limited to a few hours.
He could safely go and get his interrupted lunch now, but he had lost his appetite. Bowditch was looking at him. “I prescribe some medicinal spirits,” the surgeon said.
“I’ll think about it,” Markley answered.
Frank Tilton, the Information Officer, was keeping up to date on everything, which was his job. Consequently, he happened to be the one who put a call in to Weather just in time to receive a considerable jolt. Angelo, the forecaster, spoke to him only briefly; he was intensely busy. “It looked all right until above five minutes ago,” he said. “New data has come in and I’m drawing a fresh map right now.”
“Which means what?”
“We have a strong storm inbound; it came out of nowhere and it’s gaining rapidly. We’ll probably have a Phase One shortly.”
“Can a Twin Otter fly through that?”
“Probably, if it doesn’t get any worse. No guarantees right now on anything. That’s it. Good-bye.”
Tilton hung up, crossed the hallway, and asked to see the colonel. Seconds later he was in the commander’s office, where he passed on the fresh information he had just been given. Colonel Kleckner listened and then immediately called Det. 4. “It’s a new ball game,” he said. “There’s an inbound storm that’s picking up speed and it could be severe. Sondrestrom is also in bad shape. I suggest that you put your unit on alert status, just in case.”
“Yes, sir — immediately.”
“Thank you.” The colonel hung up. “Get me Mike Kane,” he directed. The Transportation Officer answered that summons promptly and stood waiting for orders. “Has transportation been laid on for the incoming medical people and their equipment?” Kleckner asked.
“Yes, sir, it has.”
“Good. I understand that the Otter is bringing a respirator that’s urgently needed. Find out from Captain Markley how big it is and have enough people there to handle it.”
“That’s been done, sir. Everything is set up to be in position forty-five minutes before the final ETA. I’ll be there myself to see that there aren’t any hitches.”
“Very good,” the colonel said. “Notify me immediately of any changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Base Operations called to advise that Jolly Two had returned from Kanak with the parents and family of Bebiane Jeremiassen. It had been another rough trip, but not as bad as last time. The Eskimos had accepted the helicopters as part of their cultural environment; with stoic immobility the Jeremiassens had ridden in it toward the military hospital where their daughter lay. Thorlund was there to meet them, and he surprised them with the news that the girl was still alive — they had known about the consequences of rabies long before the air base had been built. When he explained that special people and equipment were en route from Godthaab solely to help her, they were stunned and grateful. They had not dared to hope for so much. Dr. Pedersen, who spoke their language fluently, had prepared them for the worst.
In Operations, word came in from Sondrestrom: despite repeated calls on several frequencies, they had not been able to raise the Otter. Undoubtedly, due to weather conditions the plane had been flying close to the surface of the ice cap, consequently there was no radar contact. Sondrestrom further advised that weather there was in phase condition and the field had been closed to anything but emergency landings. Blind broadcasts with that information had been put out to the Otter on all frequencies that the aircraft would be likely to be guarding. It had been assumed that the pilot had experienced transmitter failure, something that usually managed to happen at the most inconvenient times possible.
Thule went on-the-air directly. There had been no contact with the Otter, but that had not been a cause of concern. A number of calls went out on all likely frequencies, including 121.5, which is internationally reserved for emergency use. There was no response whatever. When it had been determined that two-way communications could not be established, a special blind weather broadcast was put out and repeated several times. The pilot was also asked to climb to a higher altitude, if possible, so that the 360-degree radar at J site could obtain a fix.
The door to the operations room opened and Colonel Kleckner came in. “What have you got?” he asked. Before the NCOIC could answer him, the PA system called for attention. Phase One was declared. The colonel picked up a phone and called Weather. Because he was the colonel, he got through immediately. “Exactly how bad is it?” he asked.
“Definitely Phase Two is coming, sir. Right now we’re damn glad that the Jolly is back in the barn. It looks bad for the Otter.”
“Any chance of it letting up in the next hour or so?”
“Sir, I doubt it very much. This whole system came up right out of nowhere and we still don’t know its extent. Sondrestrom is socked in; Alert is still open.”
“I don’t think the Otter could make it that far,” the colonel said. “What’s the latest map that you have?”
“Fifteen minutes old.”
“I’m coming in to see it.”
In the weather section the colonel studied the fresh weather map and then all of the available sequences. When he had done so, he was in full agreement with the forecasting staff. He went back into the operations section, called his headquarters, and declared an emergency alert. All personnel and equipment with rescue assignments or capability were ordered on standby.
The word was immediately passed to J Site; the radar center responded by putting its own Trackmasters and crews on alert status. The huge antenna that normally patrolled the hundreds of objects known to be in space, both artificial satellites and space debris, abandoned that vital duty and, dropping low, sent its powerful beam out over the ice cap. It swept across and back over a considerable arc, but no target return showed on any of the scopes.
The terminal was comfortably filled by the men who had been summoned to transport the medical personnel and the respirator to the hospital. Lieutenant Kane kept them there, awaiting some word that would allow him to make an intelligent decision. The ETA that was posted on the board crept closer. When it passed, the NCO on duty erased it and carefully printed in the word OPEN.