The Cicada Prophecy: A Medical Thriller - Science Fiction Technothriller

by J. R. McLeay

  As the minister continued his invocation, Rick’s gaze stretched off to the serenity of the bucolic harbor below, where the distant skyscrapers of lower Manhattan echoed the tall granite obelisks dotting the cemetery’s hillside. Catching sight of a distinctive brown tombstone resting nearby, he noticed the prominent inscription and bronze portrait of D. M. Bennett, the famous American freethinker. Inspired by Thomas Paine, Bennett became America’s most passionate and prolific critic of religion in the nineteenth century. Often persecuted for his outspoken views in which he advocated birth control, labor reform, women’s rights, and taxation of church property, he was eventually arrested and jailed for publishing ‘obscene’ material. His epitaph read: “Here lies the defender of liberty, and its martyr; the enemy of superstition, and of ignorance, its mother.” Rick wondered how Calvin would feel to find his son buried so close to the prominent libertarian. In the background, he was vaguely following the pastor’s continuing speech.

  “We now commit Elias’s body to the earth, for we are dust, and unto dust we shall return. Receive him now, Lord, into the kingdom of the saints, so that he may be with you—forever and ever.”

  Suddenly, a thundering explosion wrenched Rick away from his thoughts, and he instinctively clasped his hands protectively over his ringing ears. A large pall of black smoke swiftly rose from the vicinity of Elias’s casket, and people began running in every direction. The smoke was so thick Rick could barely breathe; he quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his mouth to help filter out the hacking fumes. The police were trying to rush toward the source of the blast, but the stampede of mourners impeded their progress for many long seconds.

  When the smoke finally began to clear, Rick could see that Calvin had disappeared into the hazy fog.

  40

  Tian Yin felt nauseous as she pressed the elevator button for the executive offices on the top floor of the United Nations Secretariat building. Rick had requested another urgent meeting with her to discuss the latest developments regarding the patch irregularity, and the earliest she could clear her schedule was Saturday afternoon. She had been busy planning for the annual reception ball honoring the five Queens to be held this evening at Lincoln Center, and together with her responsibilities for coordinating the WHO’s response to the earlier patch tampering issue, she’d barely had a chance to eat or sleep all week.

  Although Rick had only indirectly mentioned what he wished to discuss at today’s meeting, Tian already knew the reconfigured juvenile patch was not working as planned. The breadth and severity of her symptoms—fatigue, nausea, muscle cramps, extreme thirst, unusual sensitivity to cold, and frequent urination—indicated that her body was not properly adjusting to the prior doses of juvenile hormones. Even more troubling were the external signs of escalating imbalance: her hair was beginning to thin, and she was developing unsightly brown spots on her skin. She had tried to cover them with makeup, but it was becoming harder and harder to conceal to the outside world that her body was deteriorating. Tian hadn’t felt the need to consult with a doctor to get a proper diagnosis—the daily updates from Dr. Singh confirmed that similar problems were being experienced by juveniles all around the world, in roughly the same proportion as had been reported from the previous patch anomaly. It was obvious to Tian that the re-application of previous juvenile doses simply was not having the desired effect for those unfortunate individuals who had been exposed to the tampered patch.

  As she opened her office’s heavy door on the thirty-ninth floor and walked slowly toward her desk, she paused at the window to gaze at the city spread out below. The late November weather was chillier than usual, and she could see fog rising off the East River, as the surface water on the estuary evaporated into the colder ambient air. The natural north-south alignment of the city’s broad avenues drew her focus to the tip of Manhattan Island and the harbor beyond, and she began to think once again about her ill father, wondering if this was how it felt to grow old.

  A soft tap on the door interrupted her meditation, and she swung around to see Rick pausing tentatively in the entranceway.

  “Rick,” Tian smiled, “please come in. It’s good to see you again.”

  Rick had prepared himself for how Tian would look today, but he was still taken aback by how tired and worn she appeared. Still as tall and erect as earlier in the week, her skin nevertheless looked dull and pallid, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

  “Hello Tian,” he said, forcing a smile, holding her cold hand while he kissed her gently on the side of the cheek. “Sorry to interrupt your weekend plans, but there’s been some unsettling developments since we last met, and it simply couldn’t wait. I’m afraid the recalibrated patch isn’t having the hoped-for effect—there’ve been a number of complications.”

  “Yes, I know,” Tian replied resignedly. “Unfortunately, I’ve experienced them firsthand. Plus, Sanjeet has been keeping me apprised with field reports from the regional offices. It seems our improvised clinics have been overrun with all manner of new hormone-related problems. I wondered why you didn’t invite him also to today’s meeting?”

  “I’ve been staying in touch with him,” Rick affirmed, “and we’ve corroborated the latest findings. I wanted to see you personally about a couple of other matters.”

  “Okay, but you’d better give me your assessment of the hormone problem first—though I really don’t think I need a doctor to figure it out.”

  Rick paused for a moment as he pondered how to delicately deliver the bad news. “All the blood tests are indicating a variety of diseases associated with panhypopituitarsim.”

  “I don’t understand—how can any of this be caused by a pituitary condition? All juveniles—even the healthy ones—have long since had their pituitary removed.”

  “It’s simply a catch-all term from the pre-GLI days. It means insufficient hormone production, which is normally controlled by the pituitary.”

  “But I thought the patch error had been fixed? Aren’t we—they—now receiving the proper prior doses?”

  Tian was obviously struggling to separate her own condition from those of her constituents.

  “Yes, but for whatever reason, it appears to be insufficient to meet the metabolic needs of those who were previously exposed to the increased doses.” Rick was finding it difficult to continue addressing Tian in the third person to describe the impact. “It seems their bodies have established a new set point, which is demanding more mature—or at least adolescent—doses.”

  Tian looked at Rick quizzically. “It just doesn’t make sense—we were only exposed for a week at most.” She was no longer making any effort to maintain the illusion of separation.

  “How could such a short exposure have caused an irreversible change in our metabolism?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. It’s likely some kind of cellular, or genetic, response. It’s as if everyone affected passed through adolescence—and their bodies refuse to go back. In any event, the symptoms and the assays all point to a clear diagnosis. The problem is growing more severe by the day, so we need to make a change.”

  “What do you propose?” Tian asked.

  Rick hesitated awkwardly. “I don’t think there’s any other choice: we’re going to have to convert all of the affected people over to adult doses.”

  Tian’s heart sank. “Which means all of us are going to be converted into adults—permanently?”

  “It appears there’s no other way. We’re working against powerful genetic forces now—not simply chemical ones.”

  Rick addressed Tian directly to be as clear as possible. “Your body is demanding, and needing, adult doses to survive.”

  “Shouldn’t we give the current plan a little longer to see if it takes?” she pleaded, trying not to sound desperate. “The implications are simply too grave if we make this wholesale leap right away.”

  “The implications are far direr if we stay the present course. We are seeing the early sign
s of diabetes and Addison’s Disease. If these conditions aren’t treated soon with proper hormone replacement, the next step will be severe dehydration, convulsions, myxemic coma, and ultimately death, as toxins build up in the body from insufficiently metabolized fatty acids.”

  Tian suddenly became conscious of the chronic dryness in her mouth, and was reminded of her increasing need to urinate.

  “Are you sure this will definitely cure these problems?”

  “It certainly will stop these specific set of symptoms associated with insufficient hormone production. But we’re in uncharted territory here, and I think we’re all going to need to be careful about making unconditional promises during this transition.”

  Tian knew that Rick was referring none-too-subtly to her continuing duties as UN Secretary-General.

  “Which brings up another issue,” she said, temporarily regaining her composure. “How will we be able to provision the new adult doses of hormones for the millions of affected individuals? Very few of the older adults currently require hormone therapy, by virtue of their functioning pituitaries. How will we find sufficient quantities of these mature hormones in the required doses, in such short order?”

  Rick had already considered this and had prepared his recommendations.

  “We’ll have to produce a new patch configured for adults, using the existing stock of synthetic hormones already produced and available at Endogen—which was the other reason I wanted to see you today. We’ll need to begin ramping up production immediately, and also send out another worldwide advisory to ensure everyone who was previously affected changes over immediately to the new patch.”

  “But we’re still not finished qualifying the new vendors!” Tian protested. “Can we trust Endogen to turn this around so quickly? And how will they know the right amount of hormones to include in the patch?”

  “I’ve got our best endocrinologists working on the formulations as we speak. We should be ready to go by early next week. Then it will simply be a matter of adjusting the concentration levels of the existing hormones in the new adult patch.”

  “So that’s it, then,” Tian said, slumping back in her chair. “We’re simply going to have to accept this new social taxonomy: juveniles, mature adults, and now: newly emerging adolescents. I’m not sure everyone’s ready for this—least of all me.”

  Rick leaned forward and held Tian’s hands. “I know this is going to be difficult for a lot of people. If you feel you need to take some time off to process all of this and rebuild your strength, I’m sure everybody will understand. Sanjeet can coordinate things in your absence, plus with the existing WHO infrastructure in place…”

  “Hey—don’t count me out already!” Tian sat up suddenly. “I’m not prepared to go gently into the good night just yet.”

  Rick smiled. He knew Tian would have no intention of slowing down. “Does that mean you’ll be attending tonight’s Gala at Lincoln Center?”

  “Well, I am the Master of Ceremonies, and that’s a role I suspect Sanjeet might not be so eager to jump into.” Tian wondered why Rick had never asked to escort her to any of these annual events, and instead always showed up on the arm of another beautiful woman. “Will I see you there?”

  “Of course. I never miss a chance to mingle with such eminent and attractive people—including you of course, Madam Secretary. Plus, I’ve got to keep an eye on my special patient, Eva, to make sure she doesn’t do anything that might compromise her role as Queen.”

  “Yes—especially now that that role appears even more important than ever. After all that’s happened these past couple of weeks, it’s entirely possible we may need the Queens to save us all from self-destruction. Let’s hope this latest turn of events will be the last disruption in our grand plan.”

  “I wouldn’t count anything out,” Rick replied tersely. “Nature has a way of throwing surprises at us and disrupting the equilibrium from time to time.”

  “Culling the herd, you mean?” Tian said, referring to the agricultural practice of removing sick or weak animals from the population, but also alluding to the recent maturing of juveniles.

  “No,” Rick stammered. “You know what I mean.” He saw Tian smiling at him, and realized she was just teasing him. “We might want to avoid references like that in our official communiqués by the way.”

  Tian’s smile began to fade as she swiveled her chair and gazed once again outside her window.

  “It looks like you’ll be outliving me after all, Rick,” she said, looking away. “Perhaps I’ll be joining my father in the next world sooner than expected…”

  Rick hesitated, as he choose his words carefully. He imagined this was the kind of discussion people had with loved ones when they first learned of their pending mortality.

  “Tian, there’s no reason why you can’t live a long, full life—just like he has. Nobody guaranteed that the rest of us would live forever anyway. These recent developments just prove how shaky this whole arrangement is. Besides, you’re still young and beautiful, and you’ve got the whole world literally in your hands. Keep your chin up—we still need you.”

  “Well,” she said, swinging her chair around swiftly, “if this new plan of yours would just clear up my skin and give me back my full head of hair again, that will be a good start. I don’t suppose you brought an advance sample of your magic potion with you today, did you, doctor? I could use a little rejuvenation before tonight’s special event.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid,” Rick smiled. “But soon—very soon—we should have you as good as new.”

  “The new, more mature, me, you mean?”

  “Hey,” Rick said, trying to lighten Tian’s mood. “Talk to the Queens tonight about what it’s like to be a woman in the prime of her life. I think they’ll tell you it’s not so bad.”

  “I might just do that.” Tian looked at her watch, mindful of the evening’s upcoming event. “Was there something else? You said there was a couple of things you wanted to discuss.”

  “Yes,” Rick said, suddenly recalling the extraordinary events from earlier this morning. ”It’s probably nothing you need to worry about, but I wanted you to know that Calvin James escaped custody earlier today.”

  “You’re kidding?!” Tian exclaimed. “How did he get out? I thought he was locked up?”

  “Unfortunately, he escaped while attending his son’s funeral this morning. Quite the Houdini act—I saw the whole thing.”

  “You were there?! What happened?”

  “Essentially, it was one big diversionary tactic. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner tonight if you want all the gory details. Am I at the head table again with you?”

  “Of course,” Tian said, disappointed that Rick hadn’t taken her earlier hint for an escort. “You’re still our go-to man in this crazy mixed-up plan. In fact, I have a feeling you’ll be the center of attention as much this evening as will be our official guests of honor.”

  “Wonderful,” Rick replied, “just what I need right now. Anyway, I just wanted you to keep your head up and alert your people to keep an eye out for this character.”

  “You don’t think he’d be foolish enough to attempt another act of sabotage so soon after his escape, do you? I imagine he’d want to get as far away from here as possible right now.”

  “You never know with Calvin. He’s certainly demonstrated his willingness to stick his finger in where it doesn’t belong many times before. Plus, he’s undoubtedly got an even bigger chip on his shoulder, now that his son has died. I just don’t want you to take any unnecessary risks, since he’s previously targeted both of us.”

  “Well at least he’s pretty easy to identify—he doesn’t exactly blend in with the crowd. I’ll alert our security people here at the U.N. and arrange for tighter security at tonight’s Gala, just in case. Thanks for looking out for me, Rick.”

  “Always, Madam Secretary,” Rick said, rising to give Tian a kiss on the cheek. “See you again in a
few hours.”

  41

  Assistant Director Allesandro Inzucchi sat at his desk on the nineteenth floor of the FBI regional headquarters at 26 Federal Plaza in lower Manhattan, reviewing the file for the Endogen investigation. He’d had over thirty men assigned to the case, headed by Special Agent Sanchez, including forensic specialists in chemistry, toxicology, serology, computer systems, audio-video technology, and fingerprint and DNA analysis—and there were still precious few leads. By the end of the week, he had begun to lose patience with the lack of progress. Millions of people were still suffering from the after-effects of contamination from the tampered patches, and his political bosses in Washington were demanding immediate answers. Although his team had already put in many extra hours on the case, Inzucchi let it be known that he expected them to work through the weekend until they found something. At noon Saturday, he called in Agent Sanchez for an update.

  Hearing a tap on his glass office door, he answered without looking up.

  “Come in,” he demanded.

  “You called, sir?” Agent Sanchez said, standing tentatively in the doorway.

  “Sit down, Sanchez. I want a full update on what you’ve uncovered in the Endogen investigation so far. I’m getting heat from the Director, and he wants some answers—fast.”

  “We’ve made some progress,” Sanchez replied tentatively. “I’m hoping we’ll have some suspects soon.”

  “What have you got specifically?”

  “Fibers and DNA.”

  “Excellent. Have you traced them?”

  “Not yet. We haven’t sufficiently narrowed the pool of suspects.”

  “Where did you find the evidence—in the mix room?”

  “No, those guys were spotless. We’ve got twenty-four hour video of their movements, and we found no evidence of any change in their routine.”

  “What, then?” Inzucchi asked, growing impatient. “Where did you find the fibers and DNA?”