by Pati Nagle
“Medical research. Might involve DNA analysis.”
“A bit outside my focus,” I said.
“I bet you could pick it up.”
I shrugged. “There are plenty of places that do DNA analysis these days.”
“This is a private effort. We have to do our own.”
I met her gaze. “Why?”
She looked at her mug, and swirled it a couple of times. “Privacy. It’s a specific project to combat a disease that affects a small minority. The treatment will have no lucrative potential, I’m afraid, but we’ll pay you.”
“Human interest?”
“Not enough to generate any clout.”
“Who taught you to talk so politically?”
She gave me an ironic look. “You’re the one that recommended I study business.”
“And did you?”
“I signed up for a couple of classes. Not sure if I’ll stick with it. Don’t change the subject.”
“What is the subject? What disease is this? Not AIDS.”
“Oh, hell no. This is obscure. You’ve never heard of it.”
“Try me.”
“Steve, it doesn’t even have a scientific name. That’s how obscure it is.”
“No one’s written about it at all? How do you expect to get any funding?”
“We have a private backer.”
“Better have pretty deep pockets.”
A small sound—just an exhalation, a hint of a laugh—drew my attention to Lomen. Our gazes met briefly, just enough to waken a response in my groin, then he looked away again.
If Lomen was part of this, I might be more interested. I wondered if the deep pockets were his. Not likely; he wasn’t much older than me or Amanda. Unless maybe he was a trust-fund kid, but he didn’t have that polished look.
“The pay is good,” Amanda said. “Could help cut down your student loans.”
“How good?”
“Twenty-five bucks an hour.”
That was good. Way more than I was getting for grading papers.
“How many hours a week?” I asked.
“It’s flexible. We’ll work around your schedule.”
Tempting. Sounded too good to be true. I would much rather do research than teach, but if I gave up my student-assisting gig for this job and the deep pockets ran dry, I might be sorry.
“Let me think about it.”
“OK.”
Amanda drank the last of her coffee and looked around for the waitress. Lomen looked up from the table top, right at me.
“Please consider accepting. We need your help.”
His voice was quiet, his eyes were earnest, and I felt like I’d been kicked in the chest. I wanted to do whatever he asked of me. Anything.
I was the one who looked away. Down at my coffee, which was now cold. I swallowed.
I was not thinking rationally. The day had started badly, and I was still off-balance. My feelings were getting in the way, and I knew I should just step back and calm down before making any decisions.
He was still watching me; I could feel his gaze. I looked up again into those emerald eyes.
“I’ll do it.”
= 2 =
Amanda turned to me, looking startled. “You will? Great!”
She grinned and held out her hand. I shook it. She glanced at Lomen, who had gone silent again.
“We’ll need to meet with Caeran and Len,” Amanda said. “Maybe tonight, if you’re not busy?”
“I’m open.”
“Good, good! We’ll talk about scheduling. It’s early in the project—we still don’t have a work space.”
“Fine.”
I should give the Physics 102 prof some warning anyway. She wouldn’t be pleased to have me quit. Or maybe I wouldn’t have to; if this startup hadn’t quite started up yet, I might have until the end of the semester.
Secretly, I hoped I wouldn’t. The minute I’d said yes, I’d been filled with excitement. The student-assisting job was dead boring and I’d be happy to drop it immediately. I already knew I didn’t want to teach.
I looked at Lomen. He was staring at the table top again, frowning slightly.
Amanda flagged down the waitress and paid our tab, insisting on buying my coffee. We headed out to her car. The sun was hot enough to make me wish I’d worn a hat.
“Where should we drop you?” she asked.
I checked the time; 10:15. My next class was at 1:00. I didn’t feel like returning to campus; I wanted some down time.
“My place, I guess.”
I gave her directions to my apartment in the student ghetto. It was a decent place, an easy walk from campus. I had a bike, but I’d left it at home that morning.
“Thanks,” I said as she pulled up to the curb. “And thanks for answering my distress call.”
“No problem.” She smiled softly. “I owe you.”
I got out. She rolled down the window.
“I’ll text you about tonight.”
“OK.”
I looked toward the back seat, where Lomen was maintaining his Zen detachment. He made no move to switch to the front. Not even a glance at me as the car pulled away.
Well, hell.
I went inside and opened the refrigerator. I should have been hungry, but the thought of food did not appeal. I poured myself a glass of water and sat on my sofa, thinking over the conversation.
I still didn’t know whether Lomen was interested in me. When he looked at me I felt like he was, but he didn’t look at me much. In fact I had the impression he was trying not to.
What was that about?
I had an afternoon class: Calculus. Ordinarily I liked math, but I felt no enthusiasm. Since the alternative was driving myself crazy trying to second-guess Lomen, though, I dug out my text and went over the assignment I’d already completed.
The phone rang. I looked at the number—local, but I didn’t recognize it. I let it go to voicemail, then listened. Turned out to be a reporter, wanting to interview me about finding Kimberly.
No, thanks.
I studied, heated up some some for lunch, studied some more until it was time to head to class, then stuffed the text, notebook, and my assignment into my pack. I hauled out my bike and put on a gimme cap—Isotopes freebie I’d picked up over the summer—and rode back to campus.
Amanda’s text came in partway through the class. I glanced at it, but the prof hated phones and had been known to confiscate them from inattentive students, so I shoved mine back in my pocket. After class I stood outside the building under a tree and read Amanda’s message.
MEET 7 PM – PICK YOU UP 10 TIL, OK?
I sent back “OK,” then put on my cap, climbed on my bike. I’d avoided Clark Hall on my way to Calculus, but it was just a couple of buildings away and I was curious. I cruised past on my way home. There were still cops and yellow tape, and a few looky-loos. Building no longer locked down, apparently. The body was gone.
What had brought Kimberly to this part of campus?
Her killer, maybe.
There was no reason for her to go there that I knew of. Certainly not at night; and since I’d found her in the morning I assumed she’d died overnight. The student union building and the theatre complex were a bit of a walk, kind of far for nighttime wandering. Kids looking for fun were more likely to head straight for the Nob Hill district from the dorms, not this far west.
I took a deep breath. Not my problem.
I headed home and spent an hour or so surfing and looking at UNM’s course offerings in medical science. DNA sequencing would require ten or fifteen hours of course work before you got to the good stuff. That was a big time commitment, if that’s what they’d want me to do.
On the other hand, more fun than grading papers. And definitely a marketable skill. It was early enough in the semester I could probably pick up the first class and catch up fairly easily.
I made myself eat a peanut butter sandwich, though my stomach was still kind of knotted. Went back
to surfing, trying to keep my mind off of Lomen. Was only partly successful.
Amanda knocked on my door at eleven minutes til seven. Lomen was not with her, much to my disappointment. The sun was still up, but heading for the horizon. I followed Amanda to her car, wondering if Lomen would be at this meeting.
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
“Len and Caeran’s. It’s not far.”
Turned out to be less than a mile, south and east of my place, closer to Nob Hill in an area that was gradually improving. Old houses, many being remodeled or expanded. Mature trees shading the street and nicely landscaped front yards. Beautiful, big back yards.
Len and Caeran’s place was a single-story house, stuccoed in white with yellow trim. The front yard was xeriscaped and yet completely lush, with drought-tolerant plants framing a winding flagstone path to the front door. We walked up this, and butterflies rose from nearby bushes to dance around us before settling again. A windchime somewhere nearby sang in the breeze.
Len came to the door and welcomed us with smiles. Her hair—kind of mousy brown—was longer than I remembered, and she wore loose, light, cotton clothes and looked generally more feminine than when we’d first met. In the past I’d mostly seen her at the library where she worked with Amanda, but she’d switched to pre-med in the spring semester.
The event that had drawn us all together was the attack on Amanda in the summer. Since then, even though we hadn’t spend much time together, we’d shared a silent connection. I wanted to understand that better; I had never heard what became of Amanda’s attacker, though I assumed she’d been apprehended. The “campus killer” murders had stopped after that—until now.
“Hey, Steve!” Len opened the door wide. “Good to see you. Come on in.”
The living room had a couch, coffee table, a couple of comfy chairs, and lots of plants. The back of the room formed a small dining area with a beautiful wooden table—looked handmade. Crystals in the window at the back of the room glinted rainbows now and then, though a pergola outside kept the afternoon light from blasting full in through the window.
No sign of Lomen. Dammit.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Len said. “Want something to drink? Fuzzy water?”
Fuzzy, not fizzy? OK.
“Sure,” I said.
I sat on one end of the couch. Amanda and Len went into the kitchen and came back with three glasses of sparkling water over ice. Len handed me one, then settled in one of the chairs while Amanda joined me on the couch.
“Caeran will be out in a minute. I understand you had an exciting morning.”
“Yeah.” I sipped, not really wanting to talk about it.
“Did you see anyone in the area?”
“Not until the cops showed up.”
Len nodded, then let it drop. “I’m glad you’re willing to join our project. Right now I’m the only one on the research team, which makes us pretty lame.”
“Adding me won’t improve that by much.”
“Sure it will. You’re a genius, Steve. Don’t deny it. And you’ve got courage.”
I wondered why courage was needed for a research project, but let it pass. “I don’t have the training for DNA analysis. I was looking at it online, and it takes a bachelor’s and a master’s, with a whole lot of forensics.”
“You wouldn’t need the forensics,” Len said.
“May I ask a possibly-dumb question? Why don’t you just have a lab do whatever analysis you need?”
She sipped her water. “We want to protect the privacy of the subjects.”
“Any reputable lab will guarantee that.”
“Not good enough. This is non-negotiable. We have to do it ourselves.”
I frowned. “It could take years for you and me to develop the skills we’d need. Seems really inefficient.”
“That’s OK. This is a long-term project.”
I leaned back, watching her, waiting for the pitch about getting in on the ground floor of a really big thing. From what I’d heard so far, making money wasn’t the objective. In fact, keeping it quiet seemed to be worth spending a lot more money, and time, than necessary. I wondered if whatever they were doing was somehow illegal.
Caeran came in from the back of the house. He had his hair down over his shoulders, and looked so much like Lomen that my pulse quickened. They could so easily be brothers. I didn’t quite have the nerve to ask if they were. My impression of Caeran based on the few times we’d met was that he was more serious than Lomen, but today he smiled as he sat in the other chair.
“Thank you for coming, Steve. Amanda tells us you’re interested in joining our research team.”
I wanted to say I was interested in hearing more about it, but I’d kind of already agreed, so I just nodded.
“We’re just getting started, so right now we don’t have anything for you to work on. Until we do, we can pay you a retainer for each semester you take six hours or more of courses that will help build your skills for the project.”
“Wow. That’s generous.”
“In return, we ask that you sign a confidentiality agreement.”
Amanda produced a single page and a pen and laid them in front of me on the coffee table. I read through the agreement, which specified a retainer of a thousand dollars per semester. Just for taking classes I was probably already taking.
It also specified that I not discuss the project with anyone outside of Ebonwatch, LLC. At all, ever.
“Ebonwatch is your company?”
Caeran nodded, and gestured to the girls. “It’s us, Lomen, several of my cousins, and Len’s mentor, Miguel de Madera.”
“He’s a curandero,” Amanda added.
Folk medicine? Interesting. Not willing to trust a mainstream lab, but willing to accept input from an alternative practitioner who could be legit, or could be as bonkers as the UFO crowd.
“Can you tell me a bit more about your objectives?” I asked.
Caeran leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced loosely. He met my gaze. “We want to find a cure for an obscure disease. It affects only a small population with a specific genetic profile, or so we believe. That’s one of the points we want to confirm.”
“And what attracted you to this problem?”
He took a deep breath. “Some of my kin are afflicted with the disease.”
I blinked. “So it’s personal.”
“You could say that.”
“Do you have it?”
“No. That is, I haven’t manifested it. I was exposed to it last year.”
Len leaned over and touched his arm. They traded a glance and he gave her a reassuring smile.
“I think, after the time that’s passed, I’m unlikely to develop the—disease. But a cousin of mine is less fortunate.”
“Lomen?” I was instantly sorry I’d opened my mouth. I took a swig of my water.
“No,” Caeran said. “Lomen is probably safe.”
“Probably?”
Len spoke up. “We’re not exactly sure how the disease is transmitted. We suspect it takes an exchange of bodily fluids.”
I looked from her to Caeran. “So you could be in danger, too.”
“No.” She gave Caeran a long look, then turned back to me. “I can’t get it. Neither can you, so that’s not an issue.”
“How do you know?”
“We’re not in the genetic group that’s vulnerable,” she said. “You know how sickle cell anemia mostly affects African Americans?”
“Not exclusively, though.”
“True. In this case we’re pretty certain it’s exclusive.”
“Why?”
“Because the disease has never manifested in a—person outside our genetic group,” Caeran said.
I looked from him to Len. There was something they weren’t telling me.
“Never?”
“Never,” Caeran said.
“In how long?”
“Many centuries. Millennia.”
> “It’s been around that long? Why doesn’t it have a name?”
Len cleared her throat. “It doesn’t have a scientific name. It’s known as the curse.”
I had to laugh. “OK. Maybe a scientific name is in order. ’Cause, you know, otherwise it sounds kind of like the Twilight Zone.”
“You’re right,” Caeran said. “Maybe you and Len can decide on a name.”
Len nodded. “We’ll talk about it. Do you have other questions, Steve?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “I gather you have a backer.”
“Several of us have pledged resources to the project,” Caeran said.
“Forgive me, but it sounds like it could get expensive. Are your resources going to cover the cost?”
“We expect they will.”
“It’s all in the business plan,” Amanda said. She gave Caeran an inquiring look. He nodded.
“I can show you that, if you’re interested,” she added, pulling out a tablet.
I watched her stroke the screen. Amanda the organizer. Not interested in science, but she was good with planning and decent with numbers, as far as I knew. I’d pointed her toward economics, but she’d be good in any branch of business. Looked like she was handling the administration for Ebonwatch.
“Yeah, I’d like to see it. You said it was a long-term project, Len. How long?”
“Our plan covers thirty years,” Len said. “We hope that’s a high estimate, but it could possibly take longer to find the cure.”
“And you’ve got the budget for thirty years?”
“Uh-huh,” said Amanda. She handed me the tablet.
I glanced at the numbers. They looked realistic based on what little I knew. The bottom line, thirty-year budget, including establishing and equipping a private laboratory, was over two hundred million dollars.
I swallowed.
I’d known Caeran was well off. He’d bought Len a Lexus, after all. But this budget went beyond well off into ridiculously wealthy. Even if there were several—what, five, ten?—people in on it, that meant an average of at least twenty million per investor.
I handed back the tablet. “You’re really serious about this.”
“Yes,” Caeran said.
I looked at Len. “Thirty years is a long time.”
“It’s going to be my life’s work,” she said. “Well, unless we’re successful a lot faster than we expect. Then I could go on to something else. But we’re not asking you to make that commitment, Steve. We do realize you’ve got your own life to live. Since we’re asking you to steer your college plans in a direction that will help us, we’re willing to compensate you for that.”
