you to telephone me here as soon as you’ve determined maximal slippage. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” he said, but he was looking doubtful again.
“Good. I’ll telephone Polly Wilson. Remote read, IA inquiry, bridge transmit. I’ll ring you back as soon as she’s got it set up at Brasenose,” Dunworthy said, and rang off before Andrews could renege.
He held on to the receiver, watching the bell ringers. The order changed each time, but Ms. Piantini apparently did not lose count again.
He telephoned Polly Wilson and gave her the specifications Andrews had dictated, wondering if she had been watching the vidders, too, and would be afraid of Brasenose’s heating system, but she said promptly, “I’ll need to find a gateway. I’ll meet you there in three-quarters of an hour.”
He left the bell ringers still bobbing and went over to Brasenose. The rain had slowed again, and there were more people on the streets, though many of the shops were closed. Whoever was in charge of the Carfax carillon had either come down with the flu or forgotten about it because of the quarantine. It was still playing “Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella,” or possibly “O Tannenbaum.”
There were three picketers outside an Indian grocer’s and a half dozen more outside Brasenose with a large banner they were holding between them that read “time travel is a health threat.” He recognized the young woman on the end as one of the medics from the ambulance.
Heating systems and the EC and time travel. During the Pandemic it had been the American germ warfare program and air conditioning. Back in the Middle Ages they had blamed Satan and the appearance of comets for their epidemics. Doubtless when the fact that the virus had originated in South Carolina was revealed, the Confederacy, or southern fried chicken, would be blamed.
He went in the gate to the porter’s desk. The Christmas tree was sitting on one end of it, the angel perched atop it. “I have a student from Shrewsbury meeting me to set up some communications equipment,” he told the porter. “We’ll need to be let into the laboratory.”
“The laboratory is restricted, sir,” the porter said.
“Restricted?”
“Yes, sir. It’s been locked and no one’s allowed in.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s because of the epidemic, sir.”
“The epidemic!?”
“Yes, sir. Perhaps you’d better speak with Mr. Gilchrist, sir.”
“Perhaps I had. Tell him I’m here, and I need to be let into the laboratory.”
“I’m afraid he’s not here just now.”
“Where is he?”
“At the Infirmary, I believe. He—”
Dunworthy didn’t wait to hear the rest. Halfway to the Infirmary it occurred to him that Polly Wilson would be left waiting with no idea where he’d gone, and as he came up to the hospital, it came to him that Gilchrist might be there because he’d come down with the virus.
Good, he thought, it’s what he deserves, but Gilchrist was in the little waiting room, hale and hearty, wearing an NHS face mask, rolling up his sleeve in preparation for the inoculation a nurse was holding.
“Your porter told me the laboratory’s restricted,” he said, stepping between them. “I need to get into it. I’ve found a tech to do a remote fix. We need to set up transmission equipment.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Gilchrist said. “The laboratory is under quarantine until the source of the virus is determined.”
“The source of the virus?” he said incredulously. “The virus originated in South Carolina.”
“We will not be certain of that until we’ve obtained positive identification. Until then, I felt it was best to minimize all possible risks to the University by restricting access to the laboratory. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m here to receive my immune system enhancement.” He started past Dunworthy toward the nurse.
Dunworthy put out his arm to stop him. “What risks?”
“There has been considerable public concern that the virus was transmitted through the net.”
“Public concern? Do you mean those three halfwits with the banner outside your gate?” he shouted.
“This is a hospital, Mr. Dunworthy,” the nurse said. “Please keep your voice down.”
He ignored her. “There has been ‘considerable public concern,’ as you call it, that the virus was caused by liberal immigration laws,” he said. “Do you intend to secede from the EC as well?”
Gilchrist’s chin went up, and the pinched lines appeared by his nose, visible even through the mask. “As Acting Head of the History Faculty, it is my responsibility to act in the University’s interest. Our position in the community, as I’m certain you’re aware, depends on maintaining the goodwill of the townspeople. I