KAL watched the bird spiral upwards, riding the desert
thermals higher and higher until it was a black speck
against the impossibly blue sky. The bird's flight lifted
his spirit until it seemed his soul soared with it,
released from the imprisonment of his body. Only here,
alone in an end- less sea of sand, did he experience the
lightness of spirit that was close to happiness.
As close as he would ever come...
Suddenly, the black speck dropped like a stone, down and
down and down, wings tucked back to add destructive power
to the speeding descent. It disappeared from sight behind
a sand dune, and Kal whistled then held out his arm for
the bird's return.
It had missed its kill and he wasn't sorry — he had food
enough for himself and the bird. But the falcon's failure
reminded him how long it had been since he'd spent time
with his birds — flying them and training them. His men ex-
ercised them regularly, but they didn't have the same
touch and the birds knew it.
But what was more important? Training falcons the way his
ancestors had for thousands of years, or bringing mod- ern
medicine to his country — providing the best medical
services for his people?
He slipped the bird's hood over its head and set it on a
stand, his hand lingering on the shiny dark feathers, feel-
ing a tight bond with this living creature that could fly
so freely, yet returned willingly to its captivity. Just
as he would return to the hospital, for to do anything
else would be unthinkable.
But not until tomorrow...
He walked back across a sand hill to where he'd left his
big four-wheel-drive, and brought out a bundle of sticks.
He'd build a fire and camp out beneath the stars — forget
the world he was escaping, if only for a night. But though
the stars shone like a scattering of bright diamonds in
the velvety night sky, and the wind across the desert
sands soothed him with its song, he couldn't recapture the
light- ness he'd felt as he'd watched the bird soar, and
his mood turned deep and heavy — his soul now a weighted
stone within him.
The plane dropped beneath the clouds and there, spread-
ing to the horizon, were the desert sands, just as Kal had
described them — a golden sea, with wave upon wave of wind-
sculpted dunes. Kal had spoken of their beauty, but the
longing in his voice when he'd mentioned the desert had
told Nell more than words ever could have. The man she'd
loved had loved this arid country with a bone-deep passion
bred into him over the thousands of years his an- cestors
had roamed those sands.
Now, seeing them for the first time, Nell clasped her
hands tightly together, the photo of Patrick — Patrick
with hair — before the cancer — squashed between them. It
was like a talisman, this photo, and she'd held it tightly
through- out the twelve-hour flight, so now the outer
plastic cover was sticky with her worrying and a crease
was developing across her son's finely aquiline nose.
Patrick was well — she'd phoned home twice from the plane,
the first time because she'd been intrigued to find all
she had to do was swipe her credit card in the receiver
then dial, and the second time to hear Patrick's voice one
more time before they landed.
This remission would last. She had to be as positive as he
was. Yet here she was about to land in a foreign coun-
try, just in case being positive wasn't good enough.
Just in case... "Safely down," the comfortably plump woman
beside her said, and Nell registered the jolt she'd felt
and opened her eyes. The woman and her husband had been
kind and undemanding travelling companions, so Nell smiled
at them and wished them all the best for the rest of their
journey.
They knew part of her story — the part where she was
travelling to this desert country to demonstrate the use
of spray-on skin for burns victims. It was something that
had been developed in the burns unit where she worked and
fate had played into her hands when the hospital here had
re- quested information on the innovative technique for
their new burns unit and had asked if perhaps someone
would come and demonstrate it.
A month, that's all Nell had — to both explain the treat-
ment to the staff at the hospital and to find Patrick's
father. To somehow tell him, at the risk of her own hard-
won emotional security, that he had a son — a son who
might, one day soon, need his help and the help of his
people...
She closed her eyes again — the magnitude of that par-
ticular exercise all but overwhelming her. It would be all
right, she promised herself as the plane taxied towards
the low, well-lit terminal. It had to be all right!
But once out of the safety of the plane, nerves began
gnawing at Nell's stomach. Through passport control —
purpose of visit to this desert kingdom, business — and
cus- toms — no, nothing to declare — the gnawing grew
stronger and stronger until she wondered if people could
develop stomach ulcers in such a short time.
A door at the far end of the customs hall spilled her out
into a wide foyer, crowded with people clamouring for a
glimpse of their returning loved ones. And at the back of
the crowd, a small sign held aloft. DR WARREN was all it
said, but the woman in the headscarf who held it was smil-
ing so warmly Nell felt the panic in her stomach ease.
"I'm Nell Warren," she said, pushing through the crowd and
holding out her hand to the smiling woman.
"Yasmeen,'the woman offered, shaking Nell's hand and
drawing her further from the jostling crowd. Then a
screeching, rending, tearing noise, so loud and fearsome
it conjured up images of other worlds, rent the air, and
peo- ple began to scream and scream so when the sirens
started, they were like a continuation of the high-pitched
sounds of terror.
"Something has gone wrong.'Yasmeen stated the obvious, but
she was already moving with a purpose. "All hospital staff
take part in simulated airport emergencies,'she said over
her shoulder. "I must go. You can stay here and wait." 'If
it's an emergency, the more hands you have the bet- ter,"
Nell told her, dropping her small suitcase beside a pil-
lar and hurrying after the woman through a crowd that was
now in full panic mode despite what were probably reas-
surances echoing from the public-address system.
Ducking and weaving, they finally reached a deserted
corridor on the ground floor, and Yasmeen pushed through a
door into a large room, glass windows on the far side of
which reflected the angry red glow of a fierce fire. Going
towards the windows, Nell saw the fire engines racing
across the tarmac, some units already in place, sending
streams of snow-like foam onto the angry conflagration.
Yasmeen was murmuring to herself — a prayer, Nell guessed,
for her own heart was praying for whoever was trapped in
the burning plane. The door behind them opened and more
people swept in, some wheeling trolleys, others carrying
first-aid equipment. Two ambulances pulled up outside, the
public-address system issued what had to be instructions,
and Nell felt the tension build as emergency crews awaited
the order to move.
"We will wait here and treat the injured as they are
brought in,'Yasmeen said to Nell. "As the first doctors on
the scene, we must do what we can. The hospital will be on
full alert by now and more ambulances will be here
shortly. The worst cases we'll send straight to the
hospital where emergency teams will have more facilities
to treat them."
Nell looked at the burning aircraft and wondered if they
would have any patients to treat. Surely no one could es-
cape so fierce a fire.
"Do you know what happened?" Yasmeen shook her head. "From
what people are saying around me, it seems the plane was
coming in to land — praise be it wasn't your plane — when
it skidded on the runway. Maybe the wheels didn't lock, or
some oil made it skid. It slewed off side- ways, hit a
stationary plane, and then burst into flames."
Nell shook her head, imagining the horror of those on
board. How many had there been? She couldn't tell how big
the burning plane was, but her flight had carried over
four hundred people.
"Look!" Yasmeen grabbed her arm, and there, black against
the leaping red and orange flames, were small fig- ures,
fleeing across the tarmac.
"So some have survived," Nell murmured, watching as
airport vehicles stopped by the small figures, collecting
them, then speeding towards the room where she and Yasmeen
waited with the other emergency staff.
It was her last rational thought for some hours. The first
victims had been lucky — not badly burned — so the job was
to clean the wounds and dress them, to wrap blankets
around shaking shoulders and treat them for shock. But as
the room filled with the less badly injured, the scene of
op- erations moved outside onto the tarmac, where arc
lights lit a scene from hell.
"Cover wounds with clean dry cloth, intubate if their air-
ways seem undamaged — if there are no burns on their face
or throat — but otherwise provide oxygen through a mask.
Remember a lot will have lung damage from inhaling the
heat and smoke. Get fluids flowing in," Nell said to
Yasmeen, who had hesitated beside her as the more seri-
ously injured began to arrive. "Raise the injured parts
and treat for shock, don't attempt to treat the burns,
don't peel off clothes, don't puncture blisters, don't
raise their heads as it could compromise their airways,"
Nell added, aware she probably had more experience in
burns first aid than the other doctor. "Tell the other
people here to do the same. Would you like me to do the
triage? Sending the worst cases to hospital first?"
Yasmeen nodded and though Nell could feel the other woman
shaking beside her, Yasmeen pulled herself to- gether and
gave orders in a crisp clear voice.
Mobile medical supply vans had appeared from no- where,
the sides of the vans opening up to reveal an abun- dance
of equipment. As she checked patients and tagged them in
order of the severity of their injuries, Nell mar- velled
at the organisational set-up of the airport that it had
these vans on standby.
She worked as if controlled from somewhere outside
herself, checking, treating, passing patients on, until at
last more and more of the bodies being pulled from the
plane were already dead and the grim task of handling them
could be turned over to someone else.
"Come on,'she said to Yasmeen. "We'll be needed at the
hospital."
The other woman's face was black with soot and grime from
the clothes of the patients they'd treated, and Nell
guessed her own was just as bad, but Yasmeen's smile lit
up her darkened face and she shook her head at Nell's
suggestion.
"You're a guest here and you've already done enough to
help," she protested. "I will take you to the quarters
we've arranged for you where you can clean up and rest."
Then it was Nell's turn to shake her head. "No way! This
is what I do, Yasmeen! I'm a specialist burns doctor. How
many of them does your hospital have? I also know the uses
of the spray-on skin — that's why I'm here, remember. Take
me to the hospital. I can help in ei- ther your emergency
room or wherever else I'm needed."
She smiled at her new friend. "I'll clean up first," she
promised.
Yasmeen smiled again, then led the way back through the
airport and out the other side to where cars jammed the
roads, news of the accident having sent panicking
relations racing to the airport.
"It's a gridlock. We'll never get away. Perhaps we should
go back and hitch a ride with an ambulance," Nell sug-
gested, but a clattering noise drowned out the words and
she looked up to see a helicopter descending towards the
far side of the terminal building.
"Come on — that's the best ride for us. The chief's own
personal helicopter. He's been talking about getting one
for the hospital, but until it happens, he's willing to
use his own for emergencies."
Yasmeen grabbed Nell's arm and hurried her back the way
they'd come.