Skyfall

“Listen mister, we're closed. And we can't give out that kind of information anyhow.” He started away, then reluctantly turned back when the bell started ringing again.

“You don't understand, this is an emergency, a matter of life and death really. Could you phone Dr. Tribe and tell her that Professor Weisman is here and must see her at once. She will know my name.”

With the utmost reluctance at this break from routine, the watchman agreed but he did not open the door before he slumped off towards the phone. Weisman stood on the steps, looking worriedly at the shadows as the minutes ticked by. The cab driver watched him and shook his head unhappily. And kept his window rolled up most of the way despite the heat of the night. It was less than five minutes before the watchman returned, but it seemed an age to Weisman.

“The doctor said to come to her place because I said you had a cab waiting. The address is 4501 out on Connecticut.”

“Yes, thank you, very much indeed.”

Weisman dropped happily into the security of the cab and dabbed at his forehead as they drove. By the time they had crossed the bridge in Rock Creek Park he was feeling better. Dr. Tribe would know what to do.

She made him sit down and have a cup of coffee while she listened to him. As he explained she forgot her own coffee which cooled before her. In the end she just clutched the papers he had given her and looked at them unseeingly.

“You're sure of this, Sam, absolutely sure?”

“How can there be any other answer? There are the figures, the photographs, all laid out before you. There can be no other conclusion.”

“No, of course not. Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No one. I had no idea who to tell and the few people I called for advice weren't there. It was most confusing. I thought you, being in Washington, would know what to do.”

“I certainly do.” She stood and went to the phone. “I know an undersecretary at State. He'll come around in his car and take us there.”

“There? Where?” Weisman was tired and more than a little confused.

“To the White House, of course. The President is the only one who can act on information like this.”

32

GET 23:24

“He's breathing,” Coretta said. “More than that — I'd hate to say.”

She looked down at the unconscious form of Ely Bron. He had been strapped down to his couch and the extra sleeping bags tied to him for warmth. His face was waxy and pale and he did not move at all. The others grouped around him, Patrick floating free, the others clipped down, silent.

“Will he stay unconscious like that?” Patrick asked. Coretta nodded.

“Yes. He's had a severe shock, superficial freezing of his skin and eyelids, suspended respiration, oxygen deprivation — and the last is the one to worry about. Mission Control took the time from the tapes they made of our communication with them, also from Ely's biological scanners. It was almost four and a half minutes from the moment of the accident until the time I started mouth to mouth resuscitation.”

“I went as fast as I could….”

“Patrick! No one's blaming you. Quite the opposite, I doubt if anyone else could have got him back that quickly. That's not what I mean. It is just the time he went without breathing. No breath, no oxygen. Most human organs can last a long time without oxygen.”

“The brain can't,” Gregor said.

“That's right. He may have irreparable brain damage. We won't know until he regains consciousness.” Coretta hesitated before she spoke again. “If he ever does.”

“It is that bad?” Nadya asked.

“I'm afraid so.”

“All right then,” Patrick said, taking a deep breath. “He's your patient, Coretta, and I know you'll take the best care of him possible. Do you need any help?”

“No, I can handle it myself.”

“Good. Nadya, get on to Mission Control and tell them what's happened. Tell them you and I will be going out again to finish the repairs. There can't be much left to do. Ask them for an estimated time on that, how much more we have to do. They know by now how fast we can work — or rather how slowly.”

“Vas ponyal, Patrick. Nyet prahblem.”

She pushed herself towards the flight cabin and Patrick turned to follow her. Gregor took him by the arm.

“I would like to help,” he said. Patrick looked at him closely.

“Are you sure that you're up to it?” he asked.

“Do you mean am I still chattering with fear? Yes I am. But now I can control it. Coretta helped.”

“Pills?”

“Well. . sort of. She is a fine doctor.” He was smiling, and so was Coretta. Patrick blinked at them through a haze of fatigue.

“I hope you're right, Gregor. I'm really bushed. If you could get out there and help Nadya I could monitor from the flight cabin. It would really help — and might make the difference between doing and not doing the job. I am so tired that I don't trust myself any more.”

“I have rested and I am fit. And you can trust me.”