'Doesn't roll off the tongue well,' Dyer said. 'You shouldn't make it sound anything like abortion, anyway. Raises too many images.' She thought for a moment. 'Make it sound more like adoption. Doesn't something like transoption sound cheerier?'
Dr. Fletcher admitted that it did. 'The transfer option. Transoption.' She felt as if they had created something en-tirely new, exciting, and shatteringly important just by utter-ing a word. They were trailblazers on a new path for medi-cine, a new, wider road for human rights. The future lay daz-zlingly bright ahead. '
Now all that might collapse into lawsuits, prison, or worse.
Evelyn struggled to find a way to tell Valerie Dalton that she had a daughter. She ran through possible conversational sce-narios in the theater of her mind. None of them turned out well. Why, she finally wondered, after lying all this time, should I suddenly tell the truth?
She thought out the details, then telephoned.
'Hello?' said the voice on the other end.
'Hello, this is Dr. Evelyn Fletcher at-'
'Oh, hi! You have reached Ron and Valerie's place,' said the recording. 'We're not in right now, or maybe we are and are listening to see if we want to talk to you.'
'Christ,' muttered Fletcher.
'But if you wait for the tone and leave your name, phone number, the day and time you called, a brief message, and three character references, we'll consult our attorneys and astrologers and get back to you. But don't get your hopes up. Thank you for sharing.'
Fletcher used the time to light up a Defiant, take a few puffs, and frown. If she disliked anything, it was flippant-and lengthy-telephone answering messages.
The phone beeped. 'This is Dr. Evelyn Fletcher of Bayside University Medical Center. I'd like to speak with Valerie Dalt-'
There was a clattering noise on the line, followed by a woman's voice. 'Hello?'
'Valerie Dalton?'
'Yes.'
'Dr. Fletcher. You were in to see me last March.'
'Yes, Doctor. I remember. How could I forget?' Her voice was hesitant, curious at a doctor's call at such a late hour.
'I know I'm calling a little late, but we have a minor crisis here that I hope you can help us with.'
'What do you mean?'
Evelyn took a deep drag, letting the smoke escape with her words. 'We've gone over the records of our blood tests, and yours turned up as having the right combination of factors that could help us save a very sick baby here. What we'd like is for you to come in tomorrow morning for a more thorough screen-ing with an eye toward a transfusion.'
'Oh, I don't really have the time to come-'
'Miss Dalton, I don't normally call complete strangers ask-ing for blood. This really is a matter of life or death.'
Evelyn only heard telephone static for long seconds.
'What about the baby's mother and father?' Valerie asked.
'The father's unavailable, and the mother's blood type is incompatible. And there are no siblings or other close rela-tives. We exhausted those avenues before we searched the computer files for a close HLA match.'
'I really don't know,' Valerie said. 'I've never given blood before. With all this talk about AIDS and all, I-'
'You can't get anything from giving blood.' Fletcher paused, her mind racing through logical arguments until she hit upon one. 'Valerie-have you had any feelings of guilt about termi-nating your pregnancy?'
