Honor System (The System Series Book 4)

by Andrea Ring

  Chris and I both shake his hand in thanks, and he heads off to see how the fourth floor is coming along.

  Chris pulls out a tiny chair and perches on the edge. I join him.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “I can’t believe it’s real,” I say. “I know we laid it out and planned it out, but seeing it…the kids are gonna go nuts.”

  “They’re the key to all the research,” he says. “No matter what we can do, they can do it ten times better. They need this place.”

  “Has Nicole got you guys moved yet? We need her in here.”

  He grins. “They’re delivering our new bed today. We’ll be sleeping at the house for the first time tonight.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

  I laugh. “So she can come in tomorrow and start organizing things? Not to rush her, but I’m dying to get away from Tyrion and Jack’s house. It smells funny.”

  Chris laughs. “Twenty kids in diapers running around, of course it smells funny. But since Nik was a preschool teacher, that’s first on her list.”

  “What? Keeping the diapers sealed up properly?”

  “Nope. Potty training.”

  ***

  Chris starts to rise, but I grab his arm and pull him back down.

  “Hang on. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

  He sits and looks at me expectantly.

  I look away.

  “Jesus, this sucks, I mean, I fucked up not telling you this sooner.”

  “Telling me what?”

  I blow out a breath. “I’m the first Dweller we know of that was born to a male Dweller. Actually, I’m the first kid we know of born to a male Dweller.”

  He stares at me.

  “Plain English. What I’m saying is…typically…male Dwellers cannot father children.”

  He closes his eyes. “Tell me there’s a fix.”

  “Most likely there’s a fix, and since my dad was able to father me, there’s obviously a way. We just have to find it. And we don’t know if you can or not, but I need you to know that there’s a possibility you can’t.”

  He opens his eyes and focuses on me. “I will not tell Nicole. There’s no need yet. But I want your word that this moves to the top of our priority list.”

  “After Em,” I say, “we move it to the top.”

  He nods in agreement.

  “There’s something I should tell you, too,” he says. “I’m able to see and read souls, similar to Jack.”

  “Really? How’s that going?”

  Chris laughs mirthlessly. “It’s heavy, just as you said it might be. Your soul is the most interesting one I’ve seen.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

  “You’ve been slated to die five times in your life already, but each time, a new date of death has been written.”

  I gulp. “Jack never mentioned that.”

  “She can’t see it,” he says. “She only sees the original date. Which is interesting in and of itself, but for another time. Want to know how long you’ll live?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “Five hundred and thirty-six years.”

  I blink. “Did you say five hundred?”

  “I’ve got four hundred and eighty-seven. Tyrion is five hundred and nineteen.”

  I don’t want to know, but I have to know. “And Tessa?”

  “Right now it’s ninety-two. But it’s not a final date. I mean, I can tell it has the potential to be overwritten.”

  “The potential,” I whisper.

  “Hell, all of it has the potential to be overwritten. But the other interesting part is that the death date seems to take into account external forces. Meaning, something outside your control is not going to cause your death earlier than that date. But internal forces, your choices, can change it.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t wait to read your research findings and see how you guys figured this all out.”

  “It’s been a trip,” he says with a grin. “Are you angry I told you?”

  “I could have walked away,” I say. “When you first mentioned seeing souls, I knew what was coming. I could have run.”

  “Knowledge is power,” he says.

  “Exactly. What about the kids? Is there anything we need to worry about?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re a puzzle. None of them has a death date written yet.”

  “None of them? Does that mean…do you think…”

  Chris nods. “Yeah. Jack and I disagree, but me…I do think they’re immortal.”

  ***

  We head back down to the first floor, and Kate, Kenneth, Tyrion, and Jack are all huddled in Kenneth’s office.

  “Impromptu meeting?” Chris asks.

  “The phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Kate says. “The press want a statement. They want to speak with both of you. And Tessa says they’re camped out at your house, Thomas.”

  “Did something happen that we don’t know about?” I ask.

  Kate bites her lip. “Someone talked to them. We don’t know who, but someone told them about you.”

  “How do you know?”

  She grabs a newspaper from her desk and thrusts it at me. It’s this morning’s Los Angeles Times.

  Boy Millionaire: Fraud or Real-Life Doogie Howser? says the front page headline.

  “We knew it would come out,” Chris says. “Now, it’s about spin. I’ll call my PR guy right now. We’ll take care of it.”

  “What are we going to say?” Kate asks. “The big angle is that Thomas is doing research and actually working on people without a medical degree. And we can’t refute that. He doesn’t have one.”

  “Give me an hour,” Chris says. “We’ll reconvene then.”

  ***

  “We’re still working on the PR part,” Chris says almost two hours later. “But I spoke with Michael, and he—”

  “You talked to my dad?” I ask. “Why?”

  “Just be glad I did. The Attic has its own accredited medical school program. All Dwellers are automatically enrolled. Finish the program and you’ve got a PhD and an MD.”

  “What do I have to do to finish it?” I ask.

  “What do all of us have to do?” Tyrion asks.

  Chris grins. “Have Michael sign off on it.”

  “That’s too easy,” Kate says. “Not that I object, exactly, but I wouldn’t want any of you performing brain surgery.”

  “Do you object to the way I perform it? I wouldn’t go in with a scalpel, but what I do amounts to the same thing,” I say.

  “As long as you don’t go in with a scalpel,” she says, “I’m okay with it.”

  I look at Tyrion. “Any objections from you?”

  “No,” he says. “But I would like to get to the point where I can do whatever I need to do within the realm of medicine. Perhaps we can learn from you, Kate, and Kenneth, too.”

  “You’ll still have to take your Board exams,” Chris says. “And you have to apply for a license in California. Michael knows the process and will get everyone through it.”

  “What about you?” I ask him. “You’re a Dweller now. Are you gonna be a doctor, too?”

  Chris shakes his head. “I’m so far away from that, I can’t even see it. I’m gonna try to take a couple of books home every week and at least learn the parts of the body. Maybe in a few years I’ll be ready for more.”

  Jack smiles. “That’s where I’m at. I only know the names of two muscles, and that’s only because I’ve pulled them both this week running after the boys.”

  “Which ones?” Chris asks.

  “The hammy and the gluteus maximus.”

  Everyone laughs.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I fidget with my tie and take a few deep breaths.

  I hate public speaking.

  Chris and his PR machine have turned the parking lot of Planarian into a press venue, complete with a stage and podium. It feels like something from a movie, or maybe a television
show.

  Wait. We are on television.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. My name is Wyatt Harmon, and I am the spokesman for Calyx Industries. We are here to give a statement concerning the accident that Christopher Calyx was in last month.

  “Mr. Calyx was visiting the Planarian Institute, a highly respected medical research facility, on the evening of November 3rd, 2014, as a potential investor. After the meetings concluded, he was outside the building with one of the co-owners of the firm when there was an explosion. As law enforcement has already explained, the investigation is still ongoing, and there’s no new information to release at this time as to the cause of the explosion. But we want to update you on the status of Mr. Calyx.

  “He suffered a concussion and numerous abrasions, as did the man with him. That is the extent of his injuries. At this moment, he is fully recovered and has since invested in the Planarian Institute. Mr. Calyx would like to say a few words, and then we’ll take questions.”

  Chris steps up to the microphone.

  “I’d like to thank everyone for the support and well wishes we’ve received during this time. Even though I wasn’t badly hurt, thank God, the experience changed me. I really did get a first-hand glimpse of my mortality. With that in mind, I am changing my business focus to concentrate on medical research. As we announced yesterday, we have entered into an agreement with Ford to purchase our Lightning Motors division. I’ve enjoyed the car business, and will still follow it as an avid enthusiast, but I think the world will better be served by the research that Planarian is doing. As to what that is, specifically, we’ll make our first announcements in a few months. Questions?”

  The crowd starts screaming at Calyx. It’s not angry, but it is chaotic and disorganized. I can’t even hear myself think. But Chris barely reacts. He raises a calm hand and points at an old woman up front.

  “I’m glad you’re recovered, Mr. Calyx,” she says. He nods his thanks. “Reports from several eye witnesses claim you lost a foot in the explosion. Is this true?”

  Chris steps to the side of the podium and raises his leg. Then he wiggles his foot at her. The crowd laughs, and he moves back to the mic.

  “Not true. But it makes a great story.”

  He points to a young man that I recognize from local TV. “You went to the home of Drs. Kate and Kenneth Mullen after you were released from the hospital. Can you tell us why?”

  “I was eager to nail down our partnership agreement,” Chris says with a smile. “They were the owners of the Planarian Institute, and two of the best neurosurgeons in the country. I admit, I’m pretty focused on work, even when I’ve been knocked out.”

  The crowd sniggers. Chris points to someone else.

  “Can you give us a hint about the direction of the research at Planarian? There are rumors that you’re growing new body parts, like feet.”

  Chris shakes his head. “We’ll be announcing that in a few months, but a lot of researchers are working on stuff like this. This isn’t a new idea.”

  Without raising his hand, the same man asks, “So you have a new spin on it?”

  Chris cocks his head. “Perhaps.” The crowd starts shouting at him again, and Chris narrows his eyes. He seems to be hyper-focused on this latest questioner. “One more thing. Medicine is obviously not something I have a great deal of knowledge about, but I’m learning fast. The most important thing I’ve learned is that preventative care avoids many of the problems we’re seeking to solve. I’d like to encourage everyone to get an annual physical. You can’t stop an explosion, but you can prevent many diseases from taking hold. Please.”

  Chris stares hard at the man. The man looks away.

  “Can we hear from Mr. Van Zandt?” someone yells over the crowd. Chris leans into the microphone.

  “As you know from our press releases, Mr. Thomas Van Zandt was in the explosion with me. This is his first press conference, so let’s go easy on him.”

  Chris waves me over. I adjust my tie, again, and step up beside him. He points to someone in the crowd.

  “How is it you’re a doctor at age seventeen?”

  I clear my throat. “I was always a bit precocious,” I say. “I have a photographic memory, and I’ve always been interested in the human body. At age six, I could recite all 206 bones and tell you about the latest research on concussions. I think a career in medicine was inevitable.”

  Chris points again.

  “You are good friends with Cyrus and Olivia Brooks. Olivia was brought out of a coma last year. What was your role in her recovery?”

  We’d anticipated this question.

  “Cyrus Brooks contacted me about his daughter’s case, and I was able to identify the damaged portions of her brain that kept her in a coma. I worked with her doctors to develop a procedure that healed the damage. I was very blessed to get to know them. They’re great people.”

  “But how did you heal the brain damage?” the questioner insists.

  “Sometimes,” I say, “you have to go around a problem rather than tackling it head on. The remarkable thing about the brain is that we are constantly growing new connections. Damage is all but impossible to heal, but you can go around it.”

  “You’re implying that you were able to direct the new growth.”

  I nod. “In a manner of speaking.”

  A young woman with round glasses waves her hand and I make eye contact.

  “You currently have sixteen patents for various medical procedures or therapies or testing. When I asked Dr. Arthur Sedgwick, the renowned heart surgeon, for his opinion on the contents of those patents, he called you, and I quote, ‘a mad, dangerous genius.’ Genius, because the patents detail things that go in directions that the medical community hasn’t been going. And mad and dangerous because he thinks most of them are impossible in real life.”

  I have to fight to keep a silly grin off my face.

  “I’m humbled that Dr. Sedgwick had a look at my research,” I say. “I hold him in the highest esteem. The patent process is long and arduous, and I assure you that I wouldn’t bother going through it if I felt something were impossible. And many research firms are already using my procedures to great effect, or at least, they are paying me for the chance to try. I would encourage Dr. Sedgwick to visit our facility. I would be happy to personally walk him through my methods.”

  The young journalist smiles. “Is that a challenge?”

  “I’m not here to challenge anyone personally,” I say. “But I would like to challenge the medical community. If we continue to do things the way they’ve always been done, we will hit a wall. New ideas are not dangerous. They are the lifeblood of research.”

  “Is it not dangerous to promise false hope?” she asks. “People with loved ones in a coma will see what you’ve done with Miss Brooks and believe you can do it for them. One of your patents is for a gene therapy that will eliminate rejection in transplant patients. But this is voodoo. Nothing can eliminate adverse effects in 100% of patients.”

  I take a deep breath. “If you develop a pill for a disease, let’s say, you are correct. That pill, that exact formula, cannot take into account each and every human body on the planet. There are too many variables. But my therapies do not work the way a pill works. My methods are developed with a specific patient in mind. I honor the individual. I’m developing ways to tailor each and every therapy to the individual and his or her specific ailments and capacities.”

  “You’re taking away economies of scale,” someone yells. “How many people can afford individual therapies?”

  “The drug company model of medicine,” I say, “places money over healing. If I can create a cheap pill, mass produce it, and get it to work 50% of the time, what do I care about the other 50% that don’t benefit, or worse, die? I don’t, because I’ve made my money. Yes, Planarian is a business, and we need money to stay in business, but we will not ever profit off of people we cannot help. Ever. To us, medicine is about the individual. Every
single person is important, and unique in their healthcare challenges. Our goal is to come up with cost-effective, patient-driven therapies that everyone has access to, that everyone can benefit from, no matter where they live, or how much money they make.

  “You think that’s impossible? It’s not. It only seems impossible because no one has been trying it. And no one’s been trying it because it’s easier to make money off a pill. It’s easier to write a prescription and bury all the negative side effects of that script in the fine print than it is to analyze bodies and take a patient-centered approach. Until now, that is. We’re going to do it.”

  The crowd goes wild. Chris bends to the mic. “No more questions about our research,” he says with a grin. “We’re not tipping our hand further. Mr. Stokes?”

  Mr. Ed Stokes, a well-known war correspondent, nods his head at me. Why would he be here?

  “Thank you for taking my questions, Mr. Van Zandt. First, please detail for us your role at the Attic, the Navy’s medical research facility in San Diego, and second, how do they feel about your involvement with Planarian?”

  “My father, Captain Michael Van Zandt, is the director of the Attic,” I say. “I’ve had occasion to visit the facility, but I am not a member of the armed forces. As to how they feel about my work with Planarian, you’d have to ask them, but they’ve been supportive.”

  “Isn’t it a conflict of interest, though?” Stokes persists. “Surely your father is privy to your research, and vice versa. I would think that any research coming out of the Attic would be confidential, as it’s funded with taxpayer money.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying,” I say.

  “I’m wondering how much of your research came from the work already done at the Attic,” he says bluntly.

  “None,” I say. “And—”

  “Thank you for the questions, ladies and gentleman,” Mr. Harmon says, bumping me out of the way to get to the mic. “That’s all we have time for. We’ll be issuing more updates on our activities in the upcoming weeks. Calyx Industries and the Planarian Institute appreciate your time. Thank you.”