The War of Immensities Read Online Free PDF Page A

say?”
    “You know what
he said. And he wants you to ring him straight away. He’s been
calling hourly and got zip.”
    “I haven’t been
inside any more than I needed to. You know the north side building
is leaning fifteen degrees off perpendicular. You can start the
repairs over there.”
    “How much
equipment fizzled?”
    “Fifty
percent.”
    “And you got a
full breakdown already from the rest?”
    “Yep. Along
with some interesting anomalies.”
    “Harley will
love you.”
    “Harley will
hate me just a little less than he hates everyone else. And I will
call him, when I’ve finished my report.”
    “My, my, how
tough and authoritarian you’ve become, Jami. A full-on experience
seems to do you the world of good.”
    “Watching a
volcano blow a hundred people away does that to you, Glen.
Especially when you were six millimetres of plasterboard and a pane
of glass from being the hundred and first.”
    “Hit hard,
huh?”
    “I have been,
of necessity, born again.”
    There was a
time when she idolised Glen Palenski. Watching him now as he
ferreted in his pack, giving her a perfect view of his splendid
backside, she could understand why.
    They went
through college together, he the all American boy, she a skinny
little Indian girl who followed him around everywhere like a
faithful retriever. He had her and dumped her a dozen times and she
kept coming back for more. Finally they graduated and bummed their
way here—to her moment of destiny but not his, which was a rather
refreshing change.
    She tried to
diminish him in her mind as she did in her intellect, but there was
always his perfect, tanned body, which he exposed proudly to the
world at every opportunity. It was ten degrees outside and here he
was in shorts and sleeveless shirt, showing off. But this wasn’t
the moment and she averted her eyes. Jami realised that she was
still as alone now as she was before he arrived.

*

    The young man
with his thick spectacles and cherubic cheeks tried his hardest to
look serious but was in every way unconvincing. Felicity Campbell
poured herself an instant coffee and ran her mind through the case
history. Christine Rice, Asian in appearance, French according to
her passport, resident of Auckland on an extended tourist visa,
aged 22, one of the two young women to survive the crashed
helicopter, severe contusion to legs and abdomen, minor facial
lacerations, three broken fingers, comatose. No head injury
evident. It was just a matter of healing time.
    But Barbara
Crane, the Chief Administrator, brought this young man who insisted
on talking to the doctor-in-charge. John Burton. Wrong name.
    “You are
related to Miss Rice?” Felicity asked him.
    He looked
guilty and nervous.
    “I’m her
fiancée. We are to be married on the 25th of next month.”
    “I see,”
Felicity said wearily.
    “The thing is,
they won’t tell me what’s happening.”
    “Who won’t?”
Barbara had to ask, because Felicity didn’t bother.
    “The other
doctors. I keep asking them about Chrissie’s condition and they
keep saying it’s too early to tell.”
    “That’s because
it’s too early to tell,” Felicity offered. As she sipped her coffee
again, she saw Barbara’s frown and so, with a mighty effort,
continued. “You’ll just have to be patient with us, Mr.
Burton.”
    Barbara’s
eyebrows said that was another wrong answer. John Burton shivered
all over with exasperation. “You must have some idea of her
condition at this stage. Is she going to die?”
    “No, Mr.
Burton. She will not die. Her injuries in fact are relatively minor
and after a few weeks convalescence, I would expect her to make a
full recovery.”
    That was the
sort of thing Barbara Crane liked to hear—stuff she could use later
in evidence to the Medical Board if it all went wrong.
    “But why is she
still in intensive care?”
    Persistent
little bugger... But, forced to think about it, the answer only
occurred to Felicity herself when she said it.