"I'm afraid it is," I said quietly. I felt let down; finished; the same way I had when I watched the wounded die in the Aid Station and I couldn't help. Only this time I was the patient. Oh, I wasn't going to die, or even be very sick, but no man likes to think that he can never have a son to follow him, and I knew, beyond doubt, that in another week I'd be completely sterile.
I'd never seen Pat cry before and it brought me out of my daze. I went to her and took her shoulders in my hands and there, right in front of the Chief I told her, "Darling, I can't kiss you now, but I want you to know I love you and this will make no difference at all. It wasn't your fault."
She couldn't speak. I looked at Hallam. He sat there staring at the bomb in her hands.
"I think I can guess what has happened," he said, "but how?"
Quickly Pat sketched the story while I washed my face as well as I could. She finished and he stared into space. A few seconds later he put his big hands on the table and hunched to his feet.
"We still have to analyze the contents of this thing to see what kind of virus is in it ... if there is. We might as well get started on the preliminaries. No sense in isolating ourselves any more. It's likely we'll all get the disease now." He looked at Pat's tear-stained face and said kindly, "Why don't you two go home for a rest before the day staff gets here. I can handle the beginning of this job myself."
CHAPTER 6
It wasn't far to Pat's apartment. The APC's were working and the ache in my head had gone, replaced by a soreness over the actual bruise. I drove slowly, reluctant to part with her now, to lose the sense of closeness we shared. Elation over our night's work, mixed with sadness for the future, had combined to bring us together more than we had ever been before. She said nothing, but her nearness to me and the hand laid gently on my leg were evidence enough of her feelings. At the stoplights I glanced at her, trying to gauge her thoughts. Her gaze was fixed on some nebulous point beyond the windshield; her face was still, frozen in its expression, almost as if she were a wax model.
Burrard bridge went by and I turned to the left, down a side street. The car rolled to a stop in front of a large modern apartment building. I shut off the engine, got out, and opened the car door for her. We walked up the steps together. She reached in her bag for the key.