Laughing Wolf Page 3

  “Beneath my ERR, I’m afraid,” Stephen whispered.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “There’s something inside me. It’s about to explode.”

  “What’s inside you? You look kind of pale.”

  “It’s too late. It’s taking over ….”

  Slumping forward, he exposed the whites of his eyes. The shuttle halted and a whistle sounded.

  “Honoured passengers,” the auto-steward spoke, “InterCity Services regrets to inform you that Shuttle 947, from Toronto to Rome, is experiencing five medical crises on board. A Medevac will dock with us in seven seconds and convey affected passengers to a nearby Health Facility. Shuttle 947 will then return to the main depot. All g-force pods have been hermetically sealed and will disengage on the completion of our disinfectant protocols. We apologize …”

  Before the steward could finish its announcement, each Teledata screen displayed a message in bold letters: “Stay tuned for a broadcast from our Global President.” A countdown appeared. One minute and ten seconds, nine, eight, seven …

  The shuttle trembled slightly. A ceiling panel above Stephen opened and a Flexbot arm shot into the cabin. Before Felix had a chance to address him, his pod was hoisted into an Evac-tube. Felix glimpsed his face and almost flinched in horror: normal just moments before, it was covered now with blood-red blisters. And his fingertips looked like they’d been steeped in red ink.

  … Thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty …

  And Stephen wasn’t the only one affected. Two seats behind him a man had toppled over, and a well-dressed lady further down was crumpled up, with a Portadoc lying on its side by her feet. Flexbots were busy removing them as well.

  … Twelve, eleven, ten …

  Felix thought his heart would explode. What was happening? Why had all these people fainted? What did their blisters and red fingertips mean? Were they dying? Was it his turn next …?

  … Three, two, one …

  As soon as the countdown expired, a face filled his screen — as well as every other screen on board the shuttle. Felix recognized Sajit Gupta at once, three-time president of the World Federation. A handsome man with a friendly manner, President Gupta was subdued at that moment.

  “My fellow citizens,” he spoke in a sober tone, “I’m afraid I have worrying news to deliver. Five days ago a virus came to our attention, a strain our immunologists had never seen. The Federation wasn’t concerned, but quarantined its victims and set to work on finding a vaccine. Now, four days later, the virus has infected millions. A mere three people have died so far, but the rest are ill and require hospitalization. As far as any vaccine is concerned, I regret to say it has eluded us still …”

  Felix gasped. This was even worse than he’d imagined.

  “In an effort to contain this virus, my government has published a decree that prohibits citizens from traveling at large. We insist that you remain inside your homes, monitor your health at six-hour intervals, and obey the authorities should you suffer infection. All transportation has been cancelled forthwith, and this ban includes all off-world traffic. Failure to comply with these rules will result in arrest and immediate detention.”

  There was a bump as the shuttle returned to its moorings. Felix’s g-pod opened, but he didn’t move. He lacked the strength to budge from that spot.

  “My dear citizens, over the last hundred years we have conquered hunger, war, and most diseases. Science has served us well in the past, and I feel confident it will rescue us again. In the meantime, I beg you to remain optimistic. We will eliminate this plague but we must trust in our reason. As always I wish you the best blessings I can think of, peace, rationality and constructive thoughts.”

  The president waved and the screen went blank. Immediately, an alarm bell rang and the steward ordered passengers to leave by the closest exit. A line of people shuffled down the aisle, quietly, calmly, betraying no fear. As Felix watched them and wrestled with his panic, he envied them their ERR. It’s too bad his father was opposed … His father! Felix leaped to his feet. Was his dad still at home or had he left for work? He’d looked frail and tired the day before and Felix prayed this didn’t mean … Running down the aisle, he exited the shuttle.

  The scene that confronted him in the station was ghastly. A good dozen people had collapsed to the tiles and a line of Service Units was hauling them off. A girl kept repeating she wanted to stay, but the machines had their orders and were deaf to her pleas. An older man was crawling on all fours, in an effort to escape the units’ cold touch. Auto-ushers were everywhere and escorting commuters to their destinations.

  The lineups at the Portals were maddeningly long. People were standing a distance from each other and covering their mouths with anything at hand — handkerchiefs, socks, baseball caps. Without warning, a woman in front of Felix fainted and the crowd instantly stepped away. They were a frightening sight with their impassive eyes and strips of fabric concealing their faces. A second person dropped, then another and another. Felix was half breathless with terror when at last he reached the head of the line.

  “Destination please,” a voice asked politely, as if this day were just like any other.

  “Area 2, Sector 4, Building 9,” Felix panted, shuddering as a lady sprouted blisters before his eyes.

  “Processing,” the voice announced. Then, an eternity later, “Please advance.”

  He almost laughed, the change was so abrupt. One moment he was being hemmed in by death; the next he was standing in front of his building and a warm sun was caressing him. He almost convinced himself he’d escaped the disaster, when he spied a figure immediately before him: half the man’s body was sprawled on the pathway, while half was lying on the manicured lawn. The victim was dressed in a black Zacron suit and was clutching a book that was bound in blue leather, his fingertips a telltale scarlet. The face was turned away, but Felix knew who it was.

  “Dad!” he screamed, hastening forward.

  “Don’t approach him!” a voice called from above. “You’ll get yourself infected. Besides, a Medevac will be here soon.”

  Ignoring this advice, Felix ran to his father. He was very still, didn’t seem to be breathing and his face was disfigured with disquieting blisters. Just as Felix was assuming the worst, Mr. Taylor opened his eyes and managed a faint smile.

  “Fili mi. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “Don’t speak. Save your strength.”

  “Felix. Listen closely. We’ve seen this plague before. Aceticus describes it.”

  “Shh,” Felix soothed him, thinking he was confused. “A Medevac is on the way.”

  Sure enough there was a buzzing overhead and, above the treetops, a Medevac swooped near. As it hovered closer, Felix glanced into its cockpit: the sight of the auto-drive was deeply unnerving.

  “Felix?”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “It’s all in there,” his father wheezed, motioning to the book by his side. “Read it carefully. It might prove useful.”

  “The Medevac’s above us,” Felix said.

  “We survived the plague once, and we can survive it again if —”

  “This is Medevac OS3201,” an automated voice announced, cutting Mr. Taylor off. As the vehicle hovered fifty feet above the ground, a panel opened and released a one-man stretcher that descended on a trio of miniature jets. Felix didn’t like the look of this contraption: with its transparent cover and retractable arms, whose ends were equipped with metal grapplers, it resembled more a beast of prey than a medical contrivance.

  “Felix,” his father whispered. His voice was growing weaker.

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “You’ve made me proud. I’m lucky to have had a son like you.”

  “Don’t give up. The doctors will help ….”

  “Step aside from the patient,” the voice declared. The stretcher was only four feet off the ground and was casting a shadow over Mr. Taylor. Already both its arms were extended. Felix shifted slightly, to accommodate t
he stretcher, but continued clutching his father.

  “Read Aceticus,” he gasped. His eyes were fluttering shut.

  “I will. And when you return —”

  “Puer mi, this is serious …”

  “You’ll get better. Mom will return and —”

  “Remember me!” his father cried.

  The stretcher had landed. With mechanical efficiency, its arms seized hold of Mr. Taylor and lifted his body onto the mattress. Two bands of metal secured him in place.

  “Remember me!” his father repeated, squeezing his son one final time. He then fainted and his hand slipped from Felix’s fingers. There was a pneumatic hiss as the cover drew closed. Before Felix could speak, the stretcher started to rise.

  “Don’t go!” Felix cried. “I want to stay with my father!”

  “Remain still please,” a voice addressed him.

  Felix had to cover his eyes. A pulsing light passed over his body and seemed to ignite his internal organs, as if the beam were entering every one of his cells. For a moment Felix couldn’t breathe — he felt he was drowning in a pool of sunlight. Then the blaze quickly vanished and he opened his eyes.

  “Our probes show you are uninfected,” the voice said. “This vehicle is reserved for patients who are ill.”

  “My father needs me! He’ll be lonely by himself …!”

  “Transport regulations cannot be broken.”

  “Then tell me where you’re taking him!”

  “Consult Health Services for that information.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Wait! Don’t go!”

  But the stretcher was inside the vessel now. And once its egress had been resealed, the craft rose quickly and fired its thrusters. A moment later it had disappeared.

  Felix was dumbfounded. His father was … gone. When would he see him? He wasn’t going to …?

  A noisy buzzing interrupted his thoughts. A second Medevac passed and paused above a nearby building. Dozens were now visible — they seemed to occupy the heavens. In the downtown area a siren was blaring.

  Felix stirred himself. Retrieving his father’s blue book, he shot into their building and raced past the entrance. In the lobby he ignored a man who was prostrate on the tiles and being “prepped” by a Personal Servant. He held his breath as he rode a Vacu-lift and hurried down a hallway and paused before a security scan. And when he was safe inside the dwelling, he directed Mentor to bolt the doors and windows. Still not satisfied with these precautions, he ran to his bedroom and hid under the blankets.

  And still he was sure that Death was lurking in the shadows.

  Chapter Four

  “Felix?’

  “Yes?”

  “It is five minutes to three.”

  “So?”

  “You must step inside the Health Cell.”

  “You can’t scan me with your sensors?”

  “We have discussed that already. My sensors cannot screen for the virus.”

  Felix scowled. It had been two weeks since his father’s collapse and the president’s announcement of a global crisis. In that interval, the plague had spread so widely that the sick by far outnumbered the healthy.

  Everything had changed. In keeping with the president’s edict, all shuttles had been grounded, all Portals had been closed, and it was forbidden to stray outdoors or even open a window. That morning Felix had logged onto the WSRS (World Satellite Reconnaissance System) and inspected cities across the globe. Each had been abandoned: in New York, London, Hong Kong, and Nairobi the main streets had been empty, except for the occasional cat or dog. It was as if the planet were one gigantic … graveyard.

  “Felix, it is now two minutes to three.”

  “Remind me why I need to be examined.”

  “Failure to submit to examination …

  “Will result in immediate incarceration. So?”

  “Please, Felix. I understand you are troubled, but you must remain focused.”

  Felix frowned from his perch on a couch. Ten days earlier he’d contacted the World Health Service — it had taken him over a week to get through — to inquire about his father’s condition. After obtaining his father’s serial number, an auto-clerk had told him that Eric Taylor, citizen 967597102-364, had succumbed to his illness. “You mean he’s dead?” Felix had asked, his knees almost buckling. Advising him to supplement his ERR with “grief downloads,” the auto-clerk had disconnected.

  Since then Felix had barely stirred from the couch.

  “Felix, I must insist.”

  “Are you sure it’s time?”

  “My internal clock is 99.99999763% accurate. I am off by approximately one second every century. This means it is most assuredly three p.m.”

  “I’m sorry, Mentor. I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

  “There is no need to apologize. But please hurry to the Health Cell. If you fail to activate its program as required, I will be forced to notify the Health Authorities.”

  “Fine,” Felix relented. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

  With a sigh, he left the couch. Part of him was tempted to break the rules and be late for his “appointment.” So what if the authorities hauled him off? Would incarceration be so terrible, now that his father … his father …

  He winced. It pained him to consider that their lessons together, their exchanges in the garden, their jokes in Latin that no else could grasp, were hopelessly shattered and would never return.

  “It is one minute to three.”

  “Stop pestering me, Mentor. I’m almost there.”

  “I am safeguarding your welfare, Felix. Your mother would be angry if you were arrested through my negligence.”

  “There. I’m in the Health Cell. You can activate the scan.”

  As the panel on the Health Cell closed, and its ion shower started to glow, Felix wondered when he’d hear from his mother. Because the president had cancelled all off-world flights, Mrs. Taylor was on Ganymede still. The interference, too, had been bad in recent days and communicating with her was out of the question. After learning of his father’s death, Felix had been able to send a short message, informing his mother of the horrible news. She had been able to answer, but her transmission had been brief: “Felix, be brave. Your father was so proud of you. I’ll be home as soon as the travel ban is lifted. Try to endure. I love you very —”

  Every time Felix replayed this message, he tried to catch his mother’s tears — on the hologram they resembled beads of liquid glass.

  “I’m pleased to inform you that your Health Cell scan is negative. You bear no trace of the virus.”

  “Can I come out now?”

  “Yes. Your next test is scheduled for nine p.m. I will of course inform you in advance of this appointment.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Felix?”

  “No. You detect loneliness, worry, and sadness, Mentor.”

  Besides Mentor, Felix had no one to talk to. There were his relatives — in Ireland, Israel and Malaysia — but they weren’t answering his holograms, a sign they too had been afflicted with the plague. He had no friends because of his strange interests, but even if they had existed, the chances were they would have fallen ill. The plague was sparing no one, and it was only a matter of time before it hit him, too.

  Felix started pacing. As he shuffled from his bedroom to the central hall, he passed the door to his father’s study. Normally he would have closed his eyes — he hadn’t dared enter this room since his dad’s disappearance — but a peculiar odor brought him to a stop. It was a strange smell, sharp, but not unpleasant. Where was it coming from? After hesitating briefly, Felix crossed the threshold.

  Things were as his father had left them, the books, the pens and paper (who else wrote with a pen?), the Latin dictionary, the magnifying glass, the leather-bound armchair, the old Roman coins. And … oh. A glass of wine was resting on his desk. Was this the source of that penetrating odour?

  Felix drew
closer. He ran his hand along the desk’s smooth surface and installed himself in its throne-like chair. The room was thick with his father’s presence and Felix half expected him to walk in at that moment. Being careful not to disturb anything, he leaned forward and sniffed the contents of the glass.

  It was the source of the smell. Over time, the wine had turned to vinegar, hence the sour, pungent aroma. Felix smiled. “Vinegary,” Aceticus, was the author of the book that his father had been reading …

  His smile faded. He recalled his father’s statement, how the book had something to say about the plague. “It’s all in there,” he’d murmured, motioning to the tome. At the time Felix had been too scared to pay attention, but he wondered now what his father had meant. He exited the study with a purposeful step.

  “Would you like a game of chess?”

  “Not now, Mentor. I’m looking for a book.”

  “What book would that be?”

  “Aceticus’s Historiae. It’s thin and bound in dark blue leather.”

  “It is on the table next to the entrance.”

  “Thank you, Mentor. That’s very helpful.”

  Felix ran to the front door and, yes, the book was there. Caressing it, he remembered with a pang how he’d seen it last in his father’s hands. He opened it slowly to a page with a bookmark — the paper was yellow and dusty with age.

  A paragraph jumped out at him.

  The book almost slipped from his fingers. Stumbling to the couch on legs as weak as jelly, he fumbled with the book and read the passage over.

  He shook his head in disbelief. Turning back three pages, he read their contents, too, studying every sentence with painstaking care. At one point he consulted a Latin lexicon, to check the exact meaning of a couple of words.

  An hour passed. Mentor suggested that he eat something but Felix replied he wasn’t a bit hungry. An hour later Mentor spoke again, but Felix shrugged him off.

  When the old clock in the dining room struck six, Felix put the book away. He’d read the Latin ten times over and still couldn’t believe the story it told. No wonder the text had absorbed his father. “Lupus ridens,” he murmured to himself.