Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,35

it.”

Dr Thackeray was waiting in the lab when Geoff returned. The Great Man was leaning over Metzger’s desk, idly looking through several days’ loose data and notes. A long white lab coat, stylishly ragged after the Center’s peculiar snobbery, covered his sparse frame. A little imagination and he could make a good Halloween phantom, mused Geoff, watching the blue cigar smoke swirl about his hawklike face.

Geoff stepped into his office alcove. “Keeping late hours, Dr Thackeray?” The Chairman of Medicine has no first name within the walls of his domain.

“Good evening, Dr Metzger,” returned his superior. “No, not particularly. I wanted to see how things were going with you, and I felt it likely you’d still be here. Your devotion to your work has caused some comment—even among our staff. Most commendable, but I hope you aren’t working yourself into an early grave.”

“I’ll manage,” Geoff promised. “I feel like I’m really getting somewhere right now though, and I hate to let up.”

“Yes. I see you’ve made progress, Dr Metzger.” His eyes black in the sterile glare of the fluorescents, Dr Thackeray let his gaze gesture about the crowded laboratory. “Very significant progress in the year you’ve been with us here at the Center.”

Geoff framed his words with care. “I don’t like to put myself down as saying—even off the record—just how far what I’m doing here might lead, Dr Thackeray. You’ve seen what I’ve accomplished so far, read the preliminary reports. But in the last few months I’ve... well, made a few unexpected breakthroughs. I think I know what it will mean, but I want absolute evidence to substantiate my findings before I speculate openly with regard to what I’ve learned. Forgive me if this seems melodramatic, but I’ve no desire to be labeled a fool, nor would I care to bring derision upon the Center.”

“Again commendable, Dr Metzger. I appreciate your position, naturally. As you know, there’s been some speculation among the staff relating to your most recent work—enough that some of us can understand what you’re trying to lead up to.”

“I’m making no preliminary claims,” Geoff repeated. “Between the two of us, I feel certain of my ground. But too many over-eager researchers have gone off half cocked and regretted it when their errors were immediately apparent to more careful workers.”

“To be sure!” Dr Thackeray turned his piercing eyes into Geoff’s. “I truly admire your discretion. Untold damage might result from foolish disclosures at this point. I agree.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all.” Dr Thackeray waved his hand. His expression darkened. “It’s because of the position you find yourself in right now that I’ve left these two papers on your desk.”

Surprised, Geoff noticed for the first time the two dull black binders waiting beside a tangle of data tapes. Their vinyl covers bore no title—then, on closer glance, he was aware of a tiny silver seal embossed on either spine.

“It required considerable effort to obtain those two copies,” Dr Thackeray advised. “Needless to say, I’ll expect you to examine them with care—the data is confidential, of course—and return them to me when you’ve finished. Reading them is explanation enough for the present, so I’ll say no more for now.

“I think you’ll want to discuss your thoughts on this with me. How about tomorrow morning at eight o’clock? I think you will have read through them to your satisfaction by then.”

“Certainly,” agreed Metzger in bewilderment. “If you feel this is important to my project...”

“It’s extremely important, Dr Metzger, I assure you. Very well, then. We’ll talk this over at eight.”

With a bizarre sense of foreboding, Geoff took up the first of the black folders.

•IV•

Dr Thackeray’s secretary was not present when Metzger entered the Department of Medicine offices the following morning—his nerves jagged after a sleepless night. Since he knew he was expected, he knocked and entered the Chairman’s office. Sanctum sanctorum, soul of the Center, he thought with a tinge of hysteria.

“Dr Thackeray, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night...” He halted, startled to find the Chairman of Surgery seated within.

“It’s all right, Dr Metzger,” pronounced Dr Thackeray. “Dr Lipton is a party to... this matter we have to discuss.”

Numbly Geoff dropped into the room’s vacant chair. The two older men faced him with carefully composed mien—eyes alert as birds of prey.

Geoff thumped a fist against the black vinyl folders in his lap. “God, it’s all here!” His eyes were feverish. “Everything I’ve done, all I’d hoped to establish—a number of aspects I’d never considered!” Dr