Ory tried, but sleeping was next to impossible. Desperately as she tried to ignore it, the headache did not go away, and it was worse by the time the next shift start rolled around. The internal pounding was so intense it was a struggle to keep from crying aloud several times. Despite her self-control she drew questioning stares from several patrolling Mokes and had to force herself not to hurry too quickly past them.
There was no avoiding it any longer. System purge or not, she would have to go see Doc.
His oversized cubicle was as spotless as ever, and his departmental insignia glistened beneath the painfully bright lights. So did his attitude.
“Well hello there, Alpha shifter. You’re a Checker, aren’t you? I don’t get to see many Checkers. You’re a conspicuously tough bunch. What can I do for you?”
She sidled carefully into the cubicle, keeping her distance from him. Her hesitation made him chuckle.
“Take it easy, Checker. Despite my reputation, I don’t bite. Not unless it’s required by diagnosis, that is.”
The comment typified his sense of humor. Maybe another physician would have found it funny. Ory didn’t. Half panicked, she wanted out, but she was already inside. Recognition committed her. If she fled without allowing herself to undergo examination, Administration would be notified.
“I have a headache.”
He frowned slightly. “Is that all?” His expression critical, he turned and drifted across to a cabinet. “You want a repress injection? That should take care of it.”
Despite the temptation to accept the offer and get out of that stark white place, she plunged onward with the truth. “I’ve had headaches before. I don’t think a repress will do the job this time.”
Doc shook his head and looked sympathetic. “You Checkers: always worrying, always offering suggestions. I think you should all take more time off, but then I suppose you’d probably worry about someone else running your schedule incorrectly. Headaches are congenital with you, or at the least, an occupational hazard.” He pondered. “Very well—so you don’t think a repress will do the trick. What makes you believe this headache is different from any you’ve had before?”
“I can tell,” she replied with certainty. “Not only hasn’t it gone away, but it hurts worse than anything I’ve ever experienced previously. And there’s something else.” She hesitated. “A feeling, which also won’t go away.”
His gaze narrowed. “What kind of ‘feeling’?”
“That something exceptionally out of the ordinary is going to happen.”
“Dear me! That sounds ominous. Are you contemplating a change of specialties, perhaps? Thinking of applying for a Prognosticator’s position? Iron knows there are plenty of vacancies.”
“No, it isn’t that,” she replied impatiently. “I couldn’t be a Prognosticator anyway. That’s too much like Tamrul’s work.”
“So you’ve been talking to that old fraud. Filling your head with chatter about anticipatory emotions, has he?”
Ory leaped to her venerable friend’s defense. “This has nothing to do with him, Doc. These feelings originate entirely with me. I didn’t get anything from him. Tamrul’s just old and tired and . . . bored.”
“Maybe so. In any event, he is beyond my help. What he needs I cannot give him. Whereas you, on the other hand . . .” His lenses sparkled. “If you refuse a repress, that leaves me with only one sensible alternative. System purge.”
She eyed him distastefully. “You enjoy your work, don’t you, Doc?”
“Yes, and a good thing it is, too, since there’s been so much of it lately. Well, what is your decision?”
She slid away from the examination brackets and along the back wall. “I think I’ll hold off for a while yet. I was hoping you might be able to prescribe a third course of treatment.”
“I just told you: There isn’t any third course. Repress or purge, those are your choices. What else would you have me do?”
It was difficult even to form the words, but with the threat of a system purge looming over her she forced herself.
“Ask Mother.”
All traces of Doc’s ready, if slightly ghoulish humor, evaporated abruptly. “You’re not serious. That’s a joke, right? A poor joke.”
“I’m serious, Doc. I wouldn’t joke about a request that serious.” Pain flared in her brain, momentarily numbing her perception. She waited for it to subside. “I think we need to ask Mother about my headache.”
The physician’s response was stern and unbending. “As you are well aware, Mother is sound asleep. She is not to be awakened because some lowly Checker has a bad headache. Where’s your common sense? Maybe you need that purge more than I thought. Maybe this is no longer a question of alternatives.” He was staring hard, almost accusingly, at her.
She found herself backing away from that unrelenting, no longer sympathetic gaze. “I understand what you’re saying, Doc. My head seems better now. I think I’ll be okay. Really.”
“So you claim. That’s what worries me. I don’t think there’s any question about it. You require purging. In fact, based on this interview, I’d say that it is long overdue.” He reached out for her, and she barely managed to skip past him.
“Be sensible about this, Ory. I know what’s best for you. It’s my job to know. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I have to call a couple of Mokes?”
“Rest easy, Doc. You were right all along. It was just a bad joke.” She laughed. “I really had you going for a minute there, didn’t I? You think you’re the only one in this section with a low-down dirty sense of humor?”
Eyeing her uncertainly, he hesitated with one digit hovering over the Call switch. Finally, he drew back. Calling in the Mokes was a serious step, one that the caller had better be able to justify. Her laughter seemed spontaneous enough.
“First another Lilido goes off, and now a Checker plays jokes.” A warning tone pervaded his voice. “Don’t play these kinds of games with me, Ory. It’s too serious. Suppose I
had
called the Mokes?”
“Then the joke would be on you. Really, Doc, can’t you spot a gag when it’s being played on you?” She resumed her methodical retreat toward the entrance.
“Hmph. Say, what about your headache? Was that made up, too?”
“No, but it’s far from being as serious as I made it out to be. This visit wouldn’t have been funny if it was. Let’s give it another couple of days and we’ll see if it goes away of its own accord.”
“And if it does not?” He was watching her closely. “Suppose the joke doesn’t stay funny?”
“If it doesn’t go away then I’ll certainly let you run a system purge on me.”
He looked satisfied. “Now, that’s being sensible. Very well, we will hold off another couple of days. But I am going to have your shift monitored, so don’t think you can fool me about this. I’ll know if it gets serious.”
“Of course you will. How could I hide something like that?”
She practically knocked over a couple of passing Chelisors in her haste to escape from the white, threatening cubicle. The ambling pair recovered quickly and tried to peddle their zings and thomes, but she wanted nothing to do with their wares. Not now. All she wanted was to put plenty of distance between herself, the medical cubicle, and Doc’s eager, grasping hands. Most certainly she did not want to be purged by him. It seemed to her that he was growing a little senile himself.
But her time for exploring options was running out. He was going to put a monitor on her shift, and her head hurt so bad she was near tears.
There was one more close friend whose advice she could ask, one more independent party who would not prejudge her. She rushed heedlessly down Eighty-Five Tunnel, hardly bothering to acknowledge the greetings of puzzled friends and acquaintances. At the speed she was making it was not long before she entered restricted territory.
Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she maintained her pace.
Checkers could go most everywhere. She would be all right if she didn’t have the bad luck to run into an Inspector.
That was what nearly happened, but the one who had been coming toward her stopped to bawl out another Checker Ory did not recognize, and so she was able to slip past and blend in with a crowd of maintenance workers. Jonn Thunder’s section was always busy.
The rising heat began to affect her as she made her way through several sealports well striped with warnings. A Lilido or an unshielded Moke would soon overheat here, but Checkers were equipped for travel anywhere. As Doc had noted, they were built tough. She could stand the local conditions for a little while.
Then she was through the last protective sealport and there he was: immensely powerful, confident of his strength and ability, hardworking and tireless. Not for the first time, she thought she might be a little bit in love with Jonn Thunder. Her feelings for him seemed to go beyond simple admiration. For his part he sometimes treated her like an infant, infuriating her. She knew this amused him, but she could never get used to it. Her personality demanded that she be taken seriously. Perhaps, she thought, that was one reason why so many Checkers suffered from bad headaches.
She didn’t think he would toy with her this time. He had the ability to sense seriousness in a visitor.
“Hello, little Ory Checker,” he rumbled pleasantly. “What brings you to Purgatory?”
“I’m running a check on its unstable inhabitants. Making sure they haven’t been guzzling any more hydrogen than they’re entitled to.”
“Who, me? Do I look drunk? Hey boys: Do I look drunk?”
Overhead, Matthew Thunder belched conspicuously. “Yeah, come to think of it, you do, but you always look drunk to me, Jonn.”
“Been stone drunk these past hundred years straight, that’s my opinion,” Luke Thunder declared from another region of Purgatory. At the moment he was sweating over an uncommonly delicate adjustment. “He just camouflages it well, don’t he, Checker?”
“You’re all making fun of me.” She would have admonished them further, but a bolt of pain made her yelp. Instantly, Jonn Thunder was all sympathy and concern.
“Hey, little nosey-mote, what’s wrong?”
She unburdened herself to him, telling him all about the headache and the persistent fearful feeling that accompanied it, about her talk with Tamrul and her encounter with Doc, and lastly of the suggestion she’d made that had nearly caused her to be short-listed for a system purge.
Jonn Thunder was very quiet when she had finished. For a moment she thought he was going to berate her just as Doc had, and suggest a purge, but he had no such intention. He was thinking. Jonn Thunder might not be very deep, but he was methodical.
“Did you make the same suggestion to Tamrul?”
“No. My head wasn’t bothering me as much when I went to see him. Besides, I know how he’d react, what he’d say. He’s a dear old thing, but in his own way quite inflexible. That always struck me as a strange quality for a Philosopher to have.”
“He’s getting old,” Jonn Thunder muttered. “We’re all getting old. Except you, Ory Checker, and a few of the others. What do you think, boys? Where ought she to go from here?”
They debated, in the manner of Thunderers, and it was a fascinating thing to observe. When they had finished, it was Jonn who spoke. “Do what you think you have to do, Ory. We can’t help you. I’m for sure no Doc, but you don’t look or sound to me like you need purging. Not Doc’s variety, anyhow. But you’re going to have to do whatever you decide to do on your own. Me and the boys have a lot of pull, but it’s useless where something like this is concerned.
“You’d better be careful. If Administration finds out what you intend they’ll have the Mokes down on you straightaway. They’ll haul you right back to Doc, and this time he won’t bother to ask your opinion before he goes to work. You know that.”
She didn’t want to believe what she was hearing. “You could help.”
“No we can’t, Ory. I’m sorry. We have our own status to worry about. If I neglected my work for a minute just to help a Checker with a bad headache, there’d be a serious scandal. If anyone found out, they’d put me down for a system purge too.”
Ory was shocked by the very notion. She could not imagine such a thing, and said as much.
“It’s the truth,” he told her. “You’re on your own, Ory.”
“But this is important.” She was insistent. “Something’s happened. I can feel it—inside my mind. Mother has to be awakened.”
“Then you’ll have to wake her by yourself, Checker. Wish I could believe in the necessity of waking Mother as strongly as you seem to, but my head’s fine. We won’t do anything to stop you. By rights, we should notify Admin ourselves.” She froze. “But there always was something about you, nosey-mote. Something special, though I’m damned if I can define it. So we won’t interfere.” A chorus of agreement echoed from his hardworking relations.
“But we won’t help you, either. If you’re challenged, you’ll have to deal with Admin by yourself.”
“Thanks for listening to me, Jonn Thunder. I guess that’s about all I could hope for.”
“Don’t be bitter, Ory. I consider myself brave, but not a fool. Maybe you’re a little of both. Good luck.” He sounded wistful, but unyielding.
She backed out of Purgatory, leaving them to their work. More time had passed than she’d realized. Already, she’d risked a great deal in coming here. Now her own schedule was going unattended. Doc and his talk of setting a monitor on her had forced her hand as much as the pain in her brain. The Mokes would be looking for her soon enough, if the search hadn’t commenced already. All it would take would be one frizzing station to pass the word and she’d find herself being prepped for purging before you could say spindrift.
She could not let that happen. She couldn’t. Something she could not explain—something much deeper than the constant, fluctuating pain—drove her onward. If Jonn Thunder and his relatives had thrown in with her she would have had a better chance; it would have improved the odds. Despite what he had told her, she did not really believe Admin would risk purging any of them. But they believed otherwise, and so had refused to help her.