Marked Cards by George R. R. Martin
Clara broke off and unclenched her fists, disturbed by her own intensity. She fiddled with some papers on her desk.
Cody was watching her with that penetrating, speculative look again. Clara's outburst hung in the air between them like a bad smell.
"My mother died of the wild card when I was five," she explained. "It's given me strong feelings in the matter."
Cody's expression softened. "That stinks."
"So." It was Clara's turn to shrug. "I've dedicated my life to finding a way to loosen the wild card's grip on the human race."
Cody's gaze went again to the files and resource materials. "So you're here to expand your studies, then?"
Guilt made Clara's stomach muscles clench. "You might say. Obviously" - with a sweep of her hand encompassing the stacks of files - "I'm interested in Dr. Tachyon's work. But I'm also here to get a dose of reality. Make contact with the people the virus is affecting. Try to understand the disease on the human level."
The words tasted foul in her mouth. Nothing could be further from the truth; staying detached from the wild card's victims, keeping her perspective as clinical as possible, was critical. But the probing look on Cody's face had been replaced by one of compassion.
"I have some advice, if you'll hear it."
"Please."
Cody slouched in the chair and laced her fingers about her midsection. Her lab coat fell open. Beneath it she wore a cotton blouse, jeans, and short boots the same black as her eye patch. "With your background, I believe you have the potential to be a tremendous asset to this clinic. But you've already observed how nervous the staff is about you right now."
Clara thought of that joker physician, Finn. The centaur. A short laugh escaped her. "Bristling, more like."
"Granted. Some are angry. They wanted a joker administrator. It's nothing personal. Frankly, you must be aware of the sort of prejudice jokers are up against, and how defensive it can make them. So. My advice to you is, be the first to reach out. Let the staff know that you rely on them. Get involved. It's the only way you'll earn their trust. And it'll make your job a whole lot easier."
Clara looked the older woman over for a long moment. It would have been easy to feel condescended to, but something in Cody's easy manner penetrated Clara's reserve.
She nodded, thoughtfully. "I'll certainly consider your advice, Dr. Havero. Cody."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Once alone, she glanced at her watch. It was past midnight on the Continent. She'd probably wake him. With a wince, she picked up the phone and punched in an international number.
A series of clicks, as the call was relayed through several exchanges, then a man's voice said, "Hier ist Rudo."
The line hissed and crackled like water dropped on a hot skillet. Clara stuck a finger in her ear.
"Uncle Pan. I hope I didn't wake you."
"PC! Not at all. I am unfortunately all too busy these days; sleep is low on my list of priorities. I understand that you're official now. How has your first week been? How is your research proceeding?"
"Well." Clara cleared her throat. "That's why I'm calling. I have a bit of a problem. Apparently some anti-wild carders have been picketing the Jokertown Clinic, and it's interfering with my research. A demonstration is planned for next week. I wonder if there's anything you could do to stop it?"
"Hmm. That's too soon for me to be able to do much."
"I was afraid of that."
"As you know, it could be viewed as rather counterproductive to interfere with the demonstrations."
So. The demonstrations were being orchestrated by someone in the organization.
"I think I understand your difficulty," she said slowly. "My problem is, the Clinic's trustees are divided over my appointment - I was appointed over the head of a popular joker physician, and a couple of the Board members are looking for any excuse to get rid of me. So I can't afford to look like I'm not doing my job. And the more hassles I have to deal with here, the less time I'll have for my own research back at the UN lab."
"I see. So perhaps, strategically, it would be wise to take the heat off the Clinic for a while."
"Exactly. If you could at least pull some strings so that we can get the local police out to keep things under control - "
"I'll make some calls."
"Thanks."
An awkward pause ensued. "Have you spoken to your father yet?"
"No." It came out a bit too sharply.
"I'm not trying to pressure you."
The hell you're not, Clara thought, and then felt ashamed.
"I know how much you adore your father, and how confused his attitude must make you feel."
Clara wiped away a truant tear. "I'm a grown woman, Pan, and a scientist. My father's choices have done nothing to confuse my own. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that in mind."
It felt better, not calling him uncle.
She thought she could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, amid the pops and hisses.
"I'm glad to hear it," he said finally. Another pause. "Talk to him, Clara. You're the only one who can reach him now, and we need him."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The woman's hand resting on his was moist and puffy - compared to the grip of most jokers it was a positive pleasure. What wasn't a pleasure was the state of her unborn baby, and the war which was being waged between her body, the baby, and the wild card. The mother's card wasn't that bad. Her eyes were set wide into her head, and three strange, antenna-like protrubances grew from each temple. She was also not a citizen of Jokertown. She was a happily married woman from Syracuse, but the hospitals and doctors in her home town had refused to afford her pre-natal care, or deliver the baby. She and her husband had come seeking help at Jokertown's Jokertown Clinic.
And we're falling down on the job, thought Finn. With each passing day it became less and less likely this baby would ever reach term. Her puffy hand tightened, giving his a quick squeeze.
"Doctor?" The unspoken question hung in the air.
Finn's bedside manner was not quite as brutal as his predecessor, Tachyon's, had been, but he didn't believe in lying to patients.
"The blood workup doesn't look good, Maggie. I've been talking to some specialists ..." The flow of words stuttered briefly as a new, novel, and annoying thought intruded. He resumed. "And while they've got some ideas, we're a long way from answers."
"Jimmy and I, we really want this baby. We can't adopt because ... because." The pain and humiliation showed in her face.
"Yeah, I know. We'll do something."
Out in the corridor he stood for several seconds; wrestled with his pride. It wasn't all that close a battle, his ego weighed against a baby's life ... no contest, but he dreaded the coming interview, and what if she refused?
Up two floors to that implacably closed door. Finn knocked, entered on her invitation. She wore reading glasses, and they looked good on her. Instead of making her look bookish they somehow softened the lines of that long face, and made her look cute. There was the usual brief struggle with her features, which she mostly won.
"Yes?"
"Thought I'd give you a chance to act like a doctor," said Finn.
"I am a doctor." The words were so icy they could have cut.
"Practicing is a usual component in that description." There was the briefest flare of pain in those green eyes, and Finn both exulted and felt guilty that he had scored a hit. The guilt won out, and he offered an olive branch. "I also really need your expertise on the genetic front."
Her interest was piqued, and Finn shook his head over the researcher's mind.
"What's the situation?" van Renssaeler asked, and Finn outlined it as best he could.
He concluded by saying, "She is a joker, but she doesn't look ... well, real jokerish, so you - " He realized he was about to commit a real major social faux pas, and he cut off abruptly.
"So I what?" van Renssaeler asked softly.
They matched stares for what felt like se
"So you won't be too disgusted by her appearance," Finn finally said.
For an instant van Renssaeler kept her poker face, then the facade crumbled. "I try to hide it," she said softly.
"You don't succeed."
He held the door for her, and tried not to care when she used all available space to avoid contact.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
They stopped at the nurses' station to pick up the woman's chart. Clara scanned it swiftly, with Finn standing by. She saw from the amino results that the fetus was a carrier, a girl. The joker mother was twenty-three weeks along - too early for the baby to have any real chance if they went in after her.
Clara studied the blood test results, and shook her head.
"Looks bad. Her T-cell count is way up. It looks as though the mother's immune system has identified the fetus as an invader, and is trying to destroy her."
"No shit."
She frowned and ignored the sarcasm in Finn's tone. "I see you've already tried Cyclosporin."
Her remark seemed to irritate him. "Yeah. Believe it or not, we have a few competent physicians on our staff."
She pinched her nose with a sigh. "I didn't say otherwise, Dr. Finn."
After scribbling a few notes on the woman's chart, Clara handed it to him. "I'd like to order some special tests. Have two hundred cc's of blood drawn and sent to the address I've written here. If you would," she added, to temper the edge on her tone.
"It's my own lab," she added at his raised eyebrows. "My other lab. They can run some highly specialized tests and find out exactly how the mother's immune system is attacking the fetus. Some experimental, genetically engineered immunosuppressants are currently under development in the leukemia and organ transplant fields. And I have contacts at Sloan-Kettering, where a big research project is underway. I expect I can get this woman access to one of their drug testing programs."
"I don't think so," Finn said. "Maggie has been denied insurance coverage. Her wild card was a 'pre-existing condition.' They can't afford a lot of expensive medical tests and medicines."
"Not a problem. I have a grant to study the wild card. I can justify the tests somehow as part of the lab's research. And the drugs will be experimental, so as a volunteer - if she agrees to try the drugs - she won't be charged."
A flicker of something less than hostile passed behind Finn's eyes. "You've got it."
Finn handed the chart to the nurse on duty, a severely deformed joker whose rubberized flesh was peeling off in long strips. Clara avoided looking at him too closely. He emanated so much heat that even four feet away it warmed her face and hands; and he smelled horrible, too, like burning rubber and bile.
It struck her that despite his jokerdom, at least Finn was pleasing to look at. He looked more like the fantastical creatures her mother read to her about when she was little, with his large brown eyes, prominent cheekbones and forehead, tawny hair and flanks. And he had a not-unpleasant smell - vaguely musky, like a horse, though not in any sense overpowering. Whether it was a nervous habit, or because he was angry with her, his tail kept twitching and flicking around his legs. Occasionally a hoof would lift and scrape a leg; his flanks quivered. The horsey mannerisms were familiar to her from her school days, not at all off-putting.
But even though he was by no means repulsive, being around him made her break into a cold sweat.
And Finn rescued her from thinking too well of him by saying, with a challenging gaze, "Perhaps you should examine the patient, while you're at it."
Cody Havero's words of the day before came back to her. Earn their trust.
Fear clutched at her. She clamped down hard on the feeling and gestured down the hall. "Lead the way, doctor."
The look of mild surprise on his face - he had so clearly expected her to refuse - almost made the coming ordeal worth it.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The woman's name was Maggie Felix. Finn had been right; she wasn't too bad to look at. Finn introduced Clara, explained that she was a leading immunologist, and then stepped back as Clara moved around him to the head of the bed.
Maggie answered Clara's questions eagerly, with mingled fear and hope in her exotic, insectoid eyes. Her antennae quivered and, as she spoke, her hands stroked the swell of her belly as if to protect the baby from her own immune system. Beside her, her husband gently stroked her hair. His eyes, too, were filled with expectations.
Clara tried to avoid looking too closely at the woman, focusing on the man's gaze instead. The walls seemed to lean inward, and Finn was blocking her way out the door.
"Why is this happening?" Maggie asked. "Why is my body trying to kill my baby?"
It was a question Clara could handle. She put on her best clinical manner.
"It's nothing you could possibly prevent. The wild card has given you a powerful immune system. It has identified the fetus inside you as foreign genetic material - which indeed it is - and the usual mechanisms that keep a mother's body from attacking the fetus aren't strong enough to contend with your charged-up immune system. So." Clara shrugged. "We'll find a way to trick it. Or disable it, temporarily. At least enough so that your body's natural mechanisms for protecting your baby have a fighting chance."
That made the woman cry. Clara stood there, embarrassed. She knew what it was to want a child; she herself planned to visit a sperm bank, if the right man didn't come along in the next couple of years. But this baby was a carrier. Mother and child would die when Clara's virus was released.
But what was wrong with giving them a chance at a little happiness in the meantime? More importantly, this would give her a chance to expand her knowledge of wild card immunology.
Finn left, pleading other responsibilities. Clara promised the couple she'd do what she could and then went back to her office to call the lab and tell her people what tests she wanted them to run. This promised to be an interesting challenge. One she could really sink her teeth into.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
What a difference a puzzle can make, thought Finn as he leaned on the front desk, and watched Clara go pelting past with this intent look on her long face. He also realized that he had used her first name. Change on both fronts.
A conversation going on between Mrs. Chicken-Foot and Puddle Man suddenly intruded.
"I think all these riots are being caused by these Sharks," the receptionist was saying.
"Chickie, that's like blaming the Sharks for bad weather. The Sharks are big. Much bigger than Jokertown. They're rich, powerful. They don't care about riots in Jokertown. That Durand hinted they were up to something big before they spirited her away."
"The government doesn't want people to know they've been manipulated," Chickie said.
"No," Finn heard himself say. "People don't have to be manipulated to hate. They just come by it naturally."
"Then you don't believe in the Sharks?" Puddle Man asked.
"Does it matter?" Finn shot back. "The results are the same. Coming through the doors of the emergency room." He remembered trying to save Bjorn, trying to inform Anne, Zoe, someone that he had died. Learning they were in Jerusalem, and remembered hating them for running.
His bleak memories were shattered by a faint, dry hissing, and Finn turned to greet all sixteen feet of Joan as she came slithering down the hall. Against the faded white of the linoleum tiles her scales had taken on rich gold and bronze tones.
"Hello, darlings." She didn't notice when she slithered right through Puddles. The joker noticed however. The water formed itself into a whirling dervish of liquid, and coiled and caressed Joan's length.
"Thanks, Joan, that's the closest I've come to an orgasm in twenty years."
Color like pale rubies glowed in the scales on her cheeks. The cobra's head closed briefly across her face like a veil. Muted, from behind the scaly skin, "Puds, you're awful!"
Puddles let out a watery chuckle, beaded and rolled away. Joan reared up three feet, opened her cobra's hood in greeting, and Finn
"How was Jamaica?" asked Chickie.
"Perfectly sybaritic, my dears. The scritch of sand on my scales, and all that lovely, lovely heat. I think Perry has finally reluctantly realized that if he wants the pleasure of my scintillating conversation we mustn't take skiing vacations to Colorado. Having a reptile's metabolism plays merry hell with my sex life."
Listening to this cheerful, inconsequential burble delivered in Joan's rich alto seemed to help ease the tension knot which had settled at the base of Finn's neck. Joan had that quality to make people feel that all was well, and if you ever had a doubt, why, "Darling, how foolish, things can only get better."
"So tell me all the news. Of course you got the job," Joan said, and the resulting stab of pain reminded Finn that maybe he hadn't dealt with his anger and disappointment, merely buried it.
He couldn't speak, and after several uncomfortable seconds of Mrs. Chicken-Foot clucking mournfully to herself, the sounds resolved themselves into words, and the secretary said, "No, they hired a nat."
"Oh, Bradley, darling."
Finn shrugged. "Feces occur."
"You should quit."
"And go where, Joan? In the current climate I can't get a job in a nat hospital, and I'm damned if I'm going to move to Vietnam or Guatemala or Jerusalem. I'm an American, I'm not going to be driven out of my own country."
"Who is this person?"
"Clara van Renssaeler." Joan stiffened "Yeah, nice bit of irony, isn't it? Especially since she can't stand jokers."
"Is she ... around?"
"Just down the hall. Room 112."
"Bradley's finally got her working with patients. Well, one patient," Chickie amended.