problem. She called but no one answered. The basement was probably the most likely place to stick a lab, she decided. She started down the stairs.
Instead of an infirmary, she found an elaborate recording studio - that made sense, as music was, after all, Mr. Carlton's business, and Robin's voice had been potential platinum. The room was a perfect circle, the top half of its walls ringed with double-glazed glass, undoubtedly separated by a soundproof vacuum.
An elaborate control panel stood outside a solitary entrance door. Shani went inside, stepping onto a heavily padded floor. She was reminded of the room in the ride at Magic Mountain that spun around and around and pressed you against the walls, just before the floor dropped out. That ride had made her sick.
The ventilation must have been out of whack. It was freezing inside the studio. Opposite the door, on the floor, was sprinkled sawdust from recently drilled holes. Red, green and black wires passed through the punctured panelling to a tiny metallic box arrayed with colourless buttons. In the centre of the room was a high stool, supporting, of all things, an inexpensive cassette player. Curious about the small metal box, Shani picked it up, pressing a button. An electric motor hummed, a microphone attached to an aluminium pole descending from the ceiling towards the stool. She released the button, afraid she might break something. The microphone halted.
Inside the cassette player was a tape labelled may 30 -R.C. Robin must have recently made the recording. Shani pressed PLAY. On this tune, at least, Robin's kidneys had not hurt her voice. If anything, she sounded better. It was a Beatles song.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night, Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night, Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
"Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, Into the light of a dark black night..."
"What are you doing in here?"
Shani jumped, and pushed stop. It was Lena. "Is this a restricted area?" she asked. Lena had frightened her.
Like a lion approaching its prey, Lena moved into the room. She was not smiling. "My father doesn't let anyone, outside the family, down here."
"Sorry, I didn't know."
Lena strolled by, glancing around as if checking to see if anything had been stolen. "Were you looking for something?" she asked.
"Robin."
"She's upstairs."
"I didn't know."
Lena looked at her, suspicious. "You said that already."
Shani was suddenly sick of her tone. "Do you want me to say it a third time, on my knees?"
Lena smiled. "Yeah, then kiss my feet. Then get the hell out of here."
"Lay off, would ya?"
Lena smiled. "Okay, so I was abrupt. But there's a lot of expensive equipment down here. You can play anywhere else in the house." She consulted her watch, whirled, and headed for the door. "I've got to get back to Robin. Follow me."
Lena moved like a racewalker. Shani lagged behind, not enjoying the feeling of being a dog on a leash.
She allowed Lena a substantial lead, and when she came to turn the corner, no one was to be seen. Lena could have gone in one of four directions. Shani didn't care. She would find Robin in a minute. First, she decided, she would call her mother. She went looking for a phone.
"This tube in my arm leads from my radial artery," Robin was saying. "This is where the process starts.
My blood is pumped from the artery to one side of a semipermeable cellophane membrane. That's inside this metal container. I'd let you open it and look, but Ellen would know and she'd throw a fit. Anyway, the other side of the membrane is continually washed with the dialyzing solution, which is in that full beaker there. The other beaker has the used solution. All blood going inside the machine is treated with an anti-coagulant. Only about half a litre of my blood is inside at a time. All the stuff - including the junk - in the blood can cross back and forth through the membrane, except, of course, the protein molecules and the blood cells. The electrolyte level is controlled - "
"I'm familiar with the process," Park interrupted.
She was surprised. "Are you?"
"I once researched the subject." Two days after her accident. "Two bad they can't compress this all inside you."
"Maybe one day they will be able to." She added,