“I can’t imagine having to test that way—with human trials, that is. Seems so barbaric. I remember reading about protests back in the day about using monkeys and other lab animals. Amazing scientists had to work that way then.”
He faced Sylvia again, and tried hard to conceal his attraction to her by following her lead in the conversation. “You’ve never had to conduct one, have you? I keep forgetting that. Well, it’s one thing about the good old days I don’t miss. Had a lot of sleepless nights when we were in a human trial. You could run the old-style bench trials from here to eternity and still not know what a drug would do in an actual human body. There was always the chance of something surprising coming up, some crazy interaction. You couldn’t skip the human trial phase for that reason, but my God it was frightening waiting to see if something terrible happened.”
“That’s awful. I’m glad I came into the profession when technology replaced that sort of thing—or I probably never would have entered the field.”
“We’re going to need all the advantages current technology offers, that’s for sure. We’ll need fast and accurate test cycles. But we’ll still need some luck to find a promising direction early enough to beat out Denali.”
“We’re the best Horton has, right? So if anyone here can do it, it’s us.” Sylvia smiled. “Seriously, I know you’ve spent your entire career with Horton, and I’ve only been here a few years. But I like it here and I want to see the place survive, too. I don’t like the cowboy mentality at places like Denali. So, let’s put our heads together and do this.” She offered her hand.
Jerry shook her hand and smiled, relieved that she was at least as committed as he was, despite the odds. “Deal.”
He released her hand quickly before he could succumb to the temptation to let the touch linger and possibly alert her to his feelings. He’d never worked directly with her until now, but he’d noticed her beauty and intelligence in staff meetings ever since she’d started at Horton. He’d never dared approach her, given their age difference, and now that she was newly married, it was too late.
Whether they won or lost the competition in the end, he already knew working with Sylvia on this project would bring him the pleasure of her nearness—along with the agony of knowing she could never be his, no matter how much he wanted her.
CHAPTER 11
Vince Calhoun knocked on Dan Tremaine’s office door at the scheduled time. Ever the one for suspense and drama, Dan hadn’t told him what the meeting was about. Vince hoped it concerned the MRSA-II outbreak. He’d been watching the news, and things were getting dire. Too dire. Dan had waited entirely too long.
This bug was far more dangerous than any other of its kind, and—though the media had not yet uttered the word—Vince believed the outbreak had reached the scale of a full-blown epidemic. He hoped it wasn’t too late to act, that the pathogen could still be contained.
“Come in.”
Vince stepped inside and took a seat. As usual, he hid his disgust at the sight of Dan’s ostentatious office. He preferred bare-boned practicality to adornment, so much so that his own office featured no personal effects at all, and certainly no clutter. Dan’s office, on the other hand, screamed self-importance. Plaques, photos with celebrities and politicians, and tasteless artwork-du-jour that looked like the product of drunken monkeys took up every bit of wall space. Gaudy little trinkets littered Dan’s desktop. Vince valued the work of Denali Labs for the innovative products it produced, and felt such egomania served no useful purpose. At least in his opinion.
Despite their divergent personalities, the two had forged a solid working relationship. Dan valued Vince’s consistently groundbreaking work and so viewed him as a sort of right-hand man and compensated him accordingly. Consequently, Vince spent a lot of time enduring the sight of Dan’s office in frequent strategy sessions.
“So, what did you want to see me about?”
Dan beamed. “You won’t believe where I was yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Met with President Coleridge.”
Vince raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yes. He’s concerned about the MRSA-II problem, and had a proposition to make.”
“He should be concerned. What’s the proposition?”
Dan told Vince the details of his meeting with Phil Horton and the president. “So it just comes down to the matter of timing.”
“Why not right away?”
“No, I don’t like the way that would look. Besides, if this goes on a little longer, it’s all the better publicity—and demand.”
Vince leaned forward in his chair and looked Dan squarely in the eye. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing. From what I’ve seen, the cure can’t get out there fast enough. People are dying. Lots of them. It’ll get a whole lot worse out there—and fast—given the contagion profile.”
Dan waved a dismissive hand. “Sometimes you’re too conservative, Vince. We’ll wait. Not a long time, but a little more.”
“But—”
Dan cast him a glare. “Don’t argue with me on this. I’ll let you know when it’s time.” He softened his tone. “Oh, and could you make up another batch of Stardust in the next couple of days? Got a party coming up and I’m getting a little low.”
“Sure.”
Vince clamped his mouth shut, then quickly stood and exited the room before he could say something he’d regret. He closed the door behind him and paused just outside Dan’s office for a moment as he tried to collect himself.
Dan had made a spectacular success of Denali Labs, true enough. He knew venture capital and schmoozing, but he couldn’t operate lab equipment or analyze the genome of a bacteria if his life depended on it. No, Dan couldn’t have established Denali as he had without Vince’s skills and experience, and he knew it. Despite that, he sometimes seemed to forget those details and treated Vince like some lackey.
Like that damned Stardust. One day Dan had asked him if he could develop a cocaine-like drug in the lab. He did it, just to see if he could, and regretted it ever since. Dan tried the stuff, liked it, and had started using it routinely, not just for parties. It seemed to inflate his ego even more when he’d had a few snorts. And ever since, he’d periodically asked Vince to replenish his supply, like some personal pharmacist.
Vince took several deep breaths to calm himself as he realized his hands were shaking and he had his teeth clenched so tightly he risked cracking a tooth. He headed back to the refuge of his office for the time being.
He hoped Dan would soon see the light and allow him to prepare the MRSA-II cure for release.
CHAPTER 12
Tired and anxious to put the work day behind her, Sylvia pulled into the garage and switched off her electromag-powered car. To her relief, Todd’s car wasn’t yet there, so he must be running late, too. She needed a little time to herself to sort out what had transpired that day—and how she was going to handle it at home, given the confidential nature of her new project.
She went inside and dropped her bag on a kitchen chair. Then she headed upstairs to change out of her work clothes and into her favorite sweats and T-shirt. She dressed casually for work, but always changed as soon as she arrived home, just on the off chance there was any contamination. She observed proper lab protocol religiously, so she knew this ritual was just a little compulsive fixation on her part.
Barefoot and feeling a little more relaxed already, she returned to the kitchen. She took a wineglass from the cupboard and poured herself some chilled chardonnay. Todd hadn’t texted her that he would be late, so she assumed he would arrive home shortly.
Sylvia pressed a button on the refrigerator’s side panel. The door’s molecules dutifully changed state to allow her to see inside without opening the door and wasting energy. Unable to decide what to make for dinner, she sat down at the kitchen table with her wine and sipped a little while she stared and waited for inspiration.
The chilling implications of the earlier conversation wit
h Phil distracted her from planning dinner. If the media was holding anything back about the outbreak, then just how bad was it out there?
And of course, the future of Horton Drugs lay on her and Jerry’s shoulders. No pressure there.
The secrecy surrounding the project disturbed her, too. She’d known Todd for years. They’d never kept things from each other, and they’d only just gotten married. Seemed like a bad way to start off their marriage, keeping an important aspect of her work from him. But if she told him, she might put him in a terrible situation. He was, after all, a lawyer. A lawyer who happened to teach ethics, among other subjects. If she did let him in on it, swearing him in turn to secrecy, that could create a problem for him.
Bells cannot be unrung, though. Maybe best to keep quiet about it at home, at least for now, until she knew more and could better gauge the situation from all angles.
She sighed, stood, and stared once more through the fridge’s transparent door. Inspiration still eluded her, but there were salad fixings. That was a start. There were steaks in the freezer, too. She pressed the button again to return the door to its normal opaque black gleam, then opened it and reached inside for the needed items. She unwrapped the steaks, put them in the ZapperBox, and pressed a button to instantly thaw them.
Her ruminations caused Sylvia to lose track of her surroundings. She nearly dropped the lettuce when she heard the garage door opening for Todd. Determined to act normal, she started washing the salad vegetables as though she weren’t the keeper of state secrets.
“Hey, how long have you been home?” Todd strode in with a smile, put his arms around her, and gave her a lingering kiss on the lips.
“Well, hello to you, too.” She smiled. “I haven’t been home that long. Figured I’d get started on dinner.”
“Sounds good. I didn’t have time for lunch today. Had a bunch of confused 1Ls storm the office with questions. By the time they cleared out, it was time for my next class. Next thing you know, the day got away from me entirely.”
“I know how that can happen.”
“So, how was your day?”
Sylvia struggled to decide just how much to say, and settled on what she hoped was a safe enough compromise. “Oh, fine. Got a new assignment today. Phil wants us to try to find a drug to combat that MRSA-II that’s been going around.”
Todd cracked open a beer and shot her a concerned look. “Really? I’ve seen the news reports on that. It sounds exceptionally nasty. Be careful working with it, okay?”
“I will. Don’t worry. We have protocols for handling pathogens to avoid exposure. I plan to review them before I get started, and maybe take more precautions than they require—if that’s even possible.”
“All right. You know, I have an early lecture tomorrow that I need to prepare a few notes for. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get that out of the way while you’re making dinner, then I can relax the rest of the evening.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Sylvia took a deep, relieved breath after Todd left the kitchen. Her story seemed to have satisfied him without revealing too much. She turned on her range top’s indoor flame grill and retrieved the thawed steaks from the ZapperBox.
She’d tell Todd the whole story when the project wrapped up. Meanwhile, she’d make them a nice dinner and quit worrying. At least for now.
CHAPTER 13
“Doctor, you look like you’re about to collapse. Here, sit down for a minute and let me get you some water.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, okay, I guess I should sit for a minute.” Dr. Miller flopped down into a nearby plastic chair in a corner of the small hospital ward. He hadn’t felt this weak and tired in years, not since his residency so many years ago.
“Here you go.” The nurse handed him a paper cup of cool water.
He gratefully accepted it and took a long drink before speaking again. “Thank you so much. I’m really beat. I’m just an old country doctor out in the sticks. Never expected to have to deal with some big city epidemic.” He rubbed his burning eyes with the back of his gowned arm. “My God, I’ve got no backup staff, no meds, nothing to fight this with. I never dreamed something like this would get all the way out here.”
The nurse sat in a chair next to him, leaned over, and massaged her tired calves as she spoke. “I know. I can’t believe it made it out here, either. And not just one patient, but a half dozen already. I’m scared how many more we can take on if this gets worse.”
“I honestly don’t know what we’re going to do.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the line of beds in the ward. “These people should be in strict quarantine, and we just don’t have the facilities for it. I’m going to have to call the hospital in the next town over and see if they can take some of them. I’m afraid, though, that they’ve already exposed others anyway, and so there’ll be more to come.”
“And nothing seems to work. Mr. Jones on the end there looks like he’s just about run out of fight. He’s elderly to start with, and that thing has eaten almost through his skin on both his arms.”
“I know.” Dr. Miller stared at the floor. “I don’t think he’ll be with us much longer. He was frail to begin with—I’d just given him his annual exam.” He pointed to the surgical mask covering his face. “I don’t think this is enough to shield us from this one. I’ve been changing gloves and dumping dressings and such in the burn barrel, but I somehow doubt it will be enough against this bug.”
The nurse looked away, a tear forming in her eye. She remained silent.
Dr. Miller grimaced as he tried to shrug the tension from his shoulders. “I’m so damned tired. And it itches under my gloves. I’ve had no sleep, and I’m no spring chicken myself. I sure hope I’m not getting sick, too.”
“I’ll keep an eye on the patients if you want to get back to your office and make some calls.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” Dr. Miller looked at Nurse Crandall, his assistant for the last thirty years. He hoped they’d get through this, but something in his gut said they wouldn’t. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he thought he saw some small red spots on her face, likely the start of the signature rash that went with this scourge. He averted his eyes and hoped he was wrong.
He got up, left the tiny hospital ward, and started down the hallway toward his office. He absently wiped a trickle of sweat from near his right temple.
Dr. Miller reached his office, closed the door behind him, then dropped down into his chair and stared at his phone. He picked up the receiver, then set it back down. He’d forgotten to take off his surgical gloves. Too tired, getting too sloppy. He stripped them off—for what it was worth—and turned them inside out in an attempt to keep the surface of his desk from becoming more contaminated than it already was.
Then he put his head in his hands and wept, his sobs wracking his entire exhausted, aged body.
BREAKTHROUGH
CHAPTER 14
Sylvia leaned back in her chair, flexed her shoulders, and rubbed her eyes. She’d been sitting in her personal ResearchStation pod, a minimalist ergonomic cubicle featuring cleanlined work surfaces and storage units all within arm’s reach as well as optimally leveled, full-spectrum, nonglare ambient illumination.
Despite the vision-friendly lighting, her eyes ached from staring at the aggregated lab results on her FloaTouch display for the past several hours. No matter how closely she studied the graphs and textual data, the results remained the same.
Total failure.
Not one of the compounds they had tried in the past several weeks had the slightest effect on the MRSA-II organism. She wondered if the Denali people were having the same sort of luck. For Horton’s sake, she hoped they were, but for the sake of public health—
“Shouldn’t the latest culture and sensitivity be ready by now?” Jerry’s voice came from behind her.
She flinched, then turned to find him standing in the doorway to her pod. “Yeah, it should. I just wasn’t in a big hurry to go look yet, seeing how
the tests have gone so far.”
“Well, we might as well find out. If we need to try a new approach, the sooner the better.”
Sylvia rose from her chair. “Sure, let’s go.”
They walked a short distance down the hall to the isolation lab that had been dedicated to their project. A gleaming stainless steel door, inset with a twelve-inch square window of double-paned safety glass, stood before them. To its right, a small retinal scanner hung on the wall. Sylvia leaned over and stared into it with her right eye. A soft beep sounded and the metal door slid open just long enough for her to step inside. It slid shut behind her with a whoosh.
Behind the door was a vestibule with cupboards containing disposable full-body hazmat outfits with built-in gloves, overshoes, and head coverings with flexible clear plastic face shields. The outfits left no bit of flesh exposed, and also provided ultramicro air filtration to prevent aerial exposure to lab pathogens. The outfits were stuffy and uncomfortable to wear, but highly effective. Sylvia donned hers, careful to make sure all the seal points were secure before proceeding.
A second sliding metal door and retinal scanner controlled access to the lab itself. Sylvia presented her right eye to the scanner. Another beep sounded and the second door whooshed open just long enough for her walk through to the lab.
The lab’s interior was roughly the size of a conference room—unlike the old twentieth-century labs that had to accommodate far bulkier equipment, as well as all the lab animals and their supplies. A rectangular work surface, surrounded by several stools, stood in the center of the room. It featured a sink and several Bunsen burners. Shelves of lab glassware lined one wall. Along the other wall stood the most valuable equipment in a modern lab, the multifunction Pathosym III.
Sylvia often wondered how old-school scientists managed in the past, back when every step in the process of developing a new drug required time-consuming, painstaking effort. Not to mention the need for human drug trials in the final testing stages. She just couldn’t fathom trying to balance the needs of the testing with the needs of the human subjects. How do you deliberately give one set of people with a deadly disease a candidate drug—and another set a useless placebo? What if the subject drug had unanticipated adverse effects, and killed instead of cured? The Pathosym eliminated all those problems, so she’d never have to make hard ethical choices.
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