Brenda Redmond was no stranger to Medlab. She’d been up here plenty of times for routine health checkups, prenatal care and childbirth, all the usual stuff. But today was different — she couldn’t shake a sense of dread, of wondering if she’d made a big mistake in telling Lou Corlin she was going to do this herself.
At the time her arguments had made sense: she was married and had two children, and her husband was an Air Force officer and a pilot-astronaut. Dr. Thuc and the rest of Medstaff would take her a lot more seriously than Lou, who was three years younger than her and still trying to get his steady girlfriend transferred over here.
Now that she was walking up the corridor to the entrance with the big red cross on the double doors, she wasn’t so sure. Just how much evidence did she really have that Robbie was in danger? That text had been worrisome, but its disjointed expression could also be chalked up to panic.
Which is not tolerated up here. You either learn to keep your head about you, or you never get any positions of trust or responsibility. Effectively, you remain a child for the rest of your life.
With those thoughts Brenda quelled the butterflies in her stomach and pushed the doors open. She was not going to give in to her anxieties and back out.
Several people were sitting in the waiting room. Brenda recognized most of them on sight — Shepardsport was still small enough that a person with a good memory for faces could — but a few were unfamiliar. Just people she didn’t have any connection with, or actual outsiders?
That thought made her uncomfortable in a way she’d never known before. Shepardsport had been founded to support scientific activity on Farside, and openness and collegiality were at the heart of science. Although Brenda was aware that scientists often fell short of that ideal, jealously guarding their own turf, it still bothered her that she should immediately treat outsider as suspect, maybe dangerous.
This was what the diablovirus had done to them. Shepardsport was walling up like a fortress, if not physically, then mentally.
As a mother she understood — she would do whatever it took to keep her children safe. If it meant that the outlying settlements which depended upon Shepardsport Medlab found no help here, it was the price of safety for her own.
Still, it left her uncomfortable, especially when she was supposed to be on a mission of mercy for an old friend. But right now she needed to deal with the receptionist, who could become a gatekeeper as easily as a facilitator.
As was the case in so many offices here in Shepardsport, the receptionist was pretty clearly a teenager. Mature enough to be entrusted with being the department’s public face, but not yet ready for more substantial responsibilities in the actual workings of the department.
Brenda’s expectations proved correct: the young woman listened attentively, without attempting to brush her off or diminish her concerns. At length she made a call, talked to someone.
“Dr. Gorman will speak with you .”
Brenda was surprised to be connected with someone so quickly and easily. Not just the absence of waiting, but also the lack of any hint of criticism, of a desire to know why she hadn’t made an appointment or followed any of the other usual formalities for non-emergency visits.
Dr. Gorman was an older man, gray haired and a little stooped even in lunar gravity. Unlike Dr. Thuc, he was a civilian, which may have accounted for his willingness to speak to her.
Brenda explained the situation, the puzzling e-mail only a few days ago. “The very lack of clear, coherent detail makes me think that whatever breach Robbie had with her folks is serious. I want to contact her, make sure she’s safe, but if she’s under their roof, it’s possible that contacting her could put her in danger.”
“So you are expecting to have us be able to do what on her behalf?”
Here was the kicker: he was going to make her explicitly request Medstaff’s aid, rather than picking up on the significance of her description. Phrase it badly and she could ensure Robbie got no help.
“We’re hoping that someone in Medstaff would have the necessary authority to obtain the geolocation metadata for her phone. If she’s definitely not in her parents’ area, I’ll know whether it’s safe to contact her directly, or if I need to find an intermediary.”
“Ah, a commendable caution. However, I will need to confer with my colleagues and ensure that this intervention will be permissible.”
He then took down her phone number, so he could let her know how the decision went. At least it’s not a no, Brenda told herself.
Still, it was disheartening to know that there would still be a wait.