Mount Dragon

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De Vaca

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Donergan

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Ducely

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Engies

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MORE SCREENS AVAILABLE

“My God,” Carson muttered.

De Vaca nodded grimly. “Look at the HVA and 5-HIAA counts. In every case, levels of dopamine and serotonin in the brain are many times above normal.”

Carson paged down through the rest of the list. “Look at Nye!” he said suddenly, pointing to the screen. “Dopamine metabolites, fourteen times normal. Serotonin metabolites, twelve times normal.”

“With levels like that, dangerously paranoid, perhaps presenting as schizophrenia,” de Vaca said. “I’ll bet he perceived Teece as a threat to Mount Dragon—or perhaps to himself—and set a trap for him out in the desert. I wonder if that bastard Marr was in on it. You were right when you said killing Teece was crazy.”

Carson glanced at her. “How come these abnormal readings weren’t flagged before?”

“Because you wouldn’t be checking levels of neurotransmitters in a place like Mount Dragon. They look for antibodies, viral contamination, stuff like that. Besides, we’re talking about nanograms per milliliter. Unless you’re specifically looking for these, metabolites, you aren’t going to find them.”

Carson shook his head in disbelief. “Isn’t there anything we could do to counteract the adverse effects?”

“Hard to say. You could try a dopamine receptor antagonist, like chlorpromazine. Or imipramine, which blocks the transport of serotonin. But with levels this high, I doubt you’d see much improvement. We don’t even know if the process can be reversed. And that’s assuming there were sufficient stocks of both drugs on hand, and we found a way to administer it to every person on-site.”

Carson continued to stare at the screen in horrified fascination. Then, suddenly, his hands moved onto the keyboard, copying the data to a file on the terminal’s local drive. Then he cleared the screen and quit the program.

De Vaca turned. “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“We’ve seen enough,” Carson replied. “Scopes was a beta-tester too, remember? If he sees us at this, we’re cooked.” He logged de Vaca off the terminal and entered his own password at the GeneDyne security screen. As he waited for the logon messages to scroll past, he fished two writeable compact discs from his pocket.

“I went back to the library and downloaded the most important data onto these CDs: the video, the filtration data, my on-line X-FLU logs, Burt’s notes. Now, I’m going to add this CSF data to—”

He stopped, staring at the screen.

GOOD EVENING, GUY CARSON.

YOU HAVE 1 UNREAD MESSAGE

Quickly, Carson brought up the waiting electronic mail.

Ciao, Guy.

I couldn’t help but notice the hellacious CPU time you soaked up, running that modeling program early this morning. It warms my heart to see you burning the midnight oil, but it wasn’t clear, from the on- line logs, exactly what you were doing

I’m sure you wouldn’t be wasting your time, or mine, without good reason. Does this mean you’ve made a breakthrough? I hope so for both our sakes. I don’t need pretty pictures, I need results. Time is growing cruelly short.

Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Why this sudden interest in PurBlood?

I await your reply.

Brent

“Jesus, look at that,” de Vaca said. “I can almost feel his breath on the back of my neck.”

“Time is cruelly short, all right,” Carson muttered. “If only he knew.” He slid one of the CDs into the terminal’s drive bay and copied the cerebrospinal-fluid results onto it. Then he initiated the network’s chat mode.

“Are you crazy?” de Vaca hissed. “Who the hell are you going to page?”

“Shut up and watch,” Carson said, as he continued to type.

Chat target: Guy

[email protected]

“Now I know you’re crazy,” de Vaca said. “Requesting to chat with yourself.”

“Levine told me that, if I ever needed to reach him, I should send a chat request across the network, using myself as the recipient as well as the sender,” Carson said. “That would initiate a communications agent he’d planted, to connect with his computer.”

“You’re going to send him the data on PurBlood,” de Vaca said.

“Yes. He’s the only person that can help us.”

Carson waited, fighting to keep calm. He imagined the small communications daemon burrowing secretly through the GeneDyne net, out into a public-access service, and then to Levine’s computer. Somewhere, Levine’s laptop would be flashing a message now. Assuming it was connected to the network, and Levine was around to hear it. Come on. Come on.

Suddenly the screen went blank.

Hello. I’ve been expecting your call.

Carson typed frantically.

Dr. Levine, pay careful attention. There ?s a crisis here at Mount Dragon. You were right about the virus. But it’s more than that, much more. We can’t do anything about it here, and we need your help. It is of the utmost importance that you act quickly. I am going to transmit to you a document I’ve prepared that explains the situation, along with files of supporting information. There is one other thing I must add: Please do what you can to get us out of here as soon as possible. I believe we are in real danger. And do whatever you must to get the stocks of X-FLU safely out of the hands of the Mount Dragon staff. As you will learn from the data I’m transmitting, they all need immediate medical attention. I’m commencing data transmission now, using standard net—work protocols.

He initiated the upload with a few keystrokes, and an access light on the terminal’s faceplate lit up. Carson sat back gingerly, watching the data feed. Even with maximum compression and at the widest bandwidth the network would allow, it would take almost forty minutes to transmit the data. It was all too likely that the next time