Mildred smiled. “Like Ryan told your chief, we don’t always tell everyone everything about ourselves. Not too wise. But I give you my word that I don’t suffer from any kind of genetic mutation.”
Buford stopped in his tracks, so quickly that Abe bumped into him and Dean bumped into Abe.
“Genetics! You read it!”
“Where?”
“Sign on the outside, coming in.”
“Gene sculpturing was what that said. Didn’t actually mention the word ‘genetics’ at all.”
Buford’s eyes protruded behind the magnifying lenses of his polished spectacles. “Mystery on mystery.”
“Ossa piled upon mighty Pelion,” Doc added, grinning slyly at Mildred. “As you might say.”
“You speak gibberish. Total rubbish. It makes no sense at all to me. What is Ossa and who was Pelion? I am considered one of the brightest and best of the workers, here, but I have never heard of such talk.”
Doc put his hands behind his back, like someone delivering a lecture. “In the world of the famous myths of ancient Greecein Europethe Titans wished to attack the mighty gods in their heavenly home. In their stupidity they piled the mountain called Ossa upon the one called Pelion and then both upon Mouth Olympus. And still they failed. Because the gods will always remain untouchable, just beyond our reach.”
“You made that story up, Doc,” Trader mocked. “Good one, though.”
Buford clapped his hands to his shining pate. “This is madness. Ragged outlanders filled with knowledge that not even the best minds here know about.”
He turned to Ryan. “You!”
“What is it?”
“The one-eyed man from the country of the blind. You see, I, too, have wisdom. You are some sort of shaman. You are bewitching us all with magic.”
“We have knowledge,” Ryan said. “We all have different skills. Doesn’t make us muties.”
Buford pointed at Jak. “What about him? He is a pure albino. We know about that from our research. There is a team already working on pigmentation problems. We know what causes it, but none of us had ever seen such a person before. He, too, could help us with our work.”
Jak took a single long step so that his face was close to the scientist’s, almost at the same level, the red eyes reflected in the glasses like tiny fire rubies. He lifted a long white finger and touched it to Buford’s lips.
“Shh,” he whispered, and took a single long step away again.
Buford swallowed hard, licking his lips, sighing. “I guess we know where we stand on that one, don’t we?” He nodded so hard that the wisps of hair pasted across his scalp trembled as if a tornado were passing by. “Yep, we sure all know where we stand on that one.”
Trader nudged Abe. “Whitecoat’ll likely have to go back to his room and change his pants after that.”
Mildred touched Buford on the arm, making him jump again. “Sorry, I forgot you said you don’t like being touched.”
“We have what we call a PHZ.”
She smiled. “A personal hostility zone. Common psychobabble back in the 1960s. I understand. You didn’t answer my question.”
“What was it? So many rivers have been crossed in the last minute or so that”
“This was a huge hospital and research institute, massively financed. I realize that times have changed and the wheels have sure turned. But you still call yourselves professors and wear white coats and have labs and all that. So, how come you can’t perform a simple operation like replacing a diseased knee or hip joint?”
“After the nukecaust, there was a dark period here, as in the rest of the world. Though we were miraculously sheltered and a significant proportion of us survived, many clinical skills were lost at this time.”
“Many?”
He nodded, shuffling his feet. “We can look in a part of the main research wing, now, if you wish.”
Trader led the group in following the little scientist, but Mildred wasn’t done with him, yet.
“Hold on just a moment. When you said that many of the clinical skills were lost What sort of range of operations can you carry out now? I’ve seen the operating theaters and they look ready to rumba.”