 
An Untimely Birth

Alison M. Tomlinson

Copyright Alison M. Tomlinson 2018

Smashwords edition

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I will contend with him that contendeth with thee,

and I will save thy children.

(Isaiah 49:25 KJV)

# CHAPTER 1

"You cheated on me?"

I couldn't believe it. There I was, sitting in a hospital bed about to produce his baby, and my goodie-goodie, butter-wouldn't-melt in-his-mouth boyfriend was telling me he'd been cavorting with a hooker?

Julian hung his head and averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, I—"

"You're sorry? I'm lying here with doctors and nurses running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to find out what the hell's wrong with me, and you go let some scrubber show you a good time. And you're sorry? Well that's OK then, isn't it? As long as you're sorry."

"It was months ago when you said you were going to abort our beautiful Daisy. I was out of my mind. I couldn't bare it. I had a bit too much John Smith's and I—"

"You've sat on this confession for months, and you think now is was the best time to tell me? In case you haven't noticed, I'm stressed out, every muscle aches, I'm running to the little girl's room every thirty minutes, this rash makes me look like badly mixed strawberry mousse, and I feel like I've been hit over the head with a welding mallet. Sure, just the right time to spring this on me."

Julian steeled himself. "Beckie, listen to me, please. I love you and our baby, and I know you're having a tough time, but I had to tell you for two reasons. Firstly, I'm a Christian now—"

"Don't start that again. If it makes you happy, go put on a purple dress and join my mum and dad singing The Magnificat in Latin every week, but leave me out of it. When you told me about your Road to Damascus experience, I started getting cold feet about this pathetic excuse for a love affair. Well, this settles it. You can get out of my life. I'll move back in with my parents. At least that way, Daisy won't have to live on fish and chips, or grow up with the shame of having a postman for a father."

Despite feeling like death warmed up, anger exploded within me. Even so, I couldn't stop my heart melting just a little as I watched Julian's big muscular frame sag and large tear drops begin to run silently down his cheeks.

"God forgive me," he muttered under his breath.

"God might forgive you, but I won't. Get out"

He stood up, and he seemed to fill the tiny room. He ran his hands over his almost shaved head, screwed up his face and pursed his lips. He looked like Harry Potter mustering the courage to face Lord Voldermort in the graveyard.

"You've got to listen. You haven't heard the worst yet," he said.

"Come on then, spit it out. What's worse than cheating on your pregnant girlfriend?"

"Oh God, forgive me," he repeated.

"Come on, Julian, you're scaring me."

He took several deep breaths, then forced himself to look me in the eye. "When you started to get ill a few weeks ago, I was desperate to find out what was wrong. Then I remembered my . . . And I thought, just to me sure, just to rule it out, I should go for an . . ."

"Oh my God. You're HIV positive."

He nodded. "The first test has come back positive, but they'll have to do confirmatory tests to be sure."

I froze.

My brain filled with white noise like an untuned TV set. I felt like I was falling, and I clung onto the sides of the bed. My huge belly rose and fell as I struggled to breathe.

Then it hit me. My baby was doomed. Her life was blotted out before it even began.

"You've killed Daisy. Get out," I said quietly.

"Beckie, I love—"

"GET OUT!" I grabbed the nearest thing that came to hand, a glass paper weight, and slung it at him. He ducked, and it went through the observation window to the surgical ward beyond. Julian was caught in a shower of glass, and blood started to drip from a gash in his forehead.

I heard shouts, and screams, and people running towards us.

"Call security," the staff nurse bellowed behind her as she opened the door. "And keep the patients away from the glass, and sweep it up, and call maintenance."

She stepped into the room, "What's going on here?" she barked at Julian. Then, seeing the cut on his face, shouted out the door, "And bring a basic wound-cleaning pack."

She obviously assumed Julian was the guilty party, and I understood why. I'd heaved my five foot two, slight-framed but heavily pregnant body off the bed and was standing next to my hulk of an ex-boyfriend. In a fight, Julian was the odds-on favourite.

Before he could open his mouth to answer, I interjected, "I need to see my doctor right now."

"As soon as this is sorted, I'll send someone to the maternity ward. They can also check if any beds are available yet." She sighed. I was the most troublesome patient she'd ever had the misfortune to deal with, and she couldn't wait to be shot of me.

"You don't understand. I need a doctor NOW!"

"Please get back into bed, Miss Baxter, and calm down."

I didn't move.

She turned back to Julian. "No more unscheduled early morning visits. This is no way to behave on a hospital ward."

"But I didn't—" Julian started to protest, but at that moment a security guard walked in. If Julian was six foot one, this guy had to be six three. The name tag on his bullet-proof vest read 'Tony Romani'. He was speaking into a radio. "Looks like something got thrown through an internal window."

The cramped room was now full to bursting, and Tony waved us out into the ward. Several patients were sitting up in bed glaring at us. An auxiliary nurse was busy sweeping up broken glass.

Tony squared up to Julian and said, "What's the problem here?"

I tried again. "I need to see a doctor right away."

The staff nurse ignored me as she pulled up a chair, sat Julian in it, donned latex gloves, and started to examine his wounded forehead.

"Why do you need a doctor, Miss? Have you been injured?" Tony asked looking suspiciously at Julian.

"No, I've just found out that my moron of an ex-boyfriend is HIV positive."

There was a split second pause as this news was digested.

Then the staff nurse backed away from Julian, looking at the blooded piece of gauze she now held in her hand.

One of the patients jumped out of bed and ran out the door.

"Don't move. Stay right there," the staff nurse instructed Julian.

"But I want him out of here," I said.

"Call infection control," she yelled at a nurse down the ward. She carefully placed the gauze in a plastic bag, removed the gloves and put them in the same bag then placed the bag on the floor next to Julian. She leaned sideways to look into the side room and said, "There's blood on the floor." As she took her shoes off, she turned to Tony she said, "Did you stand in it?"

"I don't know."

"Take your shoes off and step away from the contaminated area."

"What?"

"You heard."

He reluctantly obeyed.

She then instructed me to take off my slippers, step behind a nearby curtain, and remove all my clothes while she fetched a clean bed gown.

"But I need to see a doctor."

Her tone had softened, "Yes dear, I understand. We'll call a doctor as soon as possible."

A few minutes later, I looked behind me as I followed her down the ward to a small sitting room where I was to wait. I saw Julian obediently sitting on his chair, with his head in his hands, sobbing his heart out.

# CHAPTER 2

Think, Beckie, think.

But I couldn't think. I just sat in the sitting room waiting for the doctor, with random thoughts tap-dancing around my brain. I wasn't a thinker, I was a reactor. Julian was the thinker. For a split second I wished he were there. Then I remembered I never wanted to lay eyes on him again.

Had he given me AIDs? Was I going to die? Was Daisy going to die? Surely the doctors could save us. This wasn't the 1980's. They'd had thirty years to learn how to deal with HIV. It would be all right. Just take some deep breaths, Beckie, and calm down.

Anyway, I was jumping the gun. Julian had said they would do confirmatory tests to be sure he was HIV positive, and even if he was, that didn't automatically mean Daisy and I were. There again, it would explain my symptoms, the night sweats, the swollen glands. They'd been trying to find out what was wrong for weeks. This must be it.

If it turned out Julian had it but Daisy and I didn't, I've have to dump him for Daisy's sake. I had to protect her. I'd have to move back in with my parents as soon as I left the hospital. What a depressing thought. Sure, my parents loved me, and their house meant security, but I was nineteen and I longed for freedom, for independence.

If I were honest, I'd have to admit I only took up with Julian to get back at my parents. He wasn't their idea of a perfect match for their only daughter. They'd have preferred a doctor or lawyer who played golf at weekends to a postman who devoted his time to home carpentry. Anyway, I showed them I was going to do life my way. Then I got pregnant. Then I got trapped.

The idea of having a baby had grown on me, and I'd reconciled myself to living with Julian, though I steadfastly resisted his constant pleas to marry him. But now look at the mess we were in. I put my hands on my enormous belly and said, "I'm sorry, Daisy. I've really mucked things up. I know it's not fair on you. You didn't ask for this. I love you, and I'll do everything I can for you."

As I thought of my love for Daisy, I couldn't help thinking of Julian's love for her too. Did I really have the right to take her out of his life? I'd used him to rebel against mum and dad, and now I was going to cast him off. I hadn't been fair to him, had I?

But then I thought about his new found religion. I couldn't bare it. I'd grown up being told to be good like Jesus. I'd had enough of being preached at.

I supposed I should call my parents and tell them what was happening. But I imagined the looks of horror on their faces and the 'told you so' lectures. No, I decided to wait and see what the doctors said, and then call them.

At that moment the door opened, and Helen walked in.

"Did they tell you? Is this why I'm sick? Is my baby going to die?"

House officer, Dr Helen Atkinson, sat down on the end of a nearby sofa, and took my hand.

"Surely you shouldn't touch me without protective gloves," I said.

Ignoring this, Helen said calmly, "Beckie, I've heard your boyfriend might be HIV positive, but we don't know the full situation, and it isn't time to panic yet."

"But this explains why I'm feeling lousy, right?"

"Maybe."

"What are the early signs of HIV infection?"

"Well, fatigue . . ."

"Check."

"Muscle aches . . ."

"Check."

"Night sweats . . ."

"Check."

"Rash . . ."

"Check"

"Swollen glands . . ."

"Check."

"But none of those things is exclusive to HIV. There are hundreds of other possibilities."

"But you've been looking for other explanations for weeks. This has to be it. Is Daisy going to die?"

"Beckie, please try to calm down. We have to take this one step at a time."

I liked Helen. She was just a few years older than me. She had confidence mingled with a healthy sense of fun. I liked the simple way she wore her naturally blond hair (no dark roots) back in a ponytail, and didn't try to cover up her slightly spotty face with heavy makeup. Yes, I liked her, but at that moment being told to calm down was infuriating.

"Calm down? I might be dying."

Helen opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment the door opened, and in walked Dr George Petropoulos. As registrar, I normally only saw him very briefly and rarely. But this time he walked over to the sofa and sat down close to Helen. Too close. She stood up and moved to a high back chair on my other side.

"What are you going to do? Can you save us?" I demanded of Dr Petropoulos as he shuffled into the place Helen had just vacated.

"Miss Baxter, I'm just here to make sure we have all the necessary information. Then I'll speak to Dr Basil when he comes out of theatre."

"You're passing the buck?" I was used to Dr Petropoulos strutting around, barking orders at all and sundry, and acting like he was God's gift to medicine (as well as God's gift to women). I'd never seen him look so frazzled.

Dr Petropoulos looked flushed as he replied, "It's normal with unusual and potentially dangerous cases for the consultant to take charge."

"I'm an unusual and potentially dangerous case, am I?"

Helen glared at Dr Petropoulos, "Beckie, you're not a 'case', you're a concerned mother, and we need to get you the best medical care possible. Dr Basil has a lot of experience with HIV in pregnancy."

"So, it's still quite common?"

"About two and a half women in every thousand–" began Dr Petropoulos.

"You treat half-women, do you?"

"—are HIV positive."

"And what happens to them?"

"We treat them with ARV, antiretroviral therapy, and—"

"I didn't ask how you treat them. I asked what happens to them. Do they die? Do their babies die?"

"Beckie," said Helen, "we don't even know if you are HIV positive yet."

"But I probably am, aren't I? Millions of people have died from HIV, right?"

"To date about thirty-five million of the seventy million infected have died." Dr Petropoulos ignored Helen as she closed her eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation. She evidently didn't think such statistics were helpful at this point.

"So half the people with HIV die." A few hours ago, I'd been choosing cute baby clothes online. Now, all of a sudden, Daisy and I had a death sentence hanging over us.

"Let me finish, Miss Baxter," said Dr Petropoulos, "Most of those who died did not have access to ARV, and were not in a modern western hospital like the West London General."

"This is a difficult situation, but you are in the right place," said Helen reassuringly.

# CHAPTER 3

The doctors were called away, and I was left to wait in the sitting room. I didn't like being alone with only my dark, hopeless thoughts for company. Waves of despair and sorrow overwhelmed me, I tried not to yield to them for Daisy's sake, but within minutes I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Suddenly I was aware of somebody standing next to me. I looked down and saw shiny black dress shoes sticking out from under a long black robe. Startled, I looked up into the face of a man of about fifty with short grey hair and a dog collar.

"I'm sorry if I alarmed you. I'm the hospital catholic chaplain. My name is Father Ambrose."

"I'm not catholic," I said bluntly, and just to make sure the situation was perfectly clear I added, "I'm not Christian. I'm not anything."

"Would you like to talk?"

I was taken aback. I'd expected a lecture and received a simple question. The honest answer was, "Yes, I'd like to talk." But to a catholic priest? I said nothing.

"You are obviously in some distress. May I sit down?"

I shrugged which he took as assent and lowered himself to the sofa. He sat bolt upright with his hands folded in his lap.

After a few seconds, the silence got to me and I said, "I guess you deal a lot with people in crisis."

"Are you in a crisis?"

"You could say that."

He said nothing. So I continued, "My idiot boyfriend slept with a prostitute and got HIV. My baby and I have a death sentence hanging over us. Does that count as a crisis?"

"I would think so."

Pause.

"Where is your boyfriend now?"

"Who cares?"

"Has he abandoned you?"

"I told him to go jump off a cliff."

"Why did you do that?"

What a stupid question. Why was I talking to a fifty year old bachelor? How could he understand romantic relationships?

"Why wouldn't I tell him to take a hike after what he's done?"

"Did he express any remorse?"

"I really don't need a sermon on forgiveness, all right?"

Pause.

"Maybe you have rejected your closest friend at the time you need him most."

"My closest friend? I . . ." I wanted to object, but then it hit me. He was right. Julian was my closest friend. He was the one person who put up with me however scatterbrained and unreasonable I was. Who else did I have? I had no siblings. My friends were great for larking around but not for this.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

"Would you like me to contact him on your behalf?" asked Father Ambrose.

"No," I snapped. Then realizing how harsh that sounded, "I might contact him later. I need some time."

"Then may I tell him you need some space right now, but you might call him later."

"Why do you want to contact him?"

"I expect he's hurting as bad as you are. Maybe worse. He has the guilt of his sin and the pain of rejection to bare, as well as his concern for his girlfriend and child."

Suddenly I was the one feeling guilty. I thought about what Julian would do if he walked in right now. He would put his big strong arm around me, and tell me he loved me. He would say my big, brown, puppy dog eyes sparkled even more when I cried. I experienced one great pang of longing. Then I pulled myself together. I decided to thank Father Ambrose for his concern but suggest he save his arbitration skills for his own flock. I was spared having to put this into words when the door opened, and a nurse stuck her head round.

"Mr Bennington is ready to receive mass, Father Ambrose. And Miss Baxter, your bed on the maternity ward will be ready in about thirty minutes."

Father Ambrose stood up, produced a business card from a pocket in his cassock, and handed it to me. "Call me anytime you want to talk."

I thanked him, and he turned to go. I was left feeling more confused than ever.

I'd changed my mind. I did want to be alone. I didn't like sitting in this TV room where people could wander in any time. Maybe I could take a walk. But then they wouldn't be able to find me when my bed was ready, and Dr Basil was out of theatre.

Before I could think of a plan of action, the door opened again, and in walked one of the older patients from the surgical ward.

"Oh, hello, me duck," she said plonking herself down on the sofa. "I'm glad I saw yer. I just wanted to say yer were quite right to tell that good-for-nothing boyfriend of yours to get on 'is bike."

And what business is it of yours?

"I'm Doris by the way." She waited for me to introduce myself. I declined.

"Of course some folks wouldn't want to get near yer right now, but I'm not worried. It's not like yer going to leap up an' bite me, is it? Yer not Dracula in disguise, are yer?" She leant back, slapped her hand on her knee, and roared with laughter. She didn't notice I was not amused.

"Anyway, yer well shot of 'im. Treatin' yer like that. Men. Good riddance to the lot of 'em, I say. I've 'ad three 'usbands, and I 'ad to throw 'em all out in the end."

What makes me think they were happy to leave?

"I were left with six kids to look after by meself. What a handful! That's how I got these wrinkles and grey hair. I'm only sixty-one, but I look eighty. Men are totally selfish critters. They don't care about nothing 'cept getting down to the pub first chance they get."

"Actually, Julian doesn't drink anymore." It was the first thing I said, and she ignored it.

"They just want yer to scrub the 'ouse, and make dinner. Never lift a finger to 'elp. Then they expect their rumpy pumpy. Take, take, take."

"Julian's not like that." Why was I defending him to this obnoxious old hag?

"Still, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em, I guess. When's the baby coming? Do yer know?"

I opened my mouth, but she didn't wait for an answer.

"I just 'ad me 'ernia done. It's wonderful what they can do these days, isn't it? They just put yer to sleep, cut yer open, and stitch yer up."

Thank you for that succinct explanation of the amazing technicalities of modern surgery.

"I'm 'oping to get out of 'ere tomorrow. It's me granddaughter's third birthday party on Saturday. I can't miss that. She's the cutest little poppet you've ever seen."

I wondered if my Daisy would ever live to see her third birthday.

"Well, I must go. It's been grand talking with yer."

Talking at me you mean.

To my great relief she stood up to go. As Doris walked out, Helen walked in. "Your bed's ready. Let's get you moved in and settled ready for Dr Basil."

# CHAPTER 4

My little room off the maternity ward was pretty much the same as the one off the surgical ward, with the same sickly yellow walls and flowered curtains. The only difference was a sign on the door with bold red print reading:

INFECTION CONTROL

Maximum precaution with blood and bodily fluids

I felt like a squirrel monkey in a cage at London Zoo. The sign might have read:

DO NOT FEED

May be dangerous

They bought me a plate of fish fingers, instant mash, and soggy, anaemic cabbage. They called this sorry excuse for food, 'lunch'.

I had no appetite. I put it aside and looked out the window. I watched a pigeon hopping in front of the long, narrow windows of the office block opposite. For a moment I envied the bird. It didn't have to worry its stupid head about HIV and ARV and mortality rates.

As the nurse took away my plate, a pretty woman with shoulder-length, straightened, light brown hair stood in the doorway and said, "May I come in?"

My heart sank. When Father Ambrose and Doris decided to give me their unsolicited opinions about Julian, I could not have anticipated what they would say. Cassandra, on the other hand, could only be here for one reason. To plead on behalf of her beloved baby brother.

She gave me a false smile and waited for an invitation. Her flowing, lilac, chiffon dress exemplified the difference between us. I hated her style as much as she hated my hooped tights and polka dot Alice bands. As usual, when she didn't have her little boy in tow, she carried a leather clutch bag. How impractical. I could never understand the female obsession with handbags.

What the heck. She couldn't make me feel any worse. "Sure, take a seat. But before you start, I don't want to hear that Julian's the most wonderful guy who ever lived, who just made a tiny little mistake and I should offer him Christian forgiveness, OK?" Her carefully planned speech had just been prohibited.

She rallied quickly. "How are you, Beckie?"

"How do you think?"

"Well, I guess you must be feeling pretty terrible just now."

"Got it in one."

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Do you have a miraculous cure for HIV infection?" The second I said it, I realized I'd given her an opening.

"No, but I know a man who does."

I decided not to take the bait. "So how are you and Andrew?"

"We're just great, thank you."

"And Alexander? I'm sorry I missed his first birthday party."

"Not to worry. He's too young to know it's his birthday anyway. I'm taking him for his one year vaccinations tomorrow."

Pause.

We'd covered the social niceties. Now what?

I didn't want to talk about Julian. Or maybe I did. The fact was, it was difficult to talk about anything else. He alone connected us. Without him, we would never have chosen to be friends.

"I suppose Julian's told you I'm a selfish, grouchy bitch who wouldn't even listen to his grovelling apology," I said.

"He doesn't talk about you like that. He has repented and accepted full responsibility for what he's done."

"That's all very well, but it doesn't change anything, does it?"

"Beckie, we all just want the best for you and the baby. We pray you haven't contracted . . . this horrible infection—"

"Call a spade a spade. It's HIV." I knew she would feel ashamed that her perfect family had been tainted by such unspeakable filth. "Surely your kid brother's pedestal is looking a bit shaky right now."

"I admit it's been a shock," she lowered her eyes for a moment, then seemed to regather her composure for the task in hand. "But it's happened now, and we have to deal with it. I'm just so grateful he recently found the Lord."

"Yeah, great." I wasn't sure she caught the sarcasm.

"Beckie, you're in a very difficult situation."

"Thanks for telling me. I might have missed it."

"Please, Julian only wants to help you. He loves you deeply." No doubt she wanted to add, God knows why. "He just wants to stand by you during this trial."

"I don't want him. I don't need him." I wondered if she knew I was lying.

"If you don't want him yourself, what about the baby? It's his baby, too."

"He's forfeited his rights as a father."

"You chose to get pregnant by him—"

"No, I didn't. The pregnancy wasn't planned."

"You know what I mean."

"You mean I chose to screw your baby brother. He's a good lay, you know."

"There's no need to be crude."

"You started it."

She opened her mouth to snap but thought better of it. "What I'm saying is, you and Julian made Daisy together."

"Then he had sexual intercourse with a lady of the streets. Did I express that delicately enough?"

"Only after you threatened to kill his baby."

"So, it's my fault?"

"There are too sides to every story. You both made mistakes. It's time to forgive each other and move on. He's really a wonderful man who just strayed momentarily from the narrow path."

"My condition on talking to you was that you wouldn't say what you just said."

"I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Come on, Beckie."

Pause.

"OK. I'll think about it."

"Great. I'll come back again in fifteen minutes."

Before I could object, she'd gone.

What was I to do? Maybe she was right. Maybe I had to accept I wasn't as pure as the driven snow either. I had wanted to hear the worst from Dr Basil before I thought about Julian. But I'd been waiting a long time, and he still hadn't shown.

Ranting and raving hadn't done me much good. Maybe it was time to take a deep breath and act like an adult for a change.

When Cassandra reappeared at my door, I said, "OK. I'll talk to him, but I'm not making any promises."

"Great. I'll fetch him."

"Where is he?"

"Right outside."

# CHAPTER 5

"Hello, Beckie."

A familiar stranger walked into the room. His head was heavily bandaged. I didn't know how to respond. It was like I'd had one kind of relationship with this man up until this morning, and now I was starting a completely different one.

I resorted to my normal fallback approach. "We're just going to talk. Don't start crying again, OK?"

He sat down. There was silence. He was scared to speak. I knew why. He didn't want me to snap his head off.

"Well?" I asked sharply after a few seconds.

"I understand why you're so angry with me."

"So you should."

"What I did was very wrong."

"You got that right."

"I would give my life if I could go back and undo it."

"Very noble of you."

"It was one moment of madness."

"One moment of betrayal."

"It's very difficult to forgive myself."

"Impossible, I would hope."

"It would be impossible if Jesus hadn't died for my sin."

"I won't listen to this crap."

"Yes, you will." Julian suddenly stood up and his small, blue eyes flashed with anger. I was stunned into silence. I'd never seen him like this. "You will listen because you have to. We were both irresponsible to make Daisy, but we did it, and now we both have a responsibility to give her the best possible chance of a happy life. I mucked up badly. But you're no angel yourself. For God's sake, for Daisy's sake, we have to be together on this."

"What if Daisy dies?"

"I pray she won't. I pray she won't be punished for my sin." He slumped back into the chair and tears streamed from his eyes."

"I told you not to cry."

"How can I not cry? I'm a human being. I'm a father. God gave me a heart to love." More than ever, the irony struck me that this macho-looking man was as soft as whipped cream inside.

Julian steeled himself and said, "I understand you're waiting for the consultant to make the decision how to proceed." I nodded. "I want to be there. I have to be there."

Pause. He had a point. I couldn't really exclude him from the critical consultation with Dr Basil.

"OK, But this is just a temporary, business arrangement. No promises."

I heard a stifled shout of, "Yes" outside the door.

"Is that your nosey cow of a sister? She's been listening?"

"As part of our temporary, business arrangement could you please stop insulting my family?"

Before I could reply, the door opened, and Cassandra walked in accompanied by her husband and baby son. I wanted to tell them to get lost, but I'd just agreed to a truce, so I thought better of it.

I immediately decided the best course of action was to keep my trap shut.

Andrew immediately look charge and told Cassandra to sit next to Julian while he fetched another chair. However Cassandra hung back, with one year old Alexander wriggling in her arms, and waited for the extra chair to arrive, so she could sit by the door. She said she didn't want Alexander to bother me, but I knew she was keeping her precious baby away from me and Julian. We were contaminated goods.

Andrew sat down, then lent forward, asserting his presence as if about to chair a committee meeting. He was thirty-five going on fifty. The tuft of gingerish hair on top of his head stood in defiance of his decline into male pattern baldness.

"Beckie, needless to say we are all deeply concerned about this unfortunate situation," said Andrew.

Julian looked at me nervously, expecting a retort. It was true I didn't think 'unfortunate' was an appropriate adjective, but I held my peace.

Andrew continued, "We're just humbly grateful that God has provided us with this wonderful hospital where you can get the best care humanly possible."

It struck me his statement was self-contradictory. Wasn't God supposed to be above human possibilities? Keep it zipped, Beckie. I looked at Cassandra, expecting her to comment. She was an aromatherapist and didn't share Andrew's unquestioning faith in drugs and surgery. Clearly she and Andrew had agreed to present a united front on this occasion.

I think they were finding my lack of response unnerving.

"Are they looking after you well?" asked Cassandra as she tried to stop Alexander pulling down the pretty flowered curtains over the window to the ward.

It was a direct question. I had to answer.

"It's a hospital. They ignore you until they want to stick needles in you."

"How's the food?" asked Andrew.

"Don't ask," I replied. Then, "How's the megachurch going?" Andrew was an architect involved in a big project in West London. I figured I could get him on his favourite subject and let him roll. But it backfired.

"It's going well. We've got some Koreans helping us. They've been building megachurches for a long time. And we've got the whole team praying for you and the baby right now."

"I don't want your prayers."

A potentially awkward moment passed as Alexander, frustrated at not being allowed out of his mother's arms, decided to get his dad's attention by shouting baby talk at the top of his lungs. Cassandra said she'd take him outside. She looked relieved to go.

Andrew continued, "I would ask you to respect our faith, Beckie. It's so important, we would gladly die for it."

"What about you respecting my lack of faith?"

"Let's face facts here, Beckie. You and Julian have produced a baby out of wedlock, and now that baby may have contracted a fatal infection." Andrew couldn't keep the judgmental tone out of his voice. "Your only chance is to throw yourself on God's mercy."

I glanced at Julian, trying to communicate I've done really well to keep calm, but if you don't shut this blockhead up, I won't be responsible for my actions.

Julian took my hand. "Darling—"

"Don't call me that."

"Beckie, God wants to help us."

"There is no God."

Pause.

"Your baby's father believes there is," said Andrew, "and he has a right to pray for his daughter."

The truth was, I wanted to believe they were right. I desperately wanted to believe there was a powerful God of love and mercy who could take control of this mess. But I knew there wasn't. Still, if they wanted to utter religious platitudes into thin air, what harm could it do? I knew the drill. I'd watched my dad lead the prayers in our local Anglican church a thousand times. He would put on his best religious voice and proclaim the wonders of God in words of no less than four syllables.

"OK, you can pray, but let's keep it short."

Andrew closed his eyes, "Heavenly Father—"

"I'll do it. She's my baby," asserted Julian. He lent forward and put his hand on my bump. He smiled at me as he started to pray with his eyes open. "Heavenly Father, please help us. Beautiful Beckie and precious Daisy are in big trouble, and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry. You are a God of mercy, and we need you now. I pray that they haven't contracted HIV, and Daisy will be born healthy. Please show us what to do for the best. You are our doctor. You are our healer. And please show Beckie you're alive, so she can find out how wonderful it is to know you. Thank you, in Jesus' name."

Daisy danced in my tummy.

The door opened, and in walked Dr Basil.

# CHAPTER 6

Dr Basil stood at the end of the bed while Helen leaned around him and asked Andrew and Julian to step outside.

"I'm staying," said Julian. "She's my baby too."

Andrew left, and Helen and Dr Petropoulos stepped just inside the door. They put their briefcases on the floor. Behind them, through the open door, I could see a staff nurse hovering. They were all ready to jump the second the great consultant gave a command.

Dr Basil smiled and rocked on his heels as if having jolly fun playing golf rather than preparing to pronounce sentence on his terrified patient.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, but he didn't look sorry at all.

Julian stood and said, "We were just praying."

"Well, I suppose it never goes amiss to give science a bit of divine help occasionally." I noticed Helen purse her lips and cross her arms.

"I hear we have a bit of a problem," said Dr Basil.

Understatement of the year.

"I've discussed it with my staff." He indicated Helen and Dr Petropoulos. "And we've decided to play safe and do an immediate caesarean section."

"What?" I blurted. I hadn't expected this.

"You're at thirty-nine weeks anyway. If we birth the baby by caesarean, we can control any complications, and we can deal with the HIV infection effectively."

"But we don't know if Daisy is HIV positive," said Julian.

Helen nodded.

"And there's no way to quickly ascertain her HIV status," said Dr Basil. "It's safest to assume the worse,"

"Can't you just give Beckie some anti-HIV drugs, and let her have Daisy the normal way?" asked Julian.

"If we had known about this sooner, we might have tried that, but it's too late to start Miss Baxter on ARV."

"ARV?"

"Antiretroviral therapy. If all goes well with the delivery, we will start the baby on ARV shortly after birth."

"So if I'd found out sooner . . ." Julian's words trailed off. He looked away as his face contorted. Strangely, I found myself wanting to comfort him.

I spoke for the first time. "You said you would do the caesarean immediately. How soon is immediately?"

Dr Basil turned to Dr Petropoulos who said, "The theatre should be ready in about an hour. They're finishing up a couple of terminations."

I didn't like the idea of giving birth in a theatre where they'd just been performing abortions.

"When did you last eat, Miss Baxter?" asked Dr Basil.

Before I could answer, the staff nurse, eager to make a contribution, said, "She had lunch, Dr Basil."

"I didn't eat it," I corrected.

"Very well. Under the circumstances we've decided to do the caesarean under general anaesthetic. I'm sure Dr Petropoulos will answer any questions you might have."

He turned to leave, and in the midst of all my anguish and confusion, I noticed Dr Basil was wearing Cuban heels under his black suit. I guessed he liked to look taller than he was.

"I'm scared. I didn't expect this. It's so sudden. I must have read a hundred books on natural childbirth. Now look what's happened."

Helen sat on the bed and held my hand. "Dr Basil has done thousands of caesareans. You're in good hands."

"What will happen?"

"They'll take you to theatre and put you under anaesthetic. You'll just go to sleep, and when you wake up it will all be over."

"And where will Daisy be?

"She'll be in the NICU," said Dr Petropoulos, pulling up a chair, "the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, just until we're sure she's stable."

"What if she isn't stable? You're going to cut her out of me, and I'll never see her again." Julian patted my arm but he couldn't speak. He just gazed at me sadly with his head on one side, tears streaming from his small, blue eyes.

"Can I stay with Beckie?" he said.

"You can wait with her now. You can't go to theatre with her, but Dr Atkinson will inform you when she's in recovery. It shouldn't take long."

As he was speaking, he pulled a document out of his briefcase and handed it to Helen. It was a BMA report entitled '2017 Guidelines for Infection Control in Obstetrics'. He said, "Make sure you're totally up-to-date with the relevant sections." She glanced at me and then glared at Dr Petropoulos with an 'is-this-really-the-time' expression. He glared back with a 'don't-start-that-again' expression, and there was an awkward silence.

I hate silence. I'm a noise person. Loud music. Loud laughter. At home, silence meant mum was too angry to talk, and dad was too wise to make her.

After a few seconds I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to say something. Anything.

"Why the snake?" I asked Dr Petropoulos.

"I'm sorry?"

I pointed to the BMA logo on the report he was holding.

"I don't know. It's just a symbol."

"It's the rod of Asclepius." Helen was obviously keen to distract me from my plight. "He was a Greek god of medicine. I recently visited the remains of the temple of Asclepius in Pergamum when I went to Turkey."

Dr Petropoulos picked up the baton. "Pergamum's in Turkey now, but it used to be in Greece. Of course, my home country has lost its pre-eminence, but we should never forget that modern medicine has its roots in ancient Greece. Hippocrates. Galen of Pergamum." His usual smug, slightly sleazy expression reappeared across his broad, handsome face. He had asserted his medical pedigree based solely on his nationality.

On that note, he stood up and picked up his briefcase. "Well, I must get back to my other patients." He turned and walked out of the room.

I guessed Helen had other patients waiting for her too, but I didn't want her to leave. Trying to keep the conversation going, I said, "So did you enjoy Turkey?"

"Yes, but as a Christian, I found the idol worship at Pergamum disturbing. After all the Bible describes Pergamum as 'Satan's seat' and 'the place where Satan dwelleth'"

Oh-oh! She's a Christian. Here we go. Bible bashing alert. She was obviously keen to grasp her first opportunity to warn me to get 'right with God' before the HIV virus carried me off to hell.

Julian sat up straight, a spark of hope flashed in his eyes. I guessed he was silently praying for Helen to convert me.

"But that was a long time ago. We don't worship idols these days," I said, "Unless you count Beyonce of course"

"Guy's Hospital still has a statue of Asclepius."

"But it's not like the ones you saw in Pergamum, right?

"I didn't see any statues in Pergamum. It's just ruins. Everything was destroyed in a big earthquake in the year 262. I've got a book. I can show you."

She reached into her briefcase and produced a large, thin book entitled 'The Ruins of Pergamum'. She handed it to me and said, "You can borrow it if you like. It will give you something to read while you're waiting."

"Thanks." I had no idea why she thought I wanted to read about an ancient earthquake while my own life collapsed in ruins around me. I guess she was just being friendly. At least she hadn't forced a Bible on me. I had actually scraped 'A' levels in classical studies and geography, so if I had not been in mortal dread for me and my baby, I might have found the book interesting.

I looked at the statue on the front cover. This so called god of medicine had bushy, curly hair a bit like me, though I didn't have the beard, of course. He certainly had a muscular torso and wasn't afraid to show it. The long staff in his right hand had a thick, slimy snake slithering round it, like the BMA logo. It gave me the creeps.

"So this god could heal, right?" I said.

"Apparently, so. There were many reports of miracles. Of course, some of the reported healings could have been down to the mineral water in the area."

"They were healed by Perrier?" I sniggered.

"Jesus used mineral water, for example, he healed the blind man in the pool of Siloam. But also, one of the pools in the Asclepion was—"

"In the what?"

"Asclepion. It was kind of a temple hospital where patients slept. They hoped Asclepius would visit them in their dreams and prescribe treatment. Anyway, one of the pools has been found to contain radioactive water."

"I could use this guy's help right now."

I said it with a wry smile, but a look of sheer horror appeared on Helen's face. Julian opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Helen said, "Don't say that. He's a demon. An instrument of Satan."

"Chill out. I was only joking."

"Beckie, Jesus is the true healer," said Julian.

"Amen," said Helen, "The rod of Asclepius may still be used as a medical symbol, but I became a doctor to serve the Son of God who came to heal and give life."

OK. Let's call a halt to this religious gush before I start throwing up again.

"Dr Petropoulos fancies you," I said. A blatant change of subject.

"I know," said Helen with a sigh.

"Is he married?"

"Yes, to a stunningly attractive, sophisticated, Greek woman. She's his age, but she has the body of a twenty-year-old. Wears Armani."

"You should be flattered. Or should he be flattened instead? I get the impression you're not always on the same page as the senior medical staff."

"Don't get me wrong, Beckie. I have great respect for Dr Basil and Dr Petropoulos. They bear awesome responsibility for the lives of children. I'm not ready to carry that burden yet. I'm not sure I ever will be."

"So you wouldn't want to have Daisy's life in your hands?"

"It's not easy being a doctor." She considered her unpainted fingernails for a second, debating with herself whether to tell us something. "When I was six, my two year old brother died. He had been perfectly healthy, and then one day, with no medical explanation, he had a massive seizure and died. My family never recovered. I went to medical school hoping to find some answers, but all I found was more questions. So, I greatly admire strong-minded, confident people like Dr Basil who take control and make the hard decisions."

"I bet he can be a pain in the rear end, though," I said.

She nodded reluctantly, "But if I were in your shoes, I would want him in charge. He comes from a long line of medical doctors. I heard he could name every bone in the body by the age of seven. His two sons and his daughter have also gone into medicine."

At that moment her bleeper went off. "I'm sorry, I have to go. But I'll come back as soon as I can." She squeezed my hand, picked up her briefcase and left.

# CHAPTER 7

"Why don't you call your parents, Honey?" said Julian.

I didn't answer.

"They need to know."

"They'll just panic and nag."

"You're their only daughter, and you're about to have their first grandchild."

"Drop it, OK."

Julian hesitated, not wanting to risk our fragile truce. "I wish I could call my parents." He was reminding me that his parents were gone, both taken by sudden illness—his father a heart attack and his mother a stroke—and I should be grateful I still had mine.

"I'll call them after the caesarean."

"They'll be mad—"

"Julian, stop griping and give me some moral support here."

"OK, Sweetheart." He reached out and started to rub my belly. I opened by mouth to stop him, then realized his touch was really comforting. I needed comfort.

"A caesarean seems so unnatural," I said, "That they can rip Daisy away from me like that."

"They think it's best."

"I'm scared I'll let them put me to sleep, and when I wake up, she'll be dead." Julian put his big, strong arms around me. I buried my head in his neck and yielded to uncontrolled sobs.

He patted my back, "Hush, Baby. It will be OK."

"You don't know that."

"I have peace in my heart."

"Lucky you."

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

I pulled away. I needed him yet he drove me insane. "Just drop it. I let you pray, didn't I. What more do you want?"

"Why don't you pray for Daisy, too?"

I had no doubt that Julian loved Daisy. Maybe I should pray for her. It wouldn't do any harm. Even Dr Basil said modern science needed a bit of divine help occasionally.

"Why do you think prayer will do any good?" I asked. "We have the best facilities and staff that modern medicine can provide. It's not like we're in the Middle Ages when people only had superstition to fall back on."

"It's not superstition. Jesus is real. You just haven't met him yet."

"You want me to travel two thousand years back in time and meet Jesus, do you?"

"No, I want you to meet him right now, sitting in that hospital bed."

"Julian, knock it off, please."

Despite the truce, I still wasn't sure how I felt about Julian. Maybe Doris was right. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them. Maybe Andrew was right. By having Julian's baby, I'd committed myself to him.

I couldn't work this out just now. Get the caesarean over with and then think again.

The door opened and in walked a large, black auxiliary nurse. She addressed Julian, "The staff nurse would like to see you in her office. As the baby's father, she needs to take your medical history."

Julian kissed me on the cheek and said he'd be back soon.

"Are you comfortable, Miss. Can I get you anyt'ing?" The nurse walked over to my locker to check the water. Her name badge read 'Auxiliary Nurse Afulabi'.

"I'm waiting to go to theatre for a caesarean."

"Caesareans. Caesareans. They do them at the drop of a hat these days."

"It's because I might have HIV."

"Yeah, I saw the sign on the door." She started fussing with my pillows and tucking in the sheets.

"You have a lot of that in Africa, don't you?"

She stood up straight and laughed heartily. "That's right. All us poor Africans are dying of HIV, and we need you smart white westerners to send us condoms and drugs."

I didn't know how to take this. "I didn't mean to offend you." I spoke the truth. For once, offense was not my intention.

She sat on the end of the bed. "I know. You're just spouting the usual mantra."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Look, a lot of people have died in Africa, but how do we know they've died of HIV? How do we know they even had HIV?"

"The HIV tests."

She laughed again. It was starting to annoy me. "Most of the time they don't test. They use the so-called Bangui Definition. If a patient has persistent cough, diarrhea, and weight-loss they say it's HIV. Africans are dying of the same t'ings we've always died from, they've just given it a new name. And guess what? When we manage to get clean water, better nutrition, better housing and basic healthcare, the death rate plummets, just like it did in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in Britain."

This was a new perspective. I'd have to think about that one. "Well my boyfriend had a test, and it's positive, so they're going to do a caesarean and give my baby ARV."

This time, she didn't laugh. She dropped her head.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"It's not for me to say." She stood up and unnecessarily wiped her hands on her apron.

"Come on. I mention HIV, and you laugh. I mention ARV, and you look like your pet labrador just died."

"The big doctors can tell you all about ARV. I'm just the dogsbody." She turned towards the door.

"Please. I want to hear what you've got to say."

She glanced out the window to the ward, then turned back and said, "I'm not supposed to talk about it. I'll get another reprimand if they find out."

I ran my finger across my mouth to indicate it was zipped.

"It's just I agree with Mbeki."

"Who?"

"Mbeki. The former president of South Africa. For years he refused to let ARV into the country. Said it was poison."

"Poison?"

"Yeah, but they got to him eventually, and he caved."

"Dr Basil wouldn't give Daisy poison."

"Dr Basil isn't . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at her sensible, flat shoes.

"What about Dr Basil?"

She glanced out of the window again. "I don't know. Maybe he's a great man like they say. But I hear t'ings. I'm a fly on the wall. They ignore me until they want poop washed off the walls. I once overheard a big row between Dr Basil and Dr Calibi, the Chief Medical Officer. It seems Dr Basil doesn't always put his patients first. I'll say no more."

"Everybody says I'm very lucky to have Dr Basil. He has lots of experience with babies and HIV."

"Yeah, well. All the best." She turned and walked out.

When she'd gone I was left with only my confused, tortured thoughts for company. I needed Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve. I felt like I'd been put inside one of those giant inflatable balls and pushed down a hill. I no longer knew which way was up.

Who was Julian? Was he a Judas or my best friend? Did he have strong, protective arms, or was he as squidgy as mushy peas? Did he have rights as Daisy's father, or had he forfeited his rights?

Were modern drugs God's gift to humankind, or were they poison? Were we blessed or cursed to have Dr Basil?

Could prayer, at best, give modern medicine a leg up, or could it put you in touch with the true healer?

Was I right to surrender all control, or should I fight? Should I let them put me to sleep, take Daisy, and do whatever they want with her? Or should I tell them to wait and demand more information?

At the end of the day, I had no choice. I was overwhelmed. All I could do was yield. Dr Basil with his ARV was our best hope? Or was he?

I couldn't bare these thoughts. I scanned the room for some kind of distraction, and my eyes fell on Helen's book about Pergamum. I determined to make myself read it and think of nothing else.

I opened the book. There were artists' reconstructions of Pergamum. All the buildings had red roofs.

The house Julian wanted to buy for me and Daisy had a red roof.

There were statues of Roman gods in long robes.

It reminded me of I Claudius, when John Hurt as Caligula cuts his sister open and eats the baby. How she screamed. No anaesthetic.

There were paintings of gladiators.

I remembered Russel Crowe and the end of Gladiator. "He was a soldier of Rome. Honour him." Who would honour me and Daisy if we died on the table? Julian would be distraught.

There was an enormous flight of stone steps leading up to the Altar of Zeus.

I felt like I was about to climb those steps myself and be offered to . . . who knows?

There were pillars and arches and hundreds of statues and snakes everywhere. Creeping, crawling, slithering, stone snakes. Why would anybody want to decorate their city with snakes?

There was a painting of what appeared to be a classic Greek hospital. An Asclepion, Helen had called it. The caption read The Temples and Cult of Asclepius by Robert Thom. It looked nothing like the maternity ward. It was as high as a cathedral. The patients were all muscular men. They didn't look sick to me. They certainly didn't look like AIDS patients. Beckie, shut up about AIDS and look at the painting. They were naked to the waist, lying on thin mats with white sheets draped over them.

Three men attended the patients. They were wearing the classic Greek chiton over one shoulder and had thin, grey fillets about their heads. Not my style. Colourless and patternless. My Daisy was going to be dressed in my style. If she lived. An older attendant was kneeling and holding a cup for a patient, a classic Greek vase was on the floor next to him. A second attendant stood at the end of the mat, holding out a candle to give them light. Oh, the benefits of modern electric lights. And modern medicine?

A third attendant was lighting candles on tall candle sticks.

The walls were covered with clay and wood models of body parts: arms, legs, hands, feet, heads, and what looked like breasts. What was all that about? According to the information under the painting they were votives, given to Asclepius as thank offerings for healings. What would I give Asclepius if he healed me and Daisy from HIV? His statue was sitting on an enormous throne at the far end of the sleeping room, the candles casting huge shadows on the wall behind him. He gazed sternly over his patients, and in his left hand he held the rod, complete with entwined snake.

Snakes. Snakes. Snakes. At least my modern hospital had a bed, and there were no snakes.

I searched for more peaceful photos.

That was better. Pictures of waterfalls outside of Pergamum. Lovely fresh cascading water. Think about that, Beckie. How nice it would be to be there and feel the wonderful, cool water washing over me.

I closed the book.

"Daisy, we're going to think nice thoughts. I'm going to think about how wonderful it will be when you are safely in my arms. I've bought lots of cute baby clothes for you. And your daddy's made you a crib. It's all ready with cozy, pink bedding and a dolphin mobile hanging over it. We're going to be all right."

I believed it for about ten seconds. Then the door opened, and Helen put her head round. "It's time to go."

I was put on a trolley bed, and a porter wheeled me to theatre. Julian scurried alongside, holding my hand.

"I'm so scared, Julian." My usual cocky, don't-mess-with-me attitude had melted away. I needed help.

"It's OK. Just keep your eyes on me. Mind nothing else."

"Who do you think you are, Sydney Carton? Are they taking me to the guillotine? It feels like it."

"No, Honey. You and Daisy are going to be well taken care of."

A nurse held out her hand to hold Julian back. We were entering the sterile area. I was pushed through a door away from him.

"Don't leave me, Julian."

"I have to for a little while, Darling. But Jesus is with you wherever you go. Pray to him."

He was gone.

I felt in a daze as the anaesthetist set up an IV line. I tried to clear my buzzing head, but Julian's voice persisted, "Beckie, why don't you pray for Daisy, too?" "Jesus is real." "God wants to help us." "Please show Beckie you're alive, so she can find out how wonderful it is to know you."

The anaesthetist told me to count back from ten.

"Ten."

Maybe he's right.

"Nine,"

It can't do any harm.

"Eight."

This is your last chance.

"Seven."

Jesus, if you're there, please help us.

"Six. Five. . . ."

* * * * * * * * * *

I had an awesome dream.

I was standing at the top of a long flight of stone steps that led down to a pool of water. The pool was encased in tall stone walls, cut deep into the ground. There was no handrail, and the steps were steep. I felt dizzy as I contemplated the descent. It seemed reckless to try to reach the pool, but I knew I must. My life and my baby's life depended on it.

I took one step at a time, clinging on to the wall, slowly and painstakingly creeping towards my goal. The air became damp and cold, like the inside of a cave. Finally, my feet touched the ground a short distance from the pool. I stepped forward and down into the water. It was only a few inches deep. The cold water made my feet tingle, but at the same time, I felt whooshes of warmth and light gush from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. Every cell in my body shivered with delight. My baby danced in my womb. I leaned forward, scooped the water in my hands, and splashed my face. Life and freshness trickled over my body. I laid down and let the healing waters nourish every part of me. I was whole. I was safe. I was at peace.

Then I awoke.

Was the operation over so soon? No, it couldn't be. Daisy was still in my tummy.

So why was I awake? Was there a problem? Had they woken me up without doing the caesarean?

As I struggled to come back to full consciousness, I knew something was wrong. It was hot. I was sweating. The mattress under me felt coarse. It was lumpy like it was filled with straw. I was dressed in something rough and uncomfortable. Behind my closed eyelids, I could see flickering light.

I forced myself to open my eyes and raise myself up on my elbow, conscious of Daisy kicking frantically inside me.

What I saw had me immediately on my feet and running for our lives.

# CHAPTER 8

The snake was enormous.

It's black and yellow head was raised, ready to strike, its forked tongue flicking in and out of its open mouth. It's beady eyes bored into mine.

I sprang to my feet and ran without looking back.

But in front of me was an even bigger snake. This one made of stone, entwined around the staff of Asclepius as he sat on his throne, gazing out upon his patients, his face lit by the flickering torches set at his feet.

I was in the painting by Robert Thom. But I couldn't be.

I froze for one second, then I felt my shoulders being grabbed by two strong hands, and I was flung round.

"What are you doing in here, you stupid girl?" It was the oldest of the three attendants. He looked about fifty, with white hair and beard. "You are heavy with child. Don't you know it's strictly forbidden to give birth in the sanctuary? Get out." He gripped my arm painfully and started to drag me back past other patients who were yawning and stretching as they awoke.

"But there's a snake," I screamed. "Where's the snake?"

"Did you see the god?" The youngest of the three assistants was standing in our way. His eyes were wild with excitement and expectation. Even in the midst of my panic, I couldn't help noticing he was gorgeous, His thick, black, curly hair was circled by a grey fillet. His bare right shoulder ripple with muscles, his long, white robe emphasized his height.

"No, I saw a snake."

"I mean, did the god appear to you as a snake in a dream? Did he lick you?"

"No, I dreamed about a pool of water. The snake's real." Why weren't they listening? How could they take this so casually? I looked frantically around the room trying to find the horrible creature.

"Probably just one of the temple snakes," said the third assistant. "She's just woken up. She's disorientated. Let's get her out of here. She's disturbing the other patients."

"No, I have to find out how I got here," I protested as they propelled me towards a large, heavy wooden door.

"You got in through the door, and now you're going out through the door," said the older man.

"Listen to me." I jerked my arm out of his grip. "I'm in the wrong place. I don't belong here. This is Greece in the classical era. I'm from modern England. You're in a painting. I was put under anesthetic, and I woke up here."

They all laughed heartily.

"You must have had a wonderful dream. When we get outside, you must tell me all about it," said the younger man.

"I'm not going out of that door. There must be a stargate or something. I've got to find my way back. Where was I sleeping?"

I looked around the room. The statue, the torch light, the votives, the moaning patients all added to my feeling of dread. I hated this place. But I couldn't let them take me further away from 2017 and the safe, modern hospital where science ruled religion.

"You are going out of that door." The older man stopped laughing and grabbed my arm again. "The god will be very angry that we allowed you in here. The other patients may suffer his displeasure." The third assistant opened the door. The white haired man literally picked me up and threw me out of it.

"How can you treat a pregnant woman like that?" I screamed back at him, picking myself up from the floor.

"See she gets right away from here," he commanded the younger man. The gorgeous young man stepped through the door which was slammed behind him.

We seemed to be in some kind of entrance hall.

"I'm not leaving," I said as the young man took my arm, indicating another set of double doors that presumably led outside.

He let go and said, "Look. You know what will happen if we go back in there right now. Hipponicus will be leaving soon to watch the physician's contest and the procession. Why don't we wait outside, and when he leaves, we'll sneak back in? OK?" He noticed my bare feet and added, "I'll just get your sandals." He disappeared back into the sleeping room.

I was highly suspicious of his plan. I was sure he was just saying it to calm me down and to obey orders by getting me out the building. But I had no chance of fighting my way back into the dream room. I wondered what a physician's contest could be. Surely they didn't have doctors exhibiting their healing skills and competing for prizes.

The young man reappeared. His charming smile was irresistible, and I reluctantly followed him to the main doors which he opened.

Blazing heat struck me in the face, and for a moment I stood transfixed by the sight before me. I was standing in an enormous square, surrounded by beautiful , magnificent colonades. Hundreds of people were milling around, all wearing the classic Greek chiton. In front of me was what looked like a small swimming pool, sunk into the stone pavement. To the right of it was a fountain in the shape of a lion's head from which people were collecting water in buckets. Behind all this, I could see tiers of stone steps rising up in a semicircle.

The young man took my hand. "Let's sit over here in the West Stoa. We'll have a good view of the abaton from there."

"Of the what?" I said, shaken out of my frozen state.

"The abaton. The building we've just left. I'm Nicholas by the way."

"Beckie."

"Beckie? Interesting name. Where are you from?"

"England."

"Is that somewhere near Laodicea?"

"No." I opened my mouth to tell him what an idiot he was but thought better of it. There was no point getting into pointless arguments. I didn't know how I got here, but I had to concentrate on getting back.

I stared around as we walked to the side of the square. I was the only person stunned by the setting. Everybody else was just going about their daily tasks, chatting as they went. I felt sweat already building up under the chiton I was wearing. The coarse material fell from my shoulders, flowed over my bump and caught uncomfortably on my legs as I walked. At least my arms were bare.

We arrived at the nearest stretch of covered walkways, and he indicated a stone seat between beautiful carved columns. I decided to sit down, keep my mouth shut, and watch the door to the abaton. The moment Hipponicus came out, I would get back in and find my way home.

"Please tell me about your dream," asked Nicholas.

"I told you. It was about a healing pool of mineral water."

"No, the other dream when you thought you were in a painting. I'm very good at dream interpretation. I'm sure I can help you understand the god's instructions."

"The god's instructions?"

"Yes. The pool is obvious. You don't need me to explain that one. The pool will be in use very soon." He indicated the pool in front of us.

"Is that the radioactive one?"

"Pardon?"

"I don't need the pool. We're just waiting for Hipponicus to leave, remember?" I eyed him suspiciously. He seemed to have forgotten his own ruse.

"We can try the pool later."

"There isn't going to be a later. I'm going back to my own time and place."

"Ah yes. Through a . . . what did you call it?"

"A stargate. At least I assume that's what it is."

"So you dreamed you came through a stargate, and you actually belong to another time and place. How fascinating."

"I didn't dream it. It actually happened."

"Yes, the god can give extremely realistic dreams."

He might have been gorgeous looking, but I was going off him. What a moron!

He continued, "Maybe the god was letting you see the future. He is going to give you such wonderful health you will be able to travel to mysterious faraway places."

"Yeah, that must be it." Whatever.

Suddenly an elderly woman bounded up to Nicholas and said with great enthusiasm, "I must tell you what happened to me."

Before Nicholas could respond I was on my feet. "Doris. How did you get here? Do you know how to get back?"

Doris gave me a filthy look then turned back to Nicholas. "The god came to me in my sleep." She gazed up into the sky, a look of wonder across her podgy face.

I grabbed her arm. "Doris, it's me, Beckie, Don't you remember? Did you come through the sleep room too?"

She wrenched her arm from my grip. "Don't interrupt." Turning back to Nicholas she continued, "I saw him. He walked towards me with a knife in his hand. I felt such peace and contentment. I knew he had come to save me."

"But before that dream you were in a hospital in London in 2017, right?"

She glared at me for a moment. Then Nicholas interjected, "Beckie is a bit disorientated after her dream experience."

"I'm not disorientated, she's disorientated." I grabbed Doris' shoulders and swung her towards me. "Think woman. You had hernia surgery and—" Nicholas had grabbed me from behind with his left arm and put his right hand over my mouth.

He said, "Please continue, Doris. Then I'll take Beckie to the music room and get her some chamomile tea."

I can't express how much this infuriated me. Like a nice cup of chamomile tea and some sweet, calming music was going to solve a quantum leap. But I was helpless. I wriggled and squirmed with all my might and achieved zilch. I was a captive audience.

Doris continued, "Anyway, the god came to me and gently inserted the knife into my belly. I saw the opening and the blood, but felt no pain. He worked inside me and then closed the wound with his hand. I saw him walk away. When I woke up all the pain in my belly was gone. Great is Asclepius. Praise be to his wonderful name." She raised her hands to the heavens.

"That's wonderful, Doris, "said Nicholas. "Only the god can operate on a living man as if he were a dead body."

"I must buy a belly votive to offer to the god. And I must go tell my children." Doris turned and started to walk away. Nicholas released my mouth, and I shouted, "You can't tell your children. They're back in 2017." Doris turned, looked at me and said to Nicholas, "She's going to need more than Chamomile tea." I opened my mouth to retaliate, but then I saw the door of the abaton open out of the corner of my eye. A group of people, including Hipponicus, walked out.

By now I was certain that Nicholas had no intention of taking me back to the sleep room. How was I going to get away from him?

"Oh Look," I said, "People are stepping down into the pool."

Nicholas released me, "Yes, why don't you try it. It's clear the god prescribed it, and people really do get wonderful benefit from the healing water."

"I guess I could give it a go while we're waiting." He clearly hadn't noticed Hipponicus leaving.

I walked with Nicholas towards the pool. We were met by a tall, elegant, older woman whose eyes came alive at the sight of the handsome young man at my side.

"Good morning, Nicholas," she said, "How are you?

"I'm fine, thank you. Did you hear about Doris?"  
"No. Do tell me all about it." She put her arm around his shoulders and led him towards the pool.

Seizing my chance, I turned and ran towards the abaton. Running when you're nine months pregnant and anxious to protect your baby is not easy, but somehow I felt lighter in this dimension. Even so, I'd only gone a few steps when I heard Nicholas running behind me. He once again grabbed around the valley between my boobs and belly.

"You promised to take me back," I screamed.

"I'm sorry, but I think I'll have to get the temple guards to remove you from the premises."

I had no time to object. Suddenly a well-dressed man of about forty appeared. He grabbed my arm and said, "There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere. Basileios is waiting. He's not a patient man. What are you playing at?"

For the second time, I found myself staring into a familiar face.

"Do you know this woman, Georgios?" Nicholas asked the man.

"Of course. This is Bernice. She's Basileios' patient". Georgios—better known to me as Dr George Petropoulos—started to drag me away. I seemed to have spent the last hour being dragged in one direction or another, and I'd had enough. I jerked my arm away and screamed at the top of my lungs, "You're not Georgios, you're George Petropoulos. I'm not Bernice. I'm Beckie, and I'm going home."

I turned back towards the abaton.

"No, you don't, young lady." Georgios picked me up. I kicked him backwards in the shins, and he dropped me. "You little bitch." He turned to Nicholas, "You get her legs." And so the two men carted me off, away from the abaton, away from my only hope of returning to sanity.

"The contestants and judges are waiting for you. You're holding everything up. You have caused Basileios a great deal of embarrassment," said Georgios.

It suddenly occurred to me who Basileios was.

Their arms were totally occupied carrying me, so they couldn't cover my mouth. "If you think I'm going to be part of some crazy doctor contest in the Greco-Roman world, you've got another thing coming. I might be HIV positive, you idiots. I've got to get back to a sterile, modern hospital with operating theatres and doctors licensed by the General Medical Council. You can keep your radioactive pools and your chamomile tea. So, you've got a god who's ahead of the game of epidurals. Big deal."

"We'll gag her when we get to the forecourt," said Georgios.

"No, you will not."

I was distracted as they carried me through a kind of market where votives were sold. I spotted Doris making a purchase. There were hundreds of wooden and stone body parts to choose from. There were arms and legs, body parts I didn't recognize, and body parts I wouldn't like to mention.

Then they carried me through a gate into a forecourt, and I saw what was waiting for me.

# CHAPTER 9

I was carried past a waiting crowd of about thirty scholarly-looking men in coloured chitons with intricately embroidered borders. We reached a raised platform on which stood three people, two of whom I recognized. In the centre was Father Ambrose in a long purple robe and with a golden laurel wreath around his head. On his far side stood Dr Basil, or Basileios as he was known in this space-time dimension. Classical Greek clothes did not suit him. He looked short and grey. They obviously hadn't invented Cuban heels and hair dye yet.

I was hauled unceremoniously between the platform and the audience and dumped in a corner. A huge, magnificent, carved wooden gate stood slightly ajar nearby. Just past the gate stood a massive, imposing, fifteen-foot statue of Asclepius, complete with staff and snake. In front of the statue, half a dozen bored-looking guards lounged around, wearing short red tunics, laced open-toed boots and metal helmets. Each carried a short sword at his side.

I opened my mouth to express my natural outrage at being treated thus. A hand appeared in front of my face and a rough cloth was stuffed in my mouth. A second pair of hands secured the first cloth by tying another around my jaw. I was held fast from behind. Once again, I kicked backwards and hit a shin.

"If you do that again," whispered Georgios in my ear, "I'll bind you hand and foot."

On the platform Basileios turned to Father Ambrose and said, "Most excellent Ambrosios, my humble apologies for the delay. We are now ready to proceed."

Ambrosios nodded courteously and stepped forward to address the audience. "Gentlemen, welcome to the final contest to decide the winner of this year's medical instrument competition. May I introduce our two worthy contestants? On my left we have the honourable Basileios of Pergamum who will be demonstrating the use his ingenious, experimental forceps for use in childbirth."

I stared in horror as Basileios stepped to the front and lifted up a pair of what looked like overgrown, curved eyebrow tweezers with coiled snakes carved down the side. The audience applauded enthusiastically.

No way. I frantically started to look for a way to escape.

Ambrosios continued, "On my right we have the honourable Demetrius of Thyatira who will show us the correct application of his new curved saw for use in limb amputations."

Demetrius stepped forward and held up a huge, half-moon saw with a carved wooden handle. Then he motioned to an assistant who helped a gaunt, wide-eyed, terrified looking man up the wooden steps to the platform. Demetrius lifted the man's robe to reveal a black right foot and ankle.

Ambrosios explained, "Demetrius will amputate the leg below the knee to remove the body parts affected by this strange disease."

It's gangrene, you imbecile.

The audience clapped once again. Nobody showed any hint of compassion towards the poor, stricken patient. He was just a useful guinea pig. As was I.

I had to admit, as fearsome as the forceps looked, they were the lesser of two evils. How could I communicate I was the wrong patient? Surely they had to ungag me at some point.

Ambrosios raised his voice once more, "It is totally appropriate that this esteemed contest should take place in this splendid Asclepion in Pergamom, the seat of our great god's munificent work on behalf of mankind."

OK. He's going to make a speech. I've got some time. Think.

"Asclepius passed onto us the practice of surgery as well as the art of pharmacology, having himself been taught the secret knowledge of herbs by the serpents on Mount Pelion."

I know. I'll pretend to faint. They can't ignore me then.

"We have benefitted greatly from his compassion and charity towards us, though it is extremely unfortunate that Hades forbad him from raising the dead."

Polite laughter rippled through the audience.

"Six hundred years ago, around the time this magnificent sanctuary was built, Hippocrates became the greatest ever Asclepiad, the father of modern clinical medicine."

I let my whole body go limp but was still supported by the strong arms around me.

"She's fainted," I heard Nicholas say to Georgios.

"Likely story." I was kicked behind the knee.

My scream was stifled by the rag, but I'd automatically opened my eyes. I had no choice but to give up the pretense. Nicholas strengthened his grip on me.

Ambrosios continued, "Then a hundred and thirty years ago, Galenos was born in this great city. Asclepius appeared to his father, Nicon, in a dream and predicted his son would be a famous physician throughout all the world for centuries to come."

Galenos? That must be the Galen Dr Petropoulos mentioned. Asclepius was a prophet. Galen was indeed famous two thousand years later.

"Galenos became a master of anatomy and left us five hundred published works so that his endeavours will never be forgotten. The eminent doctors before you today are taking Hippocrates and Galenos' work to even greater heights. Praise be to Asclepius."

"Praise be to Asclepius," repeated the audience, each man pumping the air with his right fist.

"Due to the delay in starting," Ambrosios glanced at Basileios and frowned, "we will need to proceed quickly with the demonstrations. The procession will be approaching down the Sacred Way shortly." He indicated the road beyond the gates. Then he addressed the temple guards, "Go outside the gates and hold back the procession when it arrives." He turned back to the crowd. "Now, I have great pleasure in inviting the honourable Basileios to present his demonstration."

I struggled wildly against the arms that held me but to no avail.

Basileios stepped forward and reached out his arms to the audience. "Gentlemen. It is an honour to be taking part in this illustrious competition. Conscience of time restraints, I will give a very brief introduction." He looked to Ambrosios for a nod of approval.

"Despite great advances in modern medicine, childbirth can still be a very difficult procedure, fraught with hazards." He frowned and some of the audience nodded. "Usually the midwives do a sterling job, but on occasion they are forced to fall back on the physician's greater expertise. The patient who has volunteered for today's demonstration—"

Volunteered? You normally bind and gag your volunteers, do you?

"—came to me several days ago, begging for my help."

No, I did not.

"She was presenting with fatigue, muscle aches, night sweats, and a rash—",

Early signs of HIV infection, you mindless jerk.

"—and did not feel she had sufficient strength to birth her baby. Naturally, I was very concerned for the safety of the child." He pulled a toad-like expression which he evidently thought portrayed deep compassion and concern. "Since her baby is full-term, I felt she could greatly benefit from giving birth with the help of my purposely designed childbirth forceps." He held them up again for all to see. "I therefore administered a blend of herbs several hours ago to hasten labour—"

No, you did not.

"—and the patient is now almost ready to give birth."

No, she is not.

"I will administer one more dose, and then we will proceed with the demonstration."

No, you will not.

Hang on. That means they have to remove the gag.

Sure enough, Georgios appeared in front of me, carrying a silver cup containing a green liquid that looked like it had be dragged up from a garden pond. "Let go and remove the gag," he ordered Nicholas. I held still until the cloth left my mouth, then I smashed the cup out of Georgios' hand. The liquid splashed across his face and robes.

I turned to Basileios and shouted, "You've got the wrong woman, you blockhead. I'm not Bernice, I'm Beckie." My arms were immediately snapped behind my back and held tight. "What kind of an obstetrician gets the wrong patient and can't even tell she's not in labour?"

Basileios blushed and laughed nervously. "It appears, gentlemen, I may have overdone the dose of the herbs. They can sometimes cause a little disorientation, though I've never before seen a patient forget who they are."

"I know exactly who I am. I came from 21st century Britain, and I'm probably HIV positive."

The audience fell about laughing.

Basileios joined in the laughter, but looked livid. He indicated to Georgios that he should fetch another cup of potion.

Georgios was still trying to wipe the goo off his face and clothes. He disappeared behind me for a moment then reappeared with a replenished cup. This time Nicholas held my arms while Georgios jerked my head back. When I started to object, he poured the liquid into my open mouth.

I spat it in his face.

The audience roared with laughter, but Ambrosios seemed obliged to intervene. "Really, Basileios, it is not customary in these contests to force treatment on unwilling patients. Granted, amputation patients need to be held down for their own good, but this young lady seems to have been press ganged into participation."

"I assure you, just a few hours ago, she was pleading with me to help her baby," said Basileios.

"You filthy, lying conman," I screamed. "I don't need your fancy new forceps, I need a caesarean."

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the entire audience collapsed in hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"Clearly she is not in her right mind," said Basileios looking a little relieved. "She hasn't even realized she's still alive."

This brought shrieks of laughter from the audience, and several men had to wipe tears from their eyes.

Basileios played to his advantage, "Of course it's very noble of her to want to give her life for her baby, and to desire her child be birthed in the same manner, not only of the Roman Emperor Julius Caesar, but also of Asclepius himself who was taken from the belly of his dead mother, Coronis, by the great Apollo."

He paused to allow the merriment to fade, and I heard children singing in the distance. He said to Georgios, "The procession approaches. Bring the table quickly."

Nicholas let go of me as he and Georgios lifted a large wooden table onto the platform. Clearly they intended me to lie on the table where everybody would have a perfect view of my baby being born.

Forget it.

I was loosed. I could run. But where to? I wanted to get back to the abaton, but that would mean running back the way I came, between the platform and the audience. I would have no chance. I could hear the procession getting closer.

I dithered until I saw Nicholas and Georgios coming back towards me, I backed away and shouted, "Helen warned me you're all a bunch of crazy idolaters. Maybe Jesus is a better bet after all."

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Everyone froze, staring at me with their mouths open. What had I said?

Then someone grabbed my arm from behind, pulled me towards the gate, and shouted, "Run."

"I can't. I'm nine months pregnant."

I heard Ambrosios behind me shout, "Call the Roman guard."

"Run or we're both dead," yelled Helen as she dragged me through the gate and into the approaching procession.

# CHAPTER 10

I couldn't see how we were going to get away.

And I wasn't even sure I wanted to. The stargate was in the Asclepion.

Surely Ambrosios hadn't called the Roman guard because of me. So what was Helen so worried about?

Despite my protestations, she dragged me down a long, paved, covered road flanked by rows of columns, interspersed with statues, fountains, and the occasional side road. Hundreds of people were going in the opposite direction. Men in long white robes. Women and children waving garlands of laurel and olive branches. All singing and chanting the praises of Asclepius.

After about a hundred metres, I glanced back and saw three Roman guards enter the Sacred Way from a side road. Helen saw them and pulled me into the procession. She picked up two discarded olive branches and handed me one. I understood. We walked back towards the temple with the rest of the procession. I waved my arms and shouted, "Praise be to Asclepius" with the rest of the crowd. Helen walked silently.

"Come on," I whispered to her. "Look the part."

"Never."

"You said if they caught us, they'd kill us."

"I will never utter a word of praise to that demon-god."

"Not even to save our lives?"

"No."

"They said I was crazy. I've got nothing on you."

Helen shuffled in front of me, so close she hindered my steps.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Hiding your pregnant belly."

The procession in front of us ground to a halt. The Roman guards walked along the edge of the crowd.

"Keep your head down," whispered Helen

For once my small stature proved an advantage.

"What's happening? What are we waiting for?" I whispered back.

"They're getting the statue to take to the Temple of Serapis. When the procession changes direction, we can move away from the temple without raising suspicion."

Sure enough, after a few minutes, we were all shoved aside as the crowd gave way to six men with a statue on their shoulders. They walked to the back of the procession which then became the front. We turned around and moved off again.

Peeking over Helen's shoulder, I could see the Roman guards. They were in full regalia complete with helmets, shoulder straps, body armour, red skirts, and dangling straps to protect their family heirlooms. I shouldn't have been surprised their leader's face was very familiar. Everybody else from the West London General had shown up in Pergamum. Why not Tony the security guard, too?

They walked on ahead, and feeling a little more relaxed, I asked Helen, "What was all the fuss about anyway? All I did was suggest that Jesus might be —"

I didn't get any further. I scruffy little urchin of about nine pointed at me, and with all the venom of a king cobra, screamed, "Infidel. Infidel."

"Are you out of your mind?" said Helen as she grabbed me and pulled me through the crowd, away from the guard. People froze and glared at us as Helen forged a way through, dragging me by the wrist.

I opened my mouth to complain, but then I heard Tony's booming voice soaring above the crowd, "Make way. Anyone within reach of my sword will find their blood mingled with that of the infidel." The soldiers were sprinting towards us, women frantically pulling their children out of the way.

They were only a few feet away. We were doomed.

"Lord Jesus, please save us," said Helen under her breath.

At that moment, a wealthy looking elderly gentleman stepped in front of us, looking serenely calm and unruffled by the mayhem. He proclaimed in a loud voice, "A gift to the people of Pergamum." He then emptied the contents of a large, drawstring bag onto the ground. Gold coins bounced off the pavement and pandemonium broke out. Within seconds the crowd between us and the Romans had grown exponentially, and the outraged cries of the guards were lost in shouts of glee.

The wealthy man leaned down to Helen and whispered, "Get behind the statue of Nike and stay there. Don't move until I tell you."

The Nike statue was close by, near a small side road leading off the Sacred Way. Helen and I threw ourselves among the prickly bushes behind it. I sat their trembling. Apparently, I was an infidel, and they were going to kill me.

After a few minutes, the noise of the crowd started to abate. We could hear them moving down the Sacred Way. The children started singing again. I tugged on Helen's arm. "Come on. They've gone. Let's get out of here." I started to stand, but she pulled me back down and put her finger to her mouth.

Then I heard the sound of boots marching towards us. I panicked and tried to scramble through the bushes behind us, but Helen was clinging on to the back of my chiton. The footsteps came closer. My heart was pounding and sweat was pouring off my brow. We heard the soldiers pass the statue and then turn down the side road. They were moving away from us. I heaved a sigh of relief and indicated to Helen that we should go in the opposite direction, back to the Sacred Way. She shook her head frantically. I whispered, "OK. You stay here, but I'm going." I was half-way to my feet when a heard one of the soldiers say, "Shouldn't we check those bushes behind the Nike statue?"

I held my breath.

"O.K. Have a quick look." I recognized Tony's voice.

Footsteps came towards us.

I would have run screaming from our hiding place, but Helen pulled me back down and clasped her hand over my mouth.

The footsteps grew closer and were only a few feet away.

"On second thoughts," shouted Tony, "they won't have hidden there. They'll have scarpered as quick as their accursed legs could move. Come on, hurry."

The footsteps changed direction and ran with the other guards down the side road. I gasped for breath. We were safe.

Then suddenly I we heard more footsteps coming towards us. Had they come back? Had they sent reinforcements? There was no escape. I grasped Helen's arm and stared in horror as the bushes parted and a face appeared.

Then I collapsed in a heap, relief washing over me. The wealthy, elderly man said, "It's safe now. Go down the Sacred Way to the next side road, then get away from here as fast as you can."

We followed the elegant gentleman out of the bushes and regained the Sacred Way. I looked back to thank him, but he had vanished.

Seeing the statue of Nike again, I couldn't help glancing at her feet. They were bare.

Helen and I turned down the side road as instructed and jogged in silence for ten minutes. I tried very hard to remember the route as we left the Temple area and started zigzagging through rows of small, red-roofed houses. I needed to remember my way back to the abaton.

Finally, she opened the door to a house not much bigger than a garden shed. I stepped inside and turned to thank her, but before I could open my mouth, she laid into me. "I just can't believe what you did. Do you want us all to be slaughtered? You spoke the name of Jesus while actually standing in the Asclepion and with an audience of influential men to boot."

"I thought you liked the name of Jesus."

She ignored me. "Stay here. Don't move until I come back. I'm going to find out how much damage you've done."

She was gone.

# CHAPTER 11

So, was I really in Greece in the classical era, or was it just a dream? That was the question. I was alone for the first time since waking up in the abaton, and it was my first chance to stop and think.

The little house was dark and musty, but at least it was a bit cooler than outside. I could have done with a coke. I slumped onto the bare, stone floor in a corner and put my hands on my belly. Was Daisy OK? If so, she would start kicking in a minute as she always did when I rested.

So, what were the options? Either this was a dream, and I was really still under anaesthetic in 2017, or I had done a Dr Who and spun in the TARDIS through time and space. But I didn't remember Dr Who meeting other versions of people from the 21st Century. The Red Dwarf crew did that, but only because Grant and Naylor have crazy imaginations.

This kind of thing only happened in novels. It couldn't be real. How could I found out? The time-honoured way was to pinch yourself.

Ouch! That didn't work.

I had to think logically like Russell Crowe in Beautiful Mind. The little girl wasn't real because she never got older. This couldn't be real because everybody was speaking English.

Ah-ha! A definite clue. What else didn't fit?

I was nine months pregnant, and I'd run a long distance. That was impossible. That wasn't real. I wasn't feeling ill like I did in 2017. Mind you, that wasn't a decisive clue because maybe my physical well-being changed when I jumped dimension.

Daisy started to kick. "What do you think, Daisy? You've probably got as much idea as I have."

I started to wish that Julian was there. He would be on my side. He would discuss it calmly without shouting at me like Helen had. He was a big, strong guy, and he would protect me and Daisy. What was I thinking? The cheating scoundrel had got me in this mess in the first place. There was no one to help me. I had to work out how to get back to the future alone. Without the aid of a DeLorean.

Maybe if I did nothing, I would just wake up again in 2017 after the caesarean. But maybe I wouldn't.

I still reckoned there must be a stargate back in the abaton. My only option was to get back there. But how? The Romans wanted to kill me. Could I die in the classical era when I was really under anaesthetic in 2017? If I wasn't really here, no, I couldn't.

Helen said I'd done damage. What did she mean? If I had changed something in this dimension, then I must really be here. But why should I listen to Helen? It was her fault I came here. She showed me that stupid book and put all this rubbish in my head.

But Helen saved me from the Romans. She would help me. I should just patiently wait for her. But what kind of help would she give me? She certainly wouldn't help me get back to the abaton, and that was my only hope.

Yes, I had to get back there even if it was dangerous. I had no choice. I would sneak back towards the temple and wait for night. Then I would creep into the abaton when everybody was asleep.

I stood up and opened the door to leave, but my exit was blocked by Cassandra and Andrew.

# CHAPTER 12

Cassandra was not wearing lilac. Andrew was covered in dust. Helen stood behind them.

"Excuse me," I said as I pushed past them.

"Where are you going?" asked Helen.

"None of your business."

"You know the Roman guards are trying to kill you."

Cassandra said, "If she wants to leave, we can't stop her."

"You don't understand," replied Helen. "She's not in her right mind."

I should have just kept on walking, but I was never one to take an insult lying down. "You're the one who's crazy. You'd rather die than just make like an Asclepius worshipper for two minutes."

Andrew and Helen looked at each other. "Are you saying you're not a Christian?" asked Andrew. Then to Helen, "You said she mentioned our Lord's name in front of the Asclepiads."

"She did, but she didn't seem to know what she was doing."

Andrew took hold of my arm and pulled me back towards the house. "I'm sorry, but we really need to sort this out before we let you go."

"Get off me. I'm pissed off with being dragged places I don't want to go."

Andrew hustled me back into the house and pointed to two wooden benches. "Let's all sit down." We did so. "Let's start at the beginning. What's your name?"

"Beckie."

"That's a strange name."

"It's short for Rebecca."

"You're Jewish?"

"No, I'm not."

"Where's your husband?"

"I'm not married."

Disapproval was written all over Andrew's face.

I continued, "I have a boyfriend called Julian."

They all gasped.

"Your lover is a Roman?"

"No, he's Cassandra's brother."

"How do you know my name?" asked Cassandra. "I don't have a brother."

That was interesting. Julian didn't exist in this dimension. So who got me pregnant? Surely that was proof I wasn't really here.

"Do you know our names, too?" Andrew indicated himself and Helen.

"Yes. Andrew and Helen."

"Not quite. I'm Andreas."

"Yeah, like Dr Basil is Basileios and George Petropoulos is Georgios and Father Ambrose is Ambrosios."

"How did you learn our names?" demanded Cassandra. Then turning to Andreas, "She must be a spy. The whole business at the Asclepion must have been a setup."

"You didn't see it," said Helen. "It didn't look like a setup. If it had been a trap, they would have arrested me as soon as I revealed myself."

"What were you doing there anyway," Andreas asked Helen.

She looked slightly ashamed. "I confess, I was curious to watch the demonstration."

"Why would you want to watch that fiasco?" I asked.

"I'm a midwife. I was curious about Basileios' forceps."

"It was very unwise of you to go," said Andreas. "We don't need to taint ourselves with their demonic medicine when we know The Healer himself."

Helen hung her head.

"How did you escape, anyway?" asked Cassandra.

"An angel," said Helen matter-of-factly.

The wealthy old man was an angel?

"You keep the angels too busy, Helen," said Andreas.

"Listen who's talking," retorted Cassandra. "Anyway, if she's not a spy, why did she say something so stupid at the contest?"

"Good question," said Andreas. "Why did you do it, Beckie?"

"Why did I do what?"

"Mention Jesus' name in front of the enemy?"

"The enemy?"

"Yes, the idol worshippers."

"They're not the enemy in 2017. The staff of Asclepius is all over the place. All the hospitals. All the BMA documents."

"What's she talking about?" Andreas asked Helen.

"No idea. I told you. She's not in her right mind. Basileios said it was the labour-inducing herbs."

Andreas paused. "Beckie, are you a Christian?"

"No. Well, I was brought up an Anglican, so I was baptized and confirmed and all that. Technically I'm a member of the Church of England, but I'm not a Christian like you lot."

"Let me put it another way, would you give your life for Christ?"

"Certainly not."

They all sat up straight, as if everything was now clear, and started talking about me as if I wasn't there.

"I'm sorry," said Helen, "I assumed she was a Christian. Why else would she say Jesus' name when doing so could get her killed?"

"She knows our names, and she knows this house. We can't let her just wander away," said Cassandra.

"We can't hold her against her will," said Helen.

"We might have to," said Andreas. "She doesn't seem to know where she lives anyway."

"68b Pinegrove Avenue, Ealing, London," I said. They ignored me.

"How long will it take for the effect of the herbs to wear off?" Andreas asked Helen.

"No idea."

"We'll have to take her with us. Maybe the Lord has brought her to us for a reason. She knows the name of Jesus. Maybe she's seeking. We can't just abandon her to the Roman guard."

"It's too risky," said Cassandra. "We can't take her to headquarters. What about Alexander? We'll be putting him in danger."

She didn't have her brother in this dimension, but she had her son.

"All of us are always in danger. Jesus is our only security," said Andreas.

"But we shouldn't ask for trouble. Sometimes I wonder if you're really full of faith, or just reckless. Why don't you just make that one small statue they're asking for?"

The dust all over Andreas' clothes and hair (what he had of it) suddenly made sense. He was a stonemason.

Cassandra continued. "It won't mean anything to you. It won't change your heart for Jesus. He'll understand. Then we can all sleep easier."

"Never. I will die before I fashion a graven image in the likeness of Asclepius."

"And if you die, what will happen to me and Alexander?"

"The Lord will take care of you. We are always in his hands." He stood up. "Come on. Let's go. My mind's made up. We'll have to take her with us."

"Your mind's made up. What about mine?" I protested.

"Hopefully, the herbs will wear off soon, and then we'll get some sense out of her," said Andreas.

So once again, I found myself being taken to a place I didn't want to go, further away from the abaton and my only chance of getting back to reality.

# CHAPTER 13

How dare they treat me like this? What right did they have to frogmarch me down the hill, Andreas on one side, Helen on the other? I'd done nothing to harm them. But every time I opened my mouth to object, I was ignored. They just talked about me among themselves like I was a halfwit.

How could I get away? Where were they taking me, anyway? They said to headquarters. Was there a church somewhere?

We walked for a long time past rows and rows of red-roofed houses. It occurred to me that I hadn't eaten all day, but I wasn't hungry. Surely that was another sign I wasn't really here. It was just a dream.

Finally we reached the edge of the city, and countryside opened up before us. We stopped outside a large, decrepit barn. It was surrounded by piles of stinking rubbish, and hens pecked round our feet.

"I'm not going in there," I protested. "I need a sterile, modern hospital, not a barn. I realize Jesus was born in a manger and all that, but couldn't you find anywhere better for your headquarters?"

Andreas stepped up to building and gave three short, sharp raps on the shabby, wooden door. A man's voice came from inside, "Who is it?"

"Andreas, Cassandra, Helen and guest," replied Andreas.

There was a pause.

"What kind of guest?" asked the unseen man.

"A seeker. We will take responsibility for her."

"I'll have to check with the others."

"Hurry, you're leaving us exposed out here."

A few moments passed, then I could hear the scraping of wood on wood as a plank was being removed from inside the door. The door opened slowly, and the head of a small, elderly man with a turned-up nose appeared. He glared at me as he ushered us inside.

The barn smelled of cow dung. There were about thirty people sitting on the floor, listening to a scholarly looking gentleman. Despite his deeply wrinkled brow, he had an expression of warmth and tolerance, and he made me feel at ease even though every head had turned to stare at me. Some people smiled and nodded their welcome, but most looked concerned, even suspicious. I noticed Alexander being held by an elderly lady. He wriggled his way free and crawled through the straw to Cassandra.

"Sit down and keep quiet," ordered Andreas.

"I'm not sitting on—"

But Andreas and Helen had their hands on my shoulders and were pushing me to the floor.

The speaker said, "Welcome to our latecomers."

Helen whispered in my ear, "Amphios is an important church leader from Smyrna."

"Don't tell her," snarled Cassandra. Alexander was trying to put pieces of straw in her hair.

"Sorry," said Helen, looking embarrassed.

"As I was saying," said Amphios, "Your brothers and sisters in Smyrna are in constant prayer for you. Pergamum where Satan dwelleth. Satan's seat, the apostle John called it."

How many sermons had I been forced to sit through in my life? Thousands. But never one in a filthy farm building, reeking of animal poo. There was no chance of sneaking off while everybody was so still and attentive. I'd wait until the coffee and doughnuts and then make a quiet exit.

Amphios continued, "This city is full of abominable idols, but none worse than the despicable demon Asclepius, sent by Satan to imitate our beloved Saviour and draw the gullible, hapless throngs away from the only true God."

There were murmurings of assent among the audience. I didn't want to listen to this religious claptrap, but once again I was a captive audience.

"They call the evil impostor 'Saviour' and 'Healer'. How dare they? There is but one Saviour and one Healer, our Lord Jesus Christ by whose stripes we are healed."

Amens rang out around the room.

"The war that is constantly waged between the Christians and the Asclepius worshippers represents nothing less than the war between Jesus and Satan. And we know the certain outcome." He raised both his voice and his arms. "Satan will be thrown in the eternal lake of fire, and our Lord will reign forever and ever."

The audience applauded and cheered, their faces glowing with joy and triumph. This wasn't like any Christian service in my parents' Anglican church. Didn't these guys know they were supposed to me reserved and reverent?

"So take courage my friends. We have lost some battles. We have lost beloved brothers and sisters. Antipas, Carpus, Papylus, and Agathonice are the most famous, but there have been countless others. We honour their sacrifice, we rejoice in their salvation, and we look forward to seeing them again in glory. No doubt some of us here will join our martyred brethren before long"

Many in the audience nodded somberly in agreement, graciously accepting they could die for their faith at any moment. I thought they were off their rockers, the whole lot of them. Totally barmy. Lining up to lose their lives rather than just wave an olive branch and shout a few chants. I couldn't believe the casual way they accepted their fate. No doubt they would proclaim their dying allegiance like Simon Peter, but when push came to shove, they would save their skins like any normal human being.

Little did I know that, within two hours, I would witness true martyrdom.

"As you are all aware, it has been prophesied that the destruction of this city is imminent. Our prayers have been heard. Satan has ruled in this city through the idol Asclepius for six hundred years. The priest Ambrosios has declared his god will reign for another thousand. He is wrong. Our God is greater, and he will no longer permit the people to be deceived by a false healer who gives temporary relief to the body but destroys the soul. The day will come when every sign of the abominable impostor will be destroyed from the earth, and every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord."

Once again the audience cheered and applauded. Little did the idiots know the sign of Asclepius would survive at least another two thousand years. It was still honoured in 2017. What's more, it was honoured by Christians. The real Andrew said modern medicine, represented by the staff of Asclepius complete with snake, was a gift from God. It just went to show this Christianity stuff was a load of rubbish. If it were true, Christians would be consistent throughout the centuries, but they weren't. This ragamuffin bunch of Greeks contrasted wildly with 20th century Christianity.

"You all know God will give us a sign when the destruction of the city is upon us. When we see it, we must run without looking back. We must not be as Lot's wife who turned around to see the destruction of Sodom and became a pillar of salt."

I'd always liked that story. It was a good laugh.

"Jesus told his disciples that when they saw Jerusalem surrounded by armies, they would know destruction was nigh. In the same say, when we see the rats leave, we will know judgment is about to fall on this evil city, and we must flee."

Rats? Had I heard right. I couldn't help myself. I howled with laughter. "Hagrid told Harry Potter to follow the spiders, and God has told you to follow the rats. I was trying to figure out how I got here. Now I know. I've been transmogrified into a J. K. Rowling novel." I fell about while everybody in the room glared at me.

"I'm sorry," said Andreas, "She's under the influence of a mind altering herbal potion."

"Are you sure she's one of us? We've never seen her before. Where did she come from?" asked the old man with the turned-up nose.

I politely informed him, "I came from London in 2017 through a stargate in the abaton," Then I started rolling around laughing again.

* * * * * * * * * *

"So what's the difference between Asclepius and Jesus?" I asked.

I was walking back up the hill with Cassandra and Andreas. Alexander was in his father's arms. The service had finished a few minutes ago. They told me the people would leave in small groups, and I would be in the first group. They were obviously anxious to get rid of me. Helen would leave in the second group. She was currently hiding behind a bush near the barn, watching our progress, so she could inform the others when we were out of sight. Andreas was planning to take me to his house until he decided what to do with me. Surely I would be able to get away from there. He couldn't watch me 24/7.

Andreas looked offended at my question, but decided to treat me as a genuine seeker. "Jesus is the Son of the one true God. Asclepius is a demon."

"What I mean is, people pray to both for healing. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. What's the difference?"

"There's every difference. Asclepius is an agent of Satan. In the Jewish Scriptures it says the serpent beguiled Eve into eating the forbidden fruit, and from that day mankind has been subject to death. Asclepius does the same thing. He deceives and seduces people to the destruction of their eternal soul."

"Don't give me all that religious hogwash. People just want to be healthy. I just want my baby to be born healthy, and I don't mind who gives me that, Jesus or Asclepius."

"Then you are eternally damned."

"Yeah, yeah."

Cassandra said, "Have you never felt God calling you? Have you never felt his presence or his guidance?"

"Actually, I did ask Jesus to help us when I went under anaesthetic, and then I had this wonderful dream about a pool of healing water, but Nicholas said that was Asclepius telling me to use the temple pools."

"The water of the Holy Spirit," said Andreas.

"Oh, Andreas, you spiritualize everything," said Cassandra. "It could equally have been a simple instruction from God like he told Naaman to wash in the Jordan and the blind man to wash in the Pool of Siloam."

"Our vicar said it was their faith that healed them not the water" I said.

"You know these stories?" asked Andreas.

Cassandra ignored him. "Water and mud have healing properties, especially in certain areas. They always build the Asclepions in areas known for healing springs."

"I guess drugs and surgery haven't been invented yet, so you still have to use mineral spas like the Roman baths in Bath, England."

"What do you mean, they haven't been invented yet?"

"Well, not the real scientific stuff, I mean."

By now we had reached the edge of the city and were walking through closely packed houses.

Cassandra said, "Anyway, Jesus didn't use drugs and surgery. He used prayer and fasting, and water and mud. He advocated the use of oil and wine on wounds. He didn't cut people up in their sleep. He didn't drug them until they went crazy."

Andreas said, "Jesus heals by casting out demons. Asclepius uses demons to bring temporary relief followed by eternal damnation. Jesus takes wretched sinners and offers them his righteousness. Asclepius demands purity of thoughts before he will heal, but he does nothing to address man's depravity."

I yawned. I was so bored with being preached at. Even Julian did it these days. I couldn't get away from it. Please get me out of this. Anything but more sermons.

I very quickly regretted those thoughts.

At that moment five Roman soldiers jumped in front of us from between the houses. Where did they come from? How did they find me? Before I could react, a soldier grabbed me and held my hands behind my back. Cassandra and Alexander suffered the same indignity. Alexander screamed in the arms of one of the soldiers. He fought desperately to get back to his mother.

"What shall we do with the kid, Antonius?" asked one of the guards.

"Please don't hurt him," begged Cassandra.

"Just hold him for now," said Antonius, better known to me as Tony the security guard. He stepped in front of me and held up a scroll.

"I have here a warrant for the execution of..." he turned slightly to my right, "...Andreas the stonemason."

# CHAPTER 14

"You betrayed us," Cassandra screamed at me.

"In case you haven't noticed, they've arrested me, too," I replied.

"Just for show. It's all a scam."

"Shut up," said one of the guards as he hit Cassandra across the mouth. Her lip split and blood gushed forth.

Alexander howled and reached out his little arms desperately towards his mother.

Antonius held his sword to Andreas' throat and said, "I'm to offer you one last chance. Will you make the statue of the glorious Asclepius commissioned by the high priest, Ambrosios? I can take you now to your workshop and watch you begin the project. You will be paid handsomely, and once the statue is complete, we will release your wife and son."

"Please, Andreas," Cassandra almost whispered.

"Listen to your wife," said Antonius. "She wants to live. She wants to raise your children."

Andreas screwed up his face in determined effort and said quietly, "God give me strength." Then he lifted his voice, "I will never bow the knee to false idols."

"Very well," said Antonius, and he withdrew the sword from Andreas' throat.

I was relieved. It had obviously just been an empty threat. They had called Andreas' bluff, and he hadn't yielded.

But why hadn't they let go of Cassandra?

Andreas was unrestrained. He walked over to Cassandra and kissed her bloody mouth. "Goodbye, my darling. May the Lord give you strength." He then walked over to Alexander and kissed him on the top of his head.

"Enough," said Antonius. "Now you will bow to the gods." He grabbed Andreas by the neck of his robes and threw him to the ground. Andreas was on his knees. Antonius pushed his head forward and down.

I didn't get it. What was happening?

"Don't let him watch," Cassandra screamed at the guard holding Alexander. The guard looked at Antonius who nodded his assent. Cassandra and Alexander were released. Cassandra squatted and pulled her baby to her. She buried his head in her chest and closed her eyes.

"Don't hold this sin against them. Into your hands I commend my spirit," said Andreas.

Before I could give any thought to what he meant, Antonius lifted his sword and brought it down on the back of Andreas' neck. His body fell limply to the ground and his head rolled away.

The soldier holding me shouted, "Move forward."

But I couldn't move. I was frozen in time and space. My mouth was open and dry. My eyes stared into nothingness. My brain hit overload and stalled. I couldn't process what I had just seen. The universe had shut down and no longer existed.

Then my head started spinning and my knees turned to jelly. My chest started to heave. Knowing what was coming, the guard behind me loosed my arms, allowing me to lean forward as I vomited onto the street.

# CHAPTER 15

OK, Beckie. It's time to sober up. You've been treating this experience as a crazy adventure, but now people are dying.

Cassandra and I were sitting in a large courtyard. On either side of us were high, stone walls. Behind us was a large stone prison. Sporadic moans and screams came through the iron grills over the tiny windows, breaking the silence of dusk. In front of us was a large wooden gate manned by two bored but fearsome-looking Roman sentries. Around us sat a number of other women and children. All was sadness and despair.

Alexander broke the stillness as he bounced on his mother's knee and whimpered.

"I know you're hungry, Sweetheart." I could see Cassandra was heartbroken and distraught, but she was trying to put on a calm, brave face for her baby.

Finally I could no longer hold back from asking the burning question. "Why didn't he fight? Why did he just kneel there and let them do it?" It made no sense to me. If someone threatens or insults you, you fight back. It was normal.

"If he had resisted, they would have . . ." but Cassandra could not finish the sentence. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she hastily brushed them aside and forced a grim smile for Alexander.

"Are they going to kill us?" I asked.

"I don't know. But I think it's a good sign we're not heavily guarded, and we're in the courtyard not the dungeons."

Dungeons? We may not be heavily guarded, but we had no way to overpower the armed guards by the gate.

"What about Helen and the others?" I asked.

"I'm not answering any questions about the others," said Cassandra harshly as she eyed me with suspicion.

"I didn't mean . . ." I was about to start one of my usual tirades, but I decided to cut her some slack. If I were her, I'd suspect me too.

Conversation wasn't a good idea. I was left to my thoughts.

What was going to happen to me and Daisy?

I was certain we weren't really in Greece in the classical era. If I were really here, my very pregnant body would be suffering greatly after the last day's events. I was sure I couldn't die here. If I didn't believe that, I would be in torment for my Daisy. I had carried her for nine months. She was part of me, body, soul and spirit. I knew she was at risk from HIV back in 2017, but was she also at risk from Roman soldiers who thought nothing of beheading people in broad daylight?

Why was I here? Could this be a vision from God? Christians talked about being called by the Lord. Was I being called? I'd spent my life resisting my parents' religion. I couldn't see myself ever doing a U-turn and embracing it.

Should I pray? I could do that, no problem. Except now I understood that being a Christian was more than just saying nice prayers and being kind to people. It required commitment. It meant surrendering your life, and the lives of your loved ones. If God was trying to encourage me to become a Christian, he hadn't gone about it the right way. Showing me that his followers got their heads chopped off had not endeared me to him.

So, what could I do? Even if it were only a dream, I still had to find a way to leave. Those soldiers' swords looked very real to me. I was 99% sure I couldn't be killed here, but I wasn't about to put it to the test. Maybe if I died here, it would just mean I'd died on the operating table back in 2017. If that happened, it would be possible for Daisy to survive.

Some of the mothers and children started to fall asleep on the stone slabs. I tried it, but my cossetted twenty-first century existence did not allow be to sleep without a mattress and at least one hypoallergenic pillow. The darkness closed in. There were a couple of torches in wall brackets by the gate. Their flickering light added to the eerie atmosphere of doom.

Suddenly I felt something furry brush against my ankle. I looked down and, to my horror, saw a big, fat, grey rat scurrying over my feet. Yuk! I wasn't scared of spiders or insects, but rats were another matter. For a second, I thought it was going to nibble my bare toes. I got to my feet, but it scampered off towards the gate.

I looked behind me and in the dim light I could just make out another rat trying to squeeze its way out between the bars of a window. It could barely make it, but it scratched and screeched until it finally fell onto the ground and ran past me towards the gate.

"What the . . ." exclaimed the guard as four or five other rats darted around his feet and under the gate.

"It's happening," said Cassandra. She was now standing next to me with Alexander in her arms. Her eyes were wide with astonishment.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"It's the sign. The prophecy. The city is about to be destroyed."

"It's just a few rats."

"But they don't normally act like that. They're leaving. And if we don't get out of here right now, it won't matter if the Romans plan to kill us. We'll die with everybody else in the destruction of the city."

She was basing this on half a dozen rats and a crazy prediction. It couldn't be right. But then I remembered something from the Bible studies I'd been forced to sit through.

I said, "Amphios talked about Lot's wife. But before Sodom fell, Abraham asked God if he would destroy a city with ten righteous people, and God said no."

"So?"

"So God can't destroy the city while you're still here because you're righteous, right? So why don't you pray?"

"I've been praying since we got here. Why don't you pray?"

"I'm not a Christian."

"You don't believe in Jesus, but you want me to pray?"

"It can't do any harm."

"You're hedging your bets. You're unbelievable."

A sudden increase in light made me turn my head. Above the wall there was a hazy, orange glow. What was that? A sign from heaven? No, we soon found out it had a natural explanation. There was a sudden commotion outside the walls, and somebody pounded on the gates, shouting, "Quick. The commander's house is on fire. He's ordered all available troops to help save his property."

The two sentries hurriedly opened the gate and slipped through it, leaving it slightly ajar. Cassandra and I looked at each other. Had we just been released? I looked around at the other women. Nobody knew what to do.

"What are we waiting for?" I said. "We won't get another chance like this." I took a couple of hesitant steps towards the gate, but then froze as I heard footsteps approaching behind it. The footsteps stopped, then slowly a face appeared round the gate. It was not that of a Roman soldier but of a young woman with long, natural blond hair.

Helen ran towards us. For the second time that day, she grabbed my hand and shouted, "Run."

# CHAPTER 16

We could see the fire a few hundred metres away. Hundreds of people were running around, some carrying buckets of water towards the house, some carrying furniture away from it. The commander was standing on a wall barking orders, demanding the same endeavours and devotion he would in the midst of battle. Nobody looked in our direction.

Alexander pointed over his mother's shoulder to the fire and laughed. What pretty lights.

We quickly ran across the street and between some buildings.

"Gosh. That was lucky?" I said.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," said Helen. She was panting and looking around anxiously.

"You mean it was divine intervention?"

"No, I mean I started the fire."

"You did? That wasn't very Christian of you."

She glared at me and started pulling me away from the prison, between buildings and across narrow roads. Cassandra followed with Alexander.

"Why don't you just let me go?" I asked.

Helen stopped. "Because I don't trust you. I'm still not sure if you betrayed us—"

"I didn't."

"—but if you did, my mistake in going to the Asclepion led to Andreas' death. I'm not going to give you the chance to betray any more of my brothers and sisters. Once we're out of the city, you can do what you want. If you choose to come back, you will just die with everybody else."

I didn't reply. She had said they would release me later. My superhuman body in this dimension would have no problem climbing back up the hill to the Asclepion. I had to concentrate on making sure I could remember the way. That did not prove difficult. Every time we emerged from between buildings we could still see the flames from the burning house flying high into the sky.

As we ran, we were overtaken by hundreds of scurrying rats. We also saw other people hurrying out of the city, some carrying bundles of possessions, some just running as if being chased by a roaring lion. I could see they were torn between keeping a low profile and getting out as quickly as possible. It was difficult not to let their feeling of urgency and dread overpower me.

Occasional torches and candles flickering in windows lit our way, but when we finally came to the edge of the city we had to slow. It was all but pitch black. There was a silence I had never experienced before.

Finally we stopped behind a wild olive tree. "OK," said Helen. "You can go."

"If she goes back, she will die," said Cassandra.

"You feel sorry for her?"

"I feel sorry for her baby."

"It's Beckie's choice. We all have the choice to follow Jesus or follow the world."

"I'm thinking of what Andreas would have done." Her voice broke as she turned to me and said, "Please. This may be your last chance. Give your life to Jesus. Come with us. Save yourself and your baby."

I hesitated. Was this really my last chance? Should I surrender and follow the rats? No. It was ridiculous. I had to get back to my own time, back to safety, back to doctors with lifesaving drugs and surgical techniques.

"I'm going back," I said.

Cassandra hung her head. "We will pray for you."

"You do that." I hesitated and said, "I hope you get away all right. When I get back to 2017, I'll tell the real Cassandra and Helen all about it." I wanted to add, "And the real Andrew," but I thought that would just freak them out.

Cassandra gave an indulgent smile and half-hugged me with Alexander between us. Helen patted me on the shoulder. I turned and started to walk back up the hill.

For the first time that day, I was free. I wasn't being dragged somewhere I didn't want to go. I could get back to the abaton and go back home. Everything was going to be all right.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was very dark as I walked back up the hill into Pergamum. There were more rats and more people running down towards me. The Christians looked at me with fear, obviously wondering why I was going in the wrong direction. The further I went back into the city, the more I doubted my decision.

Were the Christians right to follow the rats? Surely it was as crazy as the dolphins in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. ("Bye and thanks for all the fish.")

It was a long walk, and I had time to think. Was I experiencing a physical adventure or a spiritual one? I'd already decided it couldn't be physical. After all, what was I walking back to? A painting. The abaton was a painting. Nicholas and Hipponicus weren't real people. They were made of paint on canvas, and they'd come to life in an anaesthetic-induced dream.

That was the logical conclusion, but it was difficult to accept. I could feel the ground under my feet. I could touch the dusty, stone buildings all around me. I could smell the apple and almond trees. I could hear the screeching of rats and the scurrying of feet. I'd watched a man being beheaded. Real blood had spattered across the ground.

But if I had gone through the Red Dwarf Artificial Reality Suite, and all this wasn't physically real, was it spiritually real? In that case, I had chosen Asclepius over Jesus. What would the consequences be?

There could be no consequences. All this religion stuff was the same, it didn't matter what you did or didn't believe in. This was just some weird warping of the time-space continuum. Crazy as that was, I could belief it more easily than I could believe God had sent me a vision.

But Julian wanted me to become a Christian, and he was praying for me.

Julian. I hadn't thought of him much in the last few hours. He was waiting for me back in 2017. My destiny was now bound to him through Daisy. He had a right to pray for his daughter, even if I didn't believe. Maybe his prayers had caused this experience. Maybe it was all Julian's fault. By some strange, psychic power, he had sent me back in time to Greece. Just wait until I got back to him. I'd give him a piece of my mind. He was trying to scare me into becoming a Christian. Well, it wasn't going to work. I was going back to the abaton. I would go to sleep and wake up back in 2017. They will have done the caesarean and . . .

And what?

I felt well in this dimension. It was easy to forget that Daisy and I might have a fatal, incurable infection.

I'd been here all day. The caesarean should only have taken an hour. So what had happened in the rest of the day? Or maybe we were on different time streams. Maybe a day here was only an hour there. Was Erika Alexander's explanation of time in Déjà Vu right? It was like two branches of a river. Had a jumped to a second branch and the first one had disappeared?

There were just too many things to consider. I couldn't work it out. I told myself to stop trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle and just get back to the abaton.

I had been following the red glow that was still in the sky above the commander's house. I was now back in the vicinity of the prison. I veered left and found the Sacred Way that led back to the Asclepion.

I felt very exposed on the wide, paved, covered road, but it was very dark. I walked slowly, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of movement.

Eventually I saw the large, wooden gate ahead, the entrance to the Asclepion. I also saw the two guards posted outside the gate.

Now what?

I moved off the road into some bushes while I contemplated my predicament. I had to get past the temple guards. Helen had distracted the Roman guards by starting a fire. Maybe I could do that. But how do you start a fire without matches or a lighter?

One of the guards yawned and stretched. These guards didn't seem as disciplined as the Roman soldiers. Maybe they would eventually fall asleep. But even then, how would I get past without waking them?

There was no chance of climbing over the wall. Maybe if I walked around the perimeter, I would find an easier way to get in. But if there were an easier way, why were there guards at the gate?

I sat on the ground, picked up some pebbles, and turned them in my hand like worry balls to help me think. My only chance was to distract the guards. But how? I had to get them far enough away from the gates to give me time to get inside. But did I have the strength to open those huge, wooden gates alone? Probably not.

My scheming was interrupted when I heard voices coming down the Sacred Way.

"Let's hope they haven't let in any more heavily pregnant, screwball floozies."

"Maybe I should take a nap in the abaton and ask the god to heal my bruised shins. The little scrubber couldn't half kick."

"I wonder if the Romans found her."

"If they did, she won't be troubling us anymore."

Nicholas and Hipponicus were laughing as they came into view. I wanted to give them a few more kicks in the shins after being called a screwball floozy, but good sense prevailed. I was dismayed to see them. I had assumed they would sleep in the Asclepion, but they looked like they were arriving for a nightshift. They would be awake when I reached the abaton.

The guards saw them approaching and began removing large wooden slats and pushing the gates open.

The gates were open. This was my chance.

I had about ten seconds to plan and act. I stood with a good supply of pebbles in my hand. As soon as the abaton attendants had gone through the gates, and before the guards could shut them, I took aim at the first guard. The first pebble hit his helmet. He turned to see where it had come from. The second pebble hit his nose. The next pebble hit the second guard's shins. (More bruises to pray for.) I may be a screwball floozy, but I'd been a mean bowler in my high school rounders team. Before the guards could rally, I threw four more pebbles down the side of the Sacred Way into the bushes. The guards fell for it and started running towards the bushes to find the culprit. They left the gate slightly ajar. I was right. They didn't have the discipline or savvy of the Roman soldiers.

It was mega risky but my only chance. Without hesitation, I ran across the Sacred Way and into the gate. I didn't look back. As I entered the forecourt, Nicholas and Hipponicus were exiting through the smaller gate into the square. I dived behind the fifteen-foot statue of Asclepius, trembling and gasping for breath.

I heard the guards come through the gate into the courtyard.

"Probably just kids."

"Yeah. They can't find any rats to dissect, so the little waifs thought they'd use my nose for sport instead. They'll be long gone."

"Strange about those rats."

"Yeah."

I heard the gates close.

I was inside the compound. First hurdle accomplished.

I waited until I was sure all was still and quiet, then I crept through the forecourt and paused at the open gates. There was no sign of life in the square, so I crept past the votive stalls, the lion's mouth fountain, and the radioactive pool and arrived at the entrance to the abaton.

I listened at the door and heard nothing so I opened it slowly and stepped inside the entrance hall. There was light from just one torch in a wall bracket. I took two steps towards the door to the abaton and . . . my heart stopped as I was suddenly grabbed from behind.

"Not so fast, you little monkey." It was Nicholas.

I didn't struggle. I knew it was useless. "Please. I'm so close. Just let me go into the sleep room, so I can find the stargate."

He just laughed as he dragged me back to the main door. "You're a persistent little—"

He stopped dead in his tracks. I knew why. I felt it too. The ground had moved. Just a notch for just a second. But it had definitely moved.

The door to the abaton opened and Hipponicus appeared. "Did you feel that?"

Before Nicholas could answer it happened again. Stronger this time. Nicholas let go of me, and he and Hipponicus just stared at each other.

Oh my God. The Christians were right. The rats were right. It was an earthquake. The earthquake the real Helen had told me about. We were all going to die.

No, wait. This was my chance. "It's an earthquake. You should get the patients out right now," I said. In the ensuing commotion no one would stop me getting into the abaton.

The ground shook again, and this time we all grabbed the walls, trying desperately to stay on our feet. Nobody had to tell the patients to get out. They were scrambling past us to the main door.

Without a second thought I dived towards the abaton. Right at that moment the main door opened, and an authoritative voice boomed, "Seize her."

I turned my head to see Ambrosios pointing at me. "It's her doing. The infidel has angered the god. Get her off the premises before he kills us all."

Hipponicus grabbed me by the middle. I kicked and fought and shouted, "It's not Asclepius who's angry, it's Jesus. The Christians told me. Jesus is going to destroy the impostor." What made me say that? It was the worst thing I could have said. The next thing I knew a dirty rag was stuffed in my mouth. Hipponicus threw me over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. He was squashing Daisy. He didn't care.

The ground was still as we walked through the square to the forecourt. I heard Ambrosios behind us saying, "Oh most magnificent Asclepius. Forgive us and have mercy. With all haste, we will throw the wretched infidel away from your great temple. May the Romans carve her into a thousand pieces. May your sacred Asclepion never be tainted again with such abomination."

As we entered the forecourt, the ground shook again so violently that Hipponicus fell forward and dropped me. As I scrambled to my feet, I heard what everybody heard. A rumbling noise followed by a tingling sound, the sound of pebbles over rock as pieces of stone crumbled away from the top of the huge walls surrounding us. A crack started to appear at the bottom of the right hand wall. It quickly grew, the stones around it crumbling to dust.

People screamed and ran past us to towards the gates. The guards were trying to open them, but the ground had shifted and the gates would only open a few inches. In the pandemonium, I tried to run back towards the abaton, but this time Ambrosios himself caught me. "Help me," he shouted, "if we get her past the gates, the god may spare us."

Several men lifted me on to their shoulders and tried to carry me to the gates, but the shuddering ground and the hysterical crowd forbade them.

We had reached the statue when the front wall fell and blocked the gateway. People tried to scramble over the stones.

Then I saw it.

I looked up at the statue, and it seemed to lean forward. At first I thought it was just my disorientation, but then I realized what was happening. We were trapped with nowhere to go. All I could do was stare in horror and watch in slow motion as the god toppled towards us, his lifeless eyes unaware that his reign was over.

My last thought was, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, Jesus."

Darkness.

# CHAPTER 17

I awoke. I wasn't dead.

Beneath me I could feel a firm mattress covered with cotton sheets.

I had been right. I couldn't die in Pergamum. Being knocked out had just brought be back. Fantastic. What a relief.

But wait a minute. Daisy was still in my tummy, kicking happily. They hadn't done the caesarean? Why not? Had something gone wrong?

I looked up. I was back in the small room off the maternity ward. But it looked different. The walls were a cool green instead of that sickly yellow. There was a blind over the window to the ward instead of the flowery curtains.

They must have brought me back to a different room.

What's happened, Daisy? Let's call a nurse. I pushed myself up to a sitting position.

Attached to the locker by my bed was a small computer screen on an adjustable arm. I hadn't seen one of those before. I pulled it towards me, and it immediately turned on automatically. For a second the words West London Trauma Hospital, Patient Service flashed across the screen, then Please select your required service and a number of icons appeared.

West London Trauma Hospital? That wasn't right. I was in The West London General. Before I could process what I was seeing, the screen cleared and a warning message flashed,

We have detected you are no longer

in the required recumbent position.

Please lie down immediately.

A nurse will be with you shortly.

How did they know? Was there a CCTV camera? I looked up, and my eyes fell on a large, electronic panel above the bedhead. It was flashing dozens of different labelled numbers. The meaning of some labels were obvious. Pulse. Blood pressure. Others used unknown acronyms. Above the panel was some kind of scanner. I stood up and the scanner followed me.

This room must be especially equipped for special circumstances.

I wanted to know what part of the hospital I was in. I looked out the window. But the view was just the same as before. The tall office building with the long, narrow windows. Even the pigeons looked the same.

At that moment the door burst open, and two people walked in.

The first was a nurse. She ordered me to lie down

Ignoring the command, I asked, "Why didn't they do the caesarean?"

"What caesarean?" she said distractedly as she studied the panel above the bedhead.

The second person to enter was Andrew. The fact there was a head sitting on his shoulders did not surprise me. I had assumed his doppelganger's demise in Pergamum had not effected the real Andrew in 2017. However, another aspect of his appearance stunned me.

As he sat on the bed next to me I said, "I'm glad to see you have a head, but what's with the wig?" I grabbed the mop of ginger hair on top of his head and pulled.

"Ouch!" He stood up and smoothed down his hair with his hand.

The nurse said, "I'll call Dr Basil. He's been informed we have a head injury patient in advanced pregnancy."

"I don't have a head injury," I protested.

The nurse examined the top of my head, "There's no obvious external evidence of the insult, and the tests have shown no sign of internal damage, but you could still be affected. What's your name?"

Didn't she know my name? Then I realized she was making sure I knew it.

"Beckie Baxter."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" She lifted her hand.

"Three."

"What day is it?"

I hesitated. I'd gone under anaesthetic on Monday night. Then I'd spent a day in Pergamum. Did that day count back in 2017? I didn't think so. It was probably Tuesday here.

"Tuesday."

The nurse and Andrew glanced at each other.

"What year is it?" asked the nurse.

"2017," I replied confidently.

"I see. Please lie down, and I'll tell Dr Basil to come urgently."

She left.

Andrew got a very slim cell phone out of his pocket and said, "Excuse me. I'll just call Dr Atkinson."

"Why do you need to call the house officer if they're going straight for the consultant?" I asked.

He looked at me and ignored the question. "Hello, Helen, it's Drew," he said into the phone. "Margaret is undergoing surgery, but I've informed them the follow-up will be done at an IGGATH clinic."

IGGATH clinic? What on earth was that?

"I'm with the new patient now. Her name's Beckie Baxter."

He was talking as if he and Helen didn't know me.

"There appears to be no damage to the baby and no internal or external damage to the mother's brain, yet she's showing signs of amnesia."

No, I'm not.

"I'm afraid they're calling in none other than Dr Basil."

What was so bad about that?

For a minute or two, Drew listened to Helen and just responded with, "I realize that." Pause. "I'm not sure what I can do." Pause. "I'll try. When can you get here?"

He put the phone back in his pocket and said, "She'll be here as soon as she can. She's with the police answering questions about the bomb."

"What bomb?"

"You don't remember?"

I hesitated. "Just answer me one question. What year is it?"

He eyed me with a mixture of suspicion and concern.

Eventually he answered, "2067."

# CHAPTER 18

Oh, no. Not again.

What had happened this time?

My stargate theory was out of the window because I'd never reached the abaton. So how did I get here? By getting a bang on the head? If I knocked myself out again, would I get back to 2017? But how could I do that? And how could I be sure I wouldn't hurt Daisy?

Drew had gone to check on Margaret whoever she was. He'd said he'd be back in a few minutes.

At least I was half-way back to where I should be. I was in the right physical space but at the wrong time. Maybe that was progress. This hospital was more technically advanced than The West London General. Maybe they had a cure for HIV. Maybe that's why they didn't do the caesarean. They had better options here.

After all, I'd apologized to Jesus as the statue fell. Maybe he liked that, so he sent me here as a reward.

What was I saying? Was I saying Jesus really exists and he rewards people who have faith in him? Did I have faith in him?

Well, the Christians knowing about the earthquake was quite impressive. What would have happened if I'd stayed with them? I'd still be in Greece. That would not have been good.

Anyway, the Christians were wrong about the staff of Asclepius disappearing as a symbol. Or were they? Maybe by 2067 it had disappeared. I looked around the room. There it was in the bottom left hand corner of the panel above the bedhead. I was back in a time when there was no conflict between Christians and Asclepius. So, what had my excursion to Greece been about? Had it taught me anything?

Dr Basil was on his way. Back in Greece, Basileios had been a bad guy. But here he was a good guy. There people had to choose between Jesus and Asclepius. Here I didn't have to choose. And I had better medical care.

Maybe Jesus hadn't sent me here. Maybe Asclepius sent me here because I went back to the Asclepion.

Whoever did or didn't send me here, I'd fallen on my feet.

Praise whoever.

* * * * * * * * * *

"I want to apologize for bringing you to an IGGATH Denialist Hospital. We'll get you out of here as soon as possible."

I had no clue what Drew was talking about. He was sitting on the chair next to the bed.

When I didn't answer, he continued, "We had no choice under the circumstances. Margaret, the receptionist, was very close to the bomb, and she sustained serious leg injuries requiring surgery. As you know, the Denialists may be lousy with basic healthcare, but they're still the best surgeons. We felt you would also benefit from the Denialists' advanced diagnostic equipment, so we brought you both together in the ambulance. Helen, Dr Atkinson, asked me to accompany you since she was unable to do so."

I understood as much of this speech as Vernon Dursley understood of Mr Weasley's explanation for blowing up his living room.

After a pause I said, "What bomb?"

"I guess you were knocked out immediately by the falling bookcase. It appears there was a small bomb planted in a handbag. Margaret said she found the handbag under a chair and assumed a patient had left it. She put it under her desk for safe keeping."

Another pause as my brain tried to unravel the situation. "Where was this?"

"At Helen's IGGATH clinic. Don't you remember?"

"No." I wanted to add that the last thing I remembered was an Asclepion in Greece, but I was becoming an old hand at this, and I decided to gather information before giving it. "Who would bomb a clinic?"

"The Extreme Denialists, of course. There have been a number of bombings in advance of tonight's televised debate."

"Have we met before?"

"Not until this morning. I noticed you in the waiting room before I went into Helen's office."

"So you're a patient too."

"Yes, but the meeting this morning was to discuss the expansion to the clinic. I'm an architect."

Architect, stonemason, architect.

"Are you married to Cassandra?"

"To Cassie, yes. Do you know her?"

Andrew, Andreas, Drew. Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassie.

"We've met. Does she have a brother called Julian?"

"No. She's an only child."

"Do you have a one-year-old son called Alexander?"

"Yes."

"Is he going to have his vaccinations today?"

Drew had answered the questions patiently until the last one. He straightened up and said, "You are an Iggathist, aren't you?"

"Do you mean atheist? Yes, I am."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but that wasn't my question."

"I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Iggathist as in IGGATH."

"What does IGGATH mean?"

"You really have lost your memory. Either that or you've been on the moon for the past fifty years."

"Humour me."

"IGGATH is an acronym for Inbuilt God-Given Ability To Heal. Before you were hit on the head this morning, you were obviously an Iggathist because you were in Helen's clinic. So why are you asking about vaccinations?"

I decided to try for some clarification. "Let me see if I understand. There are two medical views, the Iggathists and the IGGATH Denialists. The Iggathists are good at basic healthcare, and the Denialists are good at surgery. You're an Iggathist, and you regret bringing me to the Denialists. Presumably you want me to leave the hospital and go back to Helen's clinic with you."

"Correct. You don't need brain surgery, and Helen can treat your amnesia better than the Denialists. I'd be happy to take you back to the clinic right now."

"Not so fast. I have a question. Which of these two schools of medical thought can best treat HIV?"

If Drew had balked at the mention of vaccinations, HIV sent him into a tailspin. He stood up, a look of horror on his face. "You are a Denialist. You planted that bomb. What happened? Didn't get out in time?"

Here we go again.

"I didn't plant a bomb. Look, I know this will sound crazy, but I'm actually from the year 2017, and I'm currently having a caesarean under general anaesthetic. This is a dream or a vision or a test or something. I spent yesterday in Greece in the Classical Era."

Far from disturbing Drew, this seemed to calm him. "I see. I need to go pray in the sitting room while we wait for Helen. Please excuse me."

As he left, Drs Basil and Petropoulos walked in.

# CHAPTER 19

I was so relieved to see them. I was back in the hands of fully accredited, properly trained doctors. A far cry from Basileios and Georgios with their experimental forceps and herbal potions.

The Cuban heels and hair dye were back in play, although Dr Basil clearly hadn't found Drew's answer to male-pattern baldness. Dr Petropoulos was his usual smug, handsome self. They both looked better in dark suits than in Greek chitons.

I stood up and shook their hands enthusiastically. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see real doctors at last."

They looked at each other, and Dr Basil said, "Thank you. Our skills are not always appreciated these days."

"I don't understand why not. I won't go into detail, but I've encountered some serious quacks recently."

"Haven't we all," he said conspiratorially. "Now, Miss Baxter, I understand you've sustained a head injury."

"They said it was a bomb in an IGGATH clinic."

"What were you doing there?"

"I've no idea."

"Well, you seem to have come to your senses now."

Dr Petropoulos interjected, "I'm sorry you were injured. What time did the bomb go off?"

"I'm not sure. Early. I think I was the only patient there."

"Something must have gone wrong with the timer. The Truth Defender Army only targets property. Their aim is not to harm but to promote health truth."

The Truth Defender Army? Drew had called them the Extreme Denialists. Dr Petropoulos seemed to know a lot about it. Then I noticed the little badges on the doctors' lapels. Each badge was a tiny silver staff of Asclepius, with the words 'Truth Defender' written in blue above it.

I was confused. Did these doctors support the bombing of Helen's clinic? That would make them the bad guys. Oh, don't start that again, Beckie. Good guys, bad guys. Who knows?

Dr Basil saw my hesitation and looked troubled. He said, "You recognize we..." he indicated Dr Petropoulos and himself, "can offer you the best traditional, scientific medicine, don't you?"

"Sure, but I have a question. How do you deal with HIV?"

The doctors smiled at each other, and each gave a sigh of relief.

"Best not discuss that here," said Dr Basil quietly. "Has the hospital consultant discharged you?"

Dr Petropoulos answered, "They've cleared her of any serious head injury. They were waiting for your assessment on the pregnancy."

"So you're not a hospital consultant?" I asked.

"No. When I first began by career in obstetrics, I was free to apply my training and skills to the benefit of women and their children." It sounded like a speech he'd given many times. "After the crazy laws of the last two decades, I am reduced to managing the termination clinic next door. I'm only called in to the main hospital when a pregnant woman is involved in trauma. I therefore suggest we remove ourselves to my clinic where we can talk more freely. Walls have ears, you know."

"An abortion clinic?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, winking at me as if I were in on a joke. We'll wait outside while you put on your day clothes."

* * * * * * * * * *

I was confused. But then I'd spent the last twenty-four hours confused. There was no point debating with myself. I would go with them and ask questions. If I didn't like their answers, I would find Helen's IGGATH clinic.

So the next task was to get dressed. I looked for the cord for the window blind. There wasn't one. Then I saw a small red button on the side of the window. I pressed it and the blind came down in a smooth, quiet motion. If I were going to spend the next twenty-four hours in 2067, I'd have to get used to everything being automated.

Would I only be here twenty-four hours?

Who knew?

Anyway, technology didn't interest me, but clothes did. I rummaged in the bottom draw of the bedside locker and found a treasure trove. The leggings were covered in bright, psychedelic swirls. They looked like something from the 1960's. (There's nothing new under the sun.) The smock was fuchsia coloured and made of a translucent fabric I'd never seen before. There was even an Alice band shaped like a peacock feather.

I'd just finished putting them on and was wishing I had a full-length mirror when the door opened, and in walked Drew.

"They've released you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Great. My car is in the back carpark."

"Dr Basil's waiting for me."

"Why?"

"So we can go to his clinic and talk."

"Listen, Beckie. He'll mislead you into accepting illegal, dangerous, expensive, unnecessary treatment. You mustn't go."

"It's my decision." I tried to get past him, but he was blocking the open door.

"You don't seem to understand the situation."

"Look, why don't you give me the address of Helen's clinic, and if I don't like what Dr Basil says, I'll make my way there later."

"You don't know where it is?"

"No, I've never been there."

"You have amnesia. You're not thinking straight. Why would you listen to Dr Basil under those circumstances?"

"Because he's willing to talk about HIV. Your response was just to flip out and shout accusations at me. I think you're the one who needs his brain examining."

"O.K. Come with me, and we'll sit down and discuss the HIV causes AIDS legend."

"Legend?"

"Yes, legend."

"What are you talking about? It's not a legend. Everybody knows HIV causes AIDS."

"Not anymore they don't."

Dr Basil appeared behind him. "No, these days only the sane people know it."

* * * * * * * * * *

"I couldn't' stop her," Drew said frantically into the phone as I walked away with the two doctors.

"Why did he say HIV was a legend?" I asked Dr Basil as we left the ward and entered the corridor.

"Later, dear."

I was surprised how empty the hospital seemed to be and that both doctors had time on their hands.

Eventually we exited a side door of the hospital and entered an adjoining building. It had a large, pink sign over the door with the word CHOICE entwined with jasmine.

"Isn't this building a wing of the hospital?" I asked.

"I think it used to be, but they don't need the space these days," answered Dr Petropoulos.

"Why not?"

"Well, since they're now limited to trauma care . . ."

"Why is that?"

"To do other kinds of medicine, they'd have to allow in the Iggathists, and the management don't want that?"

"But you're still allowed to do abortions?"

"For now," said Dr Basil. "The Iggathists are working against that too."

He led me into a medium sized office with two desks and two computers.

"You share an office?" I asked.

"Yes." How the mighty are fallen.

We sat down in old wooden chairs. Dr Basil leant forward with his elbows on his knees. "Now, my dear, you wanted to know about HIV."

"Yes. My boyfriend has tested positive. Do you have a test these days for me and my baby? And if we're in danger, is there a better option than a caesarean and ARV?"

"I understand perfectly," said Dr Basil, nodding thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, we have been prevented from developing more effective testing for HIV. Since the Iggathists took over, and we were forced underground, our resources have been limited. However, we still have the capacity to perform caesareans, and there are ways and means of obtaining ARV."

He paused and glanced at Dr Petropoulos. "You do understand the situation here, Miss Baxter? This treatment is illegal, and if we are caught, we could all go to jail for a very long time."

# CHAPTER 20

"Why is it illegal?" I asked.

"We don't have legal grounds for the caesarean since you weren't seriously injured by the bomb," replied Dr. Basil.

"So, these days, you can only do caesareans in emergency situations?"

"There are circumstances . . ." Dr. Basil began, but Dr. Petropoulos shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, "Henry, I think we need to proceed with caution here. The head injury may have affected Miss Baxter's thinking. I'm not convinced she fully understands the issues."

"Nonsense," said Dr. Basil, "She's come to us to ask about HIV. That shows she's a very wise young woman."

"Nonetheless, let's just check."

Dr. Petropoulos turned to me and said, "What is your understanding of HIV?"

What a stupid question. My understanding was the same as everybody else's. But I decided to humour him. "It's a sexually transmitted retrovirus that can lead to full-blown AIDS. If you get AIDS, your immune system breaks down and you can't fend off disease, so you die."

"You see. She's totally with us," said Dr. Basil.

"Then why was she at an IGGATH clinic this morning?" asked Dr. Petropoulos.

"You heard her. She regrets going. She recognizes quacks when she sees them."

"What I don't understand," I said, "is why nobody's found a cure for HIV. It's been around for decades."

"Our hands are tied. We are forced to work underground, with limited funds."

"Why?"

"Because the Iggathists have legislated themselves into power. True, scientific medicine has been pushed to the sidelines." He was back on his soapbox. "Our right to treat patients has slowly been chipped away until we are only left with trauma care, surgery in very restricted circumstances, and some infectious diseases. Thousands of useful scientifically tested and clinically proven drugs have been made illegal. Insanity rules." He threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

"But Henry," said Dr. Petropoulos. "Why doesn't she already understand this? Something's wrong."

I didn't understand this because I hadn't lived in the years leading up to 2067. But I wasn't about to tell them that.

"She does understand, don't you, Miss Baxter? May I call you Beckie?" He leaned toward me.

"Sure."

"She also understands she and her baby could be in great danger if we don't intervene. Now, Beckie, I've seen your notes. You are nearly full-term, and you have some early signs of HIV infection. It's too late to start you on antiretroviral therapy. Our best option is to do a caesarean as soon as possible, and to start the baby on ARV within the first thirty-six hours."

I gave a sigh of relief. That was exactly what Dr Basil had said in 2017. I was back to the best medical care for me and Daisy.

"Will the caesarean be under general anesthesia?" I asked.

"If you want it to be," Dr. Basil replied.

This was it. This was the answer. If I went under anesthesia in 2067, I would wake up in 2017, having had the correct treatment.

"That's wonderful, Dr. Basil. Thank you very much."

"Then you would like to proceed with the treatment?"

"Yes. When can we do it?"

"Obviously, the sooner the better. Now, we need to discuss practicalities. We will take you to our special facility on the outskirts of London."

"I don't like this, Henry," said Dr. Petropoulos. "Is it really safe to let her see our headquarters?"

This sounded familiar. I'd been here before.

"Of course. She's totally with us. Stop worrying."

"Now, Beckie, we will need you to sign a nondisclosure agreement."

"No problem." I wondered how legally binding such an agreement could be when the services offered were themselves illegal.

"And, unfortunately, the treatment will not be cheap. As you can appreciate, we have considerable overheads. But we can offer you a reasonable payment plan.

"No problem." They wouldn't be able to collect from me when I was back in 2017 anyway.

"Then I suggest we make immediate plans to remove you to our clinic." He stood, and Dr Petropoulos and I followed suit. Dr Basil shook my hand enthusiastically. Dr Petropoulos had his hands in his pockets.

"Let's go," said Dr Basil, but as we turned to leave the office, the door opened.

Helen walked in followed by Antonius the Roman soldier, originally known as Tony the security guard, this time wearing a police uniform.

"I'm here to reclaim my patient," said Helen.

Helen's skin was perfect. Gone were the greasy spots.

My first reaction to Tony the giant was to flinch. I was very glad he was not brandishing a sword on this occasion. He seemed to be back to promoting what was good and right. But what was good and right? I didn't know anymore. If Dr Basil's words were correct, the law in 2067 was (in Mr Bumble's words) an ass.

"Excuse me," said Dr Petropoulos as he pushed past Helen and Tony, "I've just remembered I have an important meeting." Dr Basil scowled as his colleague disappeared out the door.

"I went to the hospital to visit my patient," said Helen, "and I was told she was last seen leaving with you. I've come to take her back to my clinic."

"I don't want to go," I said. "I've come to an agreement with Dr Basil for treatment."

"What kind of treatment?" asked Helen.

Before I could answer Dr Basil had interjected, "Doctor-patient privilege. You have no right to ask my patient that question."

"She's not your patient, she's mine." She reached into her handbag and retrieved some folded papers. "These are the registration documents Miss Baxter signed this morning before your people decided to blow her up."

"My people? I have no connection with terrorists."

"No? Then why are you wearing that badge?" She pointed to the silver staff of Asclepius on Dr Basil's lapel.

"The Truth Defender Army is a branch of extremists who have broken free from the main Truth Defender Movement."

"Save it for the debate this evening."

At this point, Tony's cell phone vibrated, and he opened it to read a message.

"Any news?" asked Helen.

"Not yet," he replied.

She addressed Dr Basil, "My lawyers have applied for an emergency injunction allowing me to give Miss Baxter a full psychiatric assessment."

"You're sectioning me?" I asked.

Helen turned to me and said kindly, "No, Miss Baxter. It's simply an evaluation to ascertain whether the head injury has affected your powers of reasoning. If we find no sign of damage, you will be free to seek whatever legal treatment you choose." She emphasized the word 'legal' and glared at Dr Basil as she did so.

"Are you suggesting I would offer illegal treatment?" asked Dr Basil.

"Come on, Henry, we all know you're bending the law to breaking point, and it's only a matter of time until we prove it. Then they'll lock you up and throw away the key."

Tony smirked.

"I'd rather you called me Dr Basil."

"And what treatment can you offer Miss Baxter, Dr Basil?" Helen emphasized the word 'doctor'. "She has not sustained trauma injury requiring surgery, and she's nine months pregnant. What is she doing it an abortion clinic?"

Pause.

"No answer? Then lets' go, Miss Baxter." She indicated the door.

"But I might have HIV, and you guys don't seem to have any treatment for it," I blurted out.

Helen slowly turned back to glower at Dr Basil. "So, you've deluded her into believing in a phantom virus. And what treatment have you offered her? It can't be anything legal."

"Miss Baxter is mistaken," said Dr Basil. "We haven't mentioned HIV in our discussions. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation is a good idea."

Now it was my turn to glare at him. "But you . . ." I started to speak, but then I realized he wasn't going to admit to illegal activity with a police officer standing there. "You're right, Dr Basil. We didn't talk about HIV. I was confused for a moment."

I turned to Helen, "You needn't worry about me, Dr Atkinson. I'm absolutely fine. Why don't you let me finish my discussion with Dr Basil, and I'll pop along to your clinic later if I want a second opinion."

"There you are," said Dr Basil. "She wants to stay here. What are you going to do? Arrest her?"

There was an awkward moment when everybody just looked at each other.

Then Tony's phone vibrated again, and he answered it. He simply said, "I see. Thank you." He closed the phone and turned to Dr Basil. "The injunction has been signed by a judge and is being sent over. We can wait for it if you prefer, or we can just get on and escort Miss Baxter to Dr Atkinson's clinic."

Dr Basil turned to me and said, "I think you'd better go, dear. It never does any harm to get a second opinion."

"Good," said Helen.

As she turned to Tony to discuss practicalities, Dr Basil winked at me.

# CHAPTER 21

"Why did you say Dr Basil had deluded me into believing in a phantom virus?"

We were getting into Helen's slick, aerodynamic, metallic-burgundy automobile. Tony had gone to his patrol car. When we were comfortable, Helen pressed a button and said, "The clinic." The car silently moved away. There was a steering wheel, but Helen wasn't touching it.

"Let's talk about it later," said Helen.

"You mean when you've reassured yourself I'm sane."

"We'll run some tests, and then we'll sit and talk all you like. My other appointments have been cancelled due to the bombing."

I wanted to object, but I was distracted by the sight of London in 2067. The basic structure of the buildings was similar, but there were less gaudy, neon lights. Maybe they finally reached the point where so many signs demanded attention, no individual message could be distinguished. Presumably they'd found better ways of advertising. Clothes were also different. Despite the hot, summer weather, women were modestly dressed in muted pastel colours. Again, perhaps fashion had reached the point of near nudity and couldn't go beyond. On the whole, London seemed more comfortable with itself than it had been in 2017.

The city seemed to be sober, and yet HIV was considered to be a 'phantom virus'. What kind of insanity was that?

And who was Dr Helen Atkinson in 2067? In Pergamum she had rescued me from a crazy Basileios. Had she now rescued me from a crazy Dr Basil? Or was she the screwball this time? It wouldn't do any harm to get her side of the story, but then I'd have to get back to Dr Basil, so I could get under anaesthetic and return to 2017.

At least there wasn't a spiritual war going on here like in Greece. Or was there? Dr Basil's symbol was the staff of Asclepius. What was Helen's?

I soon found out.

Helen's car parallel parked itself in front of a modern but not featureless building. Two workmen were outside fixing a broken window, presumably damaged in the bomb blast. There was a large blue and white sign saying RIVERS OF EDEN. Below it a smaller sign read IGGATH CLINIC. And there was the symbol: milk and honey pouring from two toppled terracotta jars.

"Let's go inside," said Helen. "I think we'll check your basic nutrition levels first, just to be sure."

* * * * * * * * * *

"You seem to be taking the bombing very lightly," I said as we stood at the door to the reception, restrained by yellow police tape, and surveyed the mess.

It had clearly been a small device. There were charred walls and broken furniture, but the building structure was intact.

"I have no choice but to take it in my stride," said Helen.

"But your receptionist was injured."

"Yes, and that angers me. But she had just left her desk to offer you coffee. Had the bomb exploded a few seconds earlier, she could have lost her legs. The Lord protected us as always. We'll get her away from the Denialists as soon as possible, and she'll make a full recovery. Satan can hinder us, but he can't stop us."

So this version of Helen was a fanatical Christian like the others.

"Do you remember anything about the bombing?" asked Helen.

"I've never been here before."

"I see."

"I still don't understand why anybody connected with Dr Basil would bomb you."

"It's been going on for decades. Why should it surprise you now?"

Because I haven't lived through the previous decades. But I couldn't say that, so I said nothing.

"The Denialists persist in their belief that the human body does not have the ability to fix itself when given comprehensive medical nutrition, despite conclusive medical and scientific evidence. The kingdom of the allopaths has fallen, and they cannot accept it."

"The body can fix itself?" I laughed.

Helen now looked very disturbed. "What was the last thing you remember before waking up in the hospital?"

A fifteen-foot statue of Asclepius falling on my head. I didn't answer.

"What's your name?  
"Beckie Baxter."

"What's your address?"

"68b Pinegrove Avenue, Ealing."

Helen got a smartphone out of her pocket and said to it, "Location finder. 68B Pinegrove Avenue, Ealing." She looked at the phone and said, "There's no such address. Who do you live with?"

My boyfriend, Julian, who doesn't exist in this timeframe. I decided to play dumb.

"I can't remember."

Helen paused and then said, "Come through to the treatment room."

I followed her down a corridor and into a large room. It was full of strange equipment, but what caught my attention was another familiar face.

"Hello, Doris," I said.

"You know Doris?" said Helen with a note of surprise.

"Hello," Doris said brightly. She was carrying a mop.

"You've dyed your hair. Suits you," I said.

"Dye me 'air? Never." She ran her hand through her rich brown hair.

Come to think of it, her remarkably unwrinkled face looked much younger than at our last meeting.

"Excuse me if I'm being personal," I said, "but I'm suffering from amnesia and I'd like to check my memory of you. Have you been married three times, and do you have six children?"

"You're right about the children, me duck, but I've only been married twice. I were a bit bossy and cantankerous in me youth, and me first marriage didn't last long. But then I settled down, and Fred and I 'ave been married for over thirty year."

"You don't look old enough."

"I'm 61, love. Nought but a spring chicken."

Helen was watching this conversation with interest.

"And have you had surgery recently?"

"Surgery? Never. Bar being 'it by a triple-decker bus, yer'll never get me under the knife. You're thinking of someone else, me duck."

"Does your granddaughter have her third birthday soon?"

"Aye, how did yer know that? When did I meet yer before?"

"You don't remember? Maybe Helen can treat you for amnesia," I grinned.

"Me memory's as sharp as a pin, but if I did need treatment, Helen's me first choice. She's a wonderful doctor."

"One last question? Are you a Christian?"

"Of course, love. Aren't most people these days?" Then she turned to Helen, "I've done in here. I 'aven't cleaned up reception 'cos the nice policeman told me not to."

"OK, thanks very much," said Helen. Doris left.

"Right, Beckie. Let's make a start," said Helen as she walked over to a large machine that looked like one of those naked body scanners they tried to put into airports. She spoke to it. "Full-spectrum nutrition, brain and intestine diagnostics, foetal assessment."

"Please step inside, Beckie."

"Is it safe for Daisy?"

"Daisy?"

"My baby."

"Of course, it's all done with harmless frequencies."

I stepped inside nervously. The machine didn't seem to do much. It made a soft, purring sound and a few dim, coloured lights came on. After about three minutes Helen said, "That's it. Please step outside. Come over here and have a seat while we wait a couple of minutes for the result."

I sat in a comfortable cushioned chair as Helen watched a large screen on the wall.

"Is this going to take long?" I asked.

I was anxious to get this over with and get back to Dr Basil.

"The results are coming through now."

If I'd thought the screen above the bedhead in the hospital was complicated, it was nothing to this one. Rapidly, lists of numbers appeared in different sections of the screen, all colour-coded. Then a message in large red letters flashed at the bottom. It read, 'Situation critical. Urgent action needed.'

# CHAPTER 22

"I've never seen anything like it. What happened?" Helen looked at me with an expression of horror on her face.

I felt two simultaneous emotions.

The first was fear. Was the HIV greatly advanced? Did I have full-blown AIDS? Was I about to drop dead from a heart attack or a stroke?

The second was anger. Helen was a professional. Wasn't she supposed to hide her astonishment and reassure her patient at all times? And why was she asking me what happened? She was the doctor.

"Your intestinal villi are shot. Don't tell me you're still eating gluten. It must be hard to find these days," said Helen.

"What's gluten?"

The look of astonishment on Helen's face deepened. "And why haven't you been taking your Hushmin 90?"

"My what?"

"Your Hushmin 90 supplements. Your 90 essential nutrients. Your body is seriously short of everything; vitamins, minerals, amino acids, essential fatty acids. What happened? Why didn't you take them?"

"I don't have them."

"Everybody has them?"

"Everybody buys vitamins these days?"

"National insurance pays for it."

"What?" I laughed.

"I don't understand this. You clearly have severe memory loss, but your powers of speech are not affected. And even if you can't remember what gluten and the Hushmin 90 are, it doesn't explain your gut damage and your chronic nutritional deficiencies." She put her head in her hands, obviously deep in thought.

After a minute or two she looked up and said quietly, "There were rumours, but I didn't believe it."

"Rumours about what?"

"About secret communities where children are indoctrinated with Denialist beliefs and young women are forced to produce more children to train in their abominable dogma." She looked at my very pregnant belly.

I was about to tell her I'd never heard such bunkum when I suddenly realized it might be advantageous to play along. After all, I couldn't tell her the truth. If she believed I was the product of cult brainwashing, I could ask lots of questions without suspicion.

"Yeah," I said dreamily. "Now you mention it, I vaguely remember this big, old house covered in ivy in the middle of a wood."

"Really?"

I frowned as if trying to remember. "There were about forty kids. We had lessons every day, and if we didn't pay attention we were whipped. They gave us drugs that made us like zombies."

Helen was gazing at me with her mouth open.

This was fun.

"When they reached sixteen, the girls were expected to birth a baby every year. This is my third pregnancy."

"No wonder you're so low on nutrition." Helen was buying every word. "May I ask who the fathers were?" she said delicately.

"Sometimes it was the boys, but mostly it was the cult leaders. Dirty old men, they were."

"You poor child."

"Yeah, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd explain about the Hushmin 90, and gluten, and why you think HIV is a phantom virus."

"Of course, but first I'd like to give you some basic treatment. They'll be no charge." She went over to a computer, held down a button and said, "Hushmin 90 programme. Starting protocol for a chronically undernutrified nineteen-year-old girl in late pregnancy."

"You need to check? I thought you were an expert in this stuff," I said.

"This is a totally unprecedented situation All my patients are nutritionally saturated. Everybody is except the Denialists." She read the screen for a second and looked troubled.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

She didn't answer but pulled a chair close to mine, sat down, took my hand, and gazed into my eyes with compassion.

"You're scaring me," I said.

"Did you give your baby the name Daisy?"

"Yes."

"So you're fond of her despite the unfortunate circumstances of her conception?"

"Of course."

"How are your other two children?"

"What children?" Then I remembered I'd said this was the third pregnancy. "Sorry, I was confused for a moment. They're in the commune. They're not really considered to be my children. Is Daisy in danger? I mean, I know she's in danger from the HIV."

"HIV isn't a problem."

"You can test for it? That's fantastic. What a relief."

"It isn't a problem because, even if it exists, it's a harmless passenger virus."

"Ah, yes. The phantom virus theory."

"We can talk about that later. In fact, I'll take you to the debate this evening. You will hear all the arguments from both sides. But right now, I'm much more concerned about your nutritional state. There's no quick way to fix it."

"Can't you just give me some vitamins or something?"

"Reaching a state of nutritional saturation will take months. There are no short cuts. And we will have to start you on small doses while we rebuild your gut to maximum absorption capacity. We can do all this, but it will take time. The problem is Daisy. We can't get the nutrition to her until after she's born. She seems to be holding her own at the moment, but her nutritional levels are seriously low."

"But I took the pre-natal vitamins the doctor gave me. You know, the doctor at the commune," I added quickly.

"Nutrition prescribed by a Denialist would be woefully inadequate, and you couldn't absorb it anyway because of the gut damage."

"I eat well," I said defensively. "Fruit and veg and all that."

Helen shook her head. "It's been a long time since there were adequate minerals in the food. You have to supplement with all 90 essential nutrients at optimum doses every day for perfect health."

"And that's what you do? You take this stuff?"

"Yes."

"And that's why your skin's clear, and why Doris doesn't have grey hair and wrinkles?"

"Do people at the commune have skin problems and grey hair?"

"Sure. Doesn't everybody?"

"Only the Denialists like Dr Basil."

"So, what are you suggesting we do for Daisy? A caesarean? Get her out quick and give her the nutrients? What's the difference between that and Dr Basil wanting to do a caesarean and give Daisy ARV?"

"Dr Basil is suggesting antiretroviral treatment for a baby?" She was back on her feet, She looked aghast. "Beckie, whatever happens you must not let them do that. They'll kill her." She started to pace up and down the room. "The bastards," she said. Then added, "Excuse my language."

"This is really confusing, Helen," I said. "All my life, I've trusted doctors like Dr Basil."

"I know, Beckie," she said sympathetically. "Please give me the chance to explain everything. You will recognize the truth when you hear it. I'd like to give you some basic treatment first, then we can have lunch and talk, all afternoon if necessary."

At that moment, Helen's mobile phone rang, and she answered it. As she listened, she beckoned me to the door, and I followed her into the corridor.

Helen closed her phone and said, "I have to go assess an accident victim to see if he needs trauma treatment."

"So, if he does, you'll be going back to the hospital?"

"Maybe."

"Great, I'll come with you."

"No," she said sharply, then she put her hand to her head and said quietly, "Lord Jesus, what can I do?"

Just then the main door opened and in walked Cassandra and Alexander.

Cassandra was in lilac.

Alexander looked bright and happy as he toddled alongside his mother.

"Cassie," said Helen. "Just the person. I've been called away urgently. Could you take care of Beckie for a couple of hours?" She touched my arm to identify me as 'Beckie'. She gave Cassandra a knowing smile, trying to communicate there was more to the situation than met the eye.

"Well," said Cassie awkwardly, "I'd just popped in to say sorry about the bombing. I can't stay long because mum's at our house. She's cooking lunch, and I said we'd be back by 12:30."

"But your mum's dead." The words were out of my mouth before my brain could stop them.

Cassie looked at me and opened her mouth but didn't know what to say.

"Can I have a quick word with you?" Helen hustled Cassie into an office. No doubt they were going to talk about my indoctrination.

I was left with Alexander. He reached up, tugged on my smock and said, "Toy room."

"Toy room?" I asked. He laughed, tried to turn round, and fell on his bum. Then he got up and toddled towards a door down the corridor. He banged both palms on the door. I opened it and, sure enough, it was filled with toys.

Alexander crawled into the room, then sat and looked around. His face shone with delight. He chose a big toy in the shape of a multi-coloured parrot. He crawled to it and shouted. The parrot began to sing a jolly, happy song. When it stopped, Alexander gurgled, and the toy sang a quieter, more relaxing song. It was responding to Alexander's noises, and he knew it. He giggled and bounced with glee.

Cassie and Helen reappeared at the door. Cassie smiled at me with her head on one side, "Beckie, would you like to join us for lunch? Mum's a great cook, and she always makes too much, so there'll be plenty for four."

"Thank you, but I'd rather go with Helen."

Then something strange happened. All of a sudden I felt ravenously hungry. How weird. I hadn't felt hungry at all in Pergamum.

"Beckie," said Helen. "Please give us a few hours. If after all we tell you, you are still adamant about returning to Dr Basil, we will take you back later. But please hear us out first."

I wasn't sure I believed her. But one thing she had said really disturbed me. Giving Daisy ARV could kill her. That couldn't be true, or Dr Basil wouldn't prescribe it. But if there was any chance my baby's life was at stake, I should get all available information. I was also intrigued to know why Alexander seemed so at ease and so much more advanced than in 2017. And how had Cassie's (and Julian's) mother avoided a stroke? But then maybe it meant nothing. After all, Julian didn't exist here. Things were inexplicably different.

To stall, I asked, "How old is Alexander?"

"He's just turned one," said Cassie.

"He seems very advanced for his age."

"No, about average."

"He's very content."

"Why shouldn't he be?"

I shrugged. "How long will lunch take?"  
"Maybe an hour."

"I might be finished by then," said Helen. 'I'll come and get you."

"OK," I said reluctantly.

"Great." Helen turned to Cassie, "Please could you give Beckie a quarter dose of Hushmin, very diluted and drunk slowly over an hour. And please apply essential oils for memory loss and digestion issues."

"Are you a doctor, too?" I asked Cassie.

It was Helen who answered, "Everybody can do basic healthcare. They only come to me if specific problems arise."

I followed Cassie and Alexander out of the clinic. A nice lunch would be welcome. Then I'd get back to the hospital and anaesthetic and 2017.

I hoped hearing more information would ease my confusion. How wrong could I be?

# CHAPTER 23

Cassie's mum freaked me out.

Mrs Shipley had Julian's oval face and close blue eyes. I'd never met her. She'd died of a stroke before I met Julian. In photos she was plump and grey, but the 2067 iteration was very different. She had short, permed, chestnut hair and was wearing an elegant, fitted, sage dress with a flowery apron. I was sure the apron belonged to Cassie. I expected Mrs Shipley was in her early sixties, but she looked about forty-five. She could have been Julian's sister.  
When I saw her, I was overcome with a pang of longing for Julian. I quickly stifled it.

She was standing in the hallway of Cassie's house when I arrived with Cassie and Alexander. At first she ignored me and held out her hands to her grandson. He let her pick him up and give him a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

With Alexander in her arms, she looked me up and down, from the peacock feather Alice band to the kaleidoscopic leggings.

"This is Beckie," Cassie explained. "I hope you don't mind, she's joining us for lunch."

"No problem. Nice to meet you, Beckie."

I nodded and smiled.

"Please take your shoes off, Beckie," Cassie said.  
"Oriental style, is it?" I asked as I kicked off my sandals.

"The floor is grounded," she explained. "It's Drew's idea. That way we're always connected to the earth's electromagnetic field."

"Why?"

"It's very good for health."

Oh, my. Serious health freak alert.

"The plants are all strategically placed to maximize their air cleaning capabilities," said Cassie. Stepping into the house felt like walking into the palm house at Kew Gardens. Everywhere you went you had to duck and swerve to avoid cascading leaves. The aroma was heavenly. "The plants are also grounded, and they are fully mineralized."

"Yes, my son-in-law is certainly an individual," said Mrs Shipley and I noted a tone of disapproval in her voice."

I caught a whiff of lunch. "Something smells good, Mrs Shipley" I said, trying to be polite and hoping the food was ready so we could get this over quickly.

"Please call me Imogen. And I hope you like pizza, darling,"

"Health nuts eat pizza?" I asked. Imogen glanced at Cassie.

"Beckie," said Cassie, "would you mind watching Alexander for a minute while mum and I just check on the food?"

I was shown into a small play room with Alexander, and the two women disappeared. No doubt Cassie was telling Imogen all about my terrible childhood in the Denialist cult. I was entertained watching Alexander roll a large red ball over a play mat. When the ball rolled over the picture of an animal, it made a noise. Alexander particularly liked the cow sound. He really did seem extremely advanced for a one-year-old. And so happy. I was fascinated. I hoped Daisy would be as healthy and happy. Had these people really found the secret to health?

Cassie reappeared. "Drew will be fifteen minutes late. Let's wait in the dining room."

Imogen was laying the table as we entered. "Here you are, darling," she said handing me a large glass full of orange liquid. "Please drink it very slowly."

"What is it?" I asked as I sat down at the table.

"It's your Hushmin, darling."

"What's that?"

"You don't know? No, of course you don't." She looked at Cassie. They both leaned towards me looking deeply concerned.

"Why don't you just pretend I'm really from the year 2017, and I arrived in 2067 in a time machine?" I suggested.

"OK, darling. Hushmin stands for humic shale minerals. That drink contains essential vitamins and minerals."

"And why do I need them?"

They looked at each other. They'd obviously never been asked this question before.

"Well, they're just the basic nutrients all humans need," said Cassie hesitantly.

"We're not scientists, darling," added Imogen, "We can't give you a technical explanation."

"Since when have people been taking this stuff?" I asked.

"Now that I can help you with, darling," said Imogen sitting up straight.

"Mum's a professor of medical history," explained Cassie. She'd been promoted. History teacher to professor.

"I specialize in ancient Greek medicine," said Imogen.

"Really? So you know all about the asclepion in Pergamum?" I said.

"Of course. You know about that?"

"I was . . ." I nearly said I was there yesterday, but I caught myself. "I was taught about it."

At that point, Alexander tugged at my smock. I looked down, He had dragged a writing board to behind my chair.

"He wants you to draw for him, darling." Imogen picked up Alexander and put him in the highchair next to me with the writing board on the tray. "You use your finger." I absent mindedly drew a duck. Alexander thought it was hilarious.

"Why would they teach you about Ancient Greece?" asked Cassie.

"It's no surprise, darling," Imogen answered. "We all know the roots of allopathic medicine go back to Greece, hundreds of years before Christ. The spiritual roots as well as the medical ones."

"You mean the staff of Asclepius" I said knowledgably. "But it's just a symbol. It doesn't mean anything." I cleared the writing board and drew a staff with a snake entwined around it.

Cassie was on her feet. "Don't you ever..." she snarled. She grabbed the writing board and cleared it. Her eyes flashed. "My child is not to be contaminated with such demonic filth." Alexander looked wide eyed at his mum's behavior but didn't cry.

Here we go. The religious fanaticism stuff was rearing its ugly head. "What's the big deal?"

Cassie turned to Imogen, "I'm not sure she should be in the house with Alexander."

"It's all right, darling. The Lord will protect us."

They need spiritual protection from me? "I'll go right now if I'm not welcome." I got to my feet.

"Nonsense, darling. Sit down."

"But if I'm contaminated with demonic filth—"

"She didn't mean it, darling." Imogen turned to Cassie, "We have to be patient and explain. Beckie just doesn't understand."

"No, I don't understand. Tell me." I plonked myself back down with my arms crossed.

"You asked when people started taking Hushmin," said Imogen kindly. "It's been around since the end of the last century, but it's only been paid for by national insurance for about twenty-five years. How far back do you want to go?"

"How about the turn of the century?" I said.

"At that point, the pharmaceutical companies were still in control of the medical industry, the government and the media. If you know about the asclepions, do you know about votives?"

"Yes." I saw Doris buying one.

"Even at the beginning of the twenty-first century, doctors were still just treating body parts instead of the whole body."

"Really?" said Cassie, and she roared with laughter. At least she'd relaxed.

Alexander was pulling at my long, bushy hair, so Imogen gave him some play bricks.

She continued, "There wasn't even a law back then saying doctors had to cure disease if a cure was available."

"What?" said Cassie, "I don't believe it. So what did doctors do?"

"They tried to control symptoms with drugs. In the end more people were dying from medical treatment than from disease."

"No way," said Cassie. "That's awful."

There was a disconnect going on in my head. What was Imogen on about?

"It wasn't like that," I objected.

"I realize you've been told differently, Beckie, but you've been lied to. I'm not just quoting history books. I was born in 2002. I was there."

So, was I.

"I remember life before the revolution."

"What revolution?" I asked.

"Mothers wised up and realized their children were dying unnecessarily. They led the people in an uprising that brought down government health agencies and the pharmaceutical companies. Eventually the Health Truth Commission was formed."

"The what?"

"It's a government health agency."

"So they got rid of the original agencies and created a new one. What's the difference?"

"This one is closely monitored for conflict of interest. Members are prohibited from any connection with drug companies."

"So what caused this earth-shattering revolution?"

"It started in 2014 when a whistleblower from the CDC admitted they had committed fraud on a 2004 research paper which purportedly disproved any link between the MMR vaccine and autism."

What a relief. Finally I'd pinned her down to specifics and exposed the fact she was spouting garbage. There was no such event in 2014. It would have been all over the TV. I would have heard of it. This whole experience was just some weird fantasy. There was no truth in it. I could discount everything Imogen was saying. It had been nice to delude myself for a couple of hours into thinking one day sixty-five year olds would look twenty years younger. But the bubble had burst.

Back to plan A. Get under anaesthetic and back to 2017. I stood up to go. "Thank you very much for inviting me for lunch, but I really think I should leave now."

I ignored their protests and headed for the door. But my way was blocked by Drew.

"Excuse me," I said.

"Where are you going?" he asked as he grabbed my arm.

"Let go of me."

"We've been trying to tell her the truth," said Cassie, "but she won't listen."

"Maybe she can't listen," said Drew. "After a lot of thought, I've worked it out. She's a Manchurian Candidate."

"A what?"

"She was drugged and brainwashed into planting the bomb this morning."

# CHAPTER 24

Cassie picked up Alexander and held him close. "You think Beckie planted the bomb?" she asked Drew.

Drew was holding my arm tightly. "You're hurting me," I complained.

"I'm sorry, Beckie. It's for your own good," said Drew. He turned to Cassie, "It would explain Beckie's amnesia, why she was at the clinic even though she holds Denialist beliefs, why she wasn't hurt, and why she has no real explanation of where she came from." He turned to me, "Where's your handbag?"

"My handbag? I don't have one. I hate handbags."

"You planted the handbag?" said Cassie. "Get out of my house, away from my child."

"I would love to get out. Tell your hubby to get his paws off me."

"Drew, she's dangerous," pleaded Cassie.

"Listen Cassie," said Drew. "Maybe the Lord has brought her to us for a reason. Maybe she's seeking. We can't just abandon her to the Denialists."

Déjà vu. Pergamum all over again.

"What if she has another bomb?" said Cassie.

"Imogen, please check her pockets," said Drew.

Imogen looked cautious as she walked around the table towards me. Drew held my arms behind my back while she checked the pockets in my smock and leggings.

"This is assault," I screamed. "Invasion of privacy. Don't you have laws against such things in 2067?"

"There's nothing," said Imogen. "I can't believe a heavily pregnant woman would consent to planting a bomb."

"That's the point," said Drew. "She didn't consent. She doesn't even know she did it, like Sirhan Sirhan assassinating Robert Kennedy."

I'd no idea what he was talking about, but Imogen seemed to relax a notch.

"The poor child," she said.

"But she could be programmed to kill again," said Cassie.

"She's a young, short, pregnant woman with no weapons," said Drew

There was a long pause where everybody stared at each other.

"Why don't we sit down, and I'll serve lunch," said Imogen.

"No way," said Cassie.

"I'll sit next to her and watch her closely," said Drew. "You can move Alexander's high chair to the other end of the table. Let's sit down and be civilized and talk."

"But if she's programmed, she won't hear us anyway."

"You're underestimating the power of God. Nothing can separate us from his love. He can reach Beckie, and he can protect us. Our lives are always in his hands."

There was another pause. Then Cassie nodded reluctantly. "Take the knife and fork away from her place," she said to Imogen.

Here I was again. Captive and about to be preached at. But at least I had a chair and pizza this time. It was an improvement on the smelly barn.

All sharp implements were removed from my reach, and I was seated at the end of the table with Drew inches from me. In silence Imogen retrieved the pizza from the kitchen and placed it on the other end of the table. I was handed a slice on a plate.

"Well, this is pleasant, isn't it?" I said in an attempt to break the silence. When nobody replied, I tried another question. "Helen told me I shouldn't eat gluten. What's gluten?"

"It's a protein found in wheat, barley, rye and oats," answered Drew.

"Then why are we eating pizza?"

"It's gluten free," said Imogen. It's made from rice flour."

I took a bite. "It's good. My compliments to the chef." Imogen gave a wry smile.

Cassie took the Hushmin drink from me then brought it back a minute later. She'd transferred it from a glass to a plastic tumbler.

"Cheers," I said, taking a sip.

Nobody spoke. I didn't like the silence..

"Did your husband die of a heart attack?" I asked Imogen.

"Samuel? Good heavens, no. He's fishing."

"Do people often die of strokes and heart attacks these days?"

"Rarely," said Imogen. "It was much more common when I was a child."

"Beckie," said Drew cautiously, "You keep talking about 'these days' as if you're not from this time. You told me you came from 2017. Could you tell us more about that?"

"What are you doing, Drew?" asked Cassie with a look of exasperation.

"To have any chance of communicating with Beckie, we need to start where she's at."

"But she's crazy."

"Jesus died to save Beckie and her child. We have to try, Cassie."

He looked at me and waited for me to speak. Well, it might be interesting to tell them the truth. It can't make matters worse.

"Right. I'm not really here. I'm under anaesthetic in 2017. I'm having an emergency caesarean because my boyfriend Julian, who is Imogen's son and Cassie's brother, is HIV positive. They're getting Daisy out quickly so they can give her ARV A.S.A.P."

Imogen and Cassie had their heads down, trying to hide their grins, but Drew was looking at me attentively.

I continued, "Julian's a Christian so he prayed for me and Daisy. When I went under anaesthetic, I had a wonderful dream about a pool of healing water. Then I woke up in the asclepion in Pergamum."

Cassie guffawed. Drew glared at her then turned back to me. "What happened in Pergamum?"

"You got your head chopped off by a Roman soldier. It was gruesome." The memory brought a wave of nausea, and I put my pizza down.

"This is a complete waste of time," said Cassie.

Drew ignored her. "How did you get here," he asked me.

"A statue of Asclepius fell on me during an earthquake, and I woke up in the West London General."

"An earthquake did destroy the Asclepion in 262 AD," said Imogen helpfully.

Drew got his smart phone out and looked something up.

"What are you doing?" asked Cassie impatiently.

"I just wondered if the West London Trauma Hospital was called the West London General in 2017." Pause. "Yes, it was."

"Do all of us exist in 2017?" asked Drew indicating his family.

"No, Imogen died of a stroke. She wasn't in Pergamum, either."

"Were we Christians in those times?"

"Oh, yeah. Fanatical. You refused to make a statue to Asclepius. That's why they hacked off your head." Drew looked almost proud at this.

"How interesting?" he said.

"What's interesting about it?" said Cassie.

"If these memories were planted by the denialists, I can understand the HIV memories, but why exalt Christianity?"

"Are you suggesting they're true?" Cassie smirked.

"No, I'm suggesting God is using her confused mental state to reach her."

"So aren't the Denialists Christians?" I asked.

"No," answered all three adults in unison.

"And a lot of people are Christians now?"

"Yes."

"Then why do they still have abortion clinics? I thought Christians didn't approve."

"We don't," said Imogen, "but there is still sin, selfishness and greed in the world."

"If this IGGATH stuff is so great, why are there still Denialists?

"Darling, there are still people in the world using leeches."

"OK," said Cassie. "This is getting us nowhere. I'm calling the police." She was on her feet, and her smart phone was out of her pocket.

"No, Cassie," said Drew. "We have to fight for her soul. The Lord is calling her. We have to do our part." He walked towards her and tried to take the phone out of her hands.

"Think of our son," said Cassie. "Put your family first."

"He puts Jesus first," I said. "That's how he got beheaded."

"She's insane. She's a terrorist."

"She's a potential child of God." Their voices were rising, and for the first time, Alexander started crying. Imogen dashed over to him and picked him up to comfort him.

Suddenly it dawned on me. Nobody was watching me. I wasn't about to hang around and wait for the police.

I stood up quietly and backed towards the door. Nobody noticed. I crept down the hall, put my sandals on and sneaked out of the house, closing the door as quietly as possible.

I ran down the driveway. I was free. But now what? I had to get away quickly. They would have noticed my absence by now.

Sure enough, I heard the door open behind me, and Drew shouted, "Beckie, please wait." I started running along the road, but I knew I wouldn't get far. Drew could easily outrun me.

Then a long, black car pulled up beside me, and a familiar voice said, "Get in."

# CHAPTER 25

"Manual override," said Dr Basil to his car as I got in the back seat. I turned to see Drew dive into a car behind us. Dr Basil glanced in his rear-view mirror, then gunned the accelerator, and we lurched forward. A cyclist swerved to avoid us.

"You're not planning on a car chase," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because the traffic here is all smooth and sober and coordinated."

"All the better for us." He threw a sharp right, and the wheels skidded. I could see him in the mirror. A crazy grin lit his face. "The Iggathist will soon give up."

I wondered if these 2067 vehicles understood the instruction, 'follow that car'.

Dr Basil speeded down side road after side road. Beeps and angry shouts were coming from all directions.

"Stop it," I said.

"I'm doing this for you and your baby."

"No, you're not. Me and Daisy are going to be crushed to death in a pile up."

I'd said the magic words. He came to his senses and resumed his professional, concerned persona. "I would never endanger your child." He glanced in the mirror and slowed down. "Anyway, we've lost him." He continued on manual, weaving through a maze of side roads but at a reasonable speed.

"So, did the Iggathists persuade you?" he asked.

"They think I planted the bomb this morning, and they've called the police."

Dr Basil threw his head back and roared with laughter. "They really are an incredible bunch of prize idiots."

"How did you find me?"

"Dr Atkinson's associates are well known, and your clothes are not exactly inconspicuous."

"Where are we going?"

"My clinic, assuming you still want the treatment."

I didn't answer. Did I still want the treatment? Did I have a choice? I'd given the other side a fair hearing, and they were trying to get me arrested. I still hoped to get back to 2017 by going under anaesthetic.

On the other hand, Helen said the ARV would kill Daisy. "You plan to give Daisy ARV, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Is it safe?"

"Well, dear. There are risks with any medical intervention. However, as you know, HIV is a deadly infection. We have to weigh risks."

"Have you given this treatment before?"

"Hundreds of times, and the majority of infants have gone on to live HIV free lives."

"What happened to the others?"

"Unfortunately, we couldn't prevent them from developing AIDS."

"They died?"

"Some, but we have to console ourselves with the ones we've been able to save. We soldier on." He smiled at me. "We're in this fight together, Beckie, and I will do everything in my power to save Daisy."

Now he was driving sanely, he inspired hope and confidence. He was taking me seriously. He was pulling with me instead of against me. The Iggathists just said I was demonic filth.

I had to trust somebody. Why not Dr Basil?

I sat and watched 2067 go by until eventually the car parked itself outside 'The Basileios Clinic'.

* * * * * * * * * *

"It's another abortion clinic," I said.

We had just passed a reception area. There was a notice board outside giving a price list for terminations. Prices varied according to the week of pregnancy (four to twenty-four) and whether sedation or general anaesthetic was used.

"Abortion clinics are legal," said Dr Basil, and he winked as he hurried me along the corridor.

"I want to see the reception area," I said trying to backpedal.

"You've no need to be concerned about the ground floor." Dr Basil took my arm and urged me forward. "This floor is for ordinary patients. You're a very special patient, dear, and you're going to get the red carpet treatment."

At the end of a long corridor we entered a large, dirty storage room, packed with boxes. At the far side was a very old service lift. The doors were stained and grimy. The interior was dusty and it had plastic peeling off the walls. The floor looked uneven. It would have been considered past usable even in 2017.

I glanced at Dr Basil, and he waved me inside. Despite the grubby appearance, the lift travelled down smoothly and silently.

I was astonished when the doors opened onto a wide, sparkling white corridor that smelled of antiseptic. Doctors and nurses in crisp, smart uniforms walked purposefully in all directions. We passed a reception desk where a woman in a designer suit said, "Good afternoon, Dr Basil." In the distance I could hear babies crying. It was like walking onto the set of a James Bond movie.

Dr Petropoulos appeared. "Your room is ready, Miss Baxter, and the theatre is being prepared."

"So soon?" I said.

"We can dispense with many of the usual checks and balances because I have your records from the trauma hospital this morning," said Dr Basil. "Dr Petropoulos will get you settled in."

"Don't you have receptionists and nurses to do that?"

"We like to develop strong doctor-patient relationships, here. I'll see you very shortly in theatre." Dr Basil continued down the main corridor while Dr Petropoulos led me down a warren of side corridors and into what looked more like a hotel room than a hospital room.

"Please change into the gown," Dr Petropoulos indicated a white hospital gown on the bed. "I'll inform the anaesthetist you're here. I'll be back in one minute.

As I changed, I felt very important. I was flattered to have so much attention, and I was relieved that fully qualified doctors were taking control. I could relax and know that Daisy and I would be well taken care of.

When Dr Petropoulos returned, he handed me a clip board. On it was a ten page non-disclosure agreement. "I'm sorry it's so wordy with so much jargon. You know lawyers. They'd use a hundred five-syllable words to say 'I love you'." He laughed, but I was disturbed. My father had always taught me to read every word of a document before signing it. It would take me an hour to read this, and I still wouldn't understand it.

I was still thinking about this when Dr Petropoulos returned with an attractive, blond woman of about thirty-five. "Hello, Miss Baxter. I'm the anaesthetist, Dr Henderton. We're going to take you straight down to theatre on a trolley bed."

"I can walk, thank you."  
"It's procedure."

"I see. But I haven't signed this yet." I held up the document. "I need time to read it."

Dr Henderton turned to Dr Petropoulos. (He looked up quickly. He'd been staring at her legs.) "Why don't we wait outside and give Miss Baxter a few minutes to reassure herself she's not signing her life away?" They both laughed and stepped outside but left the door slightly ajar.

I sat on the bed and tried to read, but the lingo was beyond me. I still wondered how binding the document would be since the treatment was illegal. What did it matter? All I wanted was to go under anaesthetic so I could wake up back in 2017. I turned to the last page and signed it.

I stood up and approached the door. As I did so, I heard the two doctors talking and stopped to listen.

"I've been doing an online course in medical history," said Dr Henderton. "Of course, it's written from an Iggathist point of view, but it's still instructive."

"I wouldn't have thought a beautiful woman like you had time for such things."

"Pack it in, George. Save it for the twenty year old receptionist upstairs."

"She's a slag."

"I didn't know you were so choosy."

"I'm very selective. Anyway, what nuggets of medical history have you learned?"

"Well you know that pesky whistleblower from the CDC who started the avalanche fifty years ago that sent us literally underground? You know, the MMR vaccine and autism thing?"

"How could I forget?"

"We, the MDs, nearly survived it. In 2014, the pharmaceutical companies still owned the media. They kept it under wraps. Journalists and doctors who tried to speak out were fired and vilified. It took years for the general population to hear about it. But unfortunately, the mothers of vaccine injured children eventually caused such a groundswell, the people started to panic and demand an enquiry."

"You sound like you're doubting the Denialist position," said Dr Petropoulos.

"Not at all, but I confess to being surprised by what I've learned."

Then she spotted me hovering at the door. "Ah, Miss Baxter, are you ready?"

I didn't answer. I just stood with my mouth open. Imogen had told me about the CDC fraud on the Autism-vaccine link research, but I'd dismissed it. I thought such a gross offence by a government health agency would have been common knowledge. I hadn't heard about it by 2017, so it clearly hadn't really happened. But now Dr Henderton had explained the cover-up. If this were true, maybe other things Imogen told me were also true.

Dr Petropoulos took the clipboard off me and checked my signature. Then he took my arm and ushered me through the door to a waiting hospital trolley bed. "Please lie down."

"I'd rather walk."

"It's best not to exert yourself just before anaesthetic."

I complied. Then he started fastening straps across my body.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I objected.

"Our insurance company insists. If you fall off and hurt yourself, we'll be in trouble for not strapping you in." When I was firmly tied down, he started to push the trolley bed down the corridor.

It didn't wash. Why were they concerned about insurance claims when this whole facility was illegal, and I'd signed myself over to them anyway? I didn't like this. It felt all wrong. I started to panic. What if I'd chosen the wrong side?

It was too late. I was committed. I was strapped down, being pushed to theatre. Within minutes I'd be under anaesthetic. Then I'd wake up back in 2017. Or would I?

Suddenly I remembered what Drew had said. Was he right? Was God calling me? Was all this a dream designed to 'bring me to the Lord', whatever that meant?

"I've changed my mind," I said. "I don't want the caesarean."

Dr Petropoulos stopped pushing. The two doctors looked at each other.

"Miss, Baxter," said Dr Henderton, "It's normal to be nervous, but remember why you decided to do this. It's to give your baby the best chance."

"We went to a lot of trouble to rescue you from the clutches of the Iggathists," said Dr Petropoulos.

"I know, but I've changed my mind. Untie me."

"You signed a binding agreement," said Dr Petropoulos.

"I don't' know what I signed. You know very well it's incomprehensible by design, and you rushed me."

"If it wasn't clear, you shouldn't have signed it. It's too late to back out now."

He started to push the trolley again. I was trapped. Helpless. Their refusal to consent to my wishes made me panic even more. Surely, they were the bad guys. Good guys listen. Good guys don't force you against your will.

OK, Jesus. I'm going to give you a try. If you're there, and if this caesarean is not the best thing for Daisy, please get me out of this impossible situation.

A door opened at the end of the corridor, and a theatre nurse stuck her head out and shouted, "Emergency in theatre two. All hands on deck." Drs Henderton and Petropoulos abandoned me and ran down the corridor.

I was alone, but I was strapped down. There was a strap across my upper arms and chest, and another across my legs. They couldn't strap me down in the middle because of Daisy. I could therefore bend my elbows. With great difficulty I managed to unbuckle the top strap by shuffling onto my side. I sat up, freed my legs and got off the trolley.

Now what?

I had to get out fast, but I couldn't remember the way back to the lift. But that couldn't be the only exit. OK, Jesus, if that was you, please get me out of the clinic A.S.A.P.

Suddenly another old sermon came into my mind. Where did that come from? When forced to sit through preaching, I had done my very best not to listen. I remembered the vicar talking about guidance from God. He said not to just sit and wait for direction but rather act. After all, a rudder can only steer a ship if it's moving.

So I should move. I started walking down a corridor, no clue where I was going. Then I turned into another. Then another. This was crazy, I was hopelessly lost. I was surprised I didn't meet anybody. Soon my luck would run out, and somebody would spot me. Or was it not just luck?

I was walking along a row of doors with doctors' names on, when I heard Dr Basil's voice say, "Hang on." My heart stopped and I turned. But he wasn't talking to me. He was sitting in an office with the door open, talking on the phone. I moved closer to the wall to make sure he couldn't see me, and I listened.

"I'm not saying we can't deliver. Unfortunately, the infant we had in mind died. But as I speak, we have a young woman on her way to theatre. We've encouraged her false belief that the child has HIV. I'm sure she'll accept it when we tell her the baby has died. You can take possession of the child within hours. Normal discount for regular customers. Fifty thousand pounds. What do you say?"

# CHAPTER 26

He was planning to sell Daisy?

The bastard.

I couldn't believe it. I clung onto the wall, gasping for breath.

I trusted him. He said I was a special patient, and I would get the red carpet treatment. All that bullshit about fighting together to save Daisy. He wanted her to be born alive all right, so he could make fifty thousand quid.

And he lied about the HIV. It was all a con. And I fell for it. I wished I had Antonius' sword, so I could go in there and murder the abominable baby stealer. But I had to think of Daisy. I had to get her out of here. That meant putting my head back on straight. Deep breaths, Beckie. Think.

Was this finally the truth? Had Jesus answered my prayer and shown me reality?

I heard Dr Basil take another phone call and say, "I'll be right there." He was about to emerge out of the door.

I was jerked out of my catatonic state. I had seconds to hide. I tried the nearest door. It was locked. The next one. Locked. Too late. Dr Basil appeared.

I held my breath, but he was staring down at his smartphone. He turned away and walked in the opposite direction. He never looked up.

Thank goodness smartphone zombie syndrome was still prevalent in 2067.

He had closed his office door but not locked it. Logic told me to turn and run, but curiosity shouted louder. He was selling babies. What else was he doing? What might I find in his office?

I silently let myself in to the office. It was large and nicely furnished with a sleek black desk and leather chair. Between towering bookcases there was an impressive ego wall, crammed with diplomas and awards and photos of important-looking men and women shaking hands with Dr Basil.

Two black filing cabinets stood against the opposite wall. One drawer was slightly open, just asking to be inspected by a nosey, outraged patient.

I opened it and rummaged. It was full of financial reports. I thought computers were supposed to have eliminated paperwork decades ago. And I hated maths, anything to do with numbers. This was not my scene.

As I was closing the drawer, I noticed that one thin document hadn't been replaced squarely and was sitting up at an angle. It was probably the reason the drawer hadn't been shut properly. I could see the front page I scanned it and my stomach flipped. I wanted to vomit. I took the document out to look at it properly.

There were several sheets stapled together. The top of the first sheet read:

Half-yearly financially summary,

The Basileios Clinic,

163 Horsebridge Avenue, Kingston.

There was a side heading reading Sale of foetal tissue. Below was a list of body parts and week of termination; heart, liver, lung, head, leg, arm etc. They were selling bits of aborted babies. And making a lot of money. It was despicable.

At least they had planned to sell Daisy alive. Maybe I should be thankful live babies were more profitable than dead ones.

What could I do? How could I expose this? I had to get back to Helen. She'd know what to do. I wondered what else I might find and started to open more drawers. But just then, there was a knock at the door. I got down behind the desk just as the door opened. From under the desk, I saw an elegant, royal blue, high-heeled shoe step into the room and then retreat. The door closed again.

I couldn't hang around. I had to get out. With the financial report clutched firmly in my hand, I carefully cracked open the door and peaked out. The coast was clear. I hurried out, closed the door, and started walking briskly down the corridor.

I'd only gone a few steps when I heard a voice behind me shout, "Hey, you." I turned. Two nurses had appeared from the opposite end of the corridor. "Aren't you Beckie Baxter? Everybody's looking for you."

I froze. What could I do? I couldn't outrun them. And I didn't know where I was going anyway. Jesus, help.

Then the door to Dr Basil's office opened. But it couldn't have. The office was empty. I'd just left it. Out came an elegant, elderly man in a designer suit. He stood at the door, with his back to me, and said to the empty room, "It's very wise of you, Dr Basil, to recognise you have no choice but to submit to the inspection."

He closed the door then pulled an identity card from his jacket pocket as he approached the nurses. "I'm from the Health Truth Commission. I will be interviewing all staff members during the course of today."

The nurses looked horrified. One of them said, "Excuse us, we're on our way to a medical emergency."

"Then what are you doing outside the doctors' offices?" asked the man.

"Looking for Dr Petropoulos, but he's not here." The nurses turned and hurried away.

The man turned to me, and my mouth fell open. It was the wealthy, elderly man from the Sacred Way in Pergamum. "Come quickly," he said, and he walked past me down the corridor. For once nobody had to grab my arm and drag me to make me follow.

"Won't those nurses raise the alarm?" I asked.

"They're too busy saving their own necks."

Before long we were back at my room. "Get dressed quickly," said the man.

It took me two minutes. I folded the financial report and stuffed it in the back pocket of my leggings.

I followed the man back to the lift. We saw no one. He couldn't half move for someone his age, and I had a job keeping up. "Where do I go when I get out of here?"

"I'll show you. Hurry."

"Are you an angel?"

He just smiled.

We were soon past reception and out onto the pavement. The man flagged down a taxi and opened the back door. "Get in., he said. I obeyed. He leaned into the taxi and said to the driver, "The West Crown Hotel." He handed me an envelope and closed the door.

I hastily found the button to wind down the window and shouted, "Wait. Why are you sending me to a hotel? What do I do when I get there?"

But the man was nowhere to be seen.

# CHAPTER 27

"Going' to the debate, are yer, sweetheart?" asked the taxi driver. "Me wife wanted to go but couldn't get a ticket. Don't see the attraction meself. Why waste time listenin' to them mad Denialists? Anybody who still believes that HIV garbage wants locking up if you ask me."

This crazy man wanted to lock up everybody who believed in HIV. That meant everybody who lived from the mid-1980s to 2017 including me and Julian, not to mention the real Cassandra, Andrew, and Helen.

So the elderly man (or angel or whatever) was sending me to the HIV debate Helen had told me about. That was good. I could tell Helen about Dr Basil selling baby parts. But I needed a ticket. I also needed some money to pay the driver.

I still had the envelope the elderly man had given me in my hand. I opened it. There was a £100 note inside. (I'd never seen one of those before.) Why had he given me so much? There was also a ticket saying:

20th Century Quackery:

Why are we still debating HIV?

For the next twenty minutes, the taxi driver prattled on about everything from the weather to the premier league. It seemed taxi drivers were even more inclined to talk into thin air in 2067 because so little driving was required.

Finally, we pulled up outside an impressive, stately building with four columns in front. I was reminded of the asclepion. A doorman hurried towards us, opened my door and waited as I settled with the driver.

"That'll be £80.50 please."

"What?"

"£80.50 please."

Inflation, I guess. I handed him the £100 note, and he took it.

Pause.

"Can I have my change, please?" I asked.

"You want yer change?"

"Yes, please."

He sighed and fiddled with a tray full of notes and coins.

"Here you are, £19.50." He tutted as I got out the car.

The doorman glanced at my clothes for a split second then led me up the stairs to the front door. I showed him my ticket. He said, "You're forty-five minutes early, Miss. You will be able to enter the Conference Hall at 7:10 p.m. May I suggest you relax in the meantime in our Fountain Lounge?" He indicated a door to the right. I stepped towards it, but then a large poster caught my eye. It was promoting the debate.

On the left side of the poster was the slogan 'Hundreds of thousands died from a sexually transmitted virus which destroyed their immune systems.' Below were pictures of Dr Henry Basil and Dr George Petropoulos. I felt a surge of loathing. The double-crossing baby thieves.

On the right side was the slogan 'Hundreds of thousands died from pre-existing conditions and the side effects of ARV.' Below were pictures of Dr Helen Atkinson and Mrs Imogen Shipley. I felt a surge of affection.

I had asked Jesus to show me what was best for Daisy. Here I was about to hear all the arguments for and against ARV. I was in the right place.

* * * * * * * * * *

Predictably the Fountain Lounge had a fountain in the middle. It looked like it had been imported from the garden of some grand mansion. A tubby stone cherub gazed serenely at the water bubbling up in the middle of the basin.

I sat down in a low squidgy armchair and a waitress in a stylish black and white uniform handed me a menu card and asked if I'd like a drink. The cheapest item on the menu was honeydew melon juice at £19.50. I ordered it. My money was gone.

After two days of running from Roman soldiers, fanatical Christians, Iggathists and Denialists, I was now sitting comfortably in a five star hotel enjoying the easy listening music. Time to breathe. To reflect.

I'd given Jesus a try. I'd asked him for help and he came through for me. That meant he was real and Julian and my parents had been right. In that case, I had a decision to make. Should I give my life over to Jesus?

But wait a minute. I was in a dream. None of this was really happening, so Jesus hadn't really helped me.

There again, Julian had prayed in the real world for me to know Jesus. That wasn't a dream. And Drew said God was calling me.

It still wasn't clear. I still didn't know what to do.

One thing had become very clear though. I loved my baby. They had threated to take her away, and that had shown me how much I wanted her. I rubbed my belly tenderly. Before, I had been ambivalent about her. I'd thought she was a millstone around my neck. She tied me to Julian, and he was a jerk. He'd cheated on me. I tried to feel angry with him. The anger was my defence and protection. But it wasn't there anymore.

My melon juice arrived and I sipped it as I thought about Julian. His oval face came into focus, his small blue eyes that radiated such longing and commitment. I remembered the pitiful look of pain in his eyes when I said Daisy would be ashamed to have a postman for a father.

I had yelled at him and pushed him away when all he wanted to do was to love me and Daisy. I'd called him some horrible names. Why had I done that? He'd made a serious mistake, but he didn't deserve the torrent of abuse I threw at him.

I'd been alone for the past two days, and I didn't want to be alone anymore. I wanted Julian. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to marry him and be a family, Julian, Beckie and Daisy.

I needed to get back to 2017. But then what? They were planning to give Daisy ARV as soon as possible. Dr Basil, in this timeframe, had said on the phone that Daisy didn't have HIV. Helen had said ARV would kill her. I had to know the truth.

I walked back into the lobby and joined the queue entering the conference hall.

# CHAPTER 28

The first thing I noticed when I entered the conference hall was an enormous screen above a raised platform at the front. The screen was currently showing the hundreds of people milling in from the four entrances at the back. Despite my short stature and the number of people, I caught a glimpse of a peacock feather Alice band bobbing up and down, and I immediately removed it from my head.

I then saw Cassie and Drew on the screen. They were sitting at the front of the audience. I suddenly felt scared. I had been led here, so it must be the right place to be. But what if Cassie was still trying to get me arrested for planting the bomb at Helen's clinic?

I immediately lost myself behind a group of burly, young men who looked and acted like a rugby team. To my relief they sat near the back, and I sneaked into a seat behind them. I couldn't see myself on the screen.

I looked around for the cameras, but I couldn't see any. I was also surprised not to see masses of security guards. There were various bits of equipment on the ceiling and the walls, but being a bit of a Luddite, they didn't interest me. I guessed the technological fixtures included cameras and explosive detectors.

The screen cleared and then projected the subject of the debate '20th Century Quackery. Why are we still debating HIV?' and the list of participants.

What a strange title! I thought quackery was about crooked ignoramuses in the middle ages pretending to be doctors and selling snake oil. In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, doctors were the cream of the crop.

Looking around, there seemed to be people from all walks of life. Why were they so interested in this subject? Why not leave it to the scientists?

Eventually the house lights went down, and the hall became quiet. Then applause broke out as five people took their places behind a long table on the platform. As I expected, Helen and Imogen were on one side, and Drs Basil and Petropoulos on the other, but I was surprised when the central seat was taken by Father Ambrose.

The five participants were accompanied by five police officers who positioned themselves in front of the platform. Among them I noticed Tony/Antonius.

I couldn't see the platform clearly from my position, but the participants appeared on the screen. I'd last seen Father Ambrose as Ambrosios carrying me out of the asclepion during the earthquake. Before that he had chaired a Greek doctors' instrument competition. A day later, here he was chairing a very different event. Like most people from 2017, he looked younger and less grey than before.

There were two banners across the front of the table. In front of Helen and Imogen, the terracotta jars spilled their milk and honey. In front of Drs Basil and Petropoulos a snake circled the staff of Asclepius.

Father Ambrose looked at the (invisible) camera and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Twentieth Century Quackery Debate. Despite the general acceptance of IGGATH medicine, and the indisputable refutation of the HIV/AIDS hypothesis, today's subject is one which still invokes a remarkable depth of emotion in an astonishing number of people."

As if to demonstrate the veracity of Father Ambrose's statement, Dr Basil scowled and shifted in his chair, readying himself for battle. I almost expected him to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves.

Father Ambrose turned to his left, and I expected him to say, "May I introduce the honourable Basileios of Pergamum," but instead he said, "May I introduce Dr Henry Basil MD, and Dr George Petropoulos MD, president and vice president of the Truth Defender Movement?" There was polite but unenthusiastic applause.

He turned to his right and said, "And please welcome Dr Helen Atkinson ND, and Professor Imogen Shipley." This time the audience clapped with gusto. I found myself joining them, and it felt like Daisy did too. She kicked and wriggled. I still wasn't sure I totally trusted Helen and Imogen, but they certainly beat the baby stealers at the other end of the table.

"Each of the main panellists will have three minutes to introduce their position on the HIV/AIDS hypothesis starting with the IGGATH Denialists. I must remind our participants this debate is intended for the general population and ask you to avoid scientific jargon where possible. Dr Basil, you have the floor."

Dr Basil lent forward and looked into the camera with an expression of deep concern, "In the 1980's, a new sexually transmitted virus was discovered that could destroy the immune system and lead to a wide spectrum of conditions with one thing in common—they all ended in death." To my astonishment there were titters among the audience. Dr Basil straightened his back and continued, "By the time the Iggathist insanity prevailed and AIDS statistics were no longer kept, about forty million people had died as a result of HIV infection. Another forty million were infected and living under a death sentence. The situation was critical, but the pharmaceutical companies rose to the challenge and after spending billions on research they came up with antiretroviral drugs which substantially reduced the rate of transmission between sexual partners and significantly increased life expectancy—"

"And killed a whole generation," shouted someone from the front of the audience.

Father Ambrose raised his hands and said, "Please, ladies and gentlemen. We are confident we have provided a balanced panel and all sides of the debate will be presented in due time. I understand the emotions involved here, but please refrain from such outbursts. Anybody causing serious disruption to the debate will be removed from the premises."

I didn't have time to ponder what the heckler meant by 'killing a whole generation' before Dr Basil continued, "Thank you, Father Ambrose. We now find ourselves in this crazy position where this catastrophic epidemic has simply been brushed under the carpet. It was found that, in some circumstances, a particular combination of vitamins can bring some limited health benefit . . ."

I noticed Helen and Imogen smile at each other knowingly.

". . . and the world lost its head. The Iggathists cunningly convinced everybody to throw their drugs down the toilet and put their trust in chromium and molybdenum. Ladies and gentlemen, people are still dying of HIV, we've just found new ways of categorizing their deaths. As far as we know, since we no longer have access to reliable statistics," he scowled at Helen as if she were personally responsible for this dearth of information, "the mother-to-child transmission rate is still seven out of ten. I appeal to you, ladies and gentlemen, to ask yourselves, Could hundreds of thousands of doctors and scientists over decades of time all have been wrong? I put to you they were not wrong. We have to wake up and recognize our mistake. The future of mankind depends on it. Thank you."

As subdued applause rippled through the hall, I thought he had a point. Surely you can't just ignore decades of scientific research. However he was clearly in denial of the health improvements wrought by the Hushmin 90. But then he didn't have my advantage of being able to compare 2017 with 2067.

I thought Helen's reply would be interesting, but little did I know it would stun me. She continued to lean back comfortably in her chair and said, "In the first sentence of your statement you claimed that a sexually transmitted virus was discovered in the 1980's which could lead to AIDS and death. You later mentioned that billions of dollars were spent in HIV research. I challenge you, Dr Basil, to cite the research papers in which HIV was shown to fulfil Koch's postulates as the cause of AIDS."

"Medical jargon, Dr Atkinson," said Father Ambrose.

Helen sat up straight, "To put it simply, a new virus must fulfil certain criteria before it is accepted to be the cause of a disease. It must be found in abundance in all the people with the disease. It must be isolated from an infectious person, and when introduced to a healthy person or organism, cause the same disease. This is according to Koch's postulates and also according to simple common sense. I challenge the Denialists to cite the original papers that showed HIV causes a mysterious illness known as AIDS. If they can't do that, we can all go home right now."

The audience laughed. I remembered the scholars in the Asclepion forecourt laughing at me when I said I was from twenty-first century Britain and I was probably HIV positive. This time the tables were turned, and Dr Basil seemed to be the brunt of the joke.

I didn't understand why Helen was demanding basic information about HIV. Surely that stuff was all settled decades ago.

Father Ambrose turned to Dr Basil and said, "How about it, Dr Basil? Can you cite the original papers?"

"I don't have that information with me," said Dr Basil. He looked at Dr Petropoulos who just shrugged.

"You don't have that information because it doesn't exist," said Helen.

"Preposterous," said Dr Basil. "I just didn't anticipate such an outrageous demand."

"It's outrageous to want proof of your hypothesis?" said Helen, "Come on, you're the president of the Truth Defender Movement. You're not telling me you didn't expect to have to defend your ridiculous, outdated opinions."

"I think the original papers were lost, weren't they?" offered Dr Petropoulos.

"Don't be absurd," interjected Imogen. "We still have copies of Galen's work from the second century. And you're telling me we've lost papers from the 1980's that purportedly prove such a controversial hypothesis."

"You can't cite those papers because they never existed," said Helen, "The HIV/AIDS theory was only ever that—a theory."

"Then how do you explain those forty million deaths?" said Dr Basil.

"That's a very good question," said Father Ambrose turning to Helen.

"It's also a very emotive question and a smokescreen," said Helen.

"You simply dismiss forty million lives?" said Dr Basil.

"Of course not, but I can't answer that question without addressing many other issues such as so-called HIV testing; the numerous different definitions of AIDS; well-known, pre-existing diseases; the effects of poverty; statistical manipulation; and the side effects of antiviral drugs. Before tackling all those topics, we need to get the foundation straight. Where is the proof of a sexually transmitted virus that kills? The theory has no solid basis."

"If it has no solid basis, why was it believed by so many people for so long?" asked Dr Petropoulos.

"Why did so many people believe in bloodletting and leeching for so long?" asked Imogen.

"OK, OK," said Father Ambrose, raising his hands again. "Dr Petropoulos asked a reasonable question. If the HIV/AIDS hypothesis had no solid basis, why was it so widely accepted, Dr Atkinson?"

"I think this would be a good time to show the first video clip," she replied. Father Ambrose nodded at an unseen technician and the screen showed the title:

Press conference

23rd April, 1984

Margaret Heckler,

Secretary of the US Department of Health and Human Services

A camera zoomed in on a lectern covered with a dozen microphones. Behind it stood a woman who was successfully hiding her middle age behind honey blond hair, blue eye shadow and gold earrings.

She read from a prepared script, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. First, the probable cause of AIDS has been found. Second, not only has the agent been identified, but a new process has been developed to mass produce this virus. Thirdly, with the discovery of both the virus and the new process, we now have a blood test for AIDS. With the blood test, we can identify AIDS victims with essentially 100% certainty.

"Credit must go to our eminent Dr Robert Gallo, chief of the National Cancer Institute Laboratory of Tumor Cell Biology who directed the research that produced this discovery." Margaret Heckler was dwarfed by the man with unkempt hair and large glasses who took her place at the podium. The video paused.

Helen pointed at the screen and said, "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the world believed a phantom virus was killing people. Margaret Heckler said the probable cause of AIDS had been found. Within days the media had dropped the word probable and reassured everybody the heroes at the NIH had saved mankind yet again." She turned to the Denialists, "Dr Basil, when that announcement was made, how many scientific papers had been published on HIV?"

I waited with interest for the answer, but the rest of the audience was tittering again and smiling at each other.

Dr Basil hesitated and finally said, "I'm not sure."

"Well, can you tell me how much of Gallo's material had been reviewed by other members of the scientific community?" asked Helen.

No answer.

"If you and Dr Petropoulos don't know the answer, you're the only ignorant people in this hall," said Helen. Not true. There was one more. Me. "The answer is zero, zilch, nil, nada. No papers had been published and no material had been reviewed. Maybe you can answer this question, Dr Basil. Did Dr Robert Gallo really discover the virus?"

"What virus?" said Imogen.

"For the purpose of argument, let's assume HIV exists. Dr Basil, who was eventually awarded the Nobel Prize for discovering HIV?"

When Dr Basil didn't answer, Dr Petropoulos said quietly, "Luc Montagnier."

"Everything in that press conference was a lie. There was no mass production of the virus and there was no 100% accurate blood test. In fact there was no virus."

"That's ludicrous," said Dr Basil, finding his voice at last and banging his hands on the table. "If HIV was a lie, why was it universally accepted?"

Good question.

"It was never universally accepted," said Helen, "There were dissenters from day one. But it was widely received because it was politically accepted by so many groups."

"We're talking about medicine not politics," retorted Dr Basil.

"I wish we were." Helen's cool demeanor had now vanished. "The truth is everybody needed a virus. The CDC needed a new virus to secure their future. The South African mining corporations needed a virus to explain their workers dying from industrial poisoning. The gay community needed a virus to deflect attention from their own drug use and unhealthy lifestyles. The world needed a virus to assuage their conscience for turning a blind eye to third world poverty." Helen's voice rose as she spoke, and she was now on her feet. "And most of all, the pharmaceutical industry needed a virus so they could resurrect AZT, a drug that was rejected as a cancer treatment because of its extreme toxicity."

Dr Basil sprang up and almost shouted, "Antiviral therapy saved lives."

"How can you know that when the side effects of the drugs closely resembled the symptoms of AIDS? Those drugs killed people, and I strongly suspect you are still offering them illegally to vulnerable patients."

"Now, now," said Father Ambrose who was now standing between them. "This debate is no place for unfounded accusations. Please retake your seats."

As Dr Basil reluctantly sat down he said, "Unless you have evidence of illegal activity, I demand an immediate apology."

"I have evidence here," I shouted as I leapt to my feet and waved the stolen financial report in the air. "He's selling bits of aborted babies."

For a second the hall went quiet. A camera found me and my face appeared on the screen.

"Beckie?" said Helen with a look of surprise.

"Miss Baxter." Dr Basil looked stunned for a moment but quickly regained control. "I don't know what evidence you claim to have, but the selling of foetal tissue is not illegal."

What? Surely he was lying. I looked at Helen who said, "Unfortunately, Dr Basil is right. Foetal tissue may be sold to legitimate drug companies under certain conditions."

Father Ambrose addressed Tony the police officer, pointed at me and said, "Please remove that girl from the premises."

As Tony stepped forward, Cassie approached him. She was going to tell him I bombed Helen's clinic.

I pushed past the rugby players and ran for the door.

# CHAPTER 29

I didn't look back as I ran through the lobby, out the main doors, and down the steps.

Now where?

As I hesitated, I heard voices coming through the main doors behind me. Just run. Anywhere.

I ran to my left, past the hotel, and into a ginnel that ran the depth of the hotel and came out in a small side road.

I had to get further away. I weaved through a maze of side roads and alleys and eventually stopped in the doorway of a haberdashery. There was a sign saying 'closed for refurbishment', and the place looked deserted. I stopped to catch my breath, once again marvelling at how my very pregnant body could move in this time zone. For a moment, I was confident I was safe here, but then it occurred to me the police in 2067 might have wonderful surveillance capabilities. Maybe I should keep moving. But where to? If they could find me here, they could find me anywhere. I sat down in the doorway while I thought of a plan.

That was some debate! I still had a million questions, but I was certain of one thing. When I got back to 2017, I would need answers before I ever let them give Daisy ARV.

I'd learned what I needed to know. Surely it was time to go back. But I still didn't know how. I'd thought going under anaesthetic would do it, but no way was I going back to Dr Basil. Would Helen have any ideas? If I got back to her, I could ask more questions about HIV. But she might be with Cassie, and I might get arrested?

For the millionth time in the last two days, I was at a loss what to do. Maybe I should pray.

"OK, Jesus," I said aloud. "If I've got this right, you've shown me the truth about you and about ARV. Thanks. I'd like some more help now. Please get me back to 2017."

Pause.

If I was expecting something to happen, it didn't.

"How can I get you to help? What do you want from me?"

Nothing and everything. Again an old sermon came to mind. There was nothing we could do to earn Jesus' love, but being his disciple meant surrendering everything.

"OK. I give you everything. We're on the same team now, right? So, please transport me safely back to 2017."

A harsh voice replied, "I'll do better than that. I'll transport you straight to heaven."

I looked up to see Dr Basil standing in front of me, holding a switchblade.

I scrambled to my feet. "Since when do doctors carry switchblades?"

"Give me that document," demanded Dr Basil.

"What document?"

"You're in no position to play the smartarse."

"Why do you want it if it isn't evidence of illegal activity?"

"Just hand it over."

What could I do? If I gave it to him, would he let me go? If I didn't give it to him would he kill me? Why was I having to fight for my life when I'd just committed to Jesus? It didn't make sense.

"Give it to me." His eyes flashed with fury. "Do you think I'm going to let a little slut like you bring me down? For years, I've suffered humiliation at the hands of the idiot Iggathists, but I'm still here. I'm still fighting for the truth, and no measly whippersnapper is going to stop me."

"Have you never considered you might be wrong?"

He puffed out his chest and straightened his spine. "No."

"If you haven't looked at the Iggathist point of view, how can you just reject it?

"Listen," he wagged the index finger of his free hand. His right hand still held the switchblade. "My father was a doctor and his father before him. When I was ten years old, my grandfather became chief executive of the Royal College of Physicians. At the ceremonial dinner, he called me forward and my father led me to the front. I stood between my two forebears as my grandfather told the audience I would become the best Dr Basil ever, carrying on the family tradition decades into the future. As he spoke, I knew it was true. I would commit my life to becoming the best. I would never let them down." As he spoke his eyes glazed over, and I was no longer the focus of his attention. I tried to get past him, but I was trapped in the doorway.

Then he seemed to remember me. "So, if you think you are going to put an end to generations of the highest medical pedigree, think again."

In desperation, I kicked him in the knee. He swiped at me with the blade as he momentarily lost his balance. I pushed him over and ran.

But I didn't get far. I hadn't realized the haberdashery was in a cul-de-sac. My way was blocked by a high brick wall. I turned as Dr Basil caught up with me.

"The Iggathists are right," I screamed desperately. "We need good diet and nutrition, not drugs and surgery. You don't know. You haven't seen the difference between 2017 and 2067 like I have,"

"Give me the papers." His eyes were hard and steady.

"I will never let you poison my baby."

"Give me the papers."

"You're a murderer."

"Give me the papers." He stepped closer, the knife raised to strike. I had my back against the wall.

"You're blind to the truth. You think you're so brainy, but you're deceived. We're all deceived. You think you're saving people, but you're killing them, and you're keeping them from true health."

For the first time, a trace of fear flashing across his face. "Shut up."

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"Shut up."

"How many babies have you killed?"

"Give me the papers.." His was shaking from head to toe.

Pause.

I took the financial report out of my back pocket and handed it to him. "There you are. You've got what you came for. Bye-bye."

He put the document in his jacket pocket and said, "Thank you. But I'm afraid we need to make the bye-bye permanent."

He lunged at me with the knife. I managed to sidestep and he missed, but he grabbed me with his left hand. He was too strong, I couldn't break free.

Lord Jesus. I don't understand. What's going on? Please show me what's really happening here.

Suddenly, the staff of Asclepius badge on his lapel caught the light from a window. I stared in amazement as the tiny snake came alive. Before my eyes, it rapidly swelled into a ten-foot long, black and yellow serpent that wound itself around Dr Basil. He didn't seem to notice. The snake's beady eyes glared at me over the doctor's shoulder as Dr Basil thrust the knife into my belly.

Darkness.

# CHAPTER 30

Where's Daisy?

My head was swimming. My body felt like lead. I was lying on my side on a hard bed. I was vaguely aware of a drip in my arm and a catheter. I had a screaming pain in my belly where Dr Basil had knifed me, but Daisy was gone. What had happened? Where was she?

As the fog in my brain slowly cleared, I started to panic.

"Where's Daisy?" I said aloud.

"She's in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in an incubator, but she's fine. Seven pounds, two ounces."

"Julian?" I tried to open my eyes, but my brain wasn't communicating very well with my body.

"Yes, Honey." I felt him take hold of my hand.

Was I back, or was this yet another time jump?

"What year is it?"

"Sweetheart?"

"What year is it?"

Pause.

"2017."

"Thank God for that." I was alive. Daisy was alive. We'd made it back to reality. No more dimension jumping. Sanity reigned. Relief flooded my fuzzy, foggy brain.

"Darling, you're disorientated from the anaesthetic. You need to sleep. I'll stay here and take care of you. You don't need to worry about Daisy. She's in good hands."

"No, she isn't." My relief turned back to panic. 2017 meant ARV for Daisy. No way.

I persuaded my eyes to half open. I could see the love radiating from Julian's small blue eyes. My panic diminished once more as I felt an influx of warmth and safety. I was no longer battling alone. Julian was on my side. He would fight for me and Daisy.

I could also see the sickly yellow walls and the flowery curtains. This definitely looked like 2017.

"Dr Basil and his team are giving Daisy every attention," Julian said.

"No, they'll kill her."

"What do you mean, Honey?" I had to explain. I tried to sit up, but it was impossible. I winced and grabbed my tummy as I tried.

"Are you in pain, Sweetie? I'll call a nurse."

"No, Julian, please, you've got to listen. Dr Basil doesn't realize, but he's being driven by a demonic snake."

"What?"

"He knifed me in the belly."

Julian hesitated. "You remember that? Didn't the anaesthetic work properly?"

"You don't understand. It was 2067, and the snake made Dr Basil try to kill me with a switchblade."

I was now trying even harder to sit, but the anaesthetic still gripped me, and I knew I couldn't stay awake much longer. I had to make Julian understand ARV was unnecessary and dangerous. I could see Julian thought I was disorientated. I'd had two days of dealing with people who thought I was crazy.

"Forget what I just said. I can't stay awake much longer. You prayed God would show us what was best for Daisy. Well, he heard your prayer, and Jesus has shown me."

"You had a vision of Jesus under anaesthetic?"

"No. I'll explain later. For now, just look up AIDS denialism on your phone."

Julian got his phone out of his pocket as I fought the drowsiness. He held it out to show me a photo of the cutest little baby in the world. Her face was red and her eyes were screwed up as if she'd just had her first taste of lemon juice. She had electrode pads stuck on her tiny, bare chest. Tears filled my eyes.

"AIDS denialism?" he asked. I nodded.

"OK," he said after a minute of two. "This is the Wikipedia entry. _HIV/AIDS denialism is the belief, contradicted by conclusive medical and scientific evidence, thathuman immunodeficiency virus (HIV) does not cause acquired immune deficiency syndrome (AIDS). Some of its proponents reject the existence of HIV, while others accept that HIV exists but argue that it is a harmless passenger virus and not the cause of AIDS. Insofar as they acknowledge AIDS as a real disease, they attribute it to some combination of sexual behaviour, recreational drugs, malnutrition, poor sanitation, haemophilia, or the effects of the drugs used to treat HIV infection."_

"Julian, the denialists are right, and you must not let them give Daisy ARV. It will kill her."

"But, Baby, it says the denialists' view is contradicted by conclusive medical and scientific evidence."

"That's a lie."

"How do you know?"

"I found out in 2067."

"In the vision, you mean?

"If that's what it was."

Julian looked from me to the phone and back several times with his mouth open. "Are you saying all the doctors in the world are wrong?"

"Most of them, yes. They're just parroting medical school dogma. The pharmaceutical companies own the world."

"But Dr Basil says—"

I shivered at the sound of his name. "Forget Dr Basil. Please Julian. I can't keep my eyes open much longer, but promise me you'll check out the denialist view. Our baby's life depends it."

* * * * * * * * * *

I slept fitfully over the next few hours. I was vaguely aware of nurses coming and fiddling with the equipment around me. Occasionally, I opened my eyes and saw Julian. He was sitting in a chair by the flowery curtains tapping away on his smartphone. By the dim nightlight I could see his face was contorted with concentration and disbelief.

Eventually I woke up, and daylight filled the room. Julian was lying on his back on the floor, snoring loudly, his phone lying on his chest.

A nurse walked in.

"I want to see my baby," I demanded.

"All in good time," she said as she adjusted the drip.

"They mustn't giver her ARV. I have to talk to the doctors urgently."

"They'll be here shortly. First let's see if we can get rid of that catheter and get you sitting up." She turned to Julian who was stirring and said, "Please wait outside while I get your girlfriend comfortable."

It took several minutes for the nurse to sort me out. Moving was agony, but she showed no sympathy. Eventually, I was sitting up relatively comfortably. The nurse left and Julian came back in.

"You're right," said Julian immediately, "There are eminent scientists and Nobel Laureates who strongly disagree with the HIV/AIDS hypothesis, but how did you find out? You were asleep."

"No, I wasn't. I was travelling through space and time."

"You mean you had a vision."

"No, I was actually there. I think."

"You said Jesus showed you this."

"Yes. He and I have come to some kind of understanding while I've been away."

"Do you mean you've become a Christian?"

"I guess so."

Julian grabbed me and pulled me into a bear hug.

"Ouch. Mind the scar. It's torture."

"Sorry, Sweetheart."

But he didn't look sorry, He was in ecstasy. "Does this mean you forgive me?"

"I'll forgive you for cheating on me if you forgive me for being a pain in the backside."

"And does this mean..." but his voice trailed off. "No, it's too soon to ask."

"You mean will I marry you?"

Julian nodded tentatively.

"Maybe."

"You might?"

"We can't think about that now. We have to save Daisy. Are we on the same page? No ARV, right?"

"I'd like to know more, but with the information I've seen, I agree. No ARV."

The door opened and a nurse stuck her head round. "The doctors are on the ward, and they'll be here in a few minutes. When they've gone, we'll get you a light breakfast."

Despite the pain in my belly and the fuzz in my head, I was hopeful. I was back where I belonged. Julian and I were kind of reconciled. Daisy was going to be fine. I knew how to help her. I would go gluten free and take the Hushmin 90. Daisy would get the nutrition through my milk. When Dr Basil walked in, Julian and I would explain we didn't want Daisy to have ARV. As soon as she and I were well enough, we would take her home and live happily ever after.

If only life were that simple.

# CHAPTER 31

It was freaky watching Dr Basil walk into the room. He was back to being lord of all he surveyed, doctors and nurses pandering to his every wish. He smiled at me. I glared back. I wanted to ask if he were carrying a switchblade, but I refrained.

Drs Basil and Petropoulos looked the same as in 2067, but it was difficult to re-orientate myself to the 2017 version of Helen. Her skin was spotty again, but that wasn't the problem. She was back on Dr Basil's team. What had happened to the fiercely campaigning Iggathist?

All three doctors stood at the end of the bed.

"How's the patient feeling this morning," asked Dr Basil brightly.

I took a deep breath. I had to play it cool. Whatever happened, I must not mention Pergamum or 2067. I would just calmly state my position. Julian would back me up.

"I feel lousy, but I hear Daisy is doing well," I replied.

"'Daisy'. What a cute name!" Dr Basil laughed and turned to the other doctors to share his merriment. "Yes, Daisy is progressing nicely, and as soon as she comes out of NICU, we will start the ARV."

I opened my mouth to object, but Helen got there first. "But we don't actually know if the baby has HIV."

Dr Basil glared at her. Maybe she was still be ally after all.

"We're waiting on the results of the HIV PCR DNA," interjected Dr Petropoulos.

"Yes, but the test is notoriously unreliable. It's best to play save," said Dr Basil.

"Actually, Beckie and I have discussed this, and we've decided we don't want Daisy to have ARV," said Julian. He was standing by my side, holding my hand, and looking at me lovingly.

"Why is that?" asked Helen, but before we could answer Dr Basil spoke. "We have no choice. To deny Daisy ARV would be to put her precious little life in danger."

Precious little life? This from the animal who was planning to sell Daisy for profit. No, Beckie. That was just the dream version of Dr Basil. Hopefully, the real version wasn't as evil, he was just misguided.

"Actually," said Julian, "we've done some research on the side effects of ARV and we think giving it could be more dangerous than withholding it."

"All drugs have side effects," said Dr Petropoulos. "We will carefully monitor your baby and deal with any adverse reactions."

"By giving more drugs?" I asked, then told myself to shut up and let Julian deal with it. He would come across as a level-headed, concerned father. I would be dismissed as a nutjob.

"Miss Baxter," said Dr Basil kindly as he sat down on the end of the bed, "We all wish we could dispense with drugs, but unfortunately they are a necessary evil. Drugs are our weapons in the war against disease. Daisy has a terrible, evil infection," he screwed up his eyes and shook his head at the thought of Daisy's plight, "and we must face this crisis and deploy our best defences against it."

"As Helen said, we don't know if Daisy has HIV." What I really wanted to say was, 'You blithering idiots are just chanting the generally accepted fiction. If you'd seen what I'd seen, you'd soon tumble from your high horse.'

"Miss Baxter, do you really want to play Russian roulette with your child's life?"

"How dare you suggest—" I started, but Julian cut me off. "Dr Basil, it has come to our attention there is a large group of scientists who disagree with the HIV/AIDS hypothesis, and some of them even claim HIV doesn't exist."

"I see," said Dr Basil as he stood up and turned away from us.

Dr Petropoulos looked anxiously from Dr Basil to Julian and said, "The AIDS dissidents have been thoroughly debunked."

"That's as may be, but we've only just heard there is a different opinion, and we'd like time to investigate further before Daisy is given ARV."

"And what are you going to do?" Dr Basil turned with his eyes flashing, all bedside manner forgotten. "Go get a medical degree? We can't wait four days, let alone four years."

"Dr Basil, why don't you leave Dr Atkinson and myself to talk with the parents?" said Dr Petropoulos.

"Don't you tell me to calm down," fired back Dr Basil.

"I didn't tell you—"

"I'm fed up with unscrupulous, unqualified quacks influencing my patients." Dr Basil turned away again, running his hand through his hair. Dr Petropoulos and Helen glanced at each other. I got the impression there were all too familiar with Dr Basil in this mode.

"Some of the dissenters are Nobel laureates," said Julian. "How can you call them 'quacks'?"

"Awards mean nothing. Experience is what counts." Then Dr Basil rounded on me. "I have decades of experience with this disease. I have seen babies die horrible deaths from AIDS."

Did I just say the real Dr Basil wasn't as bad as the dream version? I was wrong. He was just as pig-headed. "Did they die from AIDS or from your treatment?" I tried to get out of bed, but the pain in my abdomen prevented me.

"How dare you speak to me like that?"

"Why shouldn't I? Because you're a consultant? I know who you really are. You're a, double-crossing, baby-stealing, baby-killing monster, and I wouldn't trust you with the health of a cockroach, never mind my beautiful Daisy."

There. I'd said it. It had just come bursting out of me without my consent.

The room was silent. Everybody stared at me.

Then Dr Basil seemed to regain his composure. In a falsely calm voice he said, "If you refuse life-saving treatment for your child, I will be forced to have her taken into protective custody and have you both arrested for child abuse."

He turned and left. Dr Petropoulos followed him. Helen lingered behind.

"He can't do that, can he?" I asked.

"Unfortunately he can," said Helen.

# CHAPTER 32

"They're going to kill my Daisy."

I was inconsolable. What was going on? What was the point of visions and dreams and dimension jumps and messages from God if you then knew the truth but were powerless to enforce it?

"They're going to kill my Daisy," I repeated. I tried to get out of bed but the pain and drowsiness overwhelmed me. "Julian, you've got to stop them. Go find Daisy and get her out of here before they kill her."

"Please, Honey. Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down."

Helen gently pushed me back onto the bed and Julian handed me some tissues. Helen said, "Daisy is in the NICU. It would not be safe to move her yet. But they won't give her ARV until they know she's stable. That will take at least a few hours, probably a few days. Try taking some deep breaths. Would you like me to give you something to calm—"

"No drugs. I'm not relying on drugs anymore. They kill people."

"Who told you that?"

"You did."

"I did?" When?"

"In 2067."

Helen glanced at Julian who just shrugged.

"Instead of drugs, I'm going to go gluten-free and take all 90 essential nutrients in absorbable forms appropriate for body weight." I was well aware I sounded like a sales pamphlet. Nobody spoke, so I kept going. "Julian, find out if the Hushmin 90 Company exists in 2017."

"Hushmin?" he asked, tapping his smartphone.

"Yes, humic shale minerals. I need to start taking them as soon as possible so Daisy will get the nutrients through my milk. She's not having drugs."

"Found it."

"Order me some."

"But Beckie," said Helen, "If Daisy is HIV-positive—"

"There's no such thing as HIV-positive. It's one ginormous, humungous, colossal lie. You explained it all in the debate."

"What debate?"

"The Iggathists versus the Denialists. You and Julian's mum against Basil and Petropoulos."

"My mum?" said Julian, "But she's—"

"She's not dead in 2067, she's a professor of medical history and she looks great."

"But—"

"Helen, you've got to help us."

"Beckie, I'm sorry, but you're not making any sense," said Helen. "Julian and I are at a loss to know what to say."

"Actually," said Julian, "I don't understand it all, but I'm convinced the Lord has spoken to Beckie in a vision."

'It's not unusual for people to have vivid dreams under anaesthetic."

I opened my mouth to object, but Julian raised a hand to silence me. OK, Julian. You take up the baton. You persuade her.

"When Beckie went under anaesthetic last night, we didn't know there was an alternative view to HIV. But everything Beckie now says checks out on the internet. We just didn't know where to look before. Please check it out for yourself."

For some reason, I was struck by Julian's politeness in contrast to my own brusque demands. My mother's words came back to me, 'I want never gets'. Julian had said 'Please'. Maybe I should try that sometime.

After a pause, Helen said, "OK, I'll look into it, and I'll try to delay the ARV, but I must warn you, I have little power where Dr Basil is concerned."

The door opened and in walked a nurse carrying a tray with two lightly buttered slices of toast. I was hungry but said, "Thank you, but I'm on a gluten free diet now. Would you mind fetching me a wheelchair? I think it's the only way I'm going to get to see my baby daughter."

Being polite worked wonders. The wheelchair arrived in short order.

* * * * * * * * * *

Little babies sleeping in glass boxes. Machines beeping. Nurses bustling. The smell of sterility. The air of efficiency.

As Julian pushed my wheelchair into the NICU, a fog of thoughts and questions and ideas and images overwhelmed me. The statue of Asclepius towering over me; Andreas' head rolling away along the ground; the rats scampered down the hill, tumbling over each other; Alexander in the toy room; being strapped down in The Basileios Clinic; the terracotta jars of milk and honey; the snake billowing from Dr Basil's badge; the knife striking me in the gut.

Confusion, bewilderment, disorientation.

What was it all about?

Then my eyes fell on my Daisy. A precious little bundle of softness. A tube protruded from her button nose. My button nose. Julian always said I had a button face; button nose, button mouth, button chin. She wore nothing but a baggy nappy and a little white pixie hat. Electrodes rose and fell on her chest as her tiny little lungs confirmed the wonderful, miraculous truth—God had granted her LIFE.

And my befuddlement unravelled.

Life became simple.

I had just one purpose between now and my final breath.

Protect my baby at all costs.

# CHAPTER 33

Cassandra was in Lilac.

Andrew was balding.

Alexander was back to being fractious.

When they walked in, I was sitting up in bed talking to Julian and Helen and eating the boiled eggs and bananas Julian had fetched from the cafeteria.

"How are you, Beckie?" asked Cassandra as she hovered at the door. Alexander was wriggling and squirming and using every ounce of his strength to reach the floor and independence. Cassandra was having none of it.

I knew she was protecting him from me and my HIV, but this time I didn't feel offended. I understood. If the roles were reversed, I would keep Daisy at the door.

"I'm . . ." How could I answer her question? To give an honest answer would take a year. "I'm doing O.K."

"We hear Daisy is doing well in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," said Andrew as he pulled up a chair next to Helen. Julian was sitting on the end of the bed. "We're delighted to hear that, although . . ." he hesitated, ". . . Julian says you have some reservations about Daisy's treatment."

I glared at Julian. For a second my anger started to rise, but then I remembered my new resolution. My top priority was to save Daisy. Shouting and screaming was not going to achieve that. I needed to stay clear headed. Andrew and Cassandra would need to know at some point that we were refusing ARV. Julian had already told them. Fine. I just hoped Julian hadn't mentioned the vision. Andrew was clearly doing his normal and revving up to take charge. I must stay calm and firm and simply state our position.

"We've done some research and decided that ARV is not Daisy's best option," I said.

"When have you had time to research? Yesterday you were all for it."

"Well, we've changed our minds."

Andrew turned to Helen, "What do you think about this, Dr Atkinson?"

She hesitated then sat up and seemed to go into professional mode, "Daisy won't be given ARV until she comes out of NICU tomorrow. Before then we'll do all we can to address her parents' concerns."

"We don't have concerns. The decision is made. She's not having ARV," I said firmly.

Andrew turned and appealed to his brother-in-law. "Julian?"

"The decision is made," echoed Julian.

"I urge you to reconsider," said Andrew. "God has blessed us with modern, scientific medicine. Let us not turn our back on it. We're on our way now to get Alexander his vaccines to spare him from preventable, deadly diseases."

There were a million objections I wanted to make to this little speech, but something stirred in my memory. I had been concentrating on Daisy and HIV but...

"Julian, please would you look something up on the internet?"

"Sure, Honey." He got his smartphone out of his pocket as Cassandra and Andrew stared open-mouthed at my new-found courtesy.

"Was there a CDC whistle-blower who came out in 2014 and said they'd committed fraud on a research paper about the MMR vaccine and autism?"

"That can't be true, Beckie," said Helen, "We would have heard about it."

"Big Pharma own the media. They covered it up." I said calmly.

"Dr William Thompson," said Julian. "The CDC published research in 2004 showing there was no link between MMR and autism. Thompson says the research results actually showed a link, but they literally shredded the data."

"What?" said Cassandra. As she snatched the phone from her baby brother, Alexander saw his chance and made a bid for freedom. His father grabbed him and sat him on his knee.

Cassandra scanned the smartphone screen in disbelief. Then she looked up and almost shouted at Andrew, "I told you. I told you. There's something not right here. They lied to us."

"Come on, Cassandra, we've had this discussion," said Andrew.

"No, we haven't. I knew there were parents saying vaccines had injured their children. I didn't know a CDC scientist had confessed to scientific fraud. I'm not taking Alexander for his vaccinations."

Helen interjected, "I don't know anything about this William Thompson, but it's well established scientific fact that vaccines are safe and effective and save lives. They eradicated smallpox."

"Don't get her started on that," said Andrew with a look of exasperation.

Cassandra ignored him. "If vaccines eradicated smallpox, why did scarlet fever disappear at the same time? There was no vaccine for scarlet fever. And why did diseases now known to be caused by nutritional deficiencies such as scurvy disappear at the same time? It wasn't the vaccines. It was improvements in food and hygiene and clean water and housing and working conditions."

By now, Alexander was crying pathetically and trying to escape his father's arms. Andrew stood up abruptly and shouted, "He's having his vaccinations, and that's the end of it."

"May I point something out?" I said quietly.

Cassandra and Andrew both turned to look at me.

"You are both acting out of love for your son. This argument is greatly distressing him." They both looked at Alexander. His bottom lip was trembling, his face was red, and his eyes were screwed up with tears leaking out the corners. Cassandra's face softened as she reached out to take him. Andrew yielded him up.

"Will it make any difference if he receives the vaccines today or in a few days' time?" I asked Andrew.

"No," he said slowly.

"You've heard new information. Why don't you delay the appointment until you've had chance to check it out."

There was a pause as everybody waited for Andrew's response. Eventually he nodded.

Beckie the bulldozer had become Beckie the diplomat.

It's amazing what having a baby can do for you.

"There seem to be a lot of people in here making a lot of noise. Oh, sorry Dr Atkinson." It was the staff nurse sticking her head round the door.

"I think we should go and talk," Andrew said to Cassandra.

"Beckie, you and Daisy are in our prayers," said Cassandra. "We'll be back soon. God bless and keep you."

They left.

It was time to get back to the main issue. How to stop them giving Daisy ARV. I asked Helen, "Have you had chance to check out the alternative view of HIV and AIDS?"

"I haven't had much time, but a quick Google search reveals an astonishing number of credible people who doubt HIV causes AIDS. I'd no idea. But I can't believe they're right. To accept that would be to doubt everything I was taught at medical school."

OK, Diplomat Beckie, it's vital for Daisy that I persuade Helen. How can I do that? Let's start where she's at. "A few days ago... I mean yesterday, you told me the idol worship in Pergamum disturbed you. Well, I went there and—"

"You went there? When?"

"When I was under anaesthetic."

"Remember," said Julian, "I'd prayed God would show us what to do. He answered my prayer."

"I went to sleep and woke up in Pergamum in the year 262 just before the earthquake."

"It was a dream," said Helen. "It was on your mind. I'd lent you the book."

"Yes, I know, but I learnt things I didn't know before. The Christians and Asclepius worshippers were at war. The Christians knelt down and calmly had their heads chopped off rather than bow before the staff of Asclepius. They considered Asclepius to be a counterfeit Jesus, a deceiver."

"We're talking about the spiritual roots of so-called modern medicine," said Julian.

"Are you saying doctors are idol worshippers?" Helen tried to laugh but merely grimaced.

"We're saying we have an enemy who's a dab hand at deception," said Julian. "He wants to kill, steal, and destroy, and he's had tons of practice. Wouldn't the Father of Lies just love to stick his nose into the very institution the world looks to for health? Wouldn't the conniving bastard just love to kill innocent babies through so-called life-saving drugs?"

Helen opened her mouth to object but closed it again.

"You've got to help us, Helen." I tried to lean forward, but the pain in the caesarean scar held me back.

"I don't know what I can do."

"Do you agree God speaks to his people?" asked Julian.

"Of course."

"Do you agree we should listen and follow?

"Of course."

"Do you agree, as parents, we have the right to choose our baby's medical treatment?"

Pause. "What if Dr Basil is right? He can be a . . ."

She struggled to find the right expression, so I helped her out, "A pain in the ass."

Helen continued, "But he has decades of experience. I don't."

"Please think about it."

"Even if I agree to help, what can I do? Dr Basil isn't going to listen to me."

"Could you get Daisy transferred to another hospital?" asked Julian.

"Even if I could, it wouldn't solve the problem. Dr Basil is towing the party line. The next doctor would probably say the same thing. And Dr Basil is not the only pain-in-the-ass consultant."

"Could you get them to delay releasing Daisy from NICU to buy us some time?" I said.

"On what grounds?"

"Can't you say she's caught a cold or something?"

"Beckie, you've put Dr Basil on the defensive. He's fuming. He's watching Daisy like a hawk."

I hung my head. I didn't want to be reminded my anger had made the situation worse.

"At the very least, can you keep us informed?" said Julian.

"Sure, I can do that."

"Please let us know when they plan to move Daisy and give her ARV. We'll find a way to stop them," I said.

"How?"

"I've no idea. But I'll move heaven and earth before I let them poison Daisy."

# CHAPTER 34

"Get some rest, Honey," said Julian.

"How can I when Daisy is in danger?"

"There's nothing we can do today. You're spaced out from the anaesthetic and drugs. You've had your tummy ripped open. Give it a chance to heal. The real battle starts tomorrow, and you'll need to be refreshed."

He was right. He was always the voice of reason. I was so glad he was there. I'd battled Roman soldiers and demonic snakes alone, but now Julian was by my side, ready to fight for me and Daisy. I painfully snuggled down into the bed and closed my eyes.

Julian squeezed my hand and said, "When you're asleep, I'll go and sit with Daisy."

"Julian."

"Yes, Sweetheart."

"Will Jesus really save Daisy?"

"You bet. We just keep praying."

"You don't pray like my dad."

"That's because I'm not your dad. He prays Mr Baxter-style prayers. I pray Julian-style prayers."

"So I can pray Beckie-style prayers."

"Yes. Multi-coloured prayers with polka-dots and stripes."

I giggled, but it hurt my scar. "I don't want you to leave me, but Daisy needs you more. Don't let them hurt her, Julian."

"I won't, Darling. I will stand guard over her like a Roman soldier, ready to plunge my sword into anybody who threatens a hair of her head."

"Does she have any hair? I couldn't tell with that cute little hat."

"I'm not sure."

"I think you should sing to her."

"Good idea." He started singing 'Jesus Loves Me'.

The deep dulcet tones soothed me and sleep engulfed me.

I passed the rest of the day and night in a stupor, in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of Julian and nurses and Helen coming in and out of the room. In my more lucid moments, I tried to pray. It was difficult to trust, but what else could I do? The situation was beyond my control. I would rest, as Julian said, so I would be refreshed in the morning.

Then Julian and I would stand side by side in defence of our baby daughter. I would not face the day of trouble alone.

How many times in this story have I added 'or so I thought'?

# CHAPTER 35

"Now, Miss Baxter. I trust you've had some rest and are feeling rather more composed this morning?" Dr Basil sat on the end of the bed. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were cold. He'd evidently decided to work on his bedside manner.

I wanted to say, "Do you mean 'more composed' or 'less crazy'? And how about yourself? Is the ego under control?" but I was determined to keep calm for Daisy's sake.

Julian was sitting in a chair next to me, holding my hand. Helen and Dr Petropoulos were standing by the door. Helen stared at the floor with her hands behind her back. Bags around her eyes indicated a sleepless night. Dr Petropoulos' arms were crossed and his handsome face was steeled for trouble.

"I'm delighted to tell you your baby is doing well and will be transferred from NICU to the Special Care Baby Unit shortly," said Dr Basil.

"She's not coming here?" I said.

"No, we still need to keep her under close observation."

This was a blow. My room was off the maternity ward. Other mothers had their babies by their side. I'd assumed Daisy would be brought here. I'd been separated from her for too long already.

Julian said, "Did you get the result of the . . . what was it the HIV P . . ."

"HIV PCR DNA test," Helen said to the floor. "It was negative."

"So Daisy's in the clear?" said Julian, looking hopefully from Helen to Dr Basil.

"Unfortunately, we can't trust that test," said Dr Basil.

"Then why did you do it?" My voice was calm, not accusatory.

"It's the only option with a new born baby."

"What about the HIV tests you did on Beckie?" said Julian.

"We won't know the results for weeks."

"So there's no evidence they have HIV."

"Not at this time."

Did he think he was in court?

"However," continued Dr Basil, "the chances are very high that you have infected your girlfriend—"

Helen shuffled her feet then said to the floor, "Actually, Dr Nancy Padian at the University of California did a ten-year study on HIV transmission among heterosexual couples and found a transmission rate of zero."

Dr Basil's false smile fell. "Dr Atkinson, this is a patient consultation, not a medical school debate."

"So, patients shouldn't look at scientific evidence?" I asked.

"The point, Miss Baxter, is that we, the medical profession, have done the heavy lifting for you. You don't need to worry your pretty little head about such boring things as medical debates."

"I should just trust you blindly with the life of my child?" I looked him calmly in the eyes. I wasn't going to be belittled. I wasn't a doctor, but I was a mother, and I had power he couldn't even dream of.

"I admit I'm not an expert on the health of cockroaches." He was letting me know he remembered our last encounter. He looked around the room, inviting others to share the joke. Only Dr Petropoulos smiled obediently. "However, you'd be hard pushed to find a doctor in England who has more experience with HIV in neonates."

"You're very fortunate to have Dr Basil as your consultant," said Dr Petropoulos. Helen seemed to struggle to keep from rolling her eyes.

"As I was saying, the chances are very high that you and your baby have contracted HIV—"

"Both Beckie and Daisy are making remarkable recoveries from the caesarean. There's no indication of—" This time Helen looked up to face Dr Basil, but he cut her short.

"Dr Atkinson, please would you be kind enough to go check if Mrs Bettenburg's results have come back from the lab yet?"

Helen glanced at me with a wry smile as Dr Petropoulos opened the door and waited for her to pass. Thanks for trying, Helen.

With Helen dismissed, Dr Basil dropped the Mr Nice Guy act and asserted his position. "Once your baby is settled in the Special Care Baby Unit, we will start the ARV. As I've already explained, it would be negligent to ignore the very real possibility that she has contracted HIV." Julian opened his mouth, but Dr Basil raised a hand to stop him and continued, "I know it's difficult to accept this harsh reality, but we have to face it and go in with all guns blazing."

"Surely, we can ask for a second opinion," said Julian.

"Dr Basil is the senior consultant here. No other doctor would discount his opinion," said Dr Petropoulos.

"Then let's try a different hospital," said Julian.

"I'm afraid there's no time, Mr...?

"Shipley."

"Anecdotal evidence suggests a new born has the greatest chance of surviving HIV if started on ARV within 36 hours of birth. We're already passed that deadline."

"But she doesn't have HIV."

"Please get your head out of the clouds, Mr Shipley. Your baby is dying from a deadly virus."

I spoke quietly while staring at the red and white striped bedspread. "You said on the phone she didn't have HIV. You'd just told me that so I'd agree to a caesarean and you could sell Daisy for fifty thousand pounds."

"What are you talking about, dear?" Dr Basil laughed as he said it.

Julian stared at me. "You didn't tell me that."

"So much happened. I haven't had chance to tell you everything."

For a second, Julian looked stunned. Then he turned to Dr Basil and said, "In that case, we know for a fact Daisy doesn't have HIV."

"Excuse me, when am I supposed to have said this?" asked Dr Basil.

Julian stood up. I resisted as he tried to pull his hand from mine. I squeezed his hand, trying to tell him to keep cool. It would be ironic if I held my temper and Julian lost his. "I asked God to show us what was best for Daisy and he showed my Beckie the truth in a vision. Daisy does not have HIV, and you're not giving her ARV."

Dr Basil stood, too. It's difficult to call it a face-off with Julian towering several inches above his opponent despite the Cuban heels.

"As I have already explained, if you refuse life-saving treatment for your daughter, I will be forced to have her taken into protective custody and have you arrested for child abuse."

"She's our daughter. You have no right—"

"I have every right. She will be given appropriate antiviral therapy."

"Over my dead body."

"It's my job to protect children from whippersnappers like you, who think they know better than—"

"I do know better. I have God on my side."

"Science disproved religion decades ago."

"What a ridiculous thing to say."

"This discussion is over. Dr Petropoulos, please call security and have them bring in the police."

"Then I'll go get Daisy, and—" Julian moved towards the door, but Dr Basil pushed him back. "You're not going anywhere."

"And who's going to stop me?"

"Julian. Please calm down. This isn't the way." I tried to get out of bed but it was a slow, difficult procedure.

Dr Petropoulos was half-way out the door when Dr Basil said, "Tell them to take the Baxter baby into protective custody immediately."

"You can't do that. SHE'S MYYYYYYYYY BABY."

For a split second, I knew what was about to happen but was powerless to stop it. Time slowed down as I watched Julian ball his hand and draw back his arm. There was a momentary expression of dawning comprehension on Dr Basil's face before the fist hit him squarely on the nose. He spun on the spot, then crashed to the floor. He didn't move.

For a second everybody froze. Julian seemed stunned by what he'd done. Then Dr Petropoulos knelt down and felt for a pulse.

"Is he . . .?" asked Julian.

"Unconscious. Is your hand bleeding?"

Julian glanced at his hand. "No."

The staff nurse appeared at the door and stared in disbelief at the prone figure of the paediatric consultant on the floor. "We need to get him to Casualty," said Dr Petropoulos.

As the nurse disappeared, the imposing figure of Tony the security guard appeared at the door. "Not you lot again," he said as he took in the scene.

"Arrest him," said Dr Petropoulos, pointing at Julian. Tony climbed over Dr Basil. Julian was still standing with his mouth open staring at the unconscious doctor. He did not resist as Tony dragged him from the room.

"Julian, don't leave me." What a stupid thing to say. Like he had a choice.

He turned to look at me. "I'm sorry. I love you."

I watched through the door as my one staunch ally was frogmarched down the ward.

Oh, Daisy. Now what? I'm the only one left to save you.

# CHAPTER 36

"Where are you going, Miss Baxter?" shouted the staff nurse.

"To see my baby. Where's the Special Care Baby Unit?"

Julian had been arrested. Dr Basil had been carted off to casualty on a trolley. He'd come round half-way down the ward and started muttering incoherently about whippersnappers and cockroaches.

I'd been sent back to bed. But no way. Had Dr Petropoulos gone ahead and had Daisy taken into protective custody? What did that mean anyway? Where did you take a baby to put her in protective custody? I had to find her and get her out of here before it was too late. I had no idea how to do that, but wild horses were not going to stop me.

I was shuffling down the ward, holding my hurting belly when the staff nurse grabbed my arm. "Let me take you back to bed, Miss Baxter."

"It's OK. I'll take her to SCBU." It was Helen. She'd just entered from the opposite end of the ward.

I took Helen's arm, and she helped me out into the corridor.

"So, Daisy is in SCBU? They haven't taken her away?" I asked.

"Dr Basil is awake in casualty, shouting obscenities about Julian, and demanding Daisy be taken into custody, but nobody's taking much notice. Casualty is crazy busy as usual, and Dr Basil is the world's worst patient. Dr Petropoulos is temporarily in charge of Daisy, and he won't want the responsibility of putting a baby in custody."

"How long will Dr Basil be in casualty?"

"Not long. A couple of hours. He has a broken nose."

My sweet boyfriend who made Daisy a wooden cradle, painted it pink, and decorated it with Winnie the Pooh stencils, had broken the baby-stealing scoundrel's nose. I was proud of him.

"So, Julian's bought us a couple of hours."

"What do mean 'us'?"

"You've got to help me get Daisy out of here."

"Beckie, I can't let you steal Daisy."

"Steal? I can't steal what's mine. She's my Daisy. She grew in my belly for nine months. She's part of me. Dr Basil is the . . ."

My voice trailed off. We'd entered the Special Care Baby Unit. There were eight cribs, no incubators. Most of the babies were attached to monitors, some to drips. But there in a corner was Daisy, lying on her tummy, unencumbered by medical instruments, wearing a tiny white babygrow, sound asleep. I almost ran to the crib, then reached out, slid my hands under her, and lifted her to my chest. Helen put a chair behind me, so I could sit. My baby was in my arms at last. She was warm and soft and perfect. Tears flowed from my eyes. "They want to hurt her, Helen. They want to take her away and poison her."

"I'll be back shortly."

For a few minutes, the world went away. Nothing existed except me and my baby. It seemed impossible that anything could ever separate us.

But the reality was, she was about to be snatched away and subjected to unnecessary, toxic drugs. Jesus had shown me she needed nutrition, not drugs. Surely he would help me protect her. Getting her away from here seemed impossible. I was in no physical state to attempt it. There were nurses constantly coming in and out to check on the babies. I couldn't do it without Helen. I had to persuade her to help.

Helen came back in and pulled up a chair next to me.

"Why is Daisy here if she doesn't need monitors and stuff like the others?" I asked.

"Dr Basil's orders."

"But she's healthy, right?"

"She seems to be," said Helen slowly.

"So she doesn't need toxic drugs."

"It's not that simple. Dr Basil wouldn't prescribe them if he didn't—"

"God showed me he's wrong. And you've seen evidence for yourself."

"I spent most of the night looking up alternative views to HIV and AIDS. I didn't even know they existed. But still the overwhelming consensus is—"

"In 2067 the consensus had changed, and you trounced Dr Basil in a public debate."

"I was in your vision?"

"You protected me and Daisy from Dr Basil. And in Pergamum you saved Cassandra and I from the Romans."

"I what?"

"You torched the commander's house to cause a diversion."

Helen was laughing. "It sounds like a wonderful adventure, but that wasn't really me."

"You were brave and strong and you would give your life for Jesus and your friends. You hated Asclepius and medical fraud. Daisy and I need you to be like that now."

Helen looked round nervously to see if anyone could hear. "You don't understand, Beckie."

"Can you guarantee Dr Basil is right?"

"No, but—"

"Can you guarantee ARV won't do Daisy more harm than good?"

"No, but—"

"Then there's a risk. There's a difficult decision to be made. That decision is mine. She's my baby. Nobody has the right to kidnap her and force toxic drugs into her against my will. She's mine."

There was silence for a few moments. Then Helen said, "I can't start a fire in SCBU."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I can't be seen helping a patient to abduct a baby."

"Look at her, Helen. What if she were your baby?" On cue Daisy wriggled, yawned, and stuck out her tiny feet.

There was another long pause.

"At 12 noon, the nurses will be on handover. There will just be one nurse in here holding the fort. I'll distract her for just a few minutes, just long enough for you to come from the sitting room across the corridor, grab Daisy and go. Then you're on your own. That's the best I can do."

"Thanks, Helen."

# CHAPTER 37

It was 11:30. I had just thirty minutes to plan our escape.

Should I go back to my room and get dressed? Was there time? I was wearing a nightie and dressing gown. A woman in bed attire carrying a baby out of the hospital would look very suspicious. I'd have to go back and get changed. But the staff nurse would see me and stop me again. She'd want to know why I was in day clothes. Maybe I could smuggle my clothes out of the room and change in a toilet. But she'd want to know what I had in my bag. It was too risky. I'd have to stay in the dressing gown.

But that was risky, too. I could take Daisy down the back stairs away from the main lifts. I'd be less likely to be spotted that way. But if somebody did see me, they'd have no doubt I was up to something shifty.

I remembered an old war movie. A member of the French Resistance had to walk past a German checkpoint. If he was stopped, he would be killed. His only hope was to walk with his head up high as if he had every right to be there. Any sign of fear would bring suspicion and doom. He pulled it off and lived to fight another day.

That's what I had to do. I had to walk out of the main entrance in my dressing gown, carrying my baby, and smiling at anybody who looked questioningly at me. It was a busy hospital. Everybody was tied up with their own problems. I could do it. I had to do it.

But what would happen when I got outside? I glanced out the window. It was raining. I didn't even have an umbrella. I woman in a dressing gown, carrying a baby, and walking in the rain would not go unchallenged.

I had no money for a taxi. I did have my phone, though. I'd put it in my pocket hoping for a call from Julian, but I hadn't received so much as a text message. I guessed they'd taken his phone off him. What was he going through? I couldn't think about that now. He was a grown man. He would be all right. My delicate little Daisy needed all my attention.

I could phone Cassandra. Yes, that's what I'd do. She didn't live far away. If she got in her car right now, she could meet me outside the main entrance. But would she do it? She'd have to bring Alexander. She'd be reluctant if she knew what I was really up to. Helping me would put her at even greater loggerheads with Andrew. But I had to try.

I kissed Daisy on her sweet, smooth cheek and carefully lowered her back into the crib. I left the SCBU, crossed the corridor, and entered the sitting room. Thankfully, it was empty.

What was I going to say to Cassandra? There was no time to plan. It was already 11:38. I dialled the number. It took several rings for her to answer.

"Hello, Beckie. Is everything all right?"

"Listen, Cassandra, I've no time to explain, but I really need your help. Please drive over and meet me outside the hospital entrance at five past twelve."

"What? I'm feeding Alexander. What's wrong? Why would I meet you outside? You can't be discharged yet? Where's Julian?"

"He's been arrested. You're the only one who can help. It's urgent."

"What do you mean, arrested? Where is he?"

"At the police station, I guess. He broke the doctor's nose."

"What? I've got to get down there."

"No, you've got to get here. It's our only chance. We'll deal with Julian later."

"I'm sorry, Beckie, Julian comes first."

"No, Cassandra, please. Julian's safe. This is literally a matter of life and death. Daisy and I need you now."

"I don't understand."

"I'm relying on you. You've our only hope. Please, Cassandra. I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

I hung up before she could argue. Why had I told her about Julian? Big sister would be desperate to rescue baby brother. But she could hear I was frantic. She would come. She had to come.

I had to calm down and plan the rescue. I would wait here in the sitting room. I could hear people outside, bustling in and out of the SCBU. At 11:55 I would open the door slightly, so I would know when the coast was clear. When it was safe, I would quickly go into the SCBU and grab Daisy. I would go along the corridor and down one flight of stairs. Then I'd join the main corridor and take the lifts. I'd play the proud new mum, showing everybody my beautiful new baby.

I had ten minutes to wait. It took forever. I checked the clock every thirty seconds. Time slowed to a snail's pace. My heart pounded worse that it had when confronted by Roman guards.

Then, suddenly, I heard voices outside.

"Maybe she's in the sitting room. Can you check?"

The door handle turned. My heart stopped. Were they looking for me? If they found me now it would ruin everything.

The door opened a few inches, then I heard, "Forget it. She's in the office."

It wasn't me they were looking for. And whoever opened the door left it ajar. That saved me a job. It was 11:54. I moved to a chair near the door. It seemed very quiet now. Had they already started the handover? Had Helen already distracted the nurse? Should I go get Daisy now? I waited. 11:55. 11:56. 11:57. Still no sound. Surely it was time. I stood and had my hand on the door handle when the sound of a landline phone made me jump out of my skin.

"Special Care Baby Unit. Oh, hello, Dr Atkinson. This is Nurse Edwards."

Pause.

"Oh, I see. I'm really sorry, but I can't help at the moment. It's handover, and I'm the only nurse in the SCBU."

Pause.

"I understand it's urgent, but I can't risk leaving even for two minutes. What if something happened?"

Pause.

"I realize you'd take responsibility. Look, can't you ask somebody else? Sister has already got it in for me because I've been late twice this week."

Pause.

"No, all the babies are stable and settled."

Pause.

"I'm sorry Dr Atkinson, I respect you, but you're asking me to break safety protocol. There must be somebody else in this whole big hospital who can do it. Or can't it wait ten minutes until there are more staff available?"

Come on. Come on. Just do it. It was evident Helen was putting her neck on the line. When Daisy disappeared, there would be an investigation, and Nurse Edwards would surely hand them Helen on a platter to save her own skin.

"Is that a bribe?"

Pause.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . . Of course not . . . That won't be necessary . . . OK, I'll be there in two minutes."

I heard the phone being replaced and Nurse Edwards muttering to herself in what sounded like Welsh. A moment later I heard her running down the corridor.

This was it. No time to hesitate. Rescue Daisy now.

I stepped out of the sitting room, glanced left and right, hurried across the corridor and into the SCBU. I entered and turned towards the corner that housed Daisy's crib.

Oh, no! I couldn't believe it.

The scream that left my mouth brought nurses running from all directions. "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

# CHAPTER 38

"Who's in charge? I want to see whoever's in charge right now."

Three of four nurses were trying to bulldoze me out of the SBCU. A couple of others were trying to calm the babies who had been woken by my scream and were now squawking loudly.

"I'm in charge," said a nurse.

"No, not you. I mean in charge of the hospital. There must be a CEO or somebody who can override Dr Basil."

"Try taking some deep breaths."

"They've kidnapped my Daisy. You let them take her. Where is she?"

"She's perfectly safe. A trained medical team came fifteen minutes ago with all the required paperwork and took her to a secure location."

"She's not safe. They'll kill her."

"Why don't you come and sit down?"

I got hold of her shoulders and shook. I shouted in her face, "Where is she?" Several hands pulled me back.

"Shall I get a sedative?" asked a nurse.

I squirmed with all my might against the hands holding me. "I don't need chamomile tea and nice music. I need to know who's in charge. Who has the power to get Daisy back?"

"Take her to the office, away from the babies," said the sister.

"You've no right to take me anywhere."

"I can't let you cause a disturbance like this."

"Get your hands off me."

"Call security," the sister said to a nurse.

Oh, no. Not Tony again.

"What are you going to do? Arrest me? It's the lying, cheating, moronic scum who've stolen my Daisy who should be arrested."

"Let her go." I turned and saw Helen coming down the corridor.

"She's off her rocker," said the sister.

"She hasn't been sectioned, and she hasn't committed a crime. You have no grounds for restraining her."

"She assaulted me."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but..."

Helen turned to me. "Beckie, I will try to help you, but you've got to promise to calm down. Attacking people won't bring Daisy back."

I stopped fighting and sobs poured out of me. I could do nothing to stem the tears. I knew I must look like one of the babies on the ward, with my face as red as a beetroot, and my mouth open and quivering. The nurses let go of me, and Helen pulled me into a hug. I put my head on her shoulder and roared. All I could say was, "Daisy. Daisy. Daisy."

After a few minutes, Helen let go. She took my hand and said, "Come on. Let's go back to your room and talk."

"Who's the boss of the whole hospital?"

"There's a CEO on the business side and a Chief Medical Officer on the medical side."

"I want to see them."

"I doubt . . ."

"Right now."

"Beckie, that's just not . . ."

"Don't tell me it's not possible. My baby's life is at stake."

"OK. I'll make you a deal. If you go back to your room and wait, I'll try to set up a meeting. I can't promise, but I will try my best."

* * * * * * * * * *

I'd tried everything. I'd pulled out all the stops, but I'd failed. What was going on? Why did I have the vision if it didn't change anything? Maybe it had just been a dream after all. Maybe Dr Basil was right, and I was just in denial. Daisy had a deadly virus, and the best chance of saving her was toxic drugs.

I sat on my hospital bed and thought of Julian. We really were a measly, pathetic couple. We'd tried to stand up for ourselves, but he'd ended up in jail and I nearly joined him. There was a whole, big world of bureaucrats and intellectuals and politicians out there running things, and Beckie and Julian were just a couple of ants to be swept out of the way if we caused trouble. We were powerless.

But I'd decided to trust Jesus, and he wasn't powerless, was he? I should pray. But I was such a new Christian, I didn't know how.

To pass the time, I looked up the NHS website and read the information on patients refusing treatment and parental rights.

The door opened and in walked a frazzled looking Cassandra. "I waited outside for ten minutes. What's happening? How did Julian break a doctor's nose?"

"Where's Alexander?"

"With a neighbour."

"They've taken Daisy."

"Who's they?" She pulled up a chair.

"The authorities. Dr Basil made them."

"Oh, Beckie."

"They're going to poison her. They might already have started."

"I don't know what to say."

There was a pause.

"Did Alexander have his vaccinations?"

"No, they've been delayed a week. Andrew and I nearly came to blows over it, but he's agreed to read the anti-vaxxer perspective."

"Good."

"It also prompted me to look up the 'HIV doesn't cause AIDS' viewpoint."

"Would you let them give Alexander ARV?"

"I'm not sure. It's really difficult to sift through all the different opinions. Who knows what's right?"

"God knows, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does, Beckie."

"Would you pray for Daisy and Alexander that God would stop any bad treatment and make them healthy?"

This was a first. I was initiating prayer.

"Of course," she took my hand and closed her eyes. "Lord, you said 'suffer the little children to come unto me'. You have blessed us with Alexander and Daisy. Our mothers' hearts yearn to do the best for our babies, but we're lost in a world of conflicting opinions. You know what is right and true. We commit our precious ones into your hands and ask you to keep them safe and grant them perfect health. In Jesus' name. Amen."

The door opened and Helen came in. "There will be an emergency meeting in the CEO's office in ten minutes. The Chief Medical Officer, Dr Basil and Dr Petropoulos will be there. Let's go.

# CHAPTER 39

I tried to listen to Helen as I shuffled alongside her down the corridor and up in the lift. She was telling me how it was highly unlikely the CEO would overrule Dr Basil, especially since they were golfing buddies. She said I had to prepare myself for the worst. But the worst was unthinkable. The worst was I would never see my beautiful Daisy again. They would poison her, and she would die.

The CEO's office was on the top floor. We were told to wait in a tastefully furnished outer office. A smartly dressed secretary offered us tea, but we declined. I felt so out of place, especially in my dressing gown. At five foot two, I was used to feeling small, but the thought of facing the CEO and Chief Medical Officer made me feel like a midget.

After a couple of minutes, Drs Basil and Petropoulos arrived, and we were all ushered into the main office. Dr Basil's nose was heavily bandaged. The CEO waved us in from behind his big, shiny desk as he put down a half-eaten sandwich. He was sixtyish with grey-white hair and he exuded authority. He glanced at his watch, something he continued to do every two minutes. I was taking up his precious time. Tough. My precious Daisy's life was on the line.

"Good day, Ms..." The CEO paused.

"Baxter," supplied Helen.

"Ms Baxter, I'm the CEO, Trevor Brottlehurst, and this is the Chief Medical Officer, Dr Patrick Calibi." He indicated the balding, big-eared man sitting next to him. "I think you know everybody else. Please take a seat."

Four chairs had been set up in front of the desk. Drs Basil and Petropoulos sat on the right, Helen and I took the other two chairs. I was strongly reminded of the Twentieth Century Quackery Debate. I wished my place were taken by Professor Imogen Shipley. She could argue the case much more articulately than I could.

Mr Brottlehurst began, "Ms Baxter, I understand your baby has been taken into protective custody so she can receive life-saving treatment, and—"

"Where's Daisy? Where did they take her?" I interrupted.

"She's being well cared for," said Dr Basil. The broken nose made him sound like he had a heavy cold.

"Have you given her ARV?"

It was the CEO who answered, "I asked for treatment to be delayed until after this meeting. Now, Ms Baxter, I understand you feel very strongly about this, but I want to keep this meeting in order. I'm going to let Dr Basil tell us why he chose this course of action, and then I will give you chance to respond. Do you understand?"

"Yes", I said. I wanted to add, "And don't talk to me like I'm five years old."

"Good. Dr Basil."

"Thank you, Trevor. This is a very difficult and unfortunate situation." He pulled the same toad-like expression of false compassion and concern he'd used when he, as Basileios, was explaining his reasons for birthing my baby with his experimental forceps. "Ms Baxter's baby, Daisy...," he said her name with a tiny grin at the edge of his mouth, "... has in all probability contracted HIV. Two days ago, Ms Baxter fully understood the gravity of the situation. She therefore consented to a caesarean and to ARV therapy for her child. Since then, with the understandable strain of surgery and childbirth, she seems to have regressed into denial and has withdrawn her consent for the baby's necessary treatment."

"I'm not in denial—" Mr Brottlehurst lifted a hand to silence me and asked Dr Basil, "Have you applied for a court injunction?"

"There's been no time. I plan to do so at the earliest possible opportunity. In the meantime, the provision for giving emergency treatment without parental consent in life-threatening situations applies. We're already past the thirty-six hour deadline for starting ARV."

Helen spoke up, "I don't think this can be called a life-threatening situation. The thirty-six hour deadline is purely anecdotal."

"Dr Atkinson," said Dr Basil, "may I remind you I agreed to your presence here so you could support Ms Baxter. As the house officer, your medical opinion is not required, thank you very much."

Dr Calibi spoke for the first time, "With all due respect, Henry, I understand it has not yet even been established that the mother is HIV positive. Prescribing ARV against parental consent at this early stage seems quite extreme."

Dr Basil turned to Dr Calibi. "With all due respect, Patrick, you are an orthopaedic surgeon. You have no experience with HIV in neonates."

Mr Brottlehurst applied his casting vote. "Henry is right, Patrick. This is his area of expertise. He has decades of proven track record with such cases."

I got the feeling Dr Calibi wasn't included in the golf parties.

"Is the father also withholding consent?" said Mr Brottlehurst.

"He certainly is." Dr Basil gently touched his nose and scowled at me.

Dr Petropoulos added, "But since they're not married, the father has no legal rights over the child anyway."

"Ms Baxter, have you been fully informed about the risks and benefits of the treatment?" said Mr Brottlehurst.

"Not by Dr Basil, no. He just thinks I should bow down to Asclepius."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Miss Baxter is clearly experiencing after effects from anaesthetic," said Dr Basil. "She must be one of those rare patients whose minds take a while to reboot back to normal."

After effects from anaesthetic? In Pergamum it was after effects of a herbal potion. Anything to label me crazy and take away my rights.

"Nonetheless, Henry, Miss Baxter must be allowed to speak." Mr Brottlehurst glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time. "Miss Baxter, you have the floor."

OK. I must be calm, clear, and succinct. No mention of visions or demonic snakes. This is my one chance to speak for Daisy. Don't blow it, Beckie.

"There's no evidence Daisy has HIV. Even if she has, the drugs are toxic, they themselves can produce symptoms of AIDS, and they can kill. There's a risk, and as Daisy's mother, I have the right to decide whether to take that risk. I looked up the NHS website on parental rights. While Daisy was in my tummy, I had the right to refuse treatment even if it threatened her life. Now I've let Dr Basil cut me open and take my baby out, I have no rights. That doesn't make sense."

"Miss Baxter, you are nineteen years old," said Dr Basil.

"So?"

"You have no medical training."

"That wouldn't make any difference. Helen has a medical degree and you won't let her talk."

Mr Brottlehurst said, "Dr Atkinson, you may contribute to the discussion. Miss Baxter, you originally consented to the treatment. What made you change your mind?"

"I heard there's a different view about HIV. Some doctors and scientists don't agree it causes AIDs."

"So, you've been listening to crackpots like Peter Duesberg," said Dr Basil.

Helen exercised her new found freedom to speak. "The Dissenters include Kary Mullis who won the Nobel Prize in chemistry in 1993. Even Luc Montagnier, who received the Nobel Prize in 2008 for the discovery of HIV, has back-peddled and said you can get rid of the virus in a few weeks if you have a good immune system"

"The overwhelming medical and scientific consensus for the last thirty years has been that HIV causes AIDS. Why are we even having this discussion?" said Dr Basil as he jerked his head back and threw his arms in the air. He obviously regretted his sudden movement. His face became pained and his hand moved to his nose. "Why am I having my nose broken by whippersnappers and having to defend my clinical decisions?" He turned to Mr Brottlehurst. "You can see the girl is not in her right mind. Let me get on and do my job. I'll order the ARV right now, and then apply for a court injunction. The judge with issue it. He always does."

"Why? Do you play golf with him as well?" I should not have said it, but desperation was hitting hard. I was losing the argument.

Dr Basil glared at me, but before he could retort, Mr Brottlehurst said, "Miss Baxter, this hospital has a fine reputation for the highest standards of medical integrity. Medical decisions are not made on the golf course. They are made by highly qualified, highly experienced doctors, who take the ethical principles of their profession very seriously and put the wellbeing of their patients ahead of all personal considerations."

"So, Dr Basil is right just because of who he is," I said, rising from my chair. "He has the power because he's a big doctor in a big hospital. I'm just a stupid little girl. So you can take my baby and do what you want to her. It's not right." My voice was shaking now. "She's my Daisy. I don't have a medical degree, but I have a brain. I can think and reason and decide for myself. And I have a heart. And every atom in my body tells me my baby should be here," I held out my hands, "in my arms. Sick or well she should be here. Bring her back. Please, God, bring her back."

I broke down and sobbed. Helen gently pushed me back into my chair.

"That was a very fine, emotional speech," said Dr Basil, "but we can't let emotion dictate our actions when lives are at stake."

"Quite," said Mr Brottlehurst. "We'll wrap this up quickly so you can proceed with the treatment."

It was over. There was nothing else I could do. I'd spent days battling against people and ideas and soldiers and earthquakes and police and lies. I had nothing left to fight with. They had taken my Daisy, and they were going to poison her. All hope was gone.

"Miss Baxter, I have to, in all conscience, agree with Dr Basil," said Mr Brottlehurst. "You will, of course, have legal recourse."

"It'll be too late," I said.

"Thank you, Trevor," said Dr Basil as he got up to leave. Drs Petropoulos and Calibi followed suit. The meeting was over.

I reached into my dressing gown pocket to find a tissue, and my hand came across some folded sheets of paper. I pulled them out, opened the first sheet and stared in disbelief. It read,

Half-yearly financially summary,

The Basileios Clinic,

163 Horsebridge Avenue, Kingston.

Eventually I said, "Does Dr Basil have an abortion clinic called 'The Basileios Clinic?"

"Yes," said Helen, glancing at Dr Basil.

"What is that?" he said.

"Helen, in 2017 is it legal to sell bits of aborted babies?"

"Unfortunately, yes, under certain conditions, if the mother signs a release."

"This is useless, then, like last time."

"What is that?" repeated Dr Basil as he lunged forward and tried to snatch the paper out of my hand, but I was too quick for him.

"Really, Henry," said Mr Brottlehurst.

Helen took the papers from me and scanned through them. (I hadn't looked further than the first page.) A look of bewilderment spread across her face.

"What is it?" demanded Dr Basil for the third time.

"It's a financial statement for The Basileios Clinic."

"That's impossible. We don't . . . There isn't . . . All precautions . . . Let me see that."

"Where did you get this, Beckie?" said Helen.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"The sale of foetal tissue to reputable pharmaceutical companies is legal, but what were the grounds for all these late term abortions? How were you able to take advanced orders? What do these figures for live specimens refer to? And why have such huge amounts been paid out for confidential malpractice settlements?"

Dr Basil laughed unconvincingly, "It's obviously some kind of prank. No doubt the girl's boyfriend came up with it just in case breaking my nose wasn't enough." He leant back and glanced round the room, but no one shared the joke this time.

"Then why are you squirming?" asked Dr Calibi. "You're sweating, Henry."

"It's the drugs they gave me for my nose. Come on, Helen, give it to me."

"Why are you so anxious to have it if it's just a harmless prank?" said Helen.

"It's a prank, but maybe it's not harmless. If it got into the wrong hands . . ."

"Give it to me, Dr Atkinson," said Mr Brottlehurst. Helen complied. He looked through it and said, "This does look highly incriminating."

"You can't be taking it seriously," said Dr Basil.

"Patrick has a point. If it's just a fraud, why are your knees shaking?"

"Come on. It can't be genuine. There's no way she could have got hold of such . . ." He couldn't find the word.

". . . damning information?" suggested Dr Calibi.

"OK. Look. Maybe I've been hasty. Maybe the broken nose got my back up and I lost a bit of objectivity. Miss Baxter, why don't you give me that report, and I'll reconsider Daisy's treatment."

"You'd change your clinical decision because of a fraudulent document?" said Helen in disbelief.

"You're acting very suspiciously, Henry," said Mr Brottlehurst. "And the report is now in my hands, not Miss Baxter's."

"But you know it's a trick."

"Henry, if you have broken any codes of ethics at your private clinic, it reflects on this hospital. Can you assure me there is no truth in this document?"

"Not a shred of truth, Trevor."

"How do you know what's in it? I thought it was fraudulent and you hadn't seen before," said Helen.

Pause.

"Where is Daisy?" I said.

"St Catherine's Maternity Hospital just down the road," said Dr Basil.

I got up and walked to the door.

"Miss Baxter, please wait a moment," said Mr Brottlehurst. I paused with my hand on the door handle. "I'm sorry, Henry. Why would you answer that question unless you had something to hide? You are hereby suspended from duty pending an investigation. George, please would you arrange for the baby to be brought to Miss Baxter on the maternity ward? Miss Baxter, please understand that we still need to monitor your child and consider what treatment, if any, is appropriate for her."

* * * * * * * * * *

I waited forever.

I was told to stay in my room. For once I didn't argue. I would comply with the silly, bossy rules if it meant getting Daisy back. So, I stood at the door to my room with my eyes firmly fixed on the doors at the other end of the ward.

Were they really bringing her? Maybe they'd lied to me yet again just to shut me up. Maybe as soon as I left the CEO's office, Dr Basil sweet talked his way out of it.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes, Twenty minutes. I had to sit down, so I dragged a chair to the door. A minute later I had to move it again so a nurse could push an empty crib into my room. That was a good sign.

Twenty-five minutes. Thirty minutes. Thirty-five minutes. Several times the door to the ward opened and my heart jumped. But it was just a nurse or a patient or a porter.

Finally, the door opened and in walked Nurse Afulabi with the world's most precious bundle in her arms. I shuffled towards her, but the staff nurse ordered me back to bed. "You're not stable on your feet. Get into bed, and we'll bring her to you."

When Nurse Afulabi reached the door to my room, I was sitting up in bed with my arms stretched out. I was like a seven year old on Christmas morning who could not bear to wait ten seconds longer for her present.

As the nurse handed Daisy to me, she leant down and whispered, "I heard what happened. You did right," and she winked at me. I've no memory of her leaving the room because, from that moment on, I had eyes for nobody except my baby daughter.

My precious little Daisy was back in my arms where she belonged. God forbid we should ever be parted again.

# CHAPTER 40

After some negotiations, it was decided that Daisy should be kept in a side room off the SCBU for six weeks until my HIV status was established. However, I was allowed to stay with her, feed her and take care of her. Dr Basil found himself with other pressing matters and therefore dropped the charges against Julian. My devoted boyfriend came in every day, bringing my Hushmin 90 and gluten free food. Daisy and I blossomed together.

We did some research about the HIV tests and found they were, at best, totally unreliable and, at worst, a complete waste of time. We were dismayed to hear even pregnancy could cause a so-called 'false positive'. So, we prayed my results would come back negative. We were not worried about HIV, but we wanted to make a clean exit from the hospital.

The situation became easier when Julian discovered different medical labs use different ELISA HIV tests, and they can give different results. He got a second test done at a different lab, and lo and behold, it came back negative.

Mine was also negative, and so, at six weeks of age, Daisy finally got to sleep in the pink, Winne the Pooh rocker, lovingly crafted by her father.

# CHAPTER 41

"There's got to be a better way, and I'm going to find it," said Helen.

We were sitting on wooden folding chairs, watching the happy crowd milling around the garden behind The Great West Road Pentecostal Church. My wedding dress wasn't designed for sitting and the skirt was bunched up in front of me. It had been made by an old school friend who'd become a dress designer. She'd asked for a theme, so I'd described the Iggathist milk and honey motif to her. Knowing my style, she'd come up with a wonderful swirling mass of cream and honey spirals, and topped it off with a terracotta coloured bowler hat. My mother said I looked like a vanilla and toffee ice cream cone with a cherry on top. I think that's one reason she wasn't too disappointed we didn't get married at her Anglican church. That and the fact I was marrying a postman, and our three month old baby would be attending the ceremony.

"How's our good friend, Dr Henry Basil?" I said.

"I don't know. I haven't seen him."

"Is he in jail?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Good question."

Our attention was drawn to Adelaide, a seventy year old Jamaican woman who sat at the front of the church in every service and shouted, "Amen. Praise the Lord," at every appropriate moment (and a few inappropriate ones, too). She'd persuaded someone to play Shirley Caeasar's Star of the Morning over the sound system, and she was teaching Alexander to dance. He was trying – bending his knees, flapping his arms and giggling. Adelaide tried to encourage his parents to join in. Andrew looked like she'd suggested he don a Tarzan costume and swing through the trees. But Cassandra gave it a try. Her wide-brimmed, lilac hat fell off. Alexander thought her dancing was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Gone was the fractious, grouchy Alexander I used to know.

"He never had his vaccinations, did he?" asked Helen.

"No, he's on the Hushmin 90 instead. After hours of research, Andrew figured there was an easy way to settle the vaccination debate. He looked for major studies comparing vaccinated and unvaccinated children and—"

"And found there aren't any. Quite. Just like there are no original scientific papers showing that HIV causes AIDS."

"Didn't you know all this at medical school?"

Helen laughed, but before she could answer, Julian had walked up and swung Daisy in front of my face so I could kiss her. Daisy was covered in daisies, on her pretty, frilly dress and in her headband. She cooed and smiled as Julian lifted her back on his shoulder and went to show her off to the people manning the drinks table.

"You have to understand what it's like at medical school. You're told you're the intellectual elite because you can cut up a cadaver and label every nerve, blood vessel, ligament, tendon, and organ. You're the cream of the crop because you can memorize endless lists of Latin medical terms. Your brainpower is lauded and honoured, and it never occurs to you you're not actually using it. You're not being asked to think, reason, question, deduce or analyse. Just accept blindly what you're told. You're so busy cramming your head with facts, you never stop to realize nobody's talking about curing disease or maintaining good health. You're simply taught to manage symptoms with drugs and surgery. That's it. Well, it's not enough anymore."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. Even so-called alternative medicine these days is being infiltrated by Big Pharma. I could try trauma medicine where drugs and surgery really do save lives. But what I really want to do is help people stay in good health."

The bride was required to join the dance party and twirl so the children could enjoy the rippling effect of my dress. Then Julian, Daisy and I were asked to pose for the one thousandth family photo.

Yes, we were a family. We'd made it. Mr and Mrs Shipley with their baby, Daisy. (The legal process would soon be underway to give Julian full parental rights and change Daisy's surname.) We were set to live happily ever after.

Or were we? The events surrounding Daisy's untimely birth had raised a million questions. We were confident we now knew how to keep her in good health. But what if she had an accident and needed hospital treatment? Modern allopathic medicine was great for emergency care, but I was scared of being sucked into the system again. What if vaccines become mandatory? My once blind faith in doctors and hospitals had been shattered. My faith was now in Jesus, but how did that play out in a modern world? Julian wanted another five kids. Where and how would they be born?

We had been deceived about HIV and AIDS. What else had we been deceived about? How do you find truth in a world of lies? My greatest prayer was that we would never be deceived again.

THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE

In 2012, after a lifetime of ill-health, my body deteriorated to the point I was permanently bent over to the left, I could barely walk, and I was in pain 24/7. I then discovered the diet and nutrition programme recommended by Dr Joel Wallach, and I made, what some have termed, a miraculous recovery. I discovered the power of comprehensive medical nutrition far too late to help my little boy, Timothy, who died when he was nine. (Our story is told in my first novel, I'm Sorry, Oliver.)

My experience has helped me to grasp the cosmic battle that rages over our health. The Lord Jesus Christ came healing and raising people from the dead. Satan comes to kill, steal and destroy. Our enemy seeks to infiltrate every aspect of this world, and that includes the medical industry.

Am I saying doctors are evil? Of course not. But conventional medicine is run by Big Pharma, a conglomerate of for profit organizations. The love of money is the root of all evil. My call is for Christians to stop putting blind faith in the allopathic medical system, but rather trust Jesus as our guide to true health.

This novel touches on a number of important medical-related issues; the spiritual roots of modern medicine, HIV/AIDS, vaccinations, the pharmaceutical use of foetal tissue, and medical kidnap. My aim was not to provide reams of information on these topics within the novel, but rather encourage the reader to find out more. To facilitate this, I have provided links to further resources on my blog at www.givenhertoeat.com.

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