“How much time do we have”

“Hard to tell. These bugs are genetically designed to fail without exactly the right ingredients, but given the mixture of microbes and varying substrates available here, I couldn’t begin to predict when or what form that failure will take.”

“But you’re sure they’ll fail.”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence. “Give me your best estimate of how much time we’ve got.”

“A week? It depends on what we get down the line.” All it would take, was one big spill… “I can’t believe Hepple’s done this.”

“Oh, he’s probably got some very plausible-sounding reasons.” She sounded vicious.

“Then you’ll need to go over his head.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard. Meanwhile…” I started pulling down all the slates, feeling about on the shelf. Empty.

“If it’s the manual you’re looking for, I’ve got it. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I knew Hepple was up to something. I just didn’t know what. I decided to prepare for disaster.”

I felt foolish for underestimating her.

She read my expression and gave me a tight, amused look. “What do you know about emergency and evacuation procedures here?”

“Not much.” Which is why I’d wanted to take another look at that manual.

“We’ve got just about enough sets of emergency escape breathing apparatus, if you include the SCBAs and the moon suits. But I haven’t had the chance to check them and find out if they’re properly maintained. And I don’t know how many of the shift know how to use them. Which is why I need you. I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but I’ll use you if I can.”

I took the manual home. There were two messages waiting. The first was from Ruth; she was smiling. “Hope you enjoyed the dinner the other day. Let us know when and we’ll come and help you redecorate.”

The second was Spanner: “It’s just before midnight. I’m on my way out. I should have the money we need by morning. I’ll call you.”

I ate, and opened the manual at random. I would not worry about Spanner and I would not feel guilty that it was her taking the risks. I would not.

After an hour or so, I pushed the manual aside. Rules and regulations were not enough to distract me from how Spanner might be earning the money for our scam. She chose to take the risks, I told myself. It was she who had suggested the scam in the first place. I was doing my part, too.

Maybe she was back already, safe. I called. No reply.

I turned on the edit box. Tom appeared on the screen. If I wasn’t going to get any sleep, I might as well do something useful.

At six in the morning I was playing the short video of Tom over and over again, obsessively. I called Spanner’s number for the tenth time. Nothing. I ran the video again. By the magic of digital imaging, Tom stood at a slide pole, looking bewildered; faced the image of his bank-account representative and wept; threw a book against the wall in frustration. Text drifted across the pictures: You can help. Send money now. The account numbers would be inserted later, when I got them from Spanner.

I tried her number again.

I had started out taking notes: shave a frame here, a pan there; add a zoom focus and fade. Now I was just watching, over and over.

It was after seven. This time when there was no reply from Spanner, I knew there was something wrong.

There were no lights shining around Spanner’s door seal; no reply to my knock. I tried the handle. It swung open.

“Spanner?”

No reply. I went in.

“Spanner?”

No one in the living room. I put my head in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, and stopped abruptly.

She was standing very still by the kitchen counter, profile to the window. “I was worried to death! Why didn’t you-”

She turned her head very, very slowly.

“Oh, dear god.” She tried to smile and I felt my face stiffen in shock. I reached out to hold her, support her, but stopped short of touching her; She was standing rigidly and her face was a grayish, doughy color. Pain. Pain would do that.

“Is the medic’s number on your system? No, don’t try to nod. Just… just blink if the answer’s yes.” She blinked. I raced into the living room, punched in his number. It was his service. I told him to get here right away, then, worried I might be garbling my words in shock, told him everything all over again. I ran back into the kitchen. Spanner was still standing there, helpless.

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch you. Do you need to lie down?” She blinked twice,

I couldn’t touch her. She wouldn’t lie down. She couldn’t seem to talk. We stared at each other. Her breathing was stertorous. I smiled. I didn’t know what else to do.

“You’ll be fine. The medic’s on his way. He’s very good. But you know that. Remember how he fixed me? You’ll be fine.”

I don’t know how long I kept up that inane chatter, but when the medic banged on the door my throat was beginning to feel sore. I didn’t dare take my eyes off Spanner. “In here!” I called. “The door’s open.”

He came in in a blast of cold air and had his coat off before I could even say hello. “Tetany,” he said to no one in particular. “Saw that in a horse, once.” A horse? “It’s the pain.” He had his bag open. “Have you tried to touch her’.”

“No.”

“Any idea where she hurts?”

“No.”

“Can you talk?” he asked Spanner. She blinked twice.

“That means no.”

He grinned at me over his shoulder, and it occurred to me that he thought we were some kind of comedy act. No. And she says no, too. My legs started to shake.

He held up a spray hypo.

“No!”

He looked at me, raised his eyebrow. “Allergic?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I am, but she isn’t.” He waited patiently. This is not the past! “No, I’m sorry. It’s all right. She’s not allergic.”

He reached up to touch Spanner’s shoulder, but she inched visibly so he sprayed it into her left buttock instead. “Watch.”

She began to shudder like a dog, and sweat. Her breathing came in great gasps.

“Help me get her to the bed.”

Between us, we shepherded Spanner into the bedroom.

“She won’t want to lie down.” She balked at the bed. “I can give her one more shot, but it’ll put her out. Can you authorize payment?” I nodded. He squirted the stuff into her right buttock this time. “Catch her!”

She fell as I imagined a robot might: arms and legs stiff and not swinging quite right.

“We need to get her clothes off.”

I think the worst thing was that I couldn’t see anything wrong: no burns or cuts or rashes. No bruises or welts. Nothing.

We had her clothes off and he was palpating this and that, bending knees, thumping her chest, nodding to himself.

“She’ll need watching for twenty-four hours.” He laid out six hypos. “Painkillers and antibiotics. One every four hours. Then I’ll come back.” He had pulled on his coat, held out his reader for me to V-hand, and was opening the door before I realized he hadn’t told me anything.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened to her?”

“All her limbs have been dislocated and then snapped back in. Several times. She’s the second person I’ve seen with this in three days.”

“Dislocated…”

“There’s some maniac out there who seems to get their kicks from hurting people severely. I’m tempted to ignore my Hippocratic Oath and report this to the police. Oh, your friend there will be fine, if she rests, and if no infection sets in, but people like the one she met up with last night shouldn’t be allowed to go free.”

I was taken by a sudden, low impulse to tell him I don’t live here! I don’t do this kind of thing! I’m not like her! but I had, once. And I had been, no matter how unknowingly or unwillingly, complicit in this.

“How long will she need to stay in bed?”

“Up to her. The danger of spontaneous redislocation and infection should be past in about forty-eight hours.” He nodded once, shortly, and left. I felt terribly ashamed.