“Sa’matter, Mister?” he asked, taking a step closer to Justin, who took a corresponding, faltering step back. “All’a sudden, you don’t look so strack, hey? Are ya sick? You peoples don’t got the Sick, do ya?”
“The sick?” echoed Justin thickly, his brain shrilling alarm and thrashing uselessly at what he should be doing. “Oh, you mean the Plague? No, no, none of us is infected with plague.”
“Oh,” said Sharp “S’good. But still, Doc-o, you don’t look too good. Kinda pale-like, hey?”
“Just…” struggled Justin, “the heat, I think. I’m not used to it, you see.”
“Oh, I hear that, heh,” said Sharp, bobbing his head again. “This heat’s fit to fry yer brain-case, hey? But, hey, you lucky, heh? Y’all got that mongo fancy truck, got a generator goin’, maybe even some AC in there, hey?”
“Um…” Justin said, backing up. “Well, we represent the Center for Disease Control, as I said… and we, uh…”
“Disease control?” said the short black fellow Sharp had called Mellowman. “That’s a fuckin’ laugh-and-a-half! Disease control my fuckin’ ass!”
“Quiet,” Sharp told his colleague, not unkindly, and turned back to Justin. “So you is Feds, huh? Not so many o’ them left no more. But you still ain’t really said, hey? What are y’all doin’ out here, anyways?”
Justin thought madly of something good to say, some plausible lie. Then a thought occurred and he snatched at it and ran.
“I, uh, can’t talk right now, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to seem calm. “I have to see to Dr. Poole. He’s badly injured. He may need an operation.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Sharp, arching an eyebrow. “So you can do that, heh? All right in that truck?”
“Um, yes,” Justin allowed, backing away. “But now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Feeling the eyes of both the Bloodclaws and his comrades on him like heat lamps, he turned and, trying to walk slowly, headed back to the MedCenter. He was almost to the vehicle when Sharp called over and he stopped and turned back.
“Yes?” he asked, having to raise his voice to be heard.
“How long you gonna be with that?” called Sharp. “The operationing?”
“Well, uh,” said Justin, rubbing his neck, “I can’t exactly say. There may be complications.”
“You mean probs, hey?” Sharp said. “I hear that. Always probs, heh. But uh, don’t y’all take too long, right-up? I got somethin’ I wanna talkta y’all ‘bout. So uh, zoomy-zoom, hey?”
Justin blinked, both at the odd slang and the veiled threat, and nodded. Then he turned and, his legs weak and rubbery, climbed into the MedCenter. Erin Swails was there, just inside the door and, eyes wide with apprehension, she buttonholed Justin as he came in.
“What’s going on, Dr. Kaes?” she asked shakily. “What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Justin, scowling. “I’m not sure.”
“Oh,” said Swails, “I see. Well, uh, can I ask when exactly you might be sure? Just curious, you know? Because, uh, from the looks of those guys out there, they don’t exactly seem like patient, forbearing types.”
“I know,” said Justin, pushing past Swails gently. “I know that, alright? I just… I need to talk to someone.”
“Who, him?” said Swails, jerking her head toward the clean room. “Lampert? What do you wanna talk to him for? All he ever does is eat, sleep, and complain!”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Justin. “I know he can be difficult, but he is also a very wise and cunning old man. Now, if you please, I feel a need for haste.”
“Hey, by all means,” said Swails, giving him a strange, nonplussed sort of look. “If you think it’ll help…” And with a shrug, muttering softly, she retreated into her tiny com center.
Lampert was awake and sitting up when Justin came into the chamber and gave a crooked smile by way of greeting.
“So, Doc,” he said, “what’s the story? See anything interesting on your new pals out there?”
Justin frowned. “Yes,” he said darkly. “And I don’t think they’re any pals of ours. One of them was wearing a personal item of Dr. Michaels’. I’m sure of it.”
“Which means… ?” goaded the Old Man.
“That you are likely correct,” said Justin. “That these people attacked our away team. Very possibly, they killed them.”
“Bingo. And now what’re you gonna do? Before they decide they’ve had enough bullshit outta you and that it’s time to get serious, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” said Justin desperately. “After all, what can we do? We don’t have the wherewithal to fight them. We could still surrender, I suppose.”
“And what? Appeal to their kinder, gentler side? Naw, that’s out. Seriously, forget it. But here’s the deal Just In Case: when you get dealt a shit hand in poker, there’s only two things you can do—fold or bluff. And I don’t think you wanna fold, do ya?”
“As in give up?” asked Justin. “No, of course not.”
“Then ya gotta bluff,” said Lampert, lying back. “You gotta lie to ‘em. Scare ‘em off, see?”
“I could lie to them,” Justin nodded, “but as for scaring them off, how could we do that? What would scare people such as this?”
“Oh, lotsa stuff, I’d bet. They’re young, right? Mostly? In their teens, twenties?”
Justin nodded.
“Then they’re stupid,” Lampert concluded. “Easily bull-shitted. So let’s see… what would scare ‘em? Well, you could tell ‘em there’s a big-ass bomb in the truck and if they screw with you, you’ll blow ‘em all straight to hell. That might work. Oh, wait, I gotta better idea! Get this: just show me to ‘em! Tell ‘em I’m like, thirty years old but that I got some new kinda plague or somethin’. You know, really talk it up, how deadly it is and everything. That oughta scare ‘em!”
“Hmm,” said Justin, thinking. Both ideas seemed equally desperate and just as crazy, but on the whole, he preferred Lampert’s second plan, if only for the fact that it kept him in his element, as a physician, and away from any possible explanations about explosives or demolitions. And besides, to these kids, the Old Man’s wizened appearance would probably be frightening. On the other hand, it exposed Lampert to some not inconsiderable risk, something they’d very much tried to avoid, plus, he’d already told Sharp that none of them was infected. But maybe the threat of some new plague… Finally, he decided to chance it; what choice did they have?
“Alright,” he told the Old Man. “We’ll tell them that you’re a plague victim. That if they don’t clear out, they will be sure to catch, oh, let’s call it H5N3. And that we’re all infected with it. That should impress. Do you agree?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Lampert. “So should I come on outside or do you wanna bring ‘em in here for a visit?”
“Well,” Justin considered, “I would like to keep them out of the MedCenter if possible. The sight of all this high-tech gear might be more than they could resist. So, all in all, I think your coming outside would be the more advantageous. If you feel up to it, that is.”
“No problem,” said the Old Man, throwing aside the bedclothes. “Just get me some clothes, though, OK? I wanna scare these kids, not make ‘em die laughin’.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Justin, amazed all over again that someone so spindly and frail could actually get out of bed and walk around. “We’ll find you something.”
And so it was that Justin ushered the Old Man, baggily clad in someone else’s pants, shirt, and white lab coat, down from the vehicle and into the sunlight.