with fury and in-comprehension.
What was going wrong? Everything had seemed so clear and logical to him just that morning. Pro-lifers say abortion is murder; pro-choicers say forced motherhood is slavery. A doc-tor finds a way to end pregnancies without killing the fetus. Why weren't both sides of the issue rushing to her aid?
Where was the united front he'd hoped to present? Why wasn't either side burning with rage at the persecution of a maverick scientist?
He sat in the car amid the noise and doubted his own ability to present his case cogently. Maybe I just wasn't making my-self clear enough. Maybe I'm just going to submarine the entire case by... He took a deep breath. He wasn't going to let such juvenile fears force him to give up the case. He knew what another more experienced lawyer would do: demur to the complaint, delay, argue trivial points of law, find loopholes, delay and at-tempt a settlement. That wasn't what he wanted. Johnson wondered what it was he did want. In his fury at the dual snubbings, he realized what it was. He wanted to blow the whole abortion issue to pieces. Decker and Burke. They're both petrified that transoption would put an end to their cru-sades. And they're both too lazy to find new evils to battle or just give up and get along, so they continue to fight each other and gang up on anyone who threatens to wage peace.
He gazed up at the warbirds circling overhead. He felt that he had a tenuous grasp on some deeper wisdom. Something that could apply to more than just a custody trial.
The trial.
He keyed the ignition and floored the accelerator. He had thirty days to answer or demur. The game, though, had to be won right now, in the blaze of publicity.
He grinned with feral glee as tires squealed. He'd confuse Czernek by answering the complaint today and pushing for the earliest trial date possible, based on urgency.
XIII
Karen insisted on watching the transplant. 'I don't care what any lawsuit says.' She spoke through the mask of her isolation garb. 'She's my daughter, and I want to be there for her.' Dr. Fletcher nodded, laying two sacks of pulpy red material on the cart. 'Marrow transplants are no big thing. It'll be just like receiving an injection.'
David stood by his wife to place a protective arm around her. 'Will it hurt?'
'Oh, no,' the doctor said in an easygoing tone. 'We'll be injecting right into that IV tube.' Karen's eyes goggled when she saw the two huge 60 cc sy-ringes Fletcher had prepared. She quavered slightly upon see-ing the thick, soupy fluid withdrawn from the sacks. The doc-tor calmly and efficiently unfastened the tubing from the bag of IV fluid, connected the syringe, and bore down on the plunger.
Renata was awake now and stared at her parents with the blank, noncommittal stare of a newborn. Karen knew in her heart that the little girl was taking all of this in without any idea of what was going on. Being fed by tubes and diapered regularly, she was physically content. She must assume, Karen thought, that everything else must also be the normal way of life: electrodes, lights, beeps, plastic cribs, heat lamps, people in white robes wandering in and out.
She wondered what effect all this would have on her daughter's later perceptions of life. She wanted so much just to hold and cuddle the pale little child. Renata looked up at her, jerked her arms suddenly, and grinned a wide, toothless grin. The tubes shook.
'Hi, sweetie,' Karen said, her voice catching despite her brave smile. She waved with broad motions. 'We love you, little honey.'
Evelyn met with the expected resistance. Bone-marrow stem cells were much thicker than blood. She put her shoulder into play, pressing firmly against the plunger with the palm of her hand. Slowly, a red strand of color mixed in with the IV fluid at the top of the tube. The entire length of clear plastic took on a red hue, then grew cloudy. The line of crimson life entered the isolation box, disappeared under cloth tape on Renata's chest, and began its short but vital journey along her veins to hidden chambers in her young bones.
After a minute of steady pushing, the first syringe was empty. Fletcher quickly inserted the second and continued the trans-plant.
David coughed into his mask. 'Will we see some change?'
'Not immediately.' Fletcher pushed the remaining few mil-liliters of Valerie Dalton's bone marrow into Renata's blood-stream. 'It will take a couple weeks or even a month before we know if all three cell lines recover. Until then, it'll be touch and go, with ordinary blood transfusions as needed. There are a few new things we're doing to make it easier for her. We've found that the drug thalidomide can prevent graft versus host disease.'
David immediately grew worried. 'Doesn't that cause birth defects?' Fletcher shook her head, nodding toward Renata. 'She's al-ready born. Its use is only contraindicated for women during pregnancy, something she's a bit young for. What I wish we could get is a lymphokine called GM-CSF. It could speed her recovery dramatically. It's only just been developed, though, and it's still hard to come by.'
Karen put an arm around her husband for support. 'I guess I did expect something dramatic. You think of
